A Leaf out of Life

Four Women

2011-07-11T15:08:00.026+05:30

She sat staring at the mirror, wearing the silver necklace and the pearl ear rings.
Those were his gifts on the previous anniversaries.
The next day he will bring her another.....
Probably his last, parting gift.....
....before going away....migrating to greener pastures.

"What she had given in return?
Definitely nothing worth keeping for long."
She felt a little restless at the thought.
Her meagre income was never sufficient.....
... to run the family of four with her widowed mother.

The bus was moving at a leisurely pace, along the Saturday evening traffic. It came to halt at another suburban stop not far from her house. The lone commuter awaiting there bowed in front of the driver and made some request. Once inside the bus, she flashed a smile and proceeded to sing a song, in a heavily accented tone.

Passengers were not interested, some looked out through the windows..one woman kept talking on her phone....some elderly ladies were heard whispering that "she's a foreigner, out to make some quick money"....

Having finished, she proceeded to collect the donations...."for the shelter for the grandpas and grandmas back home"....she got nothing from the women in the bus...and finally came to the lonely alien on the back row....In her halting English she made a humble request...."even coins will do" she pleaded, still smiling.....He took out some notes from his lean purse and deposited them on her empty basket....

She thanked him again and again...and kept flashing the smile whenever he looked at her....and also when she got out of the bus and said a loud good bye with a bow...

None of it was of interest to her...she was lost in thoughts, the eyes fixed somewhere out in the distant horizon.....

The elder girl was walking silently beside her mom. But the younger boy was so adamant. And he pulled his mom back....... with all the might of a three year old. The lady allowed herself to be dragged back....... along the zebra lines.

These moms!! They are so proud of their sons!!
The son had put his foot down...... you should not cross the road when the sign flashes red. And the mom had to agree, with an embarrassed smile.

Across the road there was a huge hoarding....in support of the lady on top of the crane no. 85.

She had been up there since the last winter....and through the typhoon and a torrid summer....almost into the autumn and then possibly into another winter...she is there for the workers, and she will not come down until the workers are reinstated.

"It's very unfair: just after announcing the mass lay-offs for the workers, the company awarded huge allocations of stock dividends and wage increases for senior management."

Who cares?!! Just keep moving with the bus....

Last rays of the sun were slowly fading.
And bus had come to a halt at a deserted stop in a neon-lit neighborhood.

She got down and looked around....
From among the bright neon lights, she picked out her destination....and walked towards the door, without looking up or around.

....her first tentative steps....

.......towards the oldest of the professions.......

The Wind Blows

2011-06-11T19:55:00.013+05:30

The wind blows....
on the way back from work
Through the empty landscape into the sorrowful heart
The futile wishes scatter in the wind and fade away
The tears do not drop

It’s the sky that weeps....
as the cold raindrops fall in the dark streets
The world is not the same
The time is still flowing.....

And I alone do not change.......

The tiny drops of blood forms a whirlpool,
and dances with water down the drain.

The wind blows.....
In the searing cold, turning the mind to times past
To the sleepless nights.... precious memories

The world is the same as yesterday
And the time is still flowing......

And I alone changed like this.....
.....with only the memories to cherish

The wind blows....
The teardrops do fall....
and scatter within.

Inspired by Lee So-ra's
바람이 분다 (The wind blows)

Jottings on Teaching

2011-05-15T16:57:00.018+05:30

Posted on a special demand by Anoop N

Today is the Teacher's Day here in Korea. Of course, the country has moved away from the rigid Confucian Doctrines like; "Do not even step on the shadows of your teachers".
Yet, the traces do remain here and there :)

Sometime back I received a request from a student of mine to post here, an article I had written for the college magazine. I told him that it's difficult since I kept no copy of the manuscript. Without much delay I received an e-mail from him;

A Small Gift for my Beloved Master

Respected Sir,

Kindly find the attached document. It is one in my collection which I cherish the most and that is why I have carried that even to Delhi. The attached article which You wrote for our college magazine in 2006 .... Yesterday I .. read Your article once more. ..... I have scanned a copy and thought that it will be better to mail that to You. Recently I had a real life experience to grasp what it costs to be a teacher. That I may share with You some day ......

On his request I am publishing the entire article here, with only minor proof corrections.

Jottings on Teaching

(This article is intended for my students who may wish to take up teaching as a profession, not for my eminent and enlightened colleagues.)

“Om, Sahanavavatu; Saha nau bhunaktu;

Saha viryam karavavahai;

Tejaswinavadhitamastu;

Ma vidvishavahai.

Om shantih, shantih, shantih.”

May He protect us both. May He nourish us both.

May we both work together with great energy.

May our study be thorough and fruitful.

May we never hate each other.

Om Peace! Peace! Peace!

This prayer is recited by the teacher and the disciple before proceeding to learn the wisdom of the Upanishads. It is a reflection on our ancient tradition in teacher-student relationship. The teacher and the disciple pray to the Almighty to enable them to work with devotion and mutual cooperation to understand and attain the knowledge contained in the texts. They seek His blessings in making the study fruitful and in preventing any sort of mutual hatred between the preceptor and the disciple. Finally the peace invocation is repeated thrice to ward off the three kinds of obstacles to learning; adhyatmika (bodily), adhibhautika (terrestrial) and adhidaivika (heavenly).

The prayer reminds us about the importance of team work involving the teacher and the student in the search for knowledge. Teaching is not merely face to face communication. It also involves 'looking outwards together, in the same direction', the teacher guiding the vision of the students, improving his own in the process.

Many youngsters are reluctant to take up teaching as a profession because of the lower monetary benefits involved. The wealth of a teacher is measured in terms of the richness, the variety and the intellectual range of his students. And the wealthiest is that teacher whom each one of his students has surpassed in professional and personal life.

“Genius and obedience are incompatible”, said Sigmund Freud. Some teachers do not allow their students to be stubborn and unruly and expect them to be obedient lambs. They try to implant a meek submissiveness and a weak will on their students. This will nip in the bud, their independent creativity and free thinking. Is that what we want for our future generations? A search for something new is motivated by a refusal to follow the existing pattern because the searcher is not satisfied with it. Dissatisfaction and disobedience are inherent features of individuals who searches for and creates something new, not only in science, engineering or technology but also in art, literature and philosophy.

The great Russian academician and Nobel prize winner Pyotor L Kapitza shot off a strongly worded letter to the supreme leader of the then Soviet Union, Nikita Khrushchev on the freedom to disobey. He wrote, among other things, the following;

“The basic stimulus for any creation is the discontent with the existing situation. An inventor is discontented with the existing processes and invents his own; a scientist is discontented with the existing theories and searches for more perfect ones. And deeply discontented individuals are restless people, who by the virtue of their characters, do not happen to be obedient lambs.” Khrushchev, who was onto curtailing academic freedom, got the message and backed off.

A good teacher should understand how it hurts a student’s pride if he/she receives undeserved disapproval and disapprobation for his/her ideas. On the contrary, if the student feels that the teacher notices his good qualities, he will try his best to live up to the standard expected of him and strives to do even better. Don’t you think that all young people have something good in them irrespective of their academic abilities? No teacher can instill goodness in the soul of a student if the youngster himself is not making the effort. And it can be triggered only in a friendly atmosphere, where approval comes before censure and the teacher sees what is good in every student. A teacher’s success, to a large extent, lies in inspiring these moral efforts in a young person. They must implant the feeling of self respect and pride in their students and be their comrades in overcoming their difficulties. They are duty bound to prepare their students to stand up for themselves in any trying situation.

The teachers should never discriminate between their students on the basis of caste, faith, political beliefs or even academic performance. But they should spot, recognize and improve upon the individual qualities and innate abilities of their disciples. Even brilliant young minds need proper guidance and motivation for realizing their full potential.

Great Mathematician, G. H. Hardy had mentioned that the most ‘romantic’ incident in his illustrious academic life was the discovery of a young genius from a distant land and helping him find his rightful place among the pantheon of greats. But for Prof. Hardy, Srinivas Ramanujan might have been lost to the world. In spite of his towering stature among the academicians and intellectuals of the day, Bertrand Russell had no qualms whatsoever in risking his own philosophical development and introducing a troubled and temperamental freshman, Ludwig Wittgenstein as having one of the most brilliant minds of his generation. Although he was already a well established and reputed coach, Ramakant Achrekar’s place in history changed colours when a little boy walked into his cricket clinic holding a bat almost as long as himself. Achrekar became a ‘Dronacharya’ as the little boy grew into the ‘Little Master’ under his tutelage. But I personally feel that it was highly inappropriate for our socialist republic to name its highest national award for coaches after a teacher who had destroyed the career of one of the greatest archers of our mythology by exploiting his almost fanatical devotion to his master. When a teacher shows such a bias on the basis of the so called nobility of birth, it betrays an intellectual inferiority on his part. It is unfortunate if such persons continue to enter the noble profession of teaching. They will be a major stumbling block in the progress of all mankind, holding back the thought process of the young generation by decades, or even centuries.

The points discussed may seem ‘utopian’ to some and are open for debate. Neither I claim to be a perfect practitioner of all that I preached, nor am I an advocate for the spare the rod crowd. The students must be properly reprimanded wherever the need arose. The biggest compliment I have received so far in my humble academic career was gifted by a poor boy hailing from a remote village whose answer sheets I had torn off for letting his friend copy from it during an examination. He later wrote in the student evaluation form that I was ‘God’s gift’ for him and his class mates!

Now, that was a huge ‘check mate’ for a strong headed teacher.

So, beware, aspiring young teachers......

Appearances can be deceptive. Your students can stun you......

....... with their moral superiority!!

Personal Note: Kindly excuse, if you felt the tone and tenor to be offensive. It was made during a difficult time at the institution, series of personal setbacks, casteist insults from colleagues and regular run-ins with superiors. And that makes it doubly pleasing, for the piece to have found its way back to me in this style. I consider myself extremely lucky, for having received the opportunity to spend a few hours between the blackboard and the students like Anoop.

One in a Billion

2011-04-02T07:48:00.002+05:30

I got up in time as usual.

And tried to pretend that it was just another Saturday morning.

For nearly three years, I have been wearing the blue-to work.

But today I took special care.....

..... to pick out my freshest blues from the wardrobe.

For the first time in years, I took extra care in dressing myself up.

And spent a while longer in front of the mirror.....

.....picking out those naughty little whites, peeping out of my face.

Instead of the usual starving Saturdays,

I packed a bag full of snacks.... for a long night at the desk.

The missing spring was suddenly back in my steps,

as I walked to work dressed in my brightest blues.

Throughout my life, I stayed out of the crowd,

but tonight I know for sure that......

in spite of being alone and away......

....I shall also be one in a billion :)

The Death

2011-03-26T13:33:00.022+05:30

Death, the ultimate reality..... the only truth....

The most heroic could be the death in combat;

the most ordinary is to die in old age;

the most depressing is to die of a disease;

the most unfortunate is to perish in an accident and

and the most fortunate is to die on one's own terms.

It was just another death, made a bit more painful by the fact that the deceased had been fighting the losing battle for over an year, since the industrial accident that broke his ribs and damaged the lungs. We had left the office late and arrived at the hospital well past the usual the dinner time. On arrival, we were led to the special funeral hall in the hospital. There was a shop selling funeral accessories on the way down to the cellar floor.

We entered the 'funeral room'. The cries of the grieving relatives, male and female, grew louder on seeing us. All of them were in black robes; women wearing the traditional clothes, while the men had western suits. A large portrait of the deceased was placed centrally on the multi tier in the middle of an array of chrysanthemums, candles and incense sticks. One can either choose some chrysanthemums and put them in front of the portrait of the deceased or light one of the incense sticks.....My colleague lit some sticks and then bowed in front of the photograph of the deceased person for two and a half times. He then proceeded for another traditional bow with the grieving relatives for one and a half times....I had watched the whole ceremony closely, and made an attempt at replicating the whole procedure. And I was successful at bending my knees!

The Boss was already there accompanied by his entourage. He was speaking loudly, on the Japanese Tsunami, its effects on the global economy, and on the Korean industry, serving soju to the attentive listeners in between, to keep then interested in the conversation.

It was strange!! To come to a funeral home and discuss aloud, cracking jokes and laughing. I was told that it was the Korean way, to relieve the pain of the relatives and bring them back to worldly affairs and enable them to move on.

But the cries were only growing louder, audible above the din; the pain of parting forever, refusing to die down.

And then suddenly, it all stopped!

The women who were grieving aloud were running here and there....washing cleaning up something, cleaning up themselves....

.......An elderly gentleman was being helped away to the wash room......

It took a sombre elder who wouldn't remain sober to restore normalcy among the grief struck.

And the life rolls on....

till the turn arrives....

The Fourteen for the Fourteenth

2011-02-14T09:14:00.034+05:30

Sometime back I was asked to make a certain list of literary works. There may not be a more appropriate date to post my list. There is no man without bias. My list is biased too. And as someone wrote somewhere; it’s not for the happy souls alone, it’s also for the bitter hearts who hate all those happy souls.

As a restless ten year old; how one wished to be up and away?
Far from the hustle and bustle on the ground and to be Up in the Tree

“The secret of their being up in the tree had continued for almost two years now. Where the thick trunk branched out near the top, the two could sit comfortably. Michiko, straddling one branch, leaned back against another. There were days when little birds came and days when the wind sang through the pine needles. Although they weren’t that high off the ground, these two little lovers felt as if they were in a completely different world, far away from the earth.”
14. Kawabata Yasunari, the ultimate Zen master of the unrequited lovers

An accidental brush with the War and Peace at an unacceptably young age might leave one with all the ‘wrong’ notions;

“Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved! That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly…..Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source.”
13. Lyev Nikolayevich Tolstoy, the literary titan of the multiple master pieces

The conscious search that follows could bring in Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet,
“Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs, Being purged, the fire in lovers’ eyes, Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers’ tears. What is it? A madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet.”
12. William Shakespeare, the wizard of verse and prose

It’s when one ceases to be so young, but not old enough to be counted among the adults that one gets all the idealistic ideas and encounter the uncertainties of First Love

“I had ceased to be simply a young boy; I was someone in love.”
11. Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev, one of the greatest artists in depicting complex young minds

Around the same time the naughty thoughts may creep into one's mind instigated by Cyrano de Bergerac

“A kiss, when all is said, what is it? An oath that's ratified, a sealed promise, A heart's avowal claiming confirmation, A rose-dot on the ‘I’ of ‘adoration’; A secret that to mouth, not ear, is whispered…”
10. Edmond Eugene Alexis Rostand, the man who gave young men the 'panache'

And then The Kiss finally arrives!!

“When he went back into the drawing-room his heart was beating and his hands were trembling so noticeably that he made haste to hide them behind his back... he gave himself up entirely to the new sensation which he had never experienced before in his life. Something strange was happening to him.. His neck, round which soft, fragrant arms had so lately been clasped, seemed to him to be anointed with oil; on his left cheek near his moustache where the unknown had kissed him there was a faint chilly tingling sensation as from peppermint drops, and the more he rubbed the place the more distinct was the chilly sensation; all over, from head to foot, he was full of a strange new feeling which grew stronger and stronger... He wanted to dance, to talk, to run into the garden, to laugh aloud…He quite forgot that he was round-shouldered and uninteresting, that he had lynx-like whiskers and an "undistinguished appearance"”
09. Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, the artist who tossed the questions around in a stream of consciousness

And then one day with another book, one may come of age and imagine how it will be to be in love with a girl like, say Jane Eyre?

“I was dazzled, stimulated: my senses were excited; and being ignorant, raw, and inexperienced, I thought I loved her. There is no folly so besotted that the idiotic rivalries of society, the prurience, the rashness, the blindness of youth, will not hurry a man to its commission.”
08. Charlotte Bronte, the eldest of the Brontes

..and it refuses to die down, no matter what the surrounding. It’s like to be in Love in the Time of Cholera

“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else's heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.”
07. Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the Marquess of the Magical Realism

… then comes the period of Great Expectations about love and life:

“According to my experience, the conventional notion of a lover cannot be always true. The unqualified truth is that, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. Once for all; I loved her none the less because I knew it, and it had no more influence in restraining me, than if I had devoutly believed her to be human perfection”
06. Charles John Huffam Dickens, the Boz of the English novel

One can not go on like that forever as if on a Blind man's Holiday!

“Man is too thoroughly an egoist not to be also an egotist; if he love, the object shall know it. During a lifetime he may conceal it through stress of expediency and honour, but it shall bubble from his dying lips, though it disrupt a neighbourhood. It is known, however, that most men do not wait so long to disclose their passion.”
05. O. Henry aka William Sydney Porter, the writer with the Gift of the Magi

And then one is brought back into the realities, to be face to face with one's shadow and empathize with the Hunchback of Notredam:

Love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, it puts down deep roots into our whole being......Oh! love!... That is to be two and to be but one. A man and a woman mingled into one angel. It is heaven.
04. Victor-Marie Hugo, the author of the greatest novel ever written!

… then comes the nightmares......with The Pearl as a child and East of Eden as an adult!!

“In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.”
03. John Ernst Steinbeck, Jr., for making one believe in the perfectibility of man

And may The Sorrows of Young Werther remain his alone......for

“I have been more than once intoxicated, my passions have always bordered on extravagance: I am not ashamed to confess it; for I have learned, by my own experience, that all extraordinary men, who have accomplished great and astonishing actions, have ever been decried by the world as drunken or insane.”
02. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the genius who also wrote novels

Finally signing off with the White Nights on the White Day with apologies for the vices...

“For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!”
01. Fyodor Mikhaylovich Dostoyevsky, the embittered voice of the 'underground man'

Flashback to a Photo Shootout :)

2011-01-20T20:07:00.011+05:30

The Smiles From My Shelf [9]

Winter is the time when the woes from the wilderness return with a vengeance to haul one back into melancholy moods. There is nothing better than a fresh look at the fond memories from the past to keep one floating above it all. Those who had already seen this, kindly excuse.....

There is nothing more cheerful to offer as a first post this new year :)

Anyang :)

Anya...!! What?!!!

What are you upto?!!

Hey...you.....taking my picture?!!

No, no...don't...

shsho!!

Iyalekkondu thottu!!

(I'm fed up with this guy!!)

Ini endu cheyyum?!!

(What to do now?!!)

aah! pose cheythekkam ;)

(ok then, let me pose for the camera)

Hey..you...

....here I am ...

Kimchee :)

Mein Bhi Ban Gayaa Mr. India!!

2010-12-05T11:31:00.009+05:30

It was yet another lazy Sunday morning and I was curling smaller and smaller on the mat when suddenly the door bell rang. I carried myself on reluctant legs to open the door partially to have a peek at the intruder who turned out to be an unrepentant elderly woman clutching a Bible.

I tried to explain to her in my elementary Korean that "I no Korean, single man, no woman in house you try next door Ajummani.....err..."

.....suddenly I heard a beautiful voice saying;

"Good morning"!

I opened my eyes wide to see if the Ajummani indeed spoke those words to see her moving aside and letting her companion take over the task of convincing the alien. I opened the door wider and offered a beaming smile to the tall and beautiful young lady who definitely appeared to have good news for sinful single aliens leading irresponsible lives among the hermits. She introduced herself and spoke in fluent English about a magazine she was carrying which she wanted me to subscribe. She asked me what my language was and showed me an article in Hindi, asking "this one?", I replied in the negative and took the magazine from her. There was the same article in Tamil too, but not in Malayalam. I told her that my Mother tongue is missing from the list. She said:

"I am sorry, I will search for the article in your language and bring it for you next Sunday."

I smiled approvingly, bade them good bye and forgot about it.

Next Sunday I had a letter in my letter box, accompanied by a magazine, which asked me;

"Why Do People Do Bad Things?"

and the letter from Ms. Young

What if I weighed in just 65 kg all my adult life?

Mein Bhi Ban Gayaa Mr. India!!

Have Wonderful Days you all....

Sincerely.....

forever young ;)

The 55 W Smile

2010-11-17T18:42:00.008+05:30

The Smiles From My Shelf [8]

She was stumbling along, dragging the cart full of rejected cans.

The wrinkles on her face seemed to hold back many an untold struggle in life.

She stopped her cart to take a hard look at me as I was about to pass her.

Then with a soft motherly voice she said, smiling;

“anyang haseyo” :)

11/11; the Pepero Day

2010-11-11T09:41:00.010+05:30

Who said that lonely hearts can't have their pepero cookies on 11/11?

Mine arrived on the table in time.....

...... dipped in almond chocolate syrup :P

Hope I'll retain my pepero figure beyond this autumn, though :D

pepero cookies courtesy: Kim Chang Ki :)

My All Time World XI

2010-10-24T13:38:00.021+05:30

Even as the curtains were raised for another riveting contest between the two titans of test cricket, I was busy picking my own all time World XI on the sidelines. The posting was delayed by a very very special innings at Mohali. I was expecting something special from my No. 4 in Bangalore to make up for the let down in Punjab. Having got it from the Master, I cannot delay the posting any further as the CricInfo will be coming out with theirs on Monday. The riches at hand were intoxicating and only two out of the eleven picked themselves.

For the openers slots I have selected a vintage accumulator nonpareil, who could well have padded up and went to the crease, had he been alive this day and a modern day warrior, often touted as the very “savior” of test cricket. The first two men to walk into bat first for my team would be Sir John Berry Hobbs and Virender Sehwag.

Sir Jack seldom made “an uneducated stroke. When he misjudged the nature of a ball he could make the wrong right stroke”…he was one batsman who “widened and strengthened cricket’s appeal and history......the vintage Hobbs”, scorer of 199 centuries in first class cricket.

“Tests are all about strategy. Virender destroys all strategies. He brings the excitement and drama from the first ball. If Test cricket is still alive, it is because of players like him. It’s good for the game.” Matt Hayden

At one down comes the Don. When Nelson Mandela was released from prison after 27 years, his first question to an Australian visitor was;

“Is Sir Donald Bradman still alive?”

Cricket is a game thriving on statistics like no other and the statistics show that no sportsman had dominated an international sport to the extent that Bradman did in cricket. In order to post a similarly dominant career statistic, it is estimated that a baseball batter would require a career batting average of .392, while a basketball player would need to score an average of 43.0 points per game. The respective records are only .366 and 30.1!

To quote from Neville Cardus again; “Discussing him entirely from the point of view of a writer on the game, I am happy to say that he was for me a constant spur to ideas. A newspaper column couldn’t contain him. He was, as far as a cricketer can be, a genius.”

I don’t think that my humble blog can contain him either.

Sir Donald George Bradman, my No. 3

And my No. 4 is the man who reminded the Don of himself, the only player from the current generation to be included in Bradman’s XI. In 2002, Wisden ranked him the 2^nd greatest Test batsman of all time, behind Sir Donald Bradman, and the 2^nd greatest one day international batsman of all time, behind Sir Viv Richards. Shane Warne rated him as the greatest player he had played with or against. As a young boy he made Merv Hughes say to Allan Border; "This little prick's going to get more runs than you, AB" as an adult Matthew Hayden had this to say on him; "I have seen God; He bats at No. 4 for India in Tests". And as an ‘old man’ of 36 years and 306 days; he broke a 40-year-old barrier by scoring the first double-century in one-day cricket. It is now only a matter of time for him to become the first cricketer to score 100 international hundreds, which like Bradman's batting average could be a mark that lasts forever.

“Sachin is a genius, I am a mere mortal” Brian Lara.

Yes, simply Sachin, my No. 4.

For the next man in; you may have to wait, for he’ll keep you waiting, to prepare yourselves for the inevitable. Then he’ll appear, and begin what is the most imperial walk of all to the crease in cricket history. He would take guard, and then, chewing his gum disdainfully, he would walk a few steps down the pitch tapping it and turn his head to look the bowler in the eye. It is nothing but calculated menace and magnificent theatre from arguably the most devastating batsman of the history of the game. He remains one of only four non-English cricketers to have scored 100 first-class centuries, the others being Bradman, New Zealander Glenn Turner and Pakistani Zaheer Abbas. Wisden rates him as the greatest ODI batsman of all time, as well as the third greatest Test batsman of all time, after Bradman and Tendulkar. No other batsman in the history of the game could intimidate and rip apart bowling attacks like he did.

“I didn’t wrap myself up in cotton wool - with a helmet, a chest guard, an elbow guard - I did it the way men should and I’m proud of that…..I don’t look solely at what I achieved. I look at what the Caribbean and the other guys achieved in showing what teamwork can do. We all think so differently in the various parts of the Caribbean. We each have our different spices, we boast about them and other things because we are from another country and we represent that country. Being able to be in the same team as all these guys, to know the differences between us but still fulfill your goals - that to me was the greatest achievement.”

Yes, Sir Isaac Vivian Alexander Richards, the most destructive batsman I was fortunate to see in action; the only captain under whom West Indies never lost a series is my No. 5.

My all rounder is the greatest all-round cricketer the world has seen; the only player to score 300 plus runs and pick up more than 20 wickets in a Test series three times.

“A brilliant batsman, splendid fielder, particularly close to the wicket, and a bowler of extraordinary skill, whether bowling with the new ball, providing orthodox left-arm spin or over-the-wrist spin” Richie Benaud

“Sublime left-hand batsman….one of the greatest cricketers ever to have graced the game; certainly the greatest all-rounder….has a great cricketing brain and his thought processes are lightning quick”. Fred Trueman

Sir Garfield St. Augustine Sobers, left-handed batsman and bowler. His versatility enabled him to bowl all varieties of left-arm bowling from spin to fast-medium. As a fielder he was usually stationed close to the wicket but he was also a very capable outfielder.

My WK is one of the greatest wicket-keeper-batsmen in the history of the game; holder of the second most Test dismissals (416) and the most ODI dismissals by a wicketkeeper (455). His 17 Test and 16 ODI centuries are also the most by a wicket-keeper. His strike rate is amongst the highest in the history of both One-day and Test cricket; the only player to have hit 100 sixes in Test cricket. No wonder then that he was voted as the “World’s Scariest Batsman” in a poll of international bowlers. He changed the role of the wicketkeeper, changed the way batting orders were constructed. He became two cricketers, a dashing and dangerous batsman and a polished glove man. Throughout his career Australia were playing with 12 men.

“he completely changed the way we looked at wicketkeepers. After his ascent, specialist wicketkeepers started taking a back seat and wicketkeepers who could contribute big runs with the bat came into prominence. He put a lot of pressure on other teams to unearth players who would become genuine wicket keeping all-rounders.” Kumar Sangakkara

Adam Craig Gilchrist walks in for my XI, to scare away the bowlers

And to my bowlers now…three genuine quicks- one left armer- and a spinner.

My left arm quick is regarded as one of the best fast bowlers in cricket; perhaps the best left-arm fast bowler of all time. He holds the world record for most wickets in List A cricket with 881. He is considered to be one of the founders and perhaps the finest exponent of reverse swing bowling; the first bowler in international cricket to take more than 400 wickets in both forms of the game.

On passing his record, Glenn McGrath said, “Wasim Akram, to me, is one of the greatest bowlers of all time. Left-armer, swung it both ways with the new ball and he was so dangerous with the old ball. To go past him is something I will always remember.”

“Over my 15 or 16 years of playing international cricket in Tests and One Day Internationals, Wasim Akram is definitely the most outstanding bowler I’ve ever faced.” Brian Lara

Wasim Akram, the childhood hero, on whom the boyhood looks were modeled can easily walk into my XI; but purely on merit.

And my spinner was selected by a panel of cricket experts as one of the five Wisden Cricketers of the Century; the only specialist bowler selected in the quintet. He also has the third highest number of Man of the Match awards in Test cricket, with seventeen

Kim Hughes described him as the “Donald Bradman of bowling”

Shane Keith Warne is in my XI for his superior batting skills over Murali

And my first right arm fast bowler is the first man to take 300 Test wickets. Since then many have gone past him, but few have matched his average (21.57) and strike rate (a wicket every 49 balls). Wisden described him as probably the greatest fast bowler England has produced. But he believed himself to be “t’finest fast bowler that ever drew breath” and there were many who agreed with him.

Charismatic Frederick Sewards Trueman will be running in for my XI with the follow-through which “resembled a Sea Fury finishing its mission along the runway of an aircraft carrier”

And my other quick holds the world record for the highest number of Test wickets by a fast bowler. Known throughout his career for maintaining a remarkably accurate line and length, his consistency enabled him to be one of the most economical fast bowlers of his time. He had success against every opposition team, in both Test and one-day cricket. He deliberately and publicly targeted the opposition’s best batsmen prior to a series in an attempt to distract them. At the beginning of a series against the West Indies he stated, that he would dismiss Sherwin Campbell for his 299th wicket, then remove star batsman Brian Lara for his 300th wicket the very next ball. Not only it happened as he stated, he also followed this with the dismissal of Captain Jimmy Adams to complete a memorable hat trick!

Glenn Donald McGrath is in my XI “not only for his 563 Test wickets at 21.64 and his inescapable line and length, but also for his aura.”

So my XI is ready.

Now waiting for the Cricinfo list :)

Glimpses from a Dinner in Paradise: Matsue Vogel Park

2010-09-22T09:29:00.016+05:30

Earlier this month I had been to exotic Japan again; to Matsue, the capital of Shimane Prefecture, this time to attend the 3rd Asian Joint Workshop on Thermophysics and Fluid Science. It is an international workshop held once in two years, related to engineering thermodynamics, fluid dynamics, heat and mass transfer and combustion. The work shop is sponsored by the Institute of Engineering Thermophysics (IET), Chinese Academy of Sciences (CAS), Beijing Society of Thermophysics and Energy Engineering, Turbomachinery Society of Japan (TSJ) and the Korean Fluid Machinery Association (KFMA). This time the workshop was jointly organized by the Department of Mechanical Engineering, Saga University, Japan and the Department of Mechanical Engineering, Matsue College of Technology, Japan. The welcome dinner for the delegates was arranged at the Matsue Vogel Park. We arrived at the Vogel park in the evening in three chartered buses.

At the door we were received by .......

.....special security guards ......

the delegates are dumbstruck....

so am I...

are we in paradise?!

and we moved in...

through the walkways...

into the flowerbeds....

and the flower walls...

and the floating flowers....

and the flower garlands.....

and the myriads of colors....

to the dinner tables....

to have the delicious....

and sumptuous....

Japanese delicacies....

we didn't feel like leaving....

A flower that fell on 'Little Panda's hand :)

Hope you liked it.....

so see you soon with more :)

I have two videos of the park. But unfortunately the videos can not be uploaded to you-tube from Korea because of the Korean real-name verification law. Hope to upload the videos at a later date :)

Blogger's Block and An International Birthday

2010-08-28T12:03:00.009+05:30

The scorching summer sun had dried up the imagination and here I am; posting the borrowed lines from the birthday wishes that arrived in my mail box soothing the pain of aging all alone. Historian Herodotus had hailed the Iranians as the earliest people to have birthday celebrations. So it was a pleasant surprise to open the birthday gift from the special Iranian friend; the bathing baby emanating the fragrance of peace and calming the nerves on a stormy August morning. He somehow reminded me of my own days in the bath basin, when each mug of water Amma sprayed on my head made me jump up and down throwing my arms up and above the head.

The Gift from Iran :)

There were other special gifts; the beautiful card from a student I had never taught nor spoken to; the special message from a beloved student leading a busy life in a city which was Bombay not long ago; the bike from the Chinese, the cake from the Koreans, the chocolates from the Japanese and of course the love and prayers from someone somewhere truly made me feel that I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

Bike from the Chinese "Little Panda" ;)

Cake from the Koreans :D

And the Japanese Chocos :P

The Philosopher's Smile

2010-07-26T10:12:00.004+05:30

The Smiles from My Shelf [7]

He was spotted on the bench by the side of the children’s park last evening, observing the couple of kids playing around with a soccer ball. I’m not sure if it is already in vogue in these parts of the world but he was spotting the Iniesta hairstyle, of course the scarcity of resources denying him the luxury of the Ahn Jung-Hwan one. His keen eyes were following the movement of the ball as the kids were running around dribbling and kicking it around. They had no pretensions of a Messi in the making. Neither showed an early promise to curve it like Carlos or bend it like Beckham in the distant future at some soccer arena. Yet the wise one on the bench kept on watching with the glowing eyes not revealing any emotion. The kids had a lot of running around so typical of those full grown men in their national colors. But unlike the adults they grew tired and fell to the ground without much delay and lay there still, staring at the moon. Released from the bench, the wise one now made a rapid movement towards the ball and with the admiring crowd eagerly watching he applied the dreaded hand of God on the globe on the ground. The all powerful book of rules had no mention of the card to be flashed under the circumstances to cunning little fellows moving around on all fours. And as he opened his mouth wide, revealing not the universe but his real intentions, with a swift movement of surprising agility belying her age but befitting the Granny of a wannabe soccer star, the elderly lady took off from the bench and lifted him away from the ball and deposited him back on the pouch on her back from where he kept on smiling the philosopher’s smile.

Why Africa may Pardon La Celeste?

2010-07-06T17:14:00.014+05:30

As Africa’s first soccer world cup is coming to the final stages, there is one team that carries the ire of the host continent,

Uruguay

. Being the last of the Latin Americans to qualify, no one had foreseen the team advancing this far. But the record books also tell us that they are one of the most successful national teams in soccer history with 18 major titles, one less than Argentina and two ahead of Brazil! Their success is extraordinary because of the fact that the nation has a population below 3.5 million.

Uruguay

is the smallest country to have won a World Cup. In fact, only six nations with a lesser population have ever made it to any soccer World Cup. Uruguay is also the smallest nation to win Olympic gold medals in any team sport.

Los Charrúas

was the team that originally introduced the Latin American flair to the soccer world. Their style of play, full of short passes and movement, invention and wizardry and much more attractive than the then prevalent muscular style fetched them the Olympic gold medals in the 1924 and 1928. And given the responsibility to organize the first World Cup in 1930, the tiny nation had worked hard to ensure its success and also became the winners of the inaugural edition of soccer’s ultimate prize.

In the early years of the last century Uruguay became perhaps the world’s first welfare state and had the most advanced social legislation of the time. This made it much easier for football to move down the social ladder from the elites to the poor immigrants from Italy and Spain and to the descendants of Africans brought in as slaves. Thus the national team was able to draw on the potential of all of its citizens that gave them early prominence in world football. Uruguay’s first major triumph in the inaugural edition of the Copa America in 1916 had paved the way for football’s growth into an undisputed global game of the masses. The star of that campaign was Isabelino Gradin, whose very presence in the team had raised the objections of other teams. Gradin and his team-mate Juan Delgado were black and Uruguay was accused of playing with Africans. But Uruguay strongly argued that they were Uruguayans and thus had every right to represent their national team. An important victory was won for the popularization of the sport and strangely the lead was taken by the country with a minuscule black population. On the other side of the border Brazil had imported millions of black slaves, whose descendents were finding it hard to rise socially, including on the football field. When the next tournament was held in Brazil, the inspirational presence of Gradin on the field of Brazil’s most aristocratic club was loudly cheered by the local blacks who could see themselves in him. The man in the street took to soccer and the rest is history. Five years later when Uruguay took Paris by storm, decimating the formidable European teams, José Andrade was their star. Record books mention him as the first black player to play in Olympic football.

However Uruguay’s ultimate coup de grace for the Brazilian elite had come in 1950, the only time Brazil hosted the soccer’s biggest showpiece. The largest crowd the world has ever seen in a world cup match, more than 200000 people, had thronged the Maracana stadium as the nation awaited the formality. Brazil needed only a draw and was the overwhelming favorites against their tiny Latin American neighbors. They had annihilated every opponent on the way. With the result a foregone conclusion, members of Uruguay’s national FA reportedly asked the team to do what they could to avoid losing by six goals. “Four is acceptable,” they are believed to have said. In Uruguay’s locker room in the moments prior to the match, Coach Juan López informed his team that their best chance of surviving the powerful offensive line of Brazil would be adopting a defensive strategy. But one man was fuming as everybody was writing his team off. After the coach had left, Obdulio Varela, Uruguay’s Captain stood up and delivered perhaps the most inspirational speech ever heard in a soccer locker room. “Juancito is a good man”, he began by referring to the coach, “but today, he is wrong. If we play defensively against Brazil, our fate will be no different from others…” Lining up in the tunnel waiting to step out in front of an intimidating, world record crowd of 200000 Brazilians, which was roughly 10% of Uruguay’s entire population, the Captain had one last message for his team. “Put all those people out of your minds, don’t look up. The ones outside are made out of wood, those people don’t count. The game is played down there on the pitch and if we win, nothing’s going to happen, just as it’s never happened before.”

The skipper’s motivational words appeared to do the trick, with Uruguay holding the hosts goalless in the first half; the Captain himself marshaling the defense and choking the life out of the famed and feted Brazilian frontline. But the Brazilians struck early in the second half, sending the crowd into deafening frenzy. The astute skipper immediately sensed the drooping shoulders and dropping morale and quickly realized that if something is not done immediately, the Brazilians were going to ambush his side in no time. What followed was sheer drama. In the words of Uruguay’s goalkeeper of that historic match; “When they scored, Varela ran 30 yards to get hold of the ball and argue with the referee about a non-existent offside!” Varela explained the reasons behind his curious behavior later. “I knew they would go on and thrash my team if we didn’t cool the game down. All I wanted to do was delay the restart. I took the discussion as far as it would go, to the point that they had to get an interpreter so that I could talk to the referee. The stadium fell silent and that’s when I knew we could win the game.” Taking the ball to the center of the field, he shouted to his men in his commanding voice; “Boys, now it’s time to win! Let’s win the match from here”.

The skipper straight away took control of the midfield and Uruguay suddenly started growing in confidence. What followed went exactly as the cunning Varela had planned. Juan Schiaffino and Alcides Ghiggia scored late goals from the moves initiated by the skipper from the midfield to turn the game around and silence the masses. Against all the odds, the smallest nation to win the World Cup had delayed the coronation of the soccer emperors.

However, more significantly, in the very first world cup after the proponent-in-chief of the Aryan superiority theory blew his brains out in a Berlin bunker, the tactical genius of a black commander had inspired his army of suspect soldiers to an improbable victory in its war against a soccer super power. Obdulio Varela, nicknamed “El Negro Jefe” or the Black Chief due to his dominant personality and commanding presence in the field became the first and only Black Captain to lift the soccer world cup in the 20th century. More than a decade before Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream”, Uruguay had been the first non-African soccer team to have a black Captain. And I hope that should be reason enough for Africa to pardon 'La Celeste' and cheer them for their resurrection.

Mom Remains the Top

2010-06-01T07:47:00.015+05:30

In a world of cut throat competitors Chad Ochocinco, no doubt, is an exceptionally kind hearted character. And yes, Mr. President Obama is; indisputably a hero for all black American youngsters.

Here is a passage from a letter written by a young fan to his hero, the Cincinnati Bengals receiver Chad Ochocinco (formerly Johnson)

"Mr. Johnson, you really make me happy. One of my goals in my future life is to be just like you when I grow up. I wonder who was your role model when you were little? I have three role model(s) in my life that's my mom, Mr. President Barack Obama and my favorite football player Mr. Chad Johnson. To me you are the best football player in the NFL. May God bless you and your family happy holidays."

The author of the letter Nine-year-old Ruben St. Hilaire, Jr. lives with his mother in a shelter for the homeless in New York City.

But what if all she could manage for her son is a life in a shelter for the homeless?

In spite of such larger than life heroes; the Mom remains the top role model!

If you want to go to heaven....

2010-05-21T09:57:00.008+05:30

Hello 안녕하십니까? (anyang hashimnika?)

You know what? today is the 석가탄신일 (Seokga Tansinil)

i.e. the day of Buddha's birthday, or......

부처님 오신 날 (Bucheonim osin nal); the day when Buddha arrived

so, what you have seen and understood?

Be it Krishna...

water color: Prof B. Resikendran

....Jesus....

Jesus (left) with John the Baptist: Bartolomé Esteban Perez Murillo

.....or Buddha

anywhere in the world

if you want to go to heaven

you pray to us

Bless U

Kim Su Yeong and the Black Day Jjajang

2010-04-28T16:18:00.007+05:30

Kim Su Yeong had a hesitant smile at our first meeting. Spontaneity had taken over by the time he sat sipping the black noodles across the table on the black day last 14^th. He was cracking jokes and bursting into bouts of laughter in between the sips of soju of which he had already emptied a couple of bottles.

Su Yeong was not a student in the University. He hailed from a village far off and was working in a small single room firm in nearby downtown. By the end of the day, he would transform the same office room into his house. His ambition in life was to become an elementary school teacher and teach English to little children and he had been saving to realize his dream. It was for furthering his language skills that he used to come to the campus and tried to win over a few foreigner friends. But just prior to our meeting, he had fallen foul of the foreigner gang in the campus after he had asked an alien female if she would marry him.

Koreans have many days for the young and the young at heart to celebrate love. Interestingly the 14^th of every month marks a love related day in

Korea

. Thus they have the Candle Day, the Valentine’s Day, the White Day, the Black Day, the Rose Day, the Kiss Day, the Silver Day, the Green Day, the Music Day, the Wine Day, the Movie Day and the Hug Day from January to December. As if that isn’t enough, they also have a Pepero Day, on November 11 when the young couples exchange Pepero cookies resembling the date 11/11.

The ladies have the first chance to express their love interest. So on Valentine’s Day, the ladies profess their love by giving chocolate and flowers to men. Men have their turn a month later on the white day when they can return non-chocolate candy to women.

The lonely souls aren’t left alone. On 14^th of April falls the Black Day; when those who spent Valentine’s Day and White Day alone go out dressed in all black to eat the black noodles, JjaJangMyun (짜장면) and to mourn their lonely life. It is said that it had been created by those who felt left out on the Valentine’s Day and White Day festivities to console each other.

Although he had agreed to join me on the black day ‘blast’, Kim was not always alone. He boasted about having his chocolates and flowers from his girl friend, a student in the University.

She was from a poor farmer’s family. But she was pretty. He used to buy her the text books and even paid her fees once.

By now he had gulped down enough alcohol to derail his train of thoughts and out of the blue, came that quintessential question of male self doubt;

“Do you think, dear brother, that I am handsome?”

“Of course, yes”; I replied, “many a beautiful girl out there might be dying to date you”.

He wasn’t impressed and shrugged his shoulders as he cleared the next bottoms up.

As the day of her graduation neared she began to have second thoughts and on the day of her convocation she returned the books and bade adieu. She had bigger dreams and couldn’t reconcile herself to being the wife of a small town elementary school teacher.

It is better to be alone and not swallow the bitter pill of rejection.

He was still laughing as he finished his story; but the tone of his throat was unfailingly betraying him.

I patted him on the back and put a hand on his shoulder as he stood up, apologizing for spoiling my day.

And we had a hearty black day laugh over his final statement.

“Sorry brother, all brain alcohol…”

I had joy, I had fun.........

2010-03-13T09:03:00.012+05:30

It was last week that the Boss had suddenly decided that all his researchers should start their day at work after a half an hour session of jogging in the lawns. Yesterday I had also realized the importance of a checklist and decided to make one for myself in order to arrest the derailing of my own research program. It went as per the script save for the 11^th hour and I was satisfied. The day being TGIF, I wanted to catch an extra hour of sleep and was humming an old melody as I opened my wardrobe in the change room.

The satisfactory day at office echoed through the streets on the walk home through short bursts of old favorites with no one around to faint or frown save for that ever smiling friend on the sky. The pitch was subdued by the time I stood in front of the house door and ......

And suddenly it dawned upon me....

.... the vital metal piece that will let me in to hit the showers and throw myself onto the mat......

It was missing! I had left it in my coat pocket…and I had not changed my coat!!

Tired… exhausted….and another hour of singing in the streets…..to fetch the key L

The city buses rush through the middle of the road to the comfort of their garages at that hour in the night, there was very little chance of a bus stopping for me …

but why not give it a try?

The bus came soon and stopped, for a passenger had to get down….another one remained and the driver was already asking her where she’s to get down and she muttered something without bothering to take her eye off the game she was playing on her hand phone.

English songs!….in a Korean bus!!

Kabhee Nahin!!!

But yes……it was NIRVANA singing ……definitely not for the driver and the lady gamer…..

“We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun

But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time

We had joy, we had fun, and we had seasons in the sun

But the stars that we reached where just starfish on the beach”

Back in the change room I was still singing along as I stood again in front of my wardrobe…and then...

And then suddenly I realized that I had not even checked my coat pocket back in front of the house!…..

what if it's indeed there inside my coat pocket?!

Fortunately for me, to my great relief!….. the key wasn’t there….. J

Back home, it was already the next day by the time I could hit the mat….singing;

I had joy I had fun…..I had sessions with the moon…..

Life is fun, not waste of time; when I laugh at my own self…

I had joy I had fun…..I had sessions with the moon…..

and the stars?!

And I had sent the stars on a laugh riot.

Remains of The Day

2010-02-16T08:59:00.002+05:30

Blissfully unaware of the tragedy behind the Taj, the young waiter at the Korean coffee shop made the image for me on the coffee he had served

A Ride on the Ropes over the Rain Forests in Langkawi

2010-01-19T09:44:00.009+05:30

Even as the '3 Idiots' was arriving in Malaysia,

I went on a ride on the ropeway over the rain forests in Langkawi with "3 Wise men".

Posting the videos here:

The best way to beat fear while hanging from a rope over the thick rain forests is to bury yourselves in arguments and discussions; at least that's what they seem to suggest

The Return of Sándor Kocsis!

2009-12-16T10:23:00.023+05:30

Sándor Kocsis made an unexpected return to memory on a cold Friday evening this past fortnight; dragging it back by a couple of decades- to the eventful school days, to be precise. The name may not ring a bell even in the minds of diehard soccer aficionados of the day. Yet for one full fortnight 22 years ago, it had remained the most sought after for a gang of restless, information hungry school boys. Diego Maradona and the God were taking Mexico by storm. The reverberations of the Mexican wave they had triggered crossed the oceans and continents reaching even the remotest corners of the world. No wonder then that it had taken in the gang of star struck, soccer crazy kids just stepping into their teens.

They rarely got to watch a movie in a theater, never went to see soccer in the stadium nor did they get to see the live cricket action on TV. Yet they churned out screenplays by the dozen, of the movies they had never seen, gave ball by ball account of the cricket matches they had not been to, or eulogized the heroes in the wars they hadn’t witnessed; almost as if they were right at the hot seat seeing all the action by themselves. They impeccably recreated, through words and gestures, the sublime poetry of a “Rolls Royce” on his long rhythmic run to the wicket, or the supreme artistry in the execution of a Vishy square cut, or the meandering runs of a “Little Bird”, full of feints and shimmies leaving the best defenders infuriated or the “filthy” one-handed backhand from the magic wand of that “rebel with a cause” and of course his tantrums, each of which introduced the awe-struck audience to the art of genius in the field of action. As their imagination took wings, weaving the fascinating web of facts, fiction and fairy tales, the stars from different eras crossed swords, years before computer simulation actually allowed some of it, without people even noticing it. They were not liars, but great imaginers, adept at the art of weaving the web of tales, master story tellers and unfailing performers never short of an apt word or a suitable gesture at capturing the real thrill of the moment.

They had invented games too, to kill time at free hours. It was during one such game that Sándor Kocsis first descended in their midst. The word game they used to play around that WC season in ’86 required the contestants to give the name of a sportsperson starting with the first letter in the second name of the previously named star. When some one spelt out Slobodan Zivojinovic, a hush prevailed for a brief while. And then one of the contestants came up with the name Zandor Koksis. “Liar, liar” up went the alert crowd, very much aware of the gang’s ability to pluck names out of thin air. “There never was a sports man by that name”; the protests were vociferous and the pleas that there was a Hungarian soccer star by that name fell on deaf ears and was shouted down, al beit with a demand for evidence and a bet without the bookies.

Internet was not heard of, Google was not even an idea, yet they took it as a challenge and spent a whole day in the public library scrolling through the dusty back volumes of Sport Star and came up with the issue containing the mention of soccer star Sándor Kocsis. They had to give up their claim and lost a couple of sharpeners, yet they were greatly pleased to discover that he was no ordinary soccer player but a legend who had won the golden boot in ’54, scoring 11 goals, and the first player to score two hat tricks in a World Cup. He was the lesser known of the potent duo that formed the lethal striking force of the Mighty Magyars, arguably the most brilliant international team in soccer history.

Gradually he faded from memory, not figuring in any further stories, due part in the lack of awareness among the audience and part in the difficulty in pronouncing the name. He never came back, even in the innumerable quizzes or the discussions on greatness around soccer seasons, dominated by Pele, Pushkas, di Stefano, or Maradona. Nor did the name come up during the poignant moments of describing tragic heroes dominated by the Busby babes and Duncan Edwards¹, Garrincha² or George Best³. He was never praised alongside the prolific scorers like Pele, Mueller, Fontaine and Rolando. He was missing among the stars of yesteryears being felicitated at the subsequent editions of the world cup. He had vanished altogether from our soccer discussions which used to peak around WCs or the Euros.

Then suddenly, one day this past fortnight, he made a dramatic comeback through an article on the web, reviving fond memories of those old school day discussions. I turned curious and clicked away on the information, now available at my finger tips and discovered nearly 23 years from the game session during that unengaged Social Science period at school that Sándor Kocsis was indeed no ordinary soccer player, but a legend, in fact, statistically speaking, the most prolific striker the world has ever seen in the international game. He had scored 75 goals in 68 matches for Hungary at a phenomenal 1.103 goal/game, ahead of Gerd Mueller, the only other player with a goal a game average among players with a long international career. His partner and Captain Ferenc Puskás had kicked in 3^rd in the list with 84 goals in 85 matches. He was also the most successful match winner among the international game’s greatest goal scorers, with an astounding 84.5% of his goals coming in winning causes, more than 4% clear off Pushkas, Pele, Ronaldo and Mueller. His record 2.2 goal/game in a single World Cup finals competition is still standing. Kocsis was also one of the earliest defectors from the communist block to the Western Europe when he moved to Spain where he represented FC Barcelona and he also finds mention in a poll ranking the greatest Barca players in history along side Cryuff, Ronaldinho, Maradona and Messi, in spite of having played for them way back in the 60’s. On his retirement as a player in 1966, he continued with the club as its coach. But his return to memory was through one list that we had missed out. The article was found on the sidelines on the report on a galaxy of German stars looking on as the coffin of colleague Robert Enke was being lowered to be near his two year old daughter’s. Those dusty back volumes in the Public Library didn’t tell us more than 2 decades ago that Sándor Kocsis also headed the list of soccer stars who had taken their own lives. His life and career had come to a standstill when he was diagnosed with leukemia and even as he was undergoing treatment, he was found to suffer from stomach cancer. And it was through the fourth floor window of the hospital in Barcelona where he was undergoing treatment that the Magnificent Magyar had disappeared on July 22 1979, aged 49.

Soccer, unlike Cricket, is not a statistician’s game. Sándor Kocsis, it is said, was a magnificent finisher, very strong, great at positioning and most of all brilliant in battles on air. Even as another WC season triggers debates, discussions and speculations; there is, it appears, no current soccer player who is anywhere near the Golden Head’s Bradmanesque strike rate. And on those terms, Sándor Peter Kocsis will continue to remain the greatest striker in the international game’s history for a long time to come.

1. “What time is the kick off against Wolves, Jimmy? I mustn't miss that match”

2. “who lived in the woods had bent legs who was totally unmarkable and who could dribble like the devil”

3. “Don't die like me”

The Singing Girl

2009-11-14T10:06:00.012+05:30

I was roaming around the stalls of machines and tools at yet another of those Industrial Expos in Korea, when suddenly I came across her.

Ms. Gorgeous

We got introduced to each other, and she even sang a song for me!!

Uploading some videos of my encounter with the singing girl J

Language proved to be a stumbling block, but she had surely made up for that with her smartness J

Her "Vital Stats"

Her Godfathers with her tiny cousins

The Tharoor Effect

2009-10-26T19:13:00.015+05:30

The lobbyists who lost the game left fuming after Shashi Tharoor torpedoed their plans to hijack another deserving central government aid to Trivandrum. See how Calicut's national news paper reports the same here.

http://www.mathrubhumi.com/php/newFrm.php?news_id=1259390&n_type=NE&category_id=3&Farc=T

If the above link doesn't work....

For them the people of Trivandrum doesn't belong to Kerala, it seems!

This is politics mates, sometimes you win, but not always. Learn to take it in your stride. Even Barack Obama himself couldn't take the Olympics to Chicago. Hope the Minister of Health 'for Calicut' won't show a step motherly attitude to Trivandrum now!

Flash News: There was no attempt at any 'hijacking', I was wrong, my apologies....

The Princess on the Wall

2009-10-19T14:09:00.007+05:30

The Smiles From My Shelf [6]

“.....our friends were invariably proletarian and poor.... you recognized them by their clothes......But even in the way they wore their clothes, there was a fantasy, a frankness .....(the) young women of working-class families;.....they were more authentic and spontaneous.”
Michelangelo Antonioni

The family had pulled in with two shopping carts full of food, beverages and other household items. By all means they appeared a working class family of moderate means. She was wearing ordinary clothes and led her parents into the winter wear shop, walking as if there were springs on her legs and smiling beautifully. Her Father appeared uninterested and just stood holding the carts while her Mother was trying on the colorful neck scarves. She had put on a brown leather jacket and stood in front of the mirror, turning left and right, smiling all the while. Having assured herself, that it was made for her, she walked towards her Dad, strolling majestically as if she were a princess. Dad whispered something under his breath and looked the other way, sending her in her Mother’s direction. But the Mother was too busy with the collection of scarves and didn’t even look up. A couple of tear drops appeared to find their way onto the leather jacket as she was carefully hanging it back on the display railing. She quickly regained her composure and began eyeing other items. Those somehow failed to engage her attention for long and she found her way back to her Father again. This time he was more forthcoming as he pulled out his wallet and revealed his helplessness. She smiled again having convinced herself that there wasn’t the slightest dip in her Father’s love for her. She sauntered again, majestically, on the springs, towards the clothing on which she had left her mark unintentionally. Having put it on one last time, she smiled at the princess who smiled back at her from within the mirror on the walls of that winter wear shop.

My Favourite White Shirt and My Father’s Zatopekian Gesture

2009-09-26T06:07:00.005+05:30

Today is Achan’s birthday. How young he is? I do not know for sure. On my birthday last month, I had gifted myself a plain white cotton shirt to replace the one which was found missing from my wardrobe on the last trip home. I have had a penchant for the white cotton shirts for a long time. I remember having a favourite white cotton shirt when I was at college. Those were the days of wide eyes and long curly hair, when the women of all ages couldn’t resist a passing glance at the handsome figure ;-)

The temptation to dress well and have simple yet great new clothes was hard to suppress. It can not be blamed, on someone hogging the limelight all the while J But often the demand was turned down at home by the Parents who conveniently followed the doctrine that whatever he wore, their son was the most handsome guy in the world. A few days after one of those bitter battles at home I found a new white shirt with a small red star logo on the left pocket on my Parents’ Godrej Storewell and readily took a fancy for it. I had inherited my Father’s liking for cotton shirts and did not hide my craving for the new one I had found among his collection. The demand was met with stoic silence and I had no option other than giving up my desire.

Emil Zatopek was one of the most popular members of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia, a national hero whose statue stood at a prominent location in the capital, Prague and whose birthday was a national holiday. In 1968 he was one of the most prominent supporters of the then President Alexander Dubcek’s reform program known as the Prague Spring, the first of its kind in the communist bloc in Eastern Europe. He signed the “2000 Word Manifesto” which called for a break from the Soviet Union. But after the party hardliners ousted Dubcek and took power with the help of invading Russian troops, the Czech Army Colonel was stripped off his Army rank, and expelled from the Communist Party and was asked to work as a garbage collector in the streets of Prague. Alarmed by the crowds of people who turned up to help their national hero at work, the authorities later sent him to work in a uranium mine in a remote village where he worked in virtual isolation till his retirement in 1982. His national honours were restored after the Velvet Revolution of 1989 and he could travel and talk freely again and enjoy the affection and respect of the athletics fans the world over. But during those interviews he refused to blame his former comrades for the hardships they had imposed on him.

Had he been alive, Zatopek would have celebrated his birthday and wedding anniversary last Saturday along with his wife Dana, who incidentally was born on the same day a few hours later and to this day they remain the only husband and wife to have won the Olympic Gold medals on the same day.

“His enthusiasm, his friendliness, his love of life, shone through every movement. There is not and never was a greater man than Emil Zatopek.” So said Ron Clarke; the Mayor of Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia.

As a promising 19-year-old, Ron Clarke was chosen to light the Olympic Flame during the opening ceremonies of the Melbourne Olympics in 1956, coincidently the last and the least successful one for Zatopek. But in spite of setting 17 world records in long distance running, he failed to win an Olympic Gold medal, the ultimate dream of any athlete. In 1968 at Mexico, during a last ditch effort, he collapsed and nearly died from altitude sickness sustained during the gruelling 10,000 m race final, an event for which he held the world record from 1963 to 1972. Disappointed, he decided to call on Zatopek in Prague on his way back to Australia. On the point of his leaving Prague airport after the visit, Clarke was walked through the customs by Zatopek. Shaking hands in a final farewell, Zatopek quietly slipped into his hands a small package and said; “Look after this; you deserve it.” Worried that he was carrying some smuggled information from Zatopek, who was on a secret service watch list at the time for his support to the Prague Spring, Clarke took it unopened onto his flight. He hesitantly opened his package only after the flight was well outside Czechoslovakian airspace.

Inside it was Zatopek's 10,000 metres gold medal from Helsinki, with an inscription for Clarke!!

A couple of days after giving up my hopes on having the new white shirt for myself, I found it hanging inside my wardrobe J

And for me; there is not a greater man than my Father

Footnote: My missing white shirt was later traced to my Father’s wardrobe ;-)

My Take on the Proust Questionnaire

2009-08-18T10:22:00.016+05:30

There can be no better time to come out of hibernation and blog down my answers to the Proust Questionnaire, today being just another day in life. Marcel Proust was the French writer famous for the monumental In Search of Lost Time a.k.a. Remembrance of Things Past. He did not invent this set of questions; he had simply the most extraordinary mind among all the persons who responded to these questions. He had enthusiastically answered the Questionnaire several times in his life, the most prominent being his entry at age 13, in An Album to Record Thoughts, Feelings etc. belonging to his friend Antoinette, the daughter of (later French President) Felix Faure. I have borrowed from this and another set of questions Proust had answered at 20 to assemble my questionnaire. It is very difficult to stay clear of the influence of the replies of a genius, yet I have strived hard to keep it to a minimum. J

What’s your most marked characteristic?

What’s in my mind is on my face.

What’s your favorite virtue?

The virtue of recognizing the virtue in others.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

The realization that one day my Parents will leave me forever.

Where would you like to live?

A country where every child born has equal opportunity in building its own life and where the justice system is fair to all and the citizens have equal respect.

What is your idea of earthly happiness?

To live a life surrounded by those who love me, among the abundance of the beauties of nature, with plenty of books and music.

To what faults do you feel most indulgent?

It depends.

The qualities that you admire most in a man?

Compassion, Fearlessness, and Humility

The qualities that you admire most in a woman?

Dignity, Intelligence, Warmth and frankness in friendship.

Who are your favorite characters in history?

M K Gandhi, with all his faults included.

Who are your favorite heroines in history?

Rani Lakshmi Bai of Jhansi, I wonder if she can be restricted to favorite heroines, though!

Who are your favorite heroes in real life?

Don’t have to go far when I have my Father with me.

Who are your favorite heroines in real life?

Amma; having watched from close quarters, her relentless efforts at keeping her children on the right track in life.

Who are your favorite writers?

Albert Camus and Charles Dickens.

Who are your favorite poets?

Neruda.

Who are your favorite heroes of fiction?

Ones whom I came to know during the early phases of my life in reading continue to remain the lasting favorites. Karna, the legendary warrior from Mahabharata, for fighting the misfortunes throughout his life, never giving up and all the while keeping his generosity and valor intact. Hugo’s Jean Val jean for his twenty year-long struggle with the law for stealing bread during a time of economic and social depression and coming out clean in the end at a ‘higher court’ and dying a happy man and a real hero, and Dickens’ David Copperfield for his optimism, diligence and perseverance in the face of heavy odds staked against him, remain the most favorites, mainly due to the fact that they came into my mind at a very impressionable age.

Who are your favorite heroines in fiction?

Jane Eyre, Anne Dubreuilh.

Your favorite painter?

Although plenty of paintings and books on paintings were available at home, my Father being a gifted artist, unfortunately I didn’t pick up a keen interest. Still I shall mention Leonardo Da Vinci as my favorite for creating the greatest smile on canvas.

Your favorite musician?

I like the music of all kinds. I would like to mention Malayalam composers Raghavan master for his originality and Ravindran master for his versatility.

Your favorite occupation?

Watching little children and capturing them on the cam.

Who would you have liked to be?

I would have liked to be myself, shedding the inherent irritants in character.

What do you most value in your friends?

The willingness to accept me as I am, and tolerate my defects.

What is your principal defect?

The extremities and irritating unpredictability of my emotional swings.

What to your mind would be the greatest of misfortunes?

Not to have been the son of my Parents.

What would you like to be?

A teacher, much improved and more informed.

What natural gift would you most like to possess?

The ability to sing my favorite melodies.

What’s your favorite color?

The different shades of nature; the soul soothing greenery of the thick forests, the spectacular splash of colours during the sunset and sunrise, the varied shades of the infinite blue of sky and the seas, the sparkling silver of the stars in the darkness of night and so on.

What’s your favorite flower?

Proust had mentioned merely hers, and I know that it’s the lily.

What’s your favorite bird?

The little sparrow, the tiny bundle of energy.

What are your favorite names?

J I have two, one given by my Mother and the other by my Father.

What is it that you most dislike?

My own laziness and the fascination for idleness.

What historical figures do you most despise?

Auragazeb, the brutality he had shown to his own family is sufficient.

What event in military history do you most admire?

The friendship between late Capt. Vijayant Thapar and the 5 year old orphan girl Rukhsana in Kargil.

How would you like to die?

Loving and being loved.

What is your present state of mind?

Worried and embarrassed that I don’t have an answer to the next question.

What is your motto?

Still Searching….

Thank you J

Independence Day Reading

2009-08-15T10:36:00.009+05:30

As the images of fluttering tricolors and the colorful balloons going up in the sky in celebration of yet another Independence Day kept coming in, I was reminded of someone about whom I had read sometime back by an online news paper article today. At 12, in 1942 she had given her gold ear ring to Aruna Asaf Ali who was speaking in Thrissur seeking to raise funds for the Quit India Movement. She received severe beating from her step mother as a reward for the gesture. She left home after matriculation to take part in the freedom struggle and traversed the length and breadth of the country spreading the message against the British rule.

After independence, she served and studied at the Kasturba Centre at Indore and joined Acharya Vinoba Bhave’s Bhoodan Movement. She was awarded the Kasturba Trust Prize for her services to the Gandhian causes in 1975. Later she founded the Shanthikudeerom in Tirur for spreading Gandhian values.

In old age she applied for pensions given to freedom fighters and Khadi promoters. She was not found eligible as she had no documents to be produced in support of her activities from 1950. It is said that she was asked if she had proof to show that she was a Gandhian. So finally on 10^th of February, 2007 Gandhian Sarojiniji ended her life, hanging by a khadi dress she had spun and woven by herself.

(source: Kerala Kaumudi Online)

Happy Independence Day, have a blast.

Note: If you are Indian, don't forget to keep documentary evidence for all your good deeds. Might come in handy in old age.

An Evening in a Korean Police Station

2009-08-12T11:32:00.008+05:30

In the previous post I had written about the accident I had happened to witness. The people who had taken the accident victim away had collected my phone number just in case they had some trouble in settling the case. They called late in the same night and told me that my number had been handed over to the police. I was requested to tell the truth about what I had seen that night. I replied in the affirmative and waited for the call from the police.

The call came at half past midnight. Someone said “Hello, do you speak Korean?” in fluent English, which in fact surprised me, and I said I didn’t. The man at the other end laughed aloud, again in fluent English, and hung up the phone! I waited for some more time and then dozed off. I had almost forgotten about the whole incident when two days later I received a call from a lady introducing herself as an interpreter. She described the accident and asked me if I had time to come over to the police station to testify as a witness. I said “of course I do, but now I am busy with work” then she asked me where I was working and my residential address. I gave her the details and agreed to go to the Dalseo-gu Police Station on the next day.

I had already heard about and seen by myself some of the methods and manners of the Korean police, like chasing down someone getting away in a car and bowing to him in salutation before taking him into custody, politely requesting, through the loudspeaker, those who had illegally parked their vehicles by the roadside to move them to a proper parking lot, turning up at the scenes of minor skirmishes among students just to capture the events on camera and leave quietly without interfering and taking those caught for drunken driving to a video show in the station to enlighten them about the adverse consequences of their act. So I was in the least nervous at the prospect of a visit to the police station. I was excited rather, at the opportunity.

Next evening, I left office early, at 7 pm. I received the call from the interpreter again on my way to the station. She received me at the station gate along with the officer in charge of the investigation. The policeman bore no resemblance whatsoever to the image of the typical policemen back home. As we proceeded to his seat the interpreter tried to reassure me that I wouldn’t be facing any difficulty on account of recording my witness statement. I smiled, nodding my appreciation. The station resembled a hi-tech office of some company with the state of the art electronic systems and PCs. Another person was giving some testimony at the adjacent table.

The officer started asking me questions about the accident through the interpreter. I was asked where I was staying, where I was working, where I was going that day at that time, what was my regular working time, and so on. He also asked me to mark my location at the time of the accident as well as the locations of the car and the victim. He had made detailed sketches of the accident site and had photographs from different angles. The same questions were repeated many times at intervals, might be a way of checking if I was contradicting myself. All the while he was typing his report in consultation with the interpreter. The procedure lasted about two hours, and I was feeling sleepy when finally he applied ink on my finger and obtained my thumb impression on certain documents. When he had almost finished he asked me to wait a little longer before wiping the ink. The interpreter asked me if I had kept a bank account. I said I did, but I couldn’t recall the account number. The officer then stood up and took out some money and gave it to me! He then made me sign the final document which was the receipt for the money I had been given.

"It is a minor token of appreciation from the Korean police for making use of your invaluable time." the interpreter told me as we prepared to leave!!

The Girl Who Went Up in the Air and Came Down to Smile

2009-07-04T12:21:00.009+05:30

The Smiles from My Shelf [5]

The rains arrived unannounced as I had swiped out of another roller-coaster ride the other day. But unlike the previous night it was calm and composed, and whispered a slow melody as if to egg me on to tap my feet. It was not to be for my last act of the day was paying tributes to someone whose body was found on the railway tracks under tragic circumstances. Rains had given up on me sensing that I had company to discuss life and death during the long walk home on the half moon night.

Albert was explaining why the suicide was the only important philosophical question just as I had stepped on to the pedestrian crossing as the signal flashed green for us. Out of nowhere appeared the mini tipper which almost brushed my out stretched nose and sped away.

“They tell us that suicide is the greatest act of cowardice and that it is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in this world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person.” Arthur argued walking by my left even as I shook my head in total disapproval; of the tipper’s right to play with my life.

“It is the ultimate and absolute evil, the refusal to take an interest in existence. A person who kills himself destroys the entire world.” Gilbert was adamant and unforgiving on the ‘murder of self’.

“Suicide is the rejection of freedom. Instead of fleeing the meaninglessness of life, we should embrace life passionately. In spite of its inherent absurdity, we can somehow find happiness in life.” Albert was so clear with his thoughts on life.

“Live on without relinquishing any of the certainty, without a future, without hope, without illusions and without resignation either. Stare at death with passionate attention and this fascination will liberate you”; Jean-Paul stepped in to support Albert. I looked up at the sky and the moon too was nodding in approval.

Two girls were coming towards me as I approached the last pedestrian crossing near the apartment complex. One of them glanced at me starry eyed, half in awe and half in admiration, so typical of the girls of her age. The other girl was getting into a taxi as I reached the zebra lines. She waved her friend away and turned to look at me one more time and smiled half heartedly which I was in no mood to return after those exhausting discourses on the meaning of life. A taxi cab stopped for her as she leisurely crossed the road may be thinking of someone and playing with her hand phone and I too followed as the cab driver had waved me on. Then I turned to look at the other side to see the speeding sedans and slowed down and looked ahead to see to my horror that she wasn’t doing the same right in front of me. There was the braking, there was the noise and everything happened at lightening speed and I saw her going up in the air by about two to three feet and falling back on the bonnet of the car and being thrown away a couple of meters in front, all in a flash.

She got up on her feet on her own, confused and frightened yet she smiled again an embarrassed smile.

Hang on to your life with all your might, for this life is precious and we may not get another I told myself even as I thanked my companions and waved them away for a peaceful night.

The few people who gathered had by now led the girl to a nearby car and I flashed the thumbs up for her as she sat on the rear seat and bowed to me smiling a pain filled smile.

A Note of 50,000!

2009-06-29T15:36:00.009+05:30

Yesterday was just another Sunday, working late hours, acting locally and assembling globally the equations of the finite elements. Getting up was difficult though on the Monday morning with the heavy rains on the previous night providing a welcome relief from the soaring mercury levels. The notice for the meeting arrived at the breakfast table, setting off a panicky run for the work diaries and project reports. The crowd headed straight for the conference room grabbing whatever was available on tables. As usual there was the scramble for the seats conveniently away from the Boss. The project manager sat next whispering the roll call of pending works to himself, transferring the uneasiness around. The Boss arrived without much delay, seated himself and began his address. People around him sat looking down on their reports, some scribbling something, some others listening in rapt attention. He finished his address in no time and began calling out names. Back on his seat the smiling manager explained that the Government had brought out the new 50,000 KRW notes. It will be the first Korean banknote that features the portrait of a woman, and the Boss wanted to mark the occasion by presenting each of us with a note of KW 50000!!

The Monday Morning Surprise :-)

Why do Koreans take Kimchi at every meal?

2009-06-24T08:18:00.004+05:30

“Kimchee” !!

I heard her Amma calling out to her as I clicked my Canon for one of my earliest cutie pie captures in Korea. It wasn’t tough to guess that her intention was to make her little daughter say cheese in front of the camera in the Korean way.

Kimchi is an inseparable ingredient in the Korean life. It is a traditional Korean pickled dish made of vegetables with varied seasonings. Koreans relish Kimchi with breakfast, lunch, dinner and even at times of drinking as the side dish. The history of Kimchi can be traced back to ancient times. It is said that references to Kimchi can be found in documents from as early as 3000 years ago!

Kimchi is served in a variety of forms and types. The most common and popular manifestation of Kimchi is the spicy cabbage variety, baechu. Kimchi is also combined with other ingredients to make dishes such as kimchi jjigae (kimchi stew) and kimchi bokkeumpap (kimchi fried rice). It is so ubiquitous that the Korea Aerospace Research Institute developed space kimchi to accompany the first Korean astronaut to the Russian-manned space ship Soyuz.

Kimchi is very spicy and can also be exceptionally sweet. It is said to contain a high concentration of dietary fiber, while being low in calories. One serving also provides up to eighty percentage of the daily recommended amount of vitamin C and carotene. Most types of Kimchi contain onions, garlic, and peppers, all of which are salutary. The vegetables being made into Kimchi also contribute to the overall nutritional value. Kimchi is rich in vitamin A, thiamine (B1), riboflavin (B2), calcium, and iron, and contains a number of lactic acid bacteria. The magazine Health named Kimchi in its list of top five “World’s Healthiest Foods” for being rich in vitamins, aiding digestion, and even possibly reducing cancer growth!

In spite of the tall claims on its nutrient qualities and its multiple usages in my encounters with my cute little friends in Korea, I couldn’t convert myself into a great fan of Kimchi across the dining table. My lab mate Lee Jong-Sung is a straight forward no nonsense guy, a devout Presbyterian Christian who never forgets to say his prayers before every meal and who finds time to fit in a few passages of the Bible in between his readings of Liepmann and Roshko. Added to that he is a teetotaler, almost a rarity in this part of the world. One day I asked him, as he sat digging into his Bible; why was the Kimchi unavoidable for the Koreans at every meal?

He turned to me, his eyebrows raised and his eyes sparkling in earnestness, and replied….. “Because long ago our Korea was poor, and the people had no nutrient food, then they invented Kimchi, an affordable source of essential nutrients and we eat it today for good health and also to remind ourselves of those days when our forefathers had difficult times!!

I haven’t missed out on my slice of the Kimchi since then J

Why insist on the Slumdog?

2009-06-13T14:41:00.026+05:30

The characters here may not be unreal

yet they need not give you nightmares

That rooftop restaurant was one place he used to frequent often with friends. But that day he was alone. Those were early hours and there was no one save the young man at the counter. The gigantic building stood across the window. Today it wasn’t blocking his view of the past. Several years ago a thatched roof hut stood on the same place in the middle of a field full of coconut trees. One of his best pals from school days stayed in that beautiful house with his mother. Some of the most colorful days of his life were played out around those trees. Every sport known were tried out on those fields. It was a luxury, away from the packed school grounds where the bowlers with an erring line and length used to hit the wickets on the neighboring pitch!

Bottle before him was half empty; he had exceeded his usual quota. He had one last look at the title of a short column on the news paper lying on the table. It was blurred, excessive drinking probably or was it his moistened eyes? It didn’t matter for he had no trouble reading it. --- man lynched. He had already read that hundreds of times that morning! He got up and walked 'steadily' towards the other corner. From there he could catch a glimpse of the majestic walls of his alma mater. Staring at those walls he felt as if two multi color vortices were forming in front his eyes. They grew in size gradually and led him into a day in the past. He could see a large number of students in black and white crowding on top of those walls and pelting stones on the passing buses. Zooming in a little closer he could see a tall boy running around trying to stop those showering the stones, grabbing someone by his collars here, pulling someone down there and even hitting those who refused to stop. Approaching police vehicles leaned the crowd. The few who remained gathered together; to shout slogans. He was right there in the forefront shouting provocative slogans, daring the police. The large posse of police men stormed into the campus and caught the demonstrators unawares. They ran helter-skelter but the few in the core where caught in the melee and fell down. Police brutally beat up anybody in sight. He had come in for special attention. The color of his skin, his tall frame, his full grown moustache or his worn-out clothes; something about him appeared to provide an extra incentive. Badly mauled, and bleeding from his nose he was dragged down the stairs to a Police vehicle.

A leader was born that day. None of the boys called him by his name thereafter. From that day onwards he was simply the leader.

They were not slum dwellers although they lived very close to some of the most 'notorious' colonies, the local slang for the slums. His mother did household works in different places to make the ends meet. Yet he was richer than most other city dwellers, in the sense that he lived in a house surrounded by a large field. In those fields they used to play every game as per the season. And no one ever went back hungry after those games. He wasn't an outstanding student, but he had made up for that with his keenness for knowledge. He used to score highly in the inter bench quizzes that they had during free hours, history and freedom struggle being his forte along with a bit of sports and games. There was a small library and reading room nearby the ‘colonies’. He went there whenever he had an off day from his part time jobs. He had trained himself as a 'mike set operator' which provided him close access to the speeches by some of the great leaders of the left movement whom he adored. He could quote them word by word or even imitate their actions to amuse his friends. He had never seen his father. He had no godfathers either. He was a self taught communist, so sure of himself, his convictions and his ideology.

Life had taken them through different paths and they drifted apart once the school days were behind them, finding new friends and new passions in life in their separate worlds, in the same city! Years passed before they met again, in an auto(rickshaw) as the hirer and the hired. The pace was deliberately slow, but the passenger was in no hurry. They spoke about those spectacular school days, stimulating debates, staging of dramas, fun with sports and games, their first crushes and of course the student agitations and the street battles with police. He was cut out to go a long way in the Party; his humble origins, simple tastes in life; wide reading and skillful oratory all appeared the stepping stones. But he was also drunk, on an overdose of idealism. A few years ago he was stripped off his party posts and dumped.

He had been in the enemy camp since then! That was difficult to digest!!

But why he was thrown out?!

"They no longer wanted me. They preferred people who obey silently even if what they practised contradicted what they preached! They were for giving representation to a wider section of people who had embraced the Party lately. It would backfire someday. Such people would be after positions of power and personal benefits. The moment they found their personal goals were not being met, they would ditch the Party. And the very people who gave their blood and sweat and built the Party brick by brick would find themselves sidelined, isolated within it."

He was struggling to hide the tinge of sadness in his tone.

Mother no longer worked. He did not allow her rather. They no longer lived in their old house and had moved inside the colony. They had to vacate the house when the Party was in power. "It was in the larger interests of the Party. We had no claim on the land; it's case by case you see, the rights of the tenants" he smiled, without a trace of sadness.

A high rise had come up in its place, in tune with those larger interests.

But how he ended up in the camp of the sworn enemy? That refused to sink in!!

"In the social strata that we lived such a support was essential, for the very day to day existence. It had nothing to do with ideological or political differences; it was a question of survival…… the rule of the jungle prevailed down there, the survival of the fittest." he laughed out loud. "It's not that they had succeeded in buying me over to their ideology. The backing from a strong organization would provide an essential deterrent for the friends turned foes from striking at me. And of course, the enemies were more than willing to forget the past as they also needed me. So the alliance was born out of a mutual necessity." He smiled again.

Trials and tribulations of life had worn its mark on his face. But his smile had somehow retained the charm, in spite of the years.

They had parted that day with a firm handshake and a warm hug, promising to meet up someday soon, across a cup of tea and share plenty of memories again. The promise was never kept and could never be kept in this life.

With one gulp he emptied another glass. As it burnt its way within him, he heard someone whispering in his ears: "Final battle would not be between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat; but between the comrade and the former comrade"

TV was playing the Jai Ho, as he got up to leave. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair as he gazed at the hutments across the windows by the stairs. Many a saintly soul might still be roaming around those shanty houses in those shallow slums.

But why insist on the Slumdog?

When with just as much effort one can call them the Slumgods!!

Hope remains the last word.....

2009-06-04T16:58:00.016+05:30

Demotivation (n.) is feeling downcast and disheartened and hopeless; to reduce somebody's enthusiasm: to make somebody feel less interested in working or studying effectively.

5 minutes to fill the fuel tank? How much is 5 minutes worth in this fast moving world? How much the market will swing in those five minutes? Environmental degradation! Global warming! Who cares? But 3-4 minutes at 70 MPa, the risk of leak, ignition, flames of the invisible gas that may envelop everything in no time, a bomb ticking away on your vehicle, death waiting right at the door step!! A couple of mishaps in the early days, and a technology destined for doom!

Detachment (n.) is a state in which a person overcomes his or her attachment to desire for things, people or concepts of the world and thus attains a heightened perspective.

The park was deserted; it was the season of the yellows. The roses, the reds and the violets did show up at some pockets, yet it was yellows all the way; having spread out vast and wide. The sun had almost touched down at the distant horizon. The mountains had a glow, and appeared to smile enticingly. The climb was easy, under the evening sun. From around 30 feet, the fields were far more beautiful. The clouds were away still but the breeze was colder.

Death (n.) is the permanent termination of the biological functions that define a living organism. It refers to both a particular event and to the condition that result thereby. The true nature of the latter has for millennia been a central concern of the world’s religious traditions and of philosophical enquiry.

If you plan to go down from there, you have to go head first, else there’s every chance for a lifetime in coma. What would be the velocity at impact? Try experimentation or go in for a simulation? There you go….no second thoughts. At half way through, recalled a promise that had to be kept. Someone somewhere would be waiting to hear another story. The iterations were stopped…..initial conditions restored, and the simulation abandoned. Sun had gone down beneath the western horizon. The descent downhill was lighter.

Expectation (n.) is a belief that is centered on the future, may or may not be realistic. A less advantageous result gives rise to the emotion of disappointment. If something happens that is not at all expected it is a surprise. An expectation about the behavior or performance of another person, expressed to that person, may have the nature of a strong request, or an order…….

……or is it pleading, on one’s knees?

36 in either innings is a reasonably good number of overs for one to spend in the middle, on that scale the second innings should commence in a few months time. Peppered with bouncers, beamers and yorkers; coupled with a suspect foot work, it was a mere going through the motions in the first. Stars might change and one may get to play more on the front foot, the second time around; an all-out attacking game, throwing caution to the winds.

Hope (n.) is a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one’s life. Hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.

Hold on to the hopes and drag the dreams along,

For if the hopes fade and the dreams desert us;

Life will be nothing but a dreary desert.....

.................................................................................................................................................

And yes; Hope remains the last word in this dictionary......

Have you ever had a chit-chat with a talking bird?

2009-05-30T07:51:00.011+05:30

I have had J

Last autumn we had been to Pyeongchang, the city famous for its ski-resorts, to attend the KSME- Autumn Conference. On our way back we stopped by a roadside eatery to have dinner. After dinner I was hanging around the place waiting for my colleagues, when I heard someone calling out "안녕하세요" (Anyang Haseyo) to me! I looked around in eagerness to find out who wanted to pick up a conversation with me in that strange place. But there were no one to be seen in the vicinity. A girl in a counter at a distance was spotting a naughty smile without looking at me. I heard the Korean equivalent of ‘Namasteji’ again and this time I was sure that it wasn’t the girl who was offering the salutation!

I had already noticed a bird, in a cage nearby but never believed that the birds could talk as fluently as humans. But I turned curious, as there were signs to suspect that the bird itself was attempting to start a conversation with me. I went near the cage and there was a photograph of the bird on display before the cage with some description about it in Hangukmal. As I was trying to decipher what it meant with my elementary knowledge of the Korean language, the bird repeated ‘Anyang Haseyo’ to me right in front of my eyes!!

I shouted for my friends in astonishment even as I was returning the salutation. They were not impressed and suspected me of trying to play a trick on them. But then the bird called out ‘Anyang’ to them. They came rushing towards the cage and read the information on the board and they told me that it was indeed a talking bird. But when we tried to make it talk again on the camera, it turned its back on us as it appeared to have got irritated with the actions of my colleagues who got a bit carried away by the excitement.

We succeeded in capturing it saying ‘Anyang’ on the cam though…

Take a look at the videos J

Korea Mourns Moo-hyun

2009-05-23T13:35:00.018+05:30

In Korea we woke up to the news on the demise of ex-president Mr. Roh Moo-hyun (노무현) today. The former president had apparently plunged himself from about 20-30m down a mountain near his home while on a morning walk. The suicide, the first by a modern South Korean leader had shocked the nation.

He had left a suicide note for his family:

“I can't imagine the countless agonies down the road. The rest of my life would only be a burden for others. I can't do anything because I'm not healthy. I can't read books, nor can I write.

Don't be too sad. Isn't life and death all part of nature? Don't be sorry. Don't blame anybody. It's fate. Please cremate me. And please leave a small tombstone near home. I've long thought about that.”

Hailing from a poor farming family in Gimhae, Mr. Roh never went to college and studied law on his own, passing South Korea’s difficult bar exam. He was elected President in 2002 on a campaign theme of not to ‘kowtow’ to the United States, a pledge that resonated with young voters. During the Presidency he had continued his predecessor Kim Dae-jung's “sunshine policy” of offering North Korea aid as a way to facilitate reconciliation, holding a summit in Pyongyang with North Korean leader Kim Jong Il in 2007, the second such meeting between leaders of the feuding nations.

The former President who had built a reputation as a lawyer defending students accused of sedition under past military rule, and once was arrested, with his law license suspended, for supporting an outlawed labor protest, was being prosecuted for alleged bribery charges.

“I have no face to show to the people. I feel ashamed before my fellow citizens I am sorry for disappointing you” an emotional-looking Mr. Roh had said on April 30 before undergoing questioning by prosecutors.

For a moment I thought about the rhino-skinned billionaire politicians of my own nation, who spend not a paisa from their pockets and had been living on tax payers' money for their entire life and at the same time grooming their progeny for taking over from them.

The prosecution is apparently winding up the case…

May his soul rest in peace.

I'll be getting married.....

2009-05-14T12:16:00.009+05:30

Roses for you, on Rose Day :-)

During last week came the time for me to sign on to face book. First thing that caught my attention was of people trying to discover themselves on some ‘mirror’ and figure out how they compare with their friends in a variety of ways. I turned curious myself and tried my luck with some of them.

This is what the magic mirror told me on my face;

You have an outgoing personality: Sure, I do have, good start

You tend to take risks: good guess, there’s fun in living on the edge

You feed on attention: well, take in whatever is delicious, nutrient or good for your health

You generally have no self control: ha ha ha….let me check the control system

You are kind hearted, self confident, loud and boisterous: that’s a good mix…..can't complain

You are VERY revengeful: ask my enemies, they’ll certify that, revengeful with the bold lettered ‘VERY’

You're easy to get along with and easy to talk to: that’s why I’m a teacher

You have an 'everything's peachy' attitude: really?!

You like talking and singing but you absolutely love music: I hope J

You're a daydreamer so you're easily distracted: what’s the fun in living without dreams and distractions?

You hate not being trusted: take my word….

You have a BIG imagination: Mirror, mirror, magic mirror; you have an imagination BIGGER than me.

You love to be loved: who wouldn’t? But I also want to be loved by the one I love…

You absolutely hate studying: don’t say it in public, yaar!!!! I’ll lose my job!!

You will always be in need of 'that someone': hmm….

You long for freedom and you're rebellious when withheld or restricted: ask my ex-bosses, who had a taste of the same

You live by 'no pain no gain' caring: that’s the way everyone should live

You're playful, mysterious and 'charming' or 'beautiful' to everyone: I didn't promise you that I’ll buy you ice creams, did I? J

You tend to be stubborn, curious, independent, and strong willed: that’s the way I was brought up

You will always be a fighter: Thank you for reminding me

Your dominant attitude is that of an idealist: a good way of putting that you've no tomorrow?!

I was also told that I’ll be getting married,

............................................................................................

at the age of 45!!

Orini Nal

2009-05-05T19:30:00.035+05:30

The Children's Day in Korea

"In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's. "

George Eliot; Silas Marner, Chapter XIV

Today was Orini Nal, a national holiday in Korea. Koreans celebrate the Orini Nal (the Children’s Day) on the 5^th of May every year. In a country with perhaps the least number of holidays and the longest working hours in the world, it came as a pleasant surprise to me. For once, the Korean parents are free to spend time with their children taking them to amusement parks, movies, children's parks, zoos, and other places. The day highlights the dignity of children and their need for education, care, and respect. It is also a day to honor adults who have contributed to improving the lives of children.

Children’s day in Korea traces its origins to the famous children’s writer Pang Jeong-Hwan. He had written “An Open Letter to Adults” on the 1^st of May, 1923. It went something like this;

“Children are the future of our nation. Let's show respect for children. Children who grow up with ridicule and contempt from others will become people who disrespect others, while children who grow up with respect from others will become people who respect others in turn.”

He argued that children and particularly babies had a purity and goodness to them representative of their link to the nature of heaven. “Because of this, not only should children be treated as equal to adults but they had qualities from which adults could learn: children can teach adults.”

Children of all ages are honored on Children's Day and the entire community is involved in the celebrations. Many cities in Korea have parades, pageantries and public activities. Museums, zoos, amusement parks, and movie theaters offer free admission to children. Traditional games are played and gifts are given to children from their parents and from the stores those they frequent.

The Andong National University campus with its picturesque gardens and lawns is a favorite picnic spot for the families around Andong.

In the morning itself families had begun to arrive

We went out to have lunch with the day being a holiday for the university restaurant. And the children's park near the campus was already crowded to capacity.

It was built on an old agricultural field. But they had retained the paddy fields and vegetable gardens to convey the importance of agriculture to children. There was even an apple tree yard.

the Dinos welcomed me into the park in their customary style

for once Korean fathers found time to be innovative for their little ones

the crowd was growing

when the flowers were laid out for the nation's flowers

the excitement was very much in the air

the lucky ones had a royal ride

the pool had almost over flowed

Gramdmas were there too

they had a walk through a farm

some came with antennae to communicate with their types

and some had a difficult climb

the traditional Korean candyman was quite popular

so were the Andong farmer and his wife

some had a drive on the agri machines

and also had a look at the past

what's this? let me read J

the importance of recycling of waste

haai!!

ok! let's go

let me show you how it works

see even I can do it J

the domestic animals and birds, a cock had scared some of them with it's cry!

but this is not it's effect

we had met a smart photographer who took some great snaps for us!!

My tour guides, Ms. Jo and Ms. Shin,

2nd year students of Tourism Studies at ANU did a wonderful job for sure

As I was searching information for this post I had come across an article on the TIME describing the Korean Children’s day of 1951. It went thus;

“.......Last week battered Seoul celebrated Children's Day with a parade by the police, who marched 600 strong behind a brass band and a huge placard:

‘Children Are the Nation’s Flower.’

“The nation’s flowers emerged from caves and broken buildings. Beside the budding, shrapnel-scarred elms along the streets, they watched. Now & then a youngster clapped or smiled, but mostly they stood with wooden faces, like tired old people who have found life very hard and who take little joy in parades.”

The article mentioned that the band avoided the South Gate and the bombed Seoul Station where “the abandoned, the homeless, and the orphans prowled restlessly, begging, stealing, conniving to stay alive.” It ended by noting that the police handed out small packets of candy and food to the children, and those with parents then went on long happy walks, while those who were orphaned by the war and “had no parents to take them home melted back into their caves and cellars.”

Excuse me for telling the tragic side of the story. I thought the story will remain incomplete without telling the ‘other side’, especially at a time when useless wars fought on behalf of self serving adults destroy the innocent childhoods across the world. Hope they will learn a lesson or two from the little ones as Mr. Pang Jeong-Hwan had dreamt of.

Chicken a la Carte: Beyond the Bright Lights

2009-04-20T10:52:00.001+05:30

View this movie at cultureunplugged.com

If Tharoor Loses in Trivandrum....

2009-04-17T17:11:00.019+05:30

The voters of Trivandrum have left everyone guessing as the curtains came down on the of state’s most high profile electoral battle. Why were they reluctant to use this as an opportunity for change? They had high profile candidates, P K Krishnadas of the BJP or Neelalohithadas of the BSP might have ended up being ministers of cabinet rank if their leaders landed the PM’s job. And in Shashi Tharoor they had an ideal candidate to usher in the much needed freshness they had been longing for in the political sphere. Now whoever wins, one thing is certain, he is going to Delhi with the approval of less than 25% of the voters in the constituency. Not even the glamour and glitter of an international celebrity which brought it to the limelight could boost the polling percentage in the capital. The prospects are supposed to be brighter for the left when the polling percentage is low with their committed cadre voters. But this time there could be strong undercurrents which may upset those calculations. Even the prospects of ‘national parties’ the BSP or the BJP opening their account in the state now look a distinct possibility. It appears that the people have grown disillusioned with the years of neglect and insult showered on them by the incompetent politicians who couldn’t circumvent the lobbyists from within and outside the state actively torpedoing the development initiatives and interests of this historic city. The people of Trivandrum were being taken for a ride, be it the Vizhinjam port, the High Court bench, or the subway rail systems. They were being denied even the basic infrastructure such as a railway station and central bus stand approachable by land during the monsoon seasons.

Of the four major candidates in the fray this time, Tharoor held more promise because he stood out in the crowd. True, he had not arrived as a messenger of change from among the masses, a la Obama and descended from the top courtesy the high command. But the fact that he has a brilliant mind suited to politics is not to be suspected. He surely knows a thing or two about the lobbies and their operational mechanisms and might have taken them on in a game of their own. Remember he had won over the whole nation across the political divides when he sought to become the UN secretary general, pushing the national desire for a permanent seat in the Security Council quietly under the carpet.

Sashi Tharoor writes wonderfully in simple prose. I have been a regular reader of his columns, an ardent fan of sorts, of his writing. He did a couple of inspiring pieces on the importance of being Irfan Pathan in the post Godhra India which was very much on the lines of what I had in mind. But often when we write, we reveal more about ourselves than perhaps what we actually desire. And at times we do get a little carried away and he is no exception as it happened with his piece on the Stephanians in Parliament which he had to retract. It can happen with anyone of us, factual errors originating from an erroneous source derailing our dissemination of information. But it couldn’t have been lost on him that some of the people whom he had incorrectly listed need not have to burn much midnight oil to sail into either the Indian Parliament or St. Stephan’s or wherever. And it is only a part of the story; some of those brilliant Stephanians he had mentioned correctly didn’t cover themselves with glory either in their political career.

Left propaganda managers had been educating the public to the effect that as the UN Under Secretary General, Mr. Tharoor had been nothing but a glorified clerk. What of the left candidate then? Hadn’t he been one too, to leaders like PKV in the past? The leadership training in some left parties had assumed that style for quite some time now. If you listen silently to all that the leader preaches and obey him for a lifetime as an attendant, you might end up being an MP or MLA when he passes away, that is after the children orphaned by the leaders are accommodated. And look at his name, he hopes to usher in the communist revolution but couldn’t forego his casteist surname. In the 21^st century, a communist with a casteist tailpiece is no better than a Gandhian riding on the Merc. I am unsure about Mr. Tharoor’s credentials on caste, but he too is not above the temptation to eulogize his ‘royal’ lineage from the times when the rich and the powerful landed gentry in every junction in Kerala used to call themselves kings. Added to that he traces his roots to a particular district in Kerala where the people of his community suffer from a certain superiority complex as reflected in the matrimonial ads they place on the news papers.

In spite of these, however, I had the inkling that he could have been the man of the moment for Trivandrum. We are well into the 21^st century; pragmatism should have been preferred to mere political ideologies in a flourishing democracy, especially when the gap between the certified retailers of those ideologies is fast diminishing. Tharoor had chosen to come to Trivandrum braving the heat and dust and plunged into the electoral rough ride to have the honour of representing the constituency which had a history of electing as well as dumping political stalwarts. That, remember is when our honorable Prime Minister is reluctant to face the electorate. He too could have easily opted for the rear gate into the Upper House and ended up being a central minister. That he chose to seek the people's mandate reveals his good intentions and his faith in the democratic process. Tharoor did bring a certain aura to the electoral scene in Trivandrum. But by now, it’s more or less clear that he had failed to inspire the urban middle class voters, probably his best bet, to march up to the polling booths. If someone pips him to the post, he surely will be an international celebrity basking on the reflected glory, albeit briefly.

Selfless men can not survive in 21^st century politics, nor can selfless voters derive the best out of it. If they were smart enough, the voters of Trivandrum should have realized that all the other major contenders would have continued to work in their midst whether they win or lose in the current elections. Expecting that off Tharoor in the case of a humiliating defeat will be asking for too much. This was an opportunity for the voters of Trivandrum to tap the talents of a highly gifted freshman politician. If they messed it up, who cares? After all, river Karamana won’t stop draining water to the Arabian Sea for some more years and Trivandrum will continue to limp ahead at its own convenient and leisurely pace. And as for Mr. Tharoor, well he may have gained plenty to add to his literary output.

The ad Tata does not want you to see

2009-04-16T08:26:00.005+05:30

Dear Mr. Tata,

I am disappointed that despite the appeals of conservationists and fishing communities, over 200 scientists (25 of them from IUCN’s Marine Turtle Specialist Group), and nearly 100,000 of your own customers, TATA has not seen it fit to suspend construction, specifically dredging, at the Dhamra port in Orissa, which might have irreversible effects on the ecology of the area and the sea turtles that nest at the nearby Gahirmatha beaches. I know that while TATA has expressed its agreement to a fresh assessment, it has refused to suspend dredging in the interim. This suspension is indispensable if any assessment is to have meaning. As we are in the middle of the turtle nesting and breeding season, it is critical that dredging be suspended immediately pending an independent and comprehensive assessment of the environmental threat that the port poses. This assessment should then determine the future of the port. As part of your own customers who oppose continued port construction, I ask you once again to heed the calls of thousands of us who believe that the TATAs must put environmental concerns on par with profitability.

Sincerely Yours,

It’s Never Ever too late to live Our Dreams!

2009-04-14T10:48:00.009+05:30

Is there a thing called the midlife crisis?

When is the time to stop dreaming in our lives?

What it takes to live our dreams?

Can age & appearance be surmounted by the attitude?

Let’s Ask Susan J

Ask who?

Well, Ms. Susan Boyle is an unemployed 47 year old, who has "never been kissed" and lives alone with her cat and who dreams to be a professional singer!!

Can she make it big? See for yourselves and decide;

Com. E. K. Nayanar

2009-04-06T06:35:00.025+05:30

The Smiles From My Shelf [4]

It has been ages since I had posted something on one of my favorite topics.

Was it that I didn’t want to? I’m not sure!!

But today I was reminded about it by a most unlikely source. As I was scrolling through the online news papers today, I had come across a report on the investigation to the conspiracy by certain communal elements to assassinate the former Kerala Chief Minister E K Nayanar. The politics in Kerala has been witnessing a rapid transformation in the run up to the present general elections, leaving the man on the street confused as well as saddened by the turn of events. Money, muscle power and rabid communal elements have virtually taken over the centre stage like never before. It is under such circumstances that a man of the masses like Com. Nayanar is really missed.

Com. E. K., as we used to refer to him, was no run of the mill polititian. He was a gentle and genial leader who had touched the people's hearts irrespective of their political affiliations. There were no short cuts for him in politics, he had worked 'underground' in almost all regions of the state and knew every village "like the back of my hand". Throughout his life he was on the side of the ordinary and the downtrodden people and earned their uninhibited affection and respects. I still remember the sea of humanity that had beseiged the AKG Centre, braving the incessant monsoon showers to have a last glimpse of his body and pay him their last respects.

Com. E. K. lived a modest life. He was the CM, next door who could easily connect with the man in the street. A brilliant speaker with a penchant for putting things in a hilarious way, he had often sent his audience into roars of laughter. The comrades as well as political opponents liked to listen to him. He showed an effortless irreverence to things formal and was never a strict adherent to protocols. But behind all these was the master politician with guileless persuasive skills, who was chosen to lead an experimental coalition and went on to become the state's longest serving Chief Minister. There was no disputing his ideological commitments but he had also possessed the pragmatism that was essential in running coalition governments. He could easily tranform himself from an old-fashioned organizer to an able administrator. Some of the state's best known developmental and welfare initiatives were launched under his leadership. The successful efforts to strengthen the public distribution system, to boost the agricultural production, the decentralization of power through the district council experiments and the path breaking mass campaigns that made Kerala a fully literate state were all carried out with him at the helm. The radical experiment at democratic decentralization, the People's Plan Campaign was launched during his last stint as Chief Minister. If some of those experiments might have run into rough weather let's blame it on the scourge of corruption that had crept into the very grass roots and not the men who took the noble initiative.

I have one fond recollection of a close encounter with that man of the masses. It was the early 1990's and I was in my second year in college. A student agitation was on against the policies of the then government in the education sector. The state leaders of the left leaning student organizations were on indefinite hunger strike in front of the government secretariat in Thiruvananthapuram. Engineering college students had joined them in an adjacent 'pandal' and I was put on duty there to attend to the fasting comrades. Our days used to start quietly with a reading and analysis of the morning news papers. But as the day wore on, the road in front of secretariat was filled with demonstrators expressing solidarity with the fasting students. There were frequent skirmishes too which would turn the road into a virtual battleground between the agitating students and the policemen led by a certain Rishi Raj Singh, who had always preferred to lead from the front. After sunset we had the torchlight demostrations, often daring the onlooking policemen to come and hit us. The strike was dragging on for longer than expected and one by one the striking comrades were being arrested and removed to hospitals. Prominent politicians from the opposition used to visit us. One afternoon, there was a sudden spurt of movement of people in and around our 'pandal' and some of those sitting inside quickly rushed out. Before I could sense what was going on I saw right in front of me, the familiar figure of Com. E. K, spotting the customary smile. He gestured to my fasting comrade Sunil C. P. not to get up from his bed even as he entered the 'pandal'. And as I stood motionless and confused, the legendary communist leader put his left hand on my shoulder and smiled at me. He told me in his no-nonsense way that he did not think that the government will reverse its policies. But he assured us that "we will fight this battle together". I did not know what to say and merely returned the smile.

In these days of violent and acrimonious political battles, the people of Kerala might be missing the healing presence of a charismatic personality like Com. E. K. and his sense of humour while handling the most vivacious of political debates. And I personally miss the beaming and innocent smile of that man of the masses.

Why do we need the Superheroes?

2009-03-24T17:09:00.011+05:30

They belong to the child's world. To keep it occupied with stunning animations, improbable stunts and out of this world characters. Tricking it into spending endless hours in front of the idiot's box. We, as children didn't have the luxury of all the cartoon channels surfed by today's little ones. We grew up devouring books, instead. I remember taking a passing interest on a TV serial on Superman after Amma's colleague mentioned to her that I had a striking resemblence to the handsome guy who was playing the young Superman :-) Other than that I was never a great fan of the superheroes.

Do they serve any purpose, other than just fooling around, fishing for some invented trouble and fighting the imaginary demons?

Sometimes they do!

I realize that now, after one of them had turned up to rescue an autistically challenged eight year old in Bangkok, who had climbed onto a third floor ledge for fear of attending his first day at school. When the desperate efforts of his teachers and parents to beckon him back to safety were failing, the Spiderman suddenly appeared on the scene and told him:

"Spiderman is here to rescue you, no monsters are going to attack you. Walk slowly towards me as running could be dangerous."

The young one immediately stood up and walked into his superhero's arms!

Now that's one of the best comic strips I had ever read :-)

As Ms. May Parker says in Spider Man II:

"He knows a hero, when he sees one. Too few characters out there, flying around like that, saving old girls like me. And Lord knows, kids like Henry need a hero. Courageous, self-sacrificing people. Setting examples for all of us. Everybody loves a hero. People line up for them, cheer them, scream their names. And years later, they will tell how they stood in the rains for hours just to get a glimpse of the one who taught them how to hold on a second longer. I believe there's a hero in all of us, that keeps us honest, gives us strength, makes us noble and finally allows us to die with pride, even though sometimes we have to be steady, and give up the thing we want the most. Even our dreams"

Everything in this world has some purpose.

Even giving up one's dreams!!

Mere Paas Bhi Maa Hai..

2009-03-13T14:57:00.005+05:30

It was Friday the 13^th and the laser pulse synchronizer was reluctant to respond. Having given up, I sat down to scribble. The words were very much there, I was sure, but refused to come down to the fingertips. I got up and strolled up the stairs to be out on the terrace and there came the rains. The winds weren't kind either and lashed out hard and cold. Looking up at the dark sky, I had the fleeting glimpse of the moon hurrying behind the clouds and the Blue Mountains at the distance had already grabbed some of the darkest of the lot right over them. Drenched in rain drops and back on the table, the hysteretic reflected shock waves were in no mood to relent. The fogging droplets giggled, daring me to chase them down to their evaporation distance and I had lost count of the separated droplets from the centrifugal vortex. I hadn’t called home for a while and the thought was fuming somewhere in the back burner. I logged onto the net, longing for a lifeline and there she was, Amma!! With a bright green spot to her right, J she had somehow managed to find her way to me on the web. Struggling for words, I merely typed down “Amme, Good Morning” and she responded with a “thanq, Appaa” and thus we exchanged our first words across the World Wide Web…..on Friday, the 13^th.

Forget the moon and the Blue Mountains, Mere Paas Bhi Maa Hai J

Cricket, A Religion for You?

2009-03-07T13:41:00.035+05:30

The skeptic was unconvinced as usual. As cricket crazy school boys in the 80’s we used to collect the photographs of cricketers cut out from news papers or magazines and paste them on our used note books. It was cricinfo on paper. The ones with the largest and rarest collections were considered the authorities on cricket and looked up to for their comments and predictions. Those who could talk a bit of cricket history were considered the walking encyclopedias. We used to exchange the photographs and often the highest bid was for the New Zealanders since they were hard to find with the little cricket played between the two nations those days. With the very limited talent pool at home, the New Zealand team never had super stars other than the ‘Sultan of Swing’ Sir Richard Hadlee and the stylish batsman of classical mould, Martin Crowe who often skipped the tour of India. Nevertheless New Zealand did have their moments in the Sun. Their bunch of utility cricketers could bat, bowl and field and outsmart opponents of far superior reputation which helped them win the ICC Knockout Trophy in Kenya in Y2K overcoming star studded giants from the cricketing world.

Although they weren’t as flamboyant as many other teams New Zealand did produce some colorful cricketers, the charismatic cover point Ken Rutherford, powerful Chris Cairns, miserly and accurate Gavin Larsen, and that gentleman fast bowler Ewen Chatfield, perhaps the only fast bowler who never bowled a bouncer in his career by principle. It was really sad to read that someone honored with an MBE for his services to cricket had to drive taxis and mow lawns in old age to make the ends meet. Then during the ’92 World Cup saw One day cricket being turned on its head by one of the most innovative captains in the ODI history shocking the competitors with a pinch hitting Mark Greatbatch at the top of the batting order and the off spinner Dipak Patel with the new ball.

For a nation blissfully away from wars, perhaps the most heroic and poignant scene in cricket is also etched in its history. It happened more than half a century ago on a cricket field in Johannesburg. New Zealand was touring South Africa during the Christmas season in 1953. The second test of the series began on the 24th of December and Christmas was a rest day. At 10.21 p.m. on Christmas Eve the Wellington–Auckland night express plunged into the flooded Whangaehu River at Tangiwai, killing 151 people in New Zealand's worst railway accident.With a population of just over two million, many people had a direct relationship with someone involved in the tragedy. Although the full list of the victims was not yet out, the team was informed that the fiancée of 22 year old fast bowler Bob Blair was among the victims.

In spite of the tragedy the New Zealanders took to field leaving behind the distraught Blair, who was allowed to withdraw from the test, in the hotel. Flags were lowered to half mast and the crowd was informed of Blair’s personal tragedy. On a minefield of a pitch, South African fast bowler Neil Adcock wrecked havoc on the New Zealand line up in one of the most hostile spells of fast bowling witnessed since the bodyline series. Middle order batsman Bert Sutcliffe walked in with his team on 9 for 2. Before he could open his account he was felled by Adcock and had to be taken to hospital. But with his side devastated mentally and physically and half the side back in the pavilion, he heroically returned to the crease, his head heavily bandaged, his torso full of bruises and began one of the greatest counter-attacking innings in Test cricket history hammering 4 sixes and 4 boundaries.

He walked back undefeated along with the applauding fieldsmen only after New Zealand's ninth wicket fell, the follow-on heroically saved. He was interrupted however on his way back by the lone figure walking towards him from the shades of the stands. Dead calm descended on the stadium with a strong 23,000 crowd as Bod Blair emerged out of the shades into the bright sunshine.

“I’d like to feel I can help.” He told a stunned Sutcliffe as the two Kiwis walked back to the wicket arm-in-arm and the silence gave way to standing applause in one of the most poignant moments ever seen in a cricket ground. Noted New Zealand writer Dick Brittenden wrote: “Looking down on the scene from the glass windows of the pavilion, the New Zealanders wept openly and without shame; the South Africans were in little better state, and Sutcliffe was just as obviously distressed. Before he faced his first ball Blair passed his glove across his eyes in the heart-wringing gesture of any small boy anywhere in trouble but defiant.”

The crowd was treated to 10 minutes of 'joyous mayhem' as Bob and Bert added 33 invaluable runs, Bob even hitting a six to go with Bert’s addition of three more to the four he already had. "Sutcliffe had made 80 and remained not out, he had saved follow-on, and he was quite entitled to regard the tumult of cheering as a tribute to his skill and daring. But he stood aside at the gate, allowing Blair to pass in first". What they had done in 10 minutes had the stuff of folklore written all over it.

After last week's terror strikes on the Lankans at Lahore, Pakistan captain Younis Khan had made an impassioned plea to authorities to save the game in Pakistan or risk pushing future generations into the clutches of terrorists. "Our future as a nation is in our youngsters' hands. Sport helps to make good human beings. If the sport is not there, the children can do silly things. We have to be very careful about that. Nobody wants to see children going down a bad path and finding themselves involved with bombs and things like that. We all must do something to stop that happening” Younis was quoted as saying.

Cricket is indeed a great religion, the one which doesn’t preach to kill.

On that Boxing Day at Johannesburg as they disappeared, arms around each other, into the darkness of the tunnel in the stands; the two young New Zealanders left behind them a light and an inspiration which several thousand hollow and empty religious rhetorics might never kindle in the hearts of the youngsters who follow the game.

Cricket Under Attack!

2009-03-03T11:26:00.007+05:30

Terrorism breaches another frontier, a holy one at that......

The worst nightmares are coming true!

Can the sub-continent's greatest religion tide over this murderous assault?!

My heart goes out to the Sri Lankan Cricketers trapped in the 'War Zone' totally unfamiliar to them.

Latest updates at Cricinfo

Saluting a Genius

2009-02-23T12:13:00.011+05:30

"All my life, I've had a choice of hate and love, I chose love, and I'm here".

And that speaks volumes of the man.

Hearty Congratulations ARR, you never stop making us proud :-)

Hope the young people may learn a thing or two from your life.

Valentine’s Day in Dalseo

2009-02-15T14:26:00.009+05:30

Although I had never celebrated a Valentine’s Day in my life, this year I badly wanted to, the rebel within egging me on to dare the moral police back home. But just a couple of days prior to it I was told that I will be presenting the proposal for a highly technical Aerospace Engineering project to an international team of experts on the same day. I received the full draft of over 100 pages on the eve of the D-day and spent a sleepless night digging it in. Having never made a business presentation in my life, I prepared for the show putting myself at ease and trusting my ability to summon something out of thin air as the deadline neared.

The day began on a brighter note when at six in the morning, my Professor came carrying a large pack of chocolates gifted to him by his wife. Biting into the chocolates in the early morning cold, we set out on our three hour journey to the Aerospace R&D center of Hanwha Corporation in Cheonan. I had my first ride in a limousine, cruising at an average speed of 150 kmph. The presentation lasted for about an hour which was followed by the brain storming. The whole process lasted for about six hours. I slept through the entire return journey.

Once home, I jumped into the shower to recharge myself in hot water, changed over to the pink: pink shirt to be precise, lit the candles, kept the red roses I had bought for myself on the table near to it, poured the red wine into my glass, and switched on the music on my laptop: the ‘favorite songs of love’ among the play lists.

And I celebrated the Valentine’s Day, sipping the French wine and listening to 'My Heart Will Go on.....'........

......alone........