20 years since the day that broke my heart!

Time flies! Yet memories linger on, like the afterglow of the sun lingering on the horizon. I can recall the day like it just happened yesterday. I can feel the pain as I write this. Phew, time hardly heals heartbreaks. 

I can understand if you thought I had had a failed affair. Yes, you are right. My first love, broke my heart this day, 20 years ago. 

Indian cricket team played Australia in the world cup final in Johannesburg. Of course, the Indian cricket team was my first love. As a passionate young man then, still in his teens, and playing district-level cricket tournaments, still harboring a dream of one day playing for India, cricket was all I dreamt. A World cup final win was all I wanted. Watching India beat Australia was all I lived for. 

When the world cup started, I was writing my class XII exams. Class XII examinations! The so-called most important phase of life. Yet, world cup cricket was all I cared for. 20 years since I don't remember one word of what I studied then. But remember everything about the cricket match on that day. I told you, I was in love with cricket. Whoever forgets love? 

India had a pretty good team. We had only been beaten once before we entered the finals. Once, but that by the invincible Aussies. But hope is a beautiful thing. We hoped that the finals will be different and we can beat the Invincibles. 

It was a hot day. My Indian parents had taken the TV off my radar; I was writing class XII exams you see. So I went to my uncle's house to watch the match. Listened intently to every word of what Mandira Bedi said in the pre-match session. Who forgets Mandira Bedi? Match started! First over. Zaheer Khan, one of India's greatest went on to bowl the worst first over in Indian history. I was still not panicking. When you are in love, the reality is hazy, I suppose. The writing was on the wall. Indian cricket team would not beat the Australian cricket team. Not that day. Not in a world cup final. 

The Aussie batsmen pummeled Indian bowlers. The captain scored a scintillating century. Then the Indian batsmen failed in the run chase. Every time a new Indian batsman walked in, the heart created a flutter. Perhaps this man will do it for us today, I told myself. Till the last man got out.

Then the long cycle back home. I cried the whole way back. As I entered home, my mom, the typical Indian mom started the tirade. "12th Exams ah vachikittu cricket paarthitu varaan paaru (You have exams, and you are watching cricket)". The penny dropped then! It hit me hard that the love of my life ditched me. I cried and cried and cried. My mom didn't know what has hit me. She perhaps didn't know my love then. 

Twenty years later, as I watched Australia defeat India yesterday, my mind took me back to those days. I don't cry anymore. Cricket is no longer the be-all and end-all of life. Not the first love for sure. 

Yet, there is a small portion of my heart that pained, even yesterday. Perhaps, first love can never go away. 

Truly, it is beautiful for a sport to be a teenager's, first love. Isn't it? 

Shane the magician - bowling spell!

Death hits you hard like nothing else can. When my Mom died, even after a prolonged sickness giving me enough time to absorb, it hit hard. Memories come haunting by. Many nights I just stared at the ceiling with her images flying by the innermost heart. Memories! Ah, memories. What would we be without them? 

Yesterday was one such evening as the news that Shane Warne, the magician with the ball, had passed on. It suddenly felt strange and unreal. Probably he is the first cricketing legend my generation had the honour of watching live to have passed on. Memories, they came in plenty. 

My generation Indian cricket lovers hated the Aussies. How could you love them, for they beat us for breakfast, lunch and dinner and that blindfolded. Yet, nobody ever hated Warne. Can anyone ever do so? 

All of us just copied his gentle walk to the bowling crease. Ball twirling in his hand. From one hand to the other. As if petting the ball to fall where he wanted it to be. For when Warne spoke, the ball listened. It drifted beautifully to pitch outside leg stump. Took a 47' left turn, spun at the rate of 250 knots. The ball had already been instructed to do so.  Then the Warne exultation! The batsman's confused looks. 

But Warne wasn't all about spin! It was the personality. Warnie's personality. The colour, the charm he brought to the game. He even won an IPL by the sheer dint of his personality. The wizardish looks, the wry smile after beating the bat, the audacious fields, 'bowled warnie' chants. Hell, he even commentated bamboozling a batsman live on TV!. 

The single binding memory of Warne for me was when the magician meets his match in Sachin or Lara and once Laxman. You can see the brain ticking. Every ball becomes a chess move. constant change in fields. A four over plan in place. Warne, the magician scheming. You sense the buzz! Something had to give in. Inevitably something gave in. 

You gave in too early Warnie!A little too early. RIP. You have given us a lot of memories to savour for a lifetime though.

Tests in Australia and Nostalgia!

 It was a difficult night to sleep. As I finished some late night work, my eyes kept going back to the clock and the mind to Brisbane. A few hours from then, the Indian openers will be walking in to bat in what could very well be a historic win. 

Win? In Gabba? Against this Australian attack? on a fifth-day pitch which is breaking? You are joking. ain't you? My fearful mind was chiding the heart. The heart, the hopeful heart, knew it all very all. It has been broken many times. Don't dare to hope, I told my heart as I went to bed. I set the clock for 6.00. Did not want another heartbreak by getting up earlier than that. 

Ah, we only have had heartbreaks in Australia.  

I was yet to enter my teens when an Indian cricket tour to Australia hit me. 1999! A man called Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar was all I dreamt off then. Sadly, SRT was the only man standing between Australia and a win. One man cannot win test cricket matches! Lesser men around him fell like nine pins. India was a walkover. 

The 2000s saw good Indian teams fight tooth and nail to win a test here and there. But winning a series? Winning a chase in Gabba? They still were dreams. petty hopes of the romantic heart! 

Then Virat Kohli and 2018 happened. We won! We finally won a series. Yet, it was not fulfilling. The Aussies then complained that they were not a full team. It almost felt like beating a dead snake. Also, we never won in Gabba. Gabba, the mighty gabba still remained the fortress!

I woke up trepidatiously at 6.00. Do I look at the score? Can I bear one more heartbreak? What if the score read 50 - 4? What if it read 70 - 0, said the hopeful heart. Hope, is a beautiful thing! I dared myself to switch on. A young man without fear was taking on the Aussies. The man knew no fear. Then another walked in. The same age. The same generation. He knew no fear either. Then another, and another. A generation which was not scarred by failure. A generation which knew no fear. They were carefree spirits, yet they cared! They cared enough to pull India through to the greatest cricketing victory Indian test history has seen. 

Experience scars you! My generation needed this gabba. Each one of us was scarred by our own insecurities, fears, shortcomings, failures, bugbears, broken bodies, bruises and misfortunes We needed to see that they could be confronted. And conquered. For hope conquers fear. And fearlessness leads to victory. 

The fortress is breached. Fear is conquered. Hope prevails. 

Test cricket marches on! 

Kobe — Won over my hatred by insane work ethic!

Mr D had just selected me to play basketball 🏀. No idea why he did what he did; I was this plumpy short kid, standing among the first few in the queue of young adults made in the ascending order of heights. For the next few years, the ball and the sound that made were the only things I knew. Kobe had just started playing NBA and was already a rock star in the first few years of his NBA sojourn

My basketball days were at its peak. I had recently been selected to represent my district. Our school team had already won the District School meet. Naturally, the NBA was all I wanted. And Kobe was this young kid, playing like a dream for the LA Lakers.

The year 2000! I loved to bits one guy called Reggie Miller. He played for my favourite Indiana pacers (Yes, you guessed it right!  They were my favourites coz their name had 'India in it). The NBA finals had Kobe pitted against Reggie. Kobe went berserk. I remember clearly getting up early mornings to watch Kobe run amok over Reggie and his pacers. My team lost. I cried!  

College happened.  Reggie retired and new sporting heroes in Vince Carter and Allen Iverson came into our lives. Kobe was at his job, still winning most valuable player awards.  Life took different turns. Basketball was relegated to newspaper articles. Kobe was often seen there as well.  When the sport was turning younger and faster, Kobe was still keeping pace with the young.

Why does he still play? Can't he just retire?  I mean, he was still making LA Lakers win and I hated it. He was competing with LeBron and his ilk and I hated him more for that. But Kobe played on. Generations came and went. Never did Kobe go anywhere. 

Then I read this story.  As narrated by R, once the physical conditioning coach for the US Olympic basketball team. And I became a fanboy. For who cannot be a fan of the irrepressible Kobe? 

It was 4.15 am when Kobe had called R and asked him to come to the gym to help him with his conditioning. R, stepped out in twenty minutes to see Kobe drenched with sweat already. Then they worked out together for a good two and a half hours and R went back to his bed tired. He had to come back to the courts at 11.00am after all. When R managed to drag himself out to the courts at 11.00 am, Kobe was there practising some sharpshooting all by himself.  R asked Kobe when did he come back to the courts! I wanted to do 800 shots and so stayed on said Kobe nonchalantly. 

Kobe, the first superstar I hated for he defeated my hero, became the rock star I loved for that insane work ethic. To stay at the top for 20 years in an incredibly tough sport like the basketball is beyond imagination. 

RIP Kobe. Too young to go, kobe!  Too young. With you, a part of my childhood died as well.   

Sport - Cruel sport!

What a game of cricket! And in the end, the best team won, or did it? Was England the better team on the day of the final? On paper yes! But surely not at the end of the day. Surely not!

Cricket is a simple sport. One team hits 'X' number of runs and the other team has to score 'X+1' number of runs within the stipulated number of overs. There are different modes of scoring a run. You can run. You can hit a ball hard enough so that it reaches the boundary and you can hit the ball long enough it goes over the boundary. Simple, right?

So what if the second team also scores the same 'X' number of runs scored by the first team? Just share the trophy! It is a tie. Is it that complex? Well, I agree we need a winner! Okay, then let them play one over each. Like overtime in football and basketball. So what if it keeps happening again and again and again. I mean the super overs keep getting tied again and again. Then stop the game and share the trophy. Football does it all the time. So does hockey.

Suddenly ICC and cricket management decides that if the super over gets tied, the number of boundaries is counted and the winner is decided on the team which has scored more boundaries. So what if I run four runs, will that be counted as a boundary? MS Dhoni the greatest finisher in the world, has won matches single-handedly just by running ones and twos. I remember a match which he scored a fifty without hitting a boundary. How is that a lesser inning than a somebody who has scored the same number of runs by scoring seven boundaries?

What if Federer and Djokovic were playing the final set 12-12. So, shall we stop the game and decide the winner on the number of Aces made by one of them?

Sport in itself cruel. The amount of pressure and the pain the body of the players take is huge. Let not stupid rules play spoilsport. If at the end of the day both the players or teams are considered equal on the basis of the basic rules of the game, just share the trophy. There is nothing wrong in saying both of them were equally good.

Why should we always have one winner?

Gambhir, I bow down!

I don't like you Gauti! I seriously don't like you. You did not have the touch which I loved in Laxman or the lefthanded elegance of Sourav. You never had the talent of Shewag or the Charisma of Sachin. Some said you had the grit of Dravid; I don't think so Gauti. Dravid had a something which made him lovable. You did not have that!

I did not like the mood swings. The tantrums you threw around were irritating. Maybe it was the small town boy in me being jealous of a Delhi bred young man.

I was in class X, still dreaming of one day playing for India when I saw you open the batting with a chubby Vinayak Mane. Both my eyes were on Mane. He looked immensely talented. His straight drives reminded me of Sachin; When every time you took the strike, I wished to see more of Mane. Your style just did not warrant another look.

I now know why I hated you; Coz, Deep inside I actually wished I was you. I never had the fight you had! I wished the dog in you which never quit, could be mine, for you never left the fight in the middle like I often did. The timing was never there, yet you never stopped trying one more time. Sometimes you were hurried for pace, and then the next ball I have seen you dancing down to that same pacy fast bowler. I wish I can do that as well Gauti. To look at adversity in the eye and say, "Here, I come again";

When Sehwag was blazing through the inning, and you were playing and missing, we often did not want to see you. We wanted to see more off Sehwag. Yet, you were often standing in our way, shirt drenched in sweat, and the eyes blazing. That was the image you have left us with Gauti. The image of the man full of dirt and sweat, yet standing.

I was so sure you never had the talent to play at the international level Gauti. How stupid of me! You have proved sport and to a certain extent life, has nothing to do with talent and with sheer grit and determination one can shine so well in life and in sport.

I take so much from you Guati! So much! For I learn from you, a man who has top scored in two international world cup finals, that if I'm ready to fight, the world can be your doorstep.

Hearty wishes on your second stint! God bless!

Why O Virat? Why?

O, Captain! My captain! Did I expect too much from you?

As a young boy growing up, cricket was life for a long time. I understand the childishness of having cricketers as heroes but they were, and some of them still are! For the way, they conducted themselves on the cricket field and sometimes off it as well.

I suddenly ask myself this question! Why do we expect intelligence, eloquence and humility and saintliness in a sports star? Sportstars are always shortchanged when it comes to being given the benefit of doubt for intelligence, eloquence, for saying anything that makes any sense and for actually being seriously concerned about the state of the country in which they grew up in. Can't we just ask them about cricket and stop with that?

Yet, he was asked only about cricket! He was told by a man that he loved Australian and English Batsman more than he loved Indian players. Fair enough! This is a simple statement on cricket. By another cricket enthusiast. Virat, like Rahul Dravid would have, you should just have left that ball untouched if it irked you.

But, why do you say, go to another country if you like them more? Do you mean it Virat? Like seriously? Do you think we should all leave the country if we like ABD batting more than we like MSD batting? And by the way, when did you become a Visa agent Virat? When did you start giving nationalism certificates?

There is a big market out there giving out nationalism certificates Virat. Let them do that. Let your bat do the talking. For it is loud enough to be loved by the world. Let not your voice drown out the sound of the bat and that will be tragic.

He came, He saw, He conquered!

Veni, Vidi, Vici, (I came, I saw, I conquered)! wrote Julis Ceaser. After his quick victory at the battle of Zera.

Virat Kohli did that! He came, He saw, He conquered; He need not know who the opposition is. It does not matter whether he is in the blue or the whites. Dusty Guwahati or the windy Lord's. West Indies or England or Srilanka or even China. He will conquer and will walk on! For the next conquest.

For Virat Kohli is a beast! A beast bent on winning over everything that comes in his way. And the greatest enemy that man has ever faced, the mind, is also conquered. And the mind, the fickle mind, which wins over every man at some point in life crawls in front of this conqueror.

The opposition is Windies. Not the famous West Indians of the yesteryears. This team is just a pale shadow of the former self. Virat could just blow them away. The fickle mind said, "Easy peasy" when he took guard. He taps the pitch with his marauding sword, the bat. Then with watchful eyes, saw the ball on to the keeper's gloves. Then left another. And then slowly took a single. There is a method to playing ODI cricket. And Virat is a master at that. He will play by his method. Nothing else will change him. Even if his mind tells him to go easy and play a lofted drive against a weak opposition he won't. For he is the master and the mind does what its master tells it to do.

He was 18 when his father died. Virat was batting on 40 overnight against Karnataka in a Ranji Trophy game. Kohli went to bat that day. Scored a 90. Saved the match for Delhi and came back to do the final rites. What went through that young mind that day I don't know, for my mind was numb for months on when I went through a similar crisis. But this is Virat. He told his mind to bat. And he batted. Plain and simple.

When he was 23 he saw his face in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. The chubby cheeks embarrassed him. "I cannot be an international athlete and be this", he told himself. Five years later he is the fittest cricketer around. Yes, there would surely have been days when his mind would have told him not to get up from the bed. oh yes, there definitely were days when his body was aching and his mind said, 'quit, 'not today'. But this is Virat. And his mind obeys him. Not the other way round.

Virat will come out to bat. He will score another century. And another and another. Till his body will give way because he has conquered man's greatest conqueror. The mind! 

The wall!

The wall is perhaps the most inappropriate, simplistic and arguably an insulting name to him. For walls don't think. They just stand there, till a force greater than it can collapse it forever. For, the holder of the egregious nickname, never collapsed! Of course he failed. But always stood up again, taller, stronger!

When I read in the morning that Rahul Dravid is celebrating his birthday, my mind wavered to childhood, for the many days when I tried to imitate him. We learnt to drive like Sachin, flick like Azhar but always defended like Dravid. The front foot well forward, the bat in line with his eyes, dead straight, softest of hands and of course the eyes on the ball. This never changed. Like a well oiled machine, the foot and the bat did its work. Day in and day out.

Dravid never wrote poetry. You don't relate mathematics and poems, do you? For he wrote theorems. Every innings of his had a structured hypothesis to it. The steps clearly in place; the syntax intact; his batting never had conjectures, the theorems always ended with the customary Indian "Hence proved" label.

When Sachin and Laxman were doing their art, on the other side Dravid often stuttered and stopped. The cover drives often went to the fielder. The boundaries were not flowing. Sixes were unheard of. Yet, often at the end of it all, Dravid stood still. The shirt drenched in sweat. The eyes gleaming. Concentration intact. The man in a trance. Till the theories he developed was proven, he never quit.

Happy birthday Jammy; 

The story of Yuvraj Singh! Of destiny, greatness and expectations!

He was a rich man's son. In fact his father was a Indian cricketer himself! His father had made him a cement pitch with nets at his home in Chandigarh. He practised cricket at his home under the watchful eyes of an Indian fast bowler early in his childhood. Not many could afford that. In fact I have not heard of any.

He was the destiny's child. I mean, he was destined for greatness. In fact it would have been surprising had he not made it big in cricket. He had the natural flair. He had that swagger, didn't he? He could hit the most outrageous shot and make it look ridiculously easy. He is the only player who has hit a genuinely fast bowler for six consecutive sixes in this planet. Why only six consecutive sixes? Coz, Stuart Broad bowled only six balls in that over.  Yuvi was that good.

Did the destiny's child achieve what he was destined to achieve? Is playing 300 games an achievement for this outrageous talent? 

Well, the first three paragraphs looked rosy, isn't? How we wish life is like that? A bed of roses! Just the roses, without the thorns! Like an Indian road without the pothole! Oxymorons, aren't they? Roses without thorns. Indian roads without potholes. It just does not happen

And so were there, the thorns and the potholes, for Yuvi and his life as well. His parents separated. The stability of the family is lost. Sometimes I think his talent got to him. I mean, since he was outrageously talented, he played the careless shots. It happens. He had his distractions, which every rich kid in India had! And he had CANCER.

Believe me, that disease is dreadful. That can kill; Mentally, physically, emotionally! I have seen it first hand. 

Yes, Yuvi was destined to play 300 games. But the nurse who brought him to his mother on the day he was born did not bring another plate with 300 ODI games. He had to fight through life, with all the thorns and potholes to get what he was destined to. 

Yuvraj's life is a lesson for me personally in that, even the most incredibly talented individuals, people for whom life has given most things in a platter, will really have to put in as much effort as the guy for whom life was difficult, to achieve in the biggest of theatres. 

In a world which celebrates only 'rags to riches' story, this guy's story should also be told, for it is not easy to achieve what was already expected of you; For expectations can be a dampeners!

Rafa - The greatest athlete of this millenium!

Ten best shots of Roger Federer or the ten best goals of Lionel Messi on YouTube are dumbfounding.  Google them.They are a thing of beauty. You know for sure they cannot be replicated. They are one in a billion. Genius is the word to describe them!

Sometimes we are dazzled by the Genius, since they transcend us from the monotony. From the pain and the suffering. Like a Michael Angelo painting. Like Mozart on the keys. We are made to forget the daily rumblings of the humankind and takes us to the seventh heaven, the state of intense happiness and bliss! The Sachin Tendulkar straight drive, the Michael Jordan air time, a Tiger woods Putt, a Usain Bolt dash! That is what makes sport the greatest live entertainment available.

Yet, there are others who also enthral. Not because of their greatness but by the sheer ability to conquer the mind and will your way to the top. They come across as ordinary human beings, like you and me. The 'WOW' factor is often missing. They huff and puff; They revel in the monotony. They sweat. Fail. Lose. Fail again. Sweat more. Fall down. Get back again. And do it one more time. Till the mind wins the battle. The unforgiving sport has a place for them also.

When Sachin was doing his art, on the other side the great Rahul Dravid often stuttered and stopped. The cover drives often went to the fielder. The boundary balls were not belted. Yet, often at the end of it all, Dravid stood still. The shirt drenched in sweat. The eyes gleaming. Concentration intact. The man in a trance.

Rafael Nadal is of the Dravid ilk. You hit him to death, he will wake up eyes open. He will run down every ball, every game in every set. Till death does him apart.

Rafa does not have the wicked Andy Murray backhand or the Wawrinka forehand. He does not float around like Federer nor sting like Djokovic. Yet he wins! And he has won the physically most demanding grand slam a record ten times. Ten times! In the modern era, I doubt anybody can ever break this record.

That, makes me think he is the greatest athlete of the millenium. For an athlete, the greatest achievement is to maximise whatever was given; And in the physically demanding world of modern generation sport, to conquer the mind and by that conquest, conquering the world is the greatest of athlete.

And no doubt, Rafa is the greatest athlete this side of the twenty first century.

India - Pak and cricket!

India vs Pakistan! A warm Sunday afternoon. Wife on duty. Nobody else to disturb. What else do you want?  My mind went wavering in to the past. Of all the India - Pak legacies which had been part of my life.

So, for my generation cricket started of with the 1996 world cup. Who can forget the Ajay Jadeja onslaught on Waqar younis and of course the famous Aamir Sohail - Venkatesh Prasad incident. Didn't we all show Aamir the way to the dressing room on that glorious night as Prasad did?

Do you guys remember the Independence day Saeed Anwar special? I almost killed my brother in an fit of anger since Inzamam kept going after Saeed. Oh! Who can forget the Rajesh Chauhan six to win a one day match. We all had tears in the eyes, didn't we?

Few can forget the test match loss against Pakistan when Sachin clutching his back and misread a saqlain doosra? Wasim Akram, Waqar Younis, Shoaib Akthar running in gave me chills in the spine then. And then the Kanitkar special? The long hours of discussion we had on the day after the kanitkar boundary?

2003 World cup game! I wrote a board exam the next day and remember every single shot played by the God of Cricket, Sachin Tendulkar.That sparkling cover drive of Wasim Akram of the first ball of the chase and the huge six of Shoaib. Phew! Typing them give me goose bumps.

Who will not remember the T-20 world cup final? In the aiiiirrr, Sreeeessaaanttthhh, takes it, India win, those Ravi Shasthri's words still ring in my mind. And then the most important match of it all. The world cup semifinal of 2011. Wahabs pace and Raina's straight hitting made that day.

Sure, Pakistan is not the same anymore. Never did I think I will say this, but India's fast bowling attack looks better than the paki's for once. The fizz of the Pakistani middle order is missing. The stability of a Misbah or the sheer presence of an Inzamam is not there. But this is India - Pakistan. The mother of all cricket.

I'm ready for another thriller. Are you?

The fallible superstars!

Messi, still Messi, still Messi, Goes through one more person, still Messi! It is a Gooooooaaaaalllllllll! Messssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiii!

What a goal and whadapplayya, shouted the commentator as I opened my mouth in awe. Awe of that man's ability to go through five defenders single handedly (Or is it single leggedly?) and shove that ball into the goal post.

The greatest exponent of football or soccer as it is called in the Americas, Lionel Messi was one of my heroes. I have watched many of his famous goals hundreds of times in the YouTube. His dazzling football skills are a craze world over. He was the quintessential super hero of my generation. Every time he played for Barcelona and every time he stepped on to the ground in the Argentine colours he was worshipped across the world. God he became!

In a world devoid and aching for superstars, the sportsmen and the cinema heroes become Gods. Given demi-god status. And Messi, the man, became one.

Till yesterday! And then the fall from grace. When the Spanish supreme court convicted Messi of tax evasion, another of my super hero fell from grace. He is now convicted to 21 months of imprisonment.

Why oh Messi! Why?  Why didn't you just pay those stupid taxes and why should you evade them? Don't you have enough money already? Ah, the ever questioning inner man started screaming his monologues.

Maria Sharapova, Carl Lewis, Tiger Woods, Christian Laettner, Marion Jones, Ben Johnson, Martina Hingis, Mohammed Azharuddhin, Mohammed Amir, Salman Butt, Oscar Pistorius and the list goes on and on and on!

Of having the fame and the fandom, and losing it all; In a moment of madness; Few minutes idiocy and everything comes crashing down. The world is sometimes cruel. It takes you all the way to the top, only to let you down.

Listen world! And listen carefully. All of them are superstars in their own fields. And that is all they are. Not gods. Don't make them one and feel bad when they let you down. Not one of them is the perfect human being we make them out to be; as imperfect as the stupid me.

There is One God and the rest all are Fallible human beings! Fallible superstars!

When India stood still for one young girl!

Some cricketers gathered around one idiot box! Twitter was being bombarded by #ComeonIndia hastags.  The whatsapp groups were full of scores. The world around stood still. There was tension in the air.

Nope! It is not MSD batting with India needed 20 runs to win from 2 overs. Something else is happening in Indian sport. A young girl, all of 21, is changing how we have viewed Indian sport all these years

PV Sindhu, the only gold medal contender of this year's olympics for this huge hero starved country is changing the dynamics of the sports watchers.

This is new to us. We are only used to cheering our Indian cricket team. Only men have we cheered!Rarely hockey. Yes, we have rarely cheered a Sania Mirza. Four years before we cheered widely for the badminton queen Saina Nehwal. But never have we seen such frenzy before. Never have we seen India praying and rooting together for one girl like this before!

Let this girl lead you in to the sunshine India! Let this girl change the way we have all watched Indian sport before. Let this be the start of following shuttle badminton and various other sports round the year like the way we do with cricket. Let this be the start of the many more medals at the world level in various other sports.

The moment you lost I switched off the TV! Much like we have done for a long time for the MSD wicket or much earlier the Sachin wicket.

More power to you girl! Lead us on to more victories and make India a better sporting nation. 

Do we deserve an olympic medal India?

My brother was disappointed that day! The Indian Archery team had just lost by a whisker in quarters. Abhinav Bindra has come 4th he said. Looks like we won't win a medal this time said he. He was not happy. Neither was I!

So, the last time we won 6 medals it seems. He was not very sure, neither was I! Boxing, shooting and shuttle badminton said he! I thought weight lifting was also there. Then we moved on to our regular discourse, on how India picked up the wrong team in the cricket test series happening in West Indies. He was very sure that the selection of Rohit Sharma was a mistake. So was I! When there are many other young people waiting in the wings, we have given him too many opportunities said he. I agreed!

So, two sports maniacs, who did not know who were the sporting icons who brought us the olympic medals, but knew which youngster is ready to get in to the Indian cricket team.

Do we deserve to complain that India does not win Olympic medals? Do we (my brother and I) who last saw the archery girls team 4 years ago, whose names we hardly knew deserve an olympic medal? Do we as parents who have often asked our children to stop playing and concentrate on studies deserve to complain about an olympic medal?

Do we as teachers, who borrow the games periods to finish our lectures, deserve to see an Indian on the podium? Do we as politicians, who have not done a dime except, to suck off all the money in all the sporting bodies, deserve to complain about a medal? Do we as sports buffs who follow Indian cricket team and Manchester United passionately day after day, and not know what tournaments other than olympics our boxers, the shooters, the archers, the swimmers play, deserve to see an Indian on the podium?

The PM spoke passionately about how every district in the country should send a sportsman to the next olympics! And I'm sure, if he is around for the next time, he will repeat the same damn thing.

Just because, we don't care; and so we don't deserve!

The basketball dribble! Sweet Music!

As I walked across the basketball court, a small tear fell down. Even as the world around me was getting ready to watch the match, I went down memory lane!

My school life and sports were inseparable. And basketball was the major sport I played. Yes, I played cricket for school and the district, shuttle badminton at quite a high level, basketball was the first love.

Though small and plumpy I was, this sport known to help big tall people, gave me a spot in my school team for 7 years and the college team afterwards. And through all the 7 years in school and the 4 years in college, this sport had always treated me well

My mind took me to the first victory when we defeated the renowned home team as a school boy of 10; then to the accolades which followed when we conquered the entire district. Oh what fun we had! A small group of 5 people passionate about playing ball, going around the district playing every day.

The day, when in front of the whole school, as favourites when we lost the match! Felt so bad that night, I could feel the embarrassment now. Then as a crown, when we won the senior district tournament and when all five got in to representing the district, what joy it brought.

The mind fickle as it is, brought to me the beautiful memories of playing in the Chennai, Kilpauk indoor basketball stadium where we played under packed audience, also brought me to the bad loss which happened on a sad morning in paramakudi, a day which I could recollect like yesterday. The day, when a win could have made us play in the enviable school states, brought us crashing down when the captain clutching his calf sat out.

Victories, defeats, accolades, embarrassments, fighting spirit, working together as a team, the fun, the laughter, the shoulders to cry, the ice creams, treats and more importantly beautiful memories Basketball gave me.

As I left, I could hear the ball dribbling in the distant court. And it sounded like music! Sweet music!

There we are with the district trophy!

Genius, takes your breath away!

How many of you played a sport in school? I did; Every single day of my school life. In fact that was my solace. Most of my present day memory revolves around the ground. Either the cricket field or the basketball ground.

And always, there was this boy who made playing sport look ridiculously easy. When the most talented among us, huffed and puffed through an inning, he would walk straight in and hit that remarkable cover drive, which made us all look pedestrian. There were many many days when I had opened batting with one such guy, and you have to keep telling yourself that you cannot do what he is doing. 

That is what separates the men from the boys! The most talented from the genius. And watching the genius perform his art, is among the greatest joys of sport. 

And what if at the same time, two genius perform their art together!They take your breath apart. They are too much to fathom. A sight which happens once in a blue moon. Imagine Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan playing on the same team? When Sachin at his peak is partnered by Viv Richards at the crease? What if, Roger Federer and Pete Sampras play each other? Or Serena play alongside Steffi Graf? 

That was what we witnessed when the unbelievable Virat Kohli plays alongside the irresistible De Villiers. Whoh! What stroke play. They made Dwayne Bravo, the greatest exponent of death bowling in the modern generation look ridiculously stupid.  

For all I abhor IPL, its greatest achievement for me is making these two bat together. And when they are in the mood. Make way and have fun! For genius, should stand alone. And when two of them stand together. We better watch out.

The day that defined cricket for our generation!

What a six! What a six! Waaaayyyyy in to the stands! Sachhhhin Tendulkaaaar! Whadaplayya!Whadaplayya! What a wonderful player! I could hear Tony Greig shouting in the microphone now! 18 loooong years after the day that happened.

As a little boy of 12, sitting there in front of the TV, those words defined cricket for me. For a generation of young Indians, it was that day that defined cricket.

India was down and out. Needed a miracle from somebody to enter the finals. And, there was only one man then, capable of any miracle. It was the God of cricket himself. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar!

They were dancing in the aisles of Sharjah, said Tony and we sure were dancing at home. Me and my little younger brother. Every single run was cheered. Every stroke was copied. Every small movement of this body was noted down. It was an aspiring cricket generation taking notes from the Master himself. For the next week and the month and for years after that, that inning was played and replayed again and again and again. Of course in the Idiot box! More so, in our hearts.

The Previous generation was built upon the 1983 world cup win! The next generation had that Dhoni world cup winning inning. But for us, the starved of victory generation, that was the day! That day, I decided I will play cricket. All my life. Every day.


Sachin went berserk that day. In my mind still the greatest inning ever played. The straight six over the head of Kasprovicks, is still for the me, the best cricketing shot ever played.  The generation which thinks that Kohli and Dhoni redefines running between the wickets, should have seen Sachin run on that day. Oh! he was something else.

If cricket was the religion for my generation and Sachin its God, that day was Christmas - when the God reincarnated in human form.

Thank you Sachin for that vivid memory. For that day. And for that Inning. For making our small cricketing Journeys. For whatever it was worth, all started that day.

Thank you shewag! Thank you Fab Five!

I never liked him bat. He gave me too many nervous moments. And I am from the Rahul Dravid school of batting. The feet never moved to the pitch of the ball. The ball missed the outside edge too many times.

There were many days when I had scolded him badly for just throwing away his wicket. The air of nonchalance surrounding him was hardly bearable for an intense cricket fan like me,

Yet, to be honest there were very few batsmen of his ilk; No no no! Not very few. I can't name one. And that makes him the genius. He was a genius indeed. How do you describe scoring a boundary of the first ball of five consecutive world cup games? What else can be said about the man who inevitably hits a six to reach the hundred?

And when the genius in Shewag called in quits yesterday, my mind wavered off to 2000's. The decade of the "Fab Five". What a time it was to watch and talk cricket? Shewag's brilliance, Dravid's purity, Sachin's genius, laxman's beauty and Ganguly's off side strokes and every one of them gave times of happiness.

Thank you Shewag for all those days of sheer joy you gave us! And thank you "Fab Five"! We grew up watching you bat. In the annals of Indian cricket, Shewag and Fab five will forever be etched. 

The lost romance!

I sure was looking forward to 2015. Of course, marriage and the wife were attractions; Even otherwise 2015 was special. It is the world cup year! and we are the reigning world champs.

All the excitement apart, the major disappointment of this world cup is the absence of the little man, "Sachin Tendulkar". For us, growing up Sachin defined cricket. And who else can define world cups?

India won and lost with Sachin those days; The 1996 world cup, my first, showed the reality of our generation. The stumping of  Mark waugh when he was lighting up the Mumbai sky, and the hundred in Delhi against Sri lanka going in vain are fresh in our minds. And who can forget that fateful day when a sachin misjudged run led us to the catastrophe in the world cup semifinal. We cried too!

1999, England was a lost cause just because Sachin did not play one day after the loss of his father. The century against Kenya and showing his raised arms to the dead dad, were embedded in our memories.

2003 world cup! how can we forget what happened then? Those ten days were scintillating. The majestic six of Andrew Caddick, that sparkling cover drive of Wasim Akram of the first ball of the chase and that huge six of Shoaib Akthar. And then the disastrous pull shot of Mcgrath! Life was cruel I said.

The less said the better of 2007. And then came 2011. The Dhoni era had started by then! Yet, it was Sachin for us. A hundred in Bangalore, a hundred in Nagpur, that heart wrenching fifty where we suffered palpitations in Mohali and then the eruption in Mumbai. Virat Kohli reflecting what we thought. Of course, it was the Sachin Tendulkar world cup. Wasn't it?

So, 2015 here. The kohli's, Devilliers and the Sangakkara's have taken over. Cricket has increased by leaps and bounds. The big bats, and the hugely improved fielding has added attraction. Yet, it is not the same anymore. Not that romantic. It cannot be!

The romance which the bride in Sachin Tendulkar and the groom in the 90's Indian cricket fan is lost forever!