My love for cricket is acknowledged by all my friends but not my talent for the game. That is the reason even in my college days I never made it to the local team. I wasn’t therefore very keen on attending the matches featuring the team either.
Once in my life I not only made it to the local team but also played a match winning innings as well. It began ordinarily enough. I just came out of my house for a smoke only for another person from my building Raju Khakharia to insist that we troop out to watch a match being played by the local team. Brushing aside my protests that a pyjama was not a suitable attire for watching a match he almost pushed me into his car and dragged me to watch the match.
As luck would have it, the local team was a man short. The toss up was between me and Raju to make it to the playing eleven. Even I advocated Raju’s cause as he was a stroke player, while my chief talent consisted of being able to offer a dour defence to the most innocuous of deliveries. Raju for some reason was not willing and soon I was in the playing eleven.
The opposing team batted first and to be very frank I dont remember the score. It was our turn and the net result was that we had to get four runs with three balls left and with one wicket in hand. I entered the field as the last man. My team members had convinced the opposing team that I was injured and consequently needed a runner. This was done with the express intention preventing my weak running between the wickets being exposed to the opposition.
I took guard while my team watched more in despair than hope. The first ball came along and I was down the wicket in a trice lofting it over the head of the bowler. The applause of my team soon turned into expletives as along with the runner, I too had scampered. Luckily I managed to regain my crease while the runner ran two runs. Two balls left and two to get. We managed a bye of the next ball, and my team mate managed a single of the last ball for us to post a famous victory.
Needless to say I was madly congratulated by my team mates and my feat passed into local cricketing folklore. I also made a momentous announcement- retiring from all forms of cricket at the ripe young age of 27 years. After all it was better to go out when your team mates for once acknowledged your talent for cricket.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
The Singer
My friend Vaidy is very clear about his views on my singing. Whenever I ask him his views on my rendition of a popular Hindi film number he says without hesitation, “Gaana achcha hai lekin to muth ga,” meaning that “the song is good but you don’t sing this song”.
A little harsh perhaps but remarkably the overwhelming majority of humanity that I come in touch with agrees with him. Indeed the only person who listens to my song is my son Sanjiv. The only explanation that I can think of for this is the fact that he is just about three years old and therefore is yet to develop an ear for music.
This lack of ability of mine to be a singer first came to the fore when I was in school. At that time, I was riding high on confidence after winning a few awards for my public speaking skills. So when the chance came to participate in a singing competition, I immediately jumped at it.
Even as I strode towards the microphone, I could hear the applause ringing in my ears—from my previous stint as a public speaker. I was convinced that there would be nothing but an encore. I soon began singing the title song of the popular Hindi film “Yaadon ki Baarat”. Sure enough there was pin drop silence as I sang. The audience soon made their views clear. As I sang , they booed. I was startled but continued with my endeavours. The more I sang the more they booed making their views absolutely clear.
There was only one thing that I could do and I did that—I quietly left the singing floor. The audience had given the verdict which Vaidy was to give years later—Gaana Achcha hail lekin tu mat ga.”
A little harsh perhaps but remarkably the overwhelming majority of humanity that I come in touch with agrees with him. Indeed the only person who listens to my song is my son Sanjiv. The only explanation that I can think of for this is the fact that he is just about three years old and therefore is yet to develop an ear for music.
This lack of ability of mine to be a singer first came to the fore when I was in school. At that time, I was riding high on confidence after winning a few awards for my public speaking skills. So when the chance came to participate in a singing competition, I immediately jumped at it.
Even as I strode towards the microphone, I could hear the applause ringing in my ears—from my previous stint as a public speaker. I was convinced that there would be nothing but an encore. I soon began singing the title song of the popular Hindi film “Yaadon ki Baarat”. Sure enough there was pin drop silence as I sang. The audience soon made their views clear. As I sang , they booed. I was startled but continued with my endeavours. The more I sang the more they booed making their views absolutely clear.
There was only one thing that I could do and I did that—I quietly left the singing floor. The audience had given the verdict which Vaidy was to give years later—Gaana Achcha hail lekin tu mat ga.”
Monday, October 6, 2008
The language of Children
My three year old son Sanjiv never ceases to amaze me. Sometime back he gave yet another insight about himself in particular and children in general. Our servant –Kavita-had brought her six year old son—Sumeet- home. While she was doing her work, Sanjiv quietly went about playing with him. He even shared his precious toy- a musical instrument with Sumeet. The two of them literally made music together.
When it was time for Kavita to leave she naturally wanted to take Sumeet with her. Sanjiv however would have none of it. He wanted Sumeet to remain and play with him. It was with great difficulty that we managed to let Sumeet go.
Contrast this with Sanjiv’s behavior when he plays with Siva the child of a good family friend. Adult logic has it that the two should get along very well. After all they come from a similar socio-economic background and speak the same language-Tamil. In reality, although Sanjiv plays with Siva he is really not that comfortable with him. He refuses to part with his toys where Siva is concerned although Siva shares his toys with Sanjiv. The two children play together but it is not that comfortable a relationship.
This brings us face to face with one of life’s great truths. Children are not conscious about socio-economic considerations. This becomes a part of their lives when childhood recedes and adulthood beckons.
In this case the fault does not lies in either Sanjiv, Siva or their stars. It is just the way that some things are meant to be. This is what allows, Sanjiv to communicate in a language that only children can understand with Sumeet but is unable to do so with Siva.
When it was time for Kavita to leave she naturally wanted to take Sumeet with her. Sanjiv however would have none of it. He wanted Sumeet to remain and play with him. It was with great difficulty that we managed to let Sumeet go.
Contrast this with Sanjiv’s behavior when he plays with Siva the child of a good family friend. Adult logic has it that the two should get along very well. After all they come from a similar socio-economic background and speak the same language-Tamil. In reality, although Sanjiv plays with Siva he is really not that comfortable with him. He refuses to part with his toys where Siva is concerned although Siva shares his toys with Sanjiv. The two children play together but it is not that comfortable a relationship.
This brings us face to face with one of life’s great truths. Children are not conscious about socio-economic considerations. This becomes a part of their lives when childhood recedes and adulthood beckons.
In this case the fault does not lies in either Sanjiv, Siva or their stars. It is just the way that some things are meant to be. This is what allows, Sanjiv to communicate in a language that only children can understand with Sumeet but is unable to do so with Siva.
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