Why this Kolaveri Singhji!

Long since I wrote...It has been a hiatus...I have been busy with other things and the usual blah that I start with can now go here....

Once we are on terms, here I am back to writing and it feels good to be back after the long break. I said in one of my previous posts that I might race Sachin and write my 100th post before his ton. To give a status update, I am on track. The man apparently paid homage to all time cricket great Sir Donald Bradman by getting out on 94 after 99 centuries. For people who missed the pun, Don Bradman retired with a test average of 99.94. Today morning was one of sorts. No, actually not. It has been of this sort for the past 8 or so months ever since he scored his 99th against South Africa. I woke up to some cheer and was looking forward to a day when Twitter and Facebook would be loaded with tons of posts about tons. But I was disappointed to say the least.

Ok, after going on tangent from the decided topic of writing, as ever, we get to the matter now. One Mr. Harvinder Singh is making news after he made a super double whammy. He first slapped former Union communications minister Sukhram and now chose the other big portfolio in the Indian cabinet viz. Agriculture and selected Messrs Sharad Pawar for the double. Anna Hazare's reaction to the sequence of events was astounding actually. He first asked "Only one slap??" and later went on to condone the scathing attack. The attacker interestingly said "Sab Chor Hain!" post his second act of bravery after getting past meager security for Mr Pawar. Media is full on about this juicy topic and debates about the ethical aspects of such an act are heatedly progressing.

Amidst so much for just a slap, one of my friends posted on facebook that he is more than willing to offer him a home in Chennai. I find that argument very sound right from its basics. Alexander once said something about home for the poor and Darwin or someone else in that league, (I don't remember) said about the fittest surviving on this planet. Now taking the two together, the chap is poor. Consider that he is a cab driver hailing from Delhi.He is fit and that fact is proven by his demeanor and physical stature while he goes on to extend the right hand on Pawar's angled cheek. Argumentatively, he is both fit and poor. So he should survive and he needs a home. Security guards thrashed him immediately after the incident and took him somewhere. I suspect they would have driven straight to some garage or some dilapidated mill (Like the Binny mill that features in almost all climax sequences of South Indian movies). All odds point to a good round of slaps and kicks and it is just a matter of time before he would be nabbed or shot in an encounter for what he has done. So Harvinder ji (I respect the fellow, forget ethics, he has all the guts in the world.) needs a home and a safe one at that.

At Kasturiba Nagar in Adyar, one such home exists for the area is well protected from all sides. For instance, there is the Buckingham Canal on one side, Fortis Malar hospital on the other and to add to the amenities and facilities, Adyar Fast food is located close to the aforementioned residence. A big hospital is safe and secure as explained and portrayed in movies like Ramana in Tamil and Tagore in Telugu. A patient who gets in never gets out. The other source of security namely the Buckingham canal is home to all kinds of reptiles to be found in South India and taking umbrage of such a large water body would keep searching special investigation teams away from snooping owing to the danger portended by the rich variety of fauna in that kind of terrain.

Choosing a place like Chennai might not work too well for a Punjabi mainly because of the non availability of Parathas. But one can make do with Parottas that we Chennaiites have on offer and talking of Parottas, Adyar Fast food which is located at a stone throw's distance would definitely come in handy. Another plus point about calling Chennai a safe haven for Slapping Singhs is the fact that it is far from Delhi and is a place that induces fear in a majority of North Indians living on the other end of the deccan plateau. (If all south Indians are Madrasis, I wouldn't be too wrong to classify the north of Deccan plateau as North India. Geographically pardonable I would say.). Pawar and Sukhram, or a bunch of yadavs and kapoors who form part of their security teams would find it difficult to reach their target in Chennai. With Chennai and Kasturba Nagar chosen for providing Harvinder with a safe home, what we are offering is nice 3BHK apartment, a good cook in her, a good hearted supporter in him and two fierce dogs in Sussee and Gabbar (3 feet tall and 2 feet wide labradors who have been fed to the brim with all good meat and cereals). A well founded idea. It would help the poor and fit survive in this country.

One may now ask me, "Why this Kolaveri" for writing such a very very kolaveri post. But that's the buzzword folks.

Lastly, I would like to thank Vijay Venkataramanan for triggering this idea behind the post.

Predicting this, that and those

Disclaimer : After long hours of revisiting older posts on this blog, one striking fact caught my livid attention. The first paragraph of any post has never had to do with the title or the topic I intended to cover. Beating around the bush and boring the faithful reader has been my way of causing disappointment (like the Indian team's way at England recently) So what I propose is that I will do away with the first paragraph from this time around (oops! ok...from the next time around) and come to matters straight.

Predicting the future is an art and yours truly has spoken many times earlier about this particular talent and its money making prospects. And like my view on many other forms of art, I am convinced that each of us should try our hands at it some time or the other. Prediction - according to my mobile dictionary, refers to the art of foretelling future events with no precision and all confidence. For example, the next Indian batsman's injury, the result of by elections in our constituency, the next poonam pandey who will rise to fame when England tour India, what scheme implemented/proposed by karunanidhi would Miss Jayalalitha call off and so on and so forth.

Kris Srikanth once called himself a wise predictor when he was interviewing with Rahul on Headlines Today about Indian team's R.I.P performance during the recently concluded England series. I request the reader not to confuse Rahul with one Mr. Arnab of Times Now fame. The latter is like a hot air balloon - full of gas. Rahul talks but he seldom farts. Coming back to Srikanth, Apparently he predicted India's world cup win months before the opening ceremony. My guess is he wanted to be the Paul (Octopus). In comparison, I somehow feel that Paul is a much more informed and prudent predictor than Kris for two reasons:

1. Paul didn't talk shit. He just hugged national flags
2. Kris doesn't have 8 legs

I don't have any prejudice against Kris the predictor, but I have a fair amount of bad experiences when it comes to his interviews on TV. He uses certain cliched phrases like 'Boss don't ask questions to increase your TRP', 'Dude you are joking', 'See, I am not here to talk for BCCI (who else would you talk for??) etc. Those are still ok. He once went to the extent of calling Sreesanth a bowler. I mean, there is a limit to talking non sense and that last one was over and above that limit.

But ironically, what I am going to do now is throw a few random predictions. But I would do my best to try and do the same Non-Krisically

A.) Harris Jeyaraj to become CEO of Microsoft.

Harris Jeyaraj is a successful music director in south Indian film circles. Now don't hit me with that rod. That is not my personal opinion. That's what they say out there. For now, take that as a given and come to analyze his core competencies. He is a maestro when it comes to researching about Latvian, Angolan, Japanese and Ethiopian music. His talents in picking up songs from the aforementioned genres and employing them with no changes whatsoever are immaculate. 'Boss', one cannot tell a HJ song from its Latvian original. So with such precision in lifting others' work/property he is definitely one who is tailor made to run a company like Microsoft. They are masters in that ball game and talk in my part of the town is that they have copyrighted Ctrl+C owing to their contributions in the field.

B.) Shahid Afridi to replace Manmohan Singh

Indian democracy is going through really tough times and people around the country are slowly coming to terms with scams, lies and more with unprecedented pace. Now such a situation is very tough for any government to handle and the work of the moment is for the Prime Minister to talk. This, precisely, is what Manmohan is not ready to do. He just wouldn't budge. Meetings in my office these days start with a mandatory decree that attendees put their phones on 'Manmohan Mode'. So the starkly contrasting personality in Afridi would probably be the panacea to our democracy's various ills at this point. He appears without summon anywhere and everywhere. What's even better? He talks and talks a lot with a superior sense of humor. He recently claimed that he has seen Sachin's right foot tremble when Shoaib Akhtar started taking run ups. How ingenuous. He could be our answer to the war of words in diplomatic matters with Pakistan. For instance, he could go and say He once saw Narendra Modi wear a white linen hat and do namaz at Thousand Lights mosque in Chennai. Gilani would probably call it truce if he hears such words.


Last but not the least,

C.) I would write my 101st post before Sachin gets his 100th ton.
D.) Following up on C, I predict that no one would realize I have littered this web space about hundred times and I still have a reader who doesn't give up on me (Thanks dude!. You make my day)

Hide and Seek. Where is the catcher?

The game of hide and seek has pretty simple rules. One person stays out at large while the others look for shrubs, shelves and staircases for a hiding. But the basic tenet will be defeated if the catcher himself goes hiding. This, if you come to think of it is like of of those infinite loops that you find in our code at work.

for( int i=0;i>-1:i++{
    repeat....
    till computer crashes.....
}

If you get my drift, the game extends to infinite time if the catcher goes hiding. This is the way out for an inept catcher to get off the hook and insult the players and that strategy is more often than not employed by street smart catchers who play this version of hide and seek. Now, that particular act is detrimental to the welfare of the game and the people playing it. One cannot keep breathing once every two minutes and hold his sneeze for decades together when under a bush full of mosquitoes. Sooner or later, he has to sneeze and the sound would awaken somebody else in the surroundings who would spot him in a very embarrassing position.

This, to be precise is what is happening with our government's quest for India's most wanted man. To draw the lines and complete my analogy. Our government is more like this catcher who inexplicably goes behind the screen and takes the rest of the country by surprise. Chota Shakeel and Anees Ibrahim are more like this random person who finds the hiding individual in a grotesque corner and blows the horn.

In fact Chota has similarities to my dad and this particular game is much like one I have played before. The sequence of events unfold thus:

1. I tell my dad that my brother is the catcher and that he wouldn't blow my horn as I hide behind his retreating chair.
2. I hide behind the chair and do breathing exercises with less or no sound.
3. My brother finishes counting 100 and opens his eyes (not that he was closing it till then, one corner saw the light after counting 27 actually)
4. He comes straight to dad who is reading the newspaper and signals to him. Of course the signal is understood by all. And like all, my dad understands it. He rolls his eyes to see I am watching and then turns his attention back to his paper.
5. His left finger is inadvertently pointing towards the rear part of his chair and my brother who can more or less put two and two together walks towards me and catches my shirt collar.
6. I resign to defeat, curse my dad and breathe a heavy sigh. Remember, I have been doing breathing exercises all this while. Ironically those exercises involve more of holding breath rather than letting the air go. So it is inevitable that I breathe like a gaping dog as soon as I get caught.

The Dawood story, as I try to meander back to the topic of this writing is strikingly similar to the aforementioned one from my diary until step 5. As with many bollywood movies these days, only the climax is different from the English version which was used as a reference. Chota plays my dad in this scintillating affair and does a favor to TRP hunter Rahul Kanwal of Headlines Today fame. He didn't point his finger in this particular instance but he dialed the number and said it all openly. There is so much talk about death of free speech in Pakistan these days but what is interesting to note is that there is no death of free speech about Pakistan. The don's palatial white house in Karachi hosted a high profile marriage and Chota was unexpectedly the spokesperson for this grand event as he spoke to Headlines Today with all candor.

Excerpts:Headlines Today: Several rumours regarding the wedding have been doing the rounds since April, May...
Chhota Shakeel: That is not correct, the wedding date was fixed and the wedding took place on that date.
Headlines Today: When did the nikaah take place and when was the reception?
Chhota Shakeel: 23rd September, Friday...
Headlines Today: What was the date of the nikaah?
Chhota Shakeel: 25th September, Sunday...
Headlines Today: Sunday was the dawat-e-walima?
Chhota Shakeel: Yes.
Even as the wedding and the reception got over, Dawood now plans to throw a gala reception.
Headlines Today: There are reports that you are planning a big reception?
Chhota Shakeel: We have not decided yet. If we do have one, we will let you know. In fact, we will send you an invitation.
Headlines Today: Will there be a reception or has the reception already taken place?
Anees Ibrahim: Reception is yet to take place.
Headlines Today: Will you hold the reception in London or in Dubai?
Anees Ibrahim: Delhi, Dubai or Nepal.

Possible Reactions

P.Chidambaram : I condemn the marriage. Such marriages are an insult to our relationship with Pakistan. They should have done it in Mumbai.
Pranab:This is a disgrace to Pakistani government's tactics. We told them not to float pictures on the internet.
Renuka Choudhary : Now we have a clue about his whereabouts that have eluded our intelligence bureau hitherto.
Sonia : UPA is determined to arrest the Dawood from Karachi in Gujarat (huh? at least she didn't say italy) in the next twenty four hours. But Mr. Modi is plotting against it and we will do the needful.
Manmohan : ............






....
.....





....

Still waiting for a response?

Poda, I won't repeat the rules once again!
He is the catcher. He will go hiding!

Read more at: http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/dawood-ibrahim-in-pakistan-hosts-son-wedding/1/152975.html

I have a business idea

It has been a boring Thursday afternoon for all of us. Now don't act like a busy bee. You are reading this from your office laptop on a weekday evening and I very well know how you felt when you clicked the link to this page. I saw the smile on your face. Now, for my turn here comes one on mine. Because I have successfully chaffed you, my faithful reader. I don't have any idea actually. I was just fooling around. This is not something like an April prank that we used to play when we wore cotton trousers and canvas shoes. The fact of the matter is that what I call a business idea is an idea in reality but it doesn't have ingredients for a business.

I was skimming through the pages of a decently popular magazine here and one sentence in one of those numerous posts triggered a thought process which I intend to popularize under the banner named "idea". Ok, I see the seething emotion and the urge to hand me a tight slap. No, no haste. I will get to the matter NOW!

Experience and Wisdom suggest that any business idea is worthwhile only when the right combination of people/skill comes together to address an existing social/societal problem in a creative manner. So sticking to those kind of basics, I formulate three different sets of people who form the core of my proposition.

1. Your father and your mother, My father and my mother, All fathers and mothers.
2. HR teams focusing on background checks and those other allied back office chores.
3. Those matrimonial sites with pictures of chicks on their home page such as Rina, 23, MBA and Archana, 25, Software Professional

In the present Indian economic scenario with youth driving growth and average age of working population floating around 25 and 26 (or whatever number it is..I know it's in the 20s) and these young people doing wonders but lacking real experience and what not, I propose to introduce our very experienced fathers and mothers into the equation. Those silky smooth females at the HR front desk and back office of numerous multinational firms in our tier 1 cities are finding it really tough to do background checks on prospective males in the age group of 20-30 during their hiring processes. If the guy is from a state like Andhra for instance, the probability of his degree/experience/both being fake is 1 and if the guy is from Tamil Nadu with an acquired and fake accent, the probability of the person who took the telephonic round and the person who appeared for the face to face meeting being one and the same is closer to the other statistical touchstone - 0. With so many engineers littering Mother Earth as part of modern civilization, the task of verifying identities is becoming a monumental one for those poor HR ladies.

So having described the problem in detail, here is my solution. Consider my neighbour Priya here. She knows her future husband Bharathan’s salary and bank account details down to the last zero, his smoking or drinking habits if any, his past record with girls from school and college, his credit card balance, the amount of petrol in his car's tank at present, whether there is any trace of diabetes or schizophrenia in his family for 6 generations and how much property she is due to inherit in the event of his death and how much property they(as an entity together) will inherit in the event of his father's death. So my point is, there is an information overload with Priya, her father, her mother, her grandmother, her aunty and her sister (the people who did the groundwork to gather the information). Now, here is the proposal.

HR departments should outsource the job of gathering and presenting information about prospective candidates to these well informed set of people. Please don't miss the point. There are two types of jobs created here. 1. Work-from-home contract jobs for retired fathers and mothers and 2. Full-time data entry jobs for their beautiful daughters. Bring in the marriage portals into the picture. They hold the databases for such valuable information. Give them a cutting (say 1% or something for every profile download). These MNCs can happily delegate a part of their work to the aforementioned experts and sit back. Speeds up the process of verification and related activities and streamlines the hiring process with a focus on quality.

P.S : As the idea originated from me, I get royalty on a monthly/yearly basis and readers who seem to like the idea can think of themselves as the next generation Warren Buffets. They turn investors and get a dividend when the company goes public. Anyone with the money can contact me. Others (whose purses are just as light as mine) can like this post and be contented with the dividend they are to receive over time). Works like a charm for all concerned. Doesn't it?

No, it was Boys vs Boys only!

My work timings usually show a canny pattern. Late Monday mornings, early Friday evenings and mid week absconding are clear indications. I have never hit the accelerator anytime before 9:30 AM when it comes to a Monday morning after 2 full days of lazing, typical TGIF, OGIM (Oh God, It's Monday) syndromes, so to speak. But today marked a rather deviating phenomenon. I opened the 'gmail.com', facebook.com', 'football365.com' and 'onlinefootballmanager.co.uk' in that order, as early as 9:10 AM. Reason : I couldn't sleep. I missed the massive Man U - Arsenal clash yesterday owing to travel and though I knew the scoreline and other statistics since I was following it live from my Android application, I wanted to take a look at the highlights as soon as possible and my fingers were itching to hit footytube for a quick look at the highlights.

The last time Arsenal conceded 8 goals was back in 1896. We all know that the Arsenal team that played yesterday night was a very weakened one. But nobody is going to remember that night as a hiccup for a weakened Arsenal side. It would rather be remembered as "That great 8-2 mauling by United". And more importantly, it was not Men vs Boys but was an "average age 23" vs "an average age 23" affair.

What strikes me most is the fact that Arsenal are staring at this "not enough players who are fit" problem so early in the season. Usually, they do so towards the end and more often than not use it as an alibi for their shambolic displays from February to May.

I noticed some bizarre transfer market stats somewhere on the internet. It read as follows:

Net spending done by Arsenal over the last 10 years : -4224000 pounds (They've made money if you notice the minus sign)
Net spending done by United over the last 10 years :172651600 pounds
Net spending done by Chelsea over the last 10 years :540095600 pounds.

Competing for the title, winning trophies and other allied pleasures and accomplishments, that Wenger considers trival and pointless, are just not achievable with these kinds of numbers. I remember Arsenal fans calling names at players when they left for money. Ca$hley, Moneybayor and many more. Look at City. They spent, tried, spent more, tried more, spent even more and now have a formidable team, which on paper, looks like the best team in Europe. You can call Ashleys as Cashleys and all that sort of thing but to those players, it is after all work and what's the point when the team doesn't do well on the pitch? We quit our jobs and move on for better money and better prospects. Don't we? So many fans who are already in a state of disarray have started shouting at the top of their voice yet again. Spend some F**kin Cash. But this time, unlike earlier, Wenger cannot turn deaf ears to those cries. Looking at the league table now, with 1 point from 3 games, Arsenal are close to being in the relegation zone. It is now or never for Arsene, Arsenal and their bunch of self proclaimed "learned" fans. Money is money and Sport is sport and all that crap can gaily come to a close. To win, one needs money and success comes with intelligent investment (borrowing from management jargon). So, Hell yeah! Splash some cash or look down the drain.

On a different note, Manchester looks like the new football capital of England and with both the big guns throwing some weight this season, it sure looks as if the trophy shall stay at Manchester. But it'd be interesting to see if Chelsea (or Mata to be exact) can offer something of a fight to the title.

United fans, get the ball rolling and enjoy the moment, for this is one of the best times to be a United supporter.

To her, the daughter of the mountains, with love!

The morning was fresh and beautiful with the sun peeping out of the clouds and the dew on top of the grass reflecting wonderful colors. He was walking along the footpath to get an auto and go to one of those beautiful catholic churches in God's own country. The autos were the old 80s style. They caught his attention. Much of the place had a serene rural outlook and it looked strikingly similar to those pictures he saw in the museums. The ones from the colonial era. He had always been a victim of those lovely magic potions that Kerala has to offer. The lovely weather, the beautiful backwaters and the stunning girls with their hair flowing free, fresh from the head bath.

Ernakulam is a small town, seen as a part of the larger Cochin, though like most twin cities, there isn't a border or line to separate their facades. It is all in a wonderful blend. The long corridor in the church had an air of peacefulness in it when he entered it for the first time. Many groups of people had gathered and they were chatting incessantly. He was a secret admirer of malayalam and those nasal sounds of chatter acted like magnet to him as he could understand some parts from those discussions. Towards the end of that long corridor stood a girl, who had come in with her parents and the three of them were eagerly looking at a lone lily that stood with all class and charm in the middle of a small artificial pond besides the passage. There was nothing more beautiful than the white lily and the school of fish that swam in the mini pond. But as he moved closer to that small congregation of three, it was not the lily that caught his eye, It was the girl who was admiring the lily. He stood like a statue for a passing moment, stunned by her appearance. The straight, dark hair flowing flamboyantly over her shoulders. Her charismatic eyes. Her mesmerizing lips were a thing of beauty. He felt an unprecedented joy when she suddenly gazed back at him, though only for a fleeting instant. At the moment, he was witnessing one of the most beautiful sights that have ever unfolded in front of him..all his life.

It was barely minutes before the congregation reduced in size from three to one and she was waving her hand at the departing couple. Her parents would come back to pick her up late in the afternoon. She stopped waving as they disappeared and noticed him as he briskly walked past her, back and forth. He never knew the art of breaking wonderful silences and even now it was the girl who just uttered something. He didn't believe what was happening around for an instant and blame the shock for his inability to comprehend those sweet set of syllables in malayalam. He paused to check if it was all real and to his joy, it really was. He said he couldn't speak malayalam and she quickly shifted to English. Conversation kicked in and they spoke animatedly for a few minutes. In the process, he lost himself completely amidst the sea of her charm.

The beautiful morning gave way to a humid afternoon as the function at the church went on without much attention to this romantic sonnet. The only activity he was engaged in was a series of stares at this new apple of his eye. A few of them noticed and many of them unnoticed. Einstein once said "Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute." And the words were so true to their meaning and in no time he was staring at the prospect of leaving the church when the function was over. Her parents were there again to take her back to the small town that she hailed from, a few miles south of Alapuzha.

He couldn't gather anything besides her name in the few minutes of conversation he had with her in the morning and as he saw her getting ready to move, he experienced a gush of blood flowing into his heart. He felt a need for some chivalry and courage at that moment though those aforementioned traits were very uncharacteristic of him. He took a credit card bill from his wallet and tore a small part from one of the rectangular edges. He was groping for words to write on that piece of pulp when his fingers jumped the gun without his cognizance. He looked down to see that he had already written his number and name on one side. The Adam in him wasn't that big a poet like Keats or Wordsworth. But he managed to write half a sentence on the rear side of the paper- "If you think we should be in touch...."

He slipped it under her cute pink bag that lay on a nearby table and started walking back home in quick strides as the function was over and the gathering had already dispersed. He didn't have the courage to look back but his heart started beating faster and faster as he made his way out of the church. He was wondering if she would see the note and pick it up. But he was afraid if it was too small and would go unnoticed. He slandered in whispers for not doing the act a bit more vividly. But the moment had gone and he couldn't get back anyway. He reached home and sat back in the reclining piece of furniture gazing at the fancy chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Minutes felt like hours and the ashtray slowly filled to its brim. But the beep from his mobile that he was so dearly yearning for didn't seem to appear. He woke up from the idyll that was going through his mind as his phone beeped about an hour later and for an instant he had his heart in his mouth. Words fail me as I try to describe his emotions at that moment. But the words on his mobile screen read "Hi. I picked up the note. Didn't expect one there though. How's the day? - " His joy knew no bounds and his fingers floundered as he drafted his reply. He was trying to speak his heart by way of the text message and as he was groping for poetic phrases, he heard yet another beep. But it was not from his phone this time. It was the sound of his alarm clock. He opened his eyes and surprisingly, found his mom with a cup of coffee standing beside his bed indicating something with her finger pointed at the clock. The clock read 14 10 hours. But he was looking at it upside down. So it was 7 40 am and it was time for him to wake up.

P.S : Apologies for the abrupt ending and a badly crafted anticlimax. But sometimes truth is bitter as the old adage goes and it is better hidden than confessed at large.

Yours Fervently, An Ardent Cricket fan

The Saturday meant a start to an amusing long weekend of sorts after quite some time and the self had woken to a rare rooster that crows late generally. Resting on the armchair like an octogenarian, I had breathed a lot of fresh air and was running through my mind the sequence of events that would follow in the next 3 days. That contained the following : read something to lift the spirits, drink a lot of coffee, eat to the stomach full, get the 11 hour sleep that has been evading for a while now and repeat the same in the order stated. Such was the beauty of the thought flow when the mind was particularly disturbed by a wayward sound that arose from somewhere in the neighbourhood. After curious onlooking, I found to my surprise that it was the gigantic wall clock that had caused the upset of the mind as the gong was doing its hourly duty at 3 hours post noon. Half an hour before the proceedings of the 4th day of the third test between India and England at Edgbaston.

It has been quite a while since I got myself deeply interested in a cricket match by and large. The last time such an instance was recorded was way back in March 2003 when Sehwag and Sachin entered the field to chase a mammoth 360 and Glenn McGrath had the shining red piece of leather to start the proceedings. After a considerable hiatus, the same interest started growing in me just before the ongoing series against England. What good parenting and modern pedagogic techniques that exemplify moral high ground have taught the growing youngster is that thing called maturity. As the body expands vertically and horizontally when man wakes up each morning to drink his cup of horlicks or viva or whatever suits him, the mind ought to expand. That, my ancestors used to call "maturity".
It has been well documented by learned people in the scriptures and elsewhere that mental maturity is quintessential for the uplifting of an individual. Though much has been talked about in this regard, what was visibly missing in my self as I got the bunch of potato chips and the plate of ground nuts in a move to gear up for a day of pleasing test cricket was the same thing that I have repeatedly lacked - maturity. To cut a long story short, what my heart ached at that particular juncture was for some legendary batting display from the few legendary batting names we have got on the roster so as to save the match and save our number one status by some hook or crook. This particular thought is a good example of an immature one at that. I call the very idea of the whim to be singularly childish. One cannot expect such a huge turnaround after two devastating performances at Lord's and Trent Bridge. But the heart ached for it in the same way it used to do back in 2002 and 2003 when Indian cricket was one of my highest priorities in life. I used to be an ardent fan way back then. But things have changed ever since and I moved on to other more intellectual addictions namely football, spirit, love and the rest of the things that G.K Chesterton used to talk about at length. So, this cricket fever recurring after such a long while was more of an aberration.

The end result? A big disappointment. Nothing that can be classified under the banner called sport has disappointed me to such a great extent, though I remember one instance when Benfica or some equally infernal force from Portugal knocked Man United out of Champions league and if my memory doesn't fail me, it was in the year 2005.After that one, now this particular disappointment from edgbaston made an impact on me and it was a sore one to say the least. The three matches that have taken England to summit from where India just toppled, were just a vindication of the visible listlessness in the Indian camp. There are cries and shouts inside the minds of the players and fans to abandon these humiliations and get back home, in the same way the Flintoff-led English team did during the 2008 terrorist attacks in Bombay. But we Indians are made of sterner stuff and it is not in our blood to call something off cheaply like that. We can continue to be distrait for ages and eons together but we shall not abandon. That fact being a given in the current scheme of things, the only logical thing to do is to somehow get over the fourth one as quickly as possible and start getting geared up for the five match one day series that is to follow. We could have been a very disheartened lot in the last 3 weeks, but the fact remains that it is not the end of the world and the one day series can help to make up for the shame quite a bit. So, along with the Indian team, I am telling myself after yesterday's horror collapse that all is not lost and that English August could after all culminate in an Indian September.

In Cricket, class is permanent and form is temporary. Let us hope to roar back in the one day series and worry about the test shambles in an introspection later in the year when we go down under.