What She Means...

What She means may be very simple,

But She is really good at spinning a web,

A web in which I am ready to get entangled, time and again,

A screen which always separates me from Her,

But She still leaves her mark on me

Her hues are myriad, Her fragrances are versatile,

She smiles with an ethereal glow, She blinks at me now and then,

Whenever She is around, I can't help but notice the bounce in the air,

When She goes away, I long for Her return,

I wait for Her, I long for Her,

When She comes back, I want to hold on and never let go,

But she lets go, with her caress,

With a promise to come back, again and again,

Why? Because She is whom I call my Happiness

Mister God, This Is Sachin

When this novel by Fynn, aka Sydney Hopkins,  Mister God, This Is Anna, was published in 1974, Sachin Tendulkar was a year old. But the timeline of the novel dates to the 1930s, when Sachin was not born and cricket meant Bradman and the sensationalism in the sport was restricted to Bodyline. Years later, Bradman was to praise Sachin in no uncertain terms. Cricket pundits revelled in it as the ultimate 'endorsement'. But, in hindsight, is it really fair? No harm in Bradman comparing himself with Sachin. But, where comparisons end, Sachin's act begins. The double ton in Gwalior has proved just that.

In an era when Twenty20 is a synonym for speed and multiplexes cannot decide if they want to screen more movies or cricket matches, Sachin Tendulkar still remains the currency - for an economy that takes its major stakeholders (read: cricketers) with equal pride and cynicism. Last December, when the man nearly got to creating this record, the whole 22 yards seemed to have become a pitch for endless debates on his performance. Today, reading a front page piece on him by Imran Khan in The Economic Times, the entire debate seemed to have been turned on its head. For someone who retired at the age of 39, Sachin's brilliance could not go unstated. Since an early age, we are taught to achieve maximum success in whatever we do (read: cram). The movie 3 Idiots may have done its bit to tweak that notion. But, that's about it. Passion for anything can at best be fine-tuned, but never drilled or taught. This is where Sachin Tendulkar proves what passion is all about. Not just about making a first-class debut at the age of 11 or facing Waqar Younis at 16, or not just about overcoming personal tragedy to make the team shine in a World Cup. It is nothing but living life on the whole 22 yards, and not off it, whatever may the critics say.

After the show of brilliance, many have likened Sachin to God himself who plays for a nation where cricket is religion. Social networking sites and blogs (including this one!) were agog with the enigma of the man and could not stop eulogising him. In all fairness to them, they are not far off the mark. But then, it is only human to err and you don't make mistakes unless you even attempt to immerse yourself in whatever you are doing, cliches be damned.

Maybe, what is God-like is, knowing where your mind, body and soul lie - where your life is what it is meant to be. Just like Anna, who at "at five years....knew absolutely the purpose of being, knew the meaning of love and was a personal friend and helper of Mister God. At six Anna was a theologian, mathematician, philosopher, poet and gardener. If you asked her a question you would always get an answer—in due course. On some occasions the answer would be delayed for weeks or months; but eventually, in her own good time, the answer would come: direct, simple and much to the point." Just like Sachin, who may not be afraid of saying "Mister God, This Is Sachin," even if he is divine in his own right.

Look Here, See There

Roughly a month back, I went to Benares ( yeah I prefer the British way of saying it - colonial hangover or not, Varanasi sounds too BJP!) for a cousin's wedding. Being a family trip and that too to a place where my father was born, it doubled up as a quasi-pilgrimage of sorts. Thanks to the infamous fog of North India, we overstayed for 2 days. And thus I got the opportunity to visit the fabled ghats of Benares. On a bone-chilling evening, as we set out on a boat for the evening aarti at the Dashahvmedh ghat by the Ganga, I could alreadt hear the bells jangling my senses. As the boat approached the ghat, what we witnessed was nothing less than a theatrical performance. Some say these are disguised PR stunts of the Hindutva brigade. Maybe they are, but for those moments, even agnostics like me turn into believers. As our boat was returning, we could see the flames of funeral pyres at the Manikarnika ghat kissing the black sky. My cousin teachng in Stanford, with us in the boat, remarked: "When I was at the Manikarnika years ago for my mother's last rites, the moment was peaceful." It is today as well, just that it coexists with the frenzy. To put it simply - the lights and sounds simply shake the agony out of you. And that's just one of the aspects of Benares, even of people say its the essence.

The essence of Benares lies somewhere else - the chaos. The city lives IN it, and not the other way round. If I were a real geek, maybe I could take a shot at proving that Benares could turn Chaos Theory on its head. But, that is for another lifetime. The cycle & autorickshaws, schoolgirls on Scooties, the Tata Nanos, the BSP netas in their black SUVs  and most importantly - Lord Shiva on four feet and two horns- et al - technically a traffic nightmare. But drive once through the city and you will realise that - NO ONE, absolutely no one - is complaining. When there is so much talk about living in harmony, Benares actually seems to revel in its chaos.

The so-called jihadists have left their mark here as well, with the blast in the Sankat Mochan. Since then, the temple and its cousin - the Vishvanath - have been forced to spend a few lakhs per day to cocoon themselves in security. And again, just when you thought that was a remedy to the chaos, you will be sorely disappointed when you enter the lane leading to the temple - known popularly as the Vishvanath Gali. The numerous shops and establishments hawking everything from prasad to holy prints on T-shirts will leave you more than spellbound.

What am I trying to say? Well, part something, mostly nothing. In other words, life goes on, for us as well as the Maoists as well as the sadhus smoking up to glory. Jing-jang, ding-dong - and so it goes on. Be it the narrow lanes leading to the Benares ghats or the hand-pulled rickshaws negotiating the alleys of Kolkata, you still move on - don't you? When you find Manikarnika, Ahilyabai, Dashashvmedh, Raja Harishchandra and Prayag coalesce by the Ganga - all you can think of is - thank God for giving me this life! (even if its just this one).

On A Queer Pitch

So, I'm back to blog writing again - and as usual I'll end up writing stuff which no one will read. But then, let this be my online diary. If you care, you are free to drop a comment anytime! Looking at the current state of affairs. Slow & Unsteady - that's what my life is like (I'm sure it is so for a lot of you out there, but its ok - no need to admit it). In any case,  it's imperative I get to the point soon.

There's a lot going on out there, especially in the political scene in our country. Since I hail from the so-called 2nd Red Fort of India - West Bengal - let me use this post to be biased and talk about the state of affairs here. I will state in no uncertain terms that the breed of violence sympathisers calling themselves Maoists are no more than a horribly misguided lot. Why do I say so? Simply look at what their leader Kishenji says: "This attack is our answer to Operation Green Hunt. Unless this inhuman act stops, we will continue this." Pardon me if I get any of the word wrong in the quote. What matters is the extent of absurdity that the state allows to perpetrate, right under its nose. The answer to an 'inhuman' act is an act of butchery - what can be more irrational? Or, is it a twisted explanantion of Nietzsche's Ubermenschen?What was Prashant Layek's fault - he was only obeying the orders of the state. So, Kishenji, will you hunt down all civil servants and show them how development happens?

And what does the state have to answer for this? "Let's all witch-hunt the Naxal sympathisers first, the actual work can be done later." How convenient - escaping from the real issue and giving undue attention to the Arundhati Roys of the world than they deserve. Where do the sympathisers at all come into the picture? Do the Jagori Baskes ask an Arundhati Roy on how to loot a state armoury? Or, do they need advice on how many security personnel to kill. Fine, if they want an eyeball for an eyeball - let them have it. When will Chidambaram & Co will have the guts to stand up and say this clearly and loudly? Or, will we continue to sit back and watch the hysteria unfold on our TV screens???