tc, ok?

Very similar pasts and backgrounds. But while I tend to use mine as armour (often) and cocoon (less frequently), he has always worn his on the sleeve, has brandished it with pride. One of my best friends is leaving town. For ever. Fare you well, Bhaiya. And here's to the future.

Mr Nice Guy leading Aussies into decline

By Michael Atherton

Ultimately desire, not age, is the key. If a generalisation can be made I would say the older a player gets, the less brightly the flame of desire burns. There are obvious reasons for this: the need to prove yourself diminishes; the advent of children and family life puts the game into perspective so that it is no longer the most important thing. For all but the most obsessive, maturity brings with it a lessening of the competitive instincts. Richards was an exception; a classic case of a cricketer for whom the desire never dimmed. Every time he pulled on a West Indies shirt there was a sense that he was playing for a higher cause; that he was intent on making a statement on behalf of his people.

The questions of age and desire make Lee and Warne crucial figures in Australia's team. Lee will surely play his first Test for 18 months at Lord's: his youth, overt aggression and pace will spice up an attack that looks bland without him. Warne's fixation with his hair, and his antics that continue to make the front pages, suggest that he has never really grown up at all - which is probably why he remains the most competitive of cricketers wearing the green and gold. It is his competitive instinct as much as his leg-spin that Australia have missed during this one-day series.

Leading Aussies into decline? Too early to say that, I think. But England have a shot. An honest shot, although mano-a-mano, Aussies are still head and shoulders better. But I will agree with Atherton when he says "the older a player gets, the less brightly the flame of desire burns". Maybe, just maybe, 2005 will be 1995 revisited, when the Aussie decline would coincide with the Brit pre-eminence as the best team in the world. For all our media might insist, it is they, and not us who are the second best test team in the world.

And when he says "In 1995 the West Indies were captained by Richie Richardson, who had taken over from Viv Richards. Teams often exhibit the characteristics of their leaders and there is no doubt that was the case with the West Indies. Richards's team, like the man himself, was brooding, intense and fearsome. Richardson was more laid back and so were his players." I could not agree more. Arjuna's SriLanka; Saurav's India; why, Smith's SouthAfrica v.s. Pollock's; Kapil's 1983 world-beaters with a wild streak v.s. Sunny's polished B&H winners; even the Brits: from Atherton's dour and fatalistic bunch to Nasser's men, limited in talent but with an unforeseen grit to Vaughan's sparkling, combative unit; the examples are all there.

Wll have to write a proper Ashes post before the darn thing starts off. Hell, for the umpteenth time, Tata Indicom! Where are you?

Scary Good

Birdie Kim won the US Women's. Amateur Morgan Pressel missed out on the last shot. I saw bits of the 2nd and the whole of the 3rd day. Pressel was good. Creamer was good. Sorenstam had two off-days. But let me talk Michelle Wie here. Scary Good is I suppose the word for her. Now this is not quite tennis or gymnastics that one sees a 15-year old being competitive with the best in the world at a premier championship. And here, seeing her play, it was scary to think of what she would become in two years' time. She was not just competitive, she looked like playing a different game from the other women. And that type of a thing is seen only with Sorenstam, and that too only once in a while. Neither Pressel, who outperformed Wie, and is 17 herself, nor Creamer, who is 18, really seemed that way. And when you consider that a golfer could be at the peak of his/ her abilities till about 45....

Yes, very soon, just like in men's golf, we will focussing most of our attention at W on the scoreboard ticker in women's golf too.

Lumley Castle? Andrew Symonds?

Lumley Castle: you heard about it.
Andrew (hic) Symonds: You heard about his story too (but do read the hyperlinked article).

Now hear this,

"We heard there were a few blinds rattling up there last night, but we thought it was just Andrew Symonds coming in late after another night on the town."

David Harker offers his thoughts on the ghostly happenings at Lumley Castle

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.

Great words. Good speech.

You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever.

Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith.

And true, the third part about death was too much for me to comprehend. Apart from the "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish" maxim. Which of course is the most difficult of them to follow. I can certainly understand where Jobs is coming from, but understanding is one thing, and appreciating is another.

And the trust lesson will stay. Just one of those things which makes one take in a long breath, exhale slowly, tighten ones jaws a little, nod invisibly, smile faintly and get back to work. Alright!

You must have seen this in other blogs...

Another fake/ nothing post. Present state of my Tata Indicom broadband is that the wires have reached my room, and the connection to the server has not. So there. And blame Fizzie, and blame Anirudh for this one. And I have combined their individual lists.

Total number of books I own:

Exactly 107 presently at Bangalore. That is one year’s booty + a few extra. All bought with my own money. Sadly, only about 80 read. The only 107 books I can call my own.

Last book(s) I bought:

An Encyclopedia Britannica, at discounted prices. The salesman was GOOD at his job!
Ali: The life of Ali Bacher by Rodney Hartman. Posted on acquiring this book. Had not started as yet, though.
Longitudes and Attitudes : The World in the Age of Terrorism by Thomas Friedman. Loved The Lexus and the Olive Tree. And I am sure half the world has blogged on The World is flat, with or without reading it. I did not read that, though.
The crying of lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon. A Fizzie suggestion. I will come to Mumbai with the bazooka if I hate this.

Last book I read:

Two books simultaneously.

Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth. Read it, read it, I insist. My roommate threatened to throw me out if I keep at guffawing at the volume, pitch and regularity as I was when I was reading it. And it makes sense. A lot of it really.
Economics in one Lesson by Henry Hazlitt. If one is even remotely interested in how economic policies are formed, the inherent fallacies in what might be apparently people-friendly economic measures, and the hidden losses etc. in them, this book is a good starter. Very rightwing, very free-market, very opinionated and thankfully very lucid. And just imagine, I would never have picked up the book (mostly because of the schoolbook-ish name), have I not heard of the background behind it.

Five books that mean a lot to me:

Since the parameter is books that mean a lot to me, rather than books that I liked the most, it becomes a little easier. These are the first five (edit: Seven now, sorry) that come to mind.

Man-Eaters of Tsavo- JH Patterson. The first book I ever read. Blogged about it once.

The entire Feluda series by Satyajit Ray. Ah, and so was childhood. And adolescence.

Parthibo by Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay. Shirshendu’s protagonists are invariably these guys who are a little aloof from the world around them, watching the world just pass by, making observations, touching chords, and making sense all the while. If you get the original, or the translation if you are non-bengali-reading, I suggest this. Very strongly.

Still life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins. Ah yes! My book!

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. Nuff said.

And now that I have already got the sixth in my mind, you might as well get to know it. The Greatest by Muhammed Ali. This book absolutely shook me up. Spectacular is an understatement.

Damn, no, no more. Ah, #$%&, this IS MY blog. Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. Text. ICSE. Still retain that rag of a copy; used, yellowing, notes written all over, pages stuck together by cellotape and glue, dog-eared. So much power that a hundred pages of average-quality paper did not quite have a chance to control it. And the memories don't hurt either.

Hyped beyond belief:

The Catcher in they Rye by JD Salinger. Now here’s a guy who could make a 200 page book feel like a “War and Peace”. To me, tedium has a name, and this here is it. How could anybody care less if a certain Mr. Caulfield is feeling like shit?

What am I reading now?

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers. How did I not read this earlier? Heard a lot, a great lot about it. Started yesterday.
Ah, and taking sudden peeks at Jitterbug Perfume. This book I found lying on the drawing-room table unattended by roommates, and did not have the heart to keep back up on the shelf. Loved it seven months ago, and love it now too.

Book I couldn’t finish:

I like a book in which something happens. Language does not fascinate me too much (Amit Choudhury being an exception, but then, it is Bengal he is writing about, and who does not like nostalgia? And picturesque too, he makes it all). Neither do I like those trickeries with the written word… magic-realism and whatyoucallit… while reading which I beg to scream ‘move on!’ I did not go crazy reading Midnight’s Children, as many others have. The God of small things, to me, was passable only because of the social commentary that it contains, carefully camouflaged. But what drove me to the wall was The Famished Road by Ben Okri. I managed 250 pages or so, and that’s about it. And I pat myself on the back for that mighty effort of mine.

Others who will dutifully do the same, or face eternal wrath:

The three newly marrieds whose blogs I read:
Harish Kumar V Bhamidipati who, like me, learnt nothing from the Oracle;
Harish K Subramanian and Vaishnavi Subramanian nee Tekumalla; whenever they have sort of settled down.

And also:
R Mo the Singaporean, for, well, poetry will add some dash to the whole thing;
Ashanka the quizzer, if she survives Kashmir, that is;
Karakoram the debonair.

Umm, also Nil if he is still there somewhere.
Ah well, anybody who is willing. Just go ahead. Nice time-pass.

EDIT:Oh, and I have only two life-changing books, or which can be remotely classified that way. Do not go changing my life around too often, you know! What's more, both are average to bad literature. Neither would come into my top 100 books read, infact. Let me put the lesson here along with the book.

YOU CAN MAKE IT (Iacocca- Lee Iacocca) IF YOU TRY HARD ENOUGH (Jonathan Livingston Seagull- Richard Bach).

Neither are in my possession anymore. They have served their purpose. And given away. Only those books are kept with me which make me feel good, reading them. Most of my favourite reads have not impacted my life a bit. And I daresay, they were not expected to either.
Well, some books I read for the art. Some for respite from the mundane. Some for knowledge. Some because I had nothing better to do at that time. Some because train journeys from Bangalore/ Delhi to Calcutta are, unfortunately, long. Life-changing? That's a huge thing to do for a book. Fortunately, not too many managed.

For Poetry

I like the sheer motion in this piece. Beautiful. Momentary. And like a sudden brook encountered forestsides, the rolling continuous motion does not impede in the beauty in any way.

[Shudhu Kobitar Jonnyo, by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Courtesy this site]

18th day running,

... no sight, no sound of the broadband connection. Two weeks, they said. Two weeks my foot. I am getting really, really mad now.

On the other hand, my roomie tells me, it's only been good for me. Depressed? Angry? Have nothing to do? Bored? Idle? Need a punching bag? Just feel like screaming? Call them. Have a go. Peace will prevail thereafter.

So you know who to blame for this umpteenth consecutive fake / nothing post in this blog. It IS all their fault.

A novel pastime

A bunch of B-school graduates have found a novel pastime. They are writing best-selling books - one is even being made into a film. (Businessworld 13th June 05).

My ex- roommate PVR's observation: how difficult could it be to write a book on your experiences in TechSchool and then BSchool?

His observation: a) There is a storyline just waiting to get out (every Techschool, every Bschool has thousands), so you don't really have to run around finding a plot. b) There will be old fogies from your Techschool / Bschool who will invariably pick it up and read it and like it if you are palatable as a writer, so you have already got a basic clientele. I would venture to add, word of mouth would come easy and cheap compared to other beginner writers, and yes I AM talking alumni egroups here. And if I like the story of my college, will I tell my friends about it, and suggest this book to them? Hell yes I would.

But I would still insist, not easy by a long shot. A story is not just experiences that one had, retold with a decent bit of craft; but also the fine art of making all that experience interesting for junta who would be having no clue as to what is going on, and would want to experience it all from your book. Or for people who could not care less about the rambling memorabilia of a reminiscent old fogie in a rather 'senti' mood, and would just want a quick read and good laugh. And ah well, you need to also take care of the old fogies (who would, I assume, be about 20% of the reading junta) who would want their stories retold without a single fallacy.

I gave him 'Snapshots from Hell' to read. Two months into a BSchool, he would be all the richer for it. Alas, by the time he plans to write his book, the fad would have passed, I'm sure.

I said so....

Oh yeah I did.

But for heaven's sake, Mariano, best player in the world? Best player on clay, maybe.... but best? That moniker sits pretty on only one guy, I thought... and he replies to the name of Roger.

Oh and by the way, it has been a heady two months for the Rafaels of the world, hasn't it? With all that Liverpudling and all? On that thought, what about the post-Champion's league post? Bad pun, I know, but seriously, Liverpool next year or no?

AAAH, where's the broadband connection?

Am reading...

Economics in One Lesson, by Henry Hazlitt. And let me tell you, it would have been more apt if he had termed it Free-market Economics in One Lesson. And if what they say about US pre-degree budding economists is right, that all of them have learnt their basic Economics from this book (that comment, which I read somewhere, is the reason I picked up the book in the first place), then it gives enough reason why they turned out the way they are.

The writing style, to put it simply, is addictive. Lucid, never jargonised, interesting, practical, strewn with relevant examples.... panacea for the beginner academic. Alas, no graphs. I quite like graphs.

Giving both sides of the coin generally tends to confuse the hell out of the beginner academic. Hazlitt on the other hand takes sides, does so proudly and confidently, and gives ample reasons for the same. To put it in simple terms, this book WORKS.

Well, I am right-of-centre, so no complaints. Found the views a little bit fervant; but well, no complaints otherwise. It is turning out to be one hell of a read.

Observation

Every guy in the world who has read this book, has done it for only one specific purpose.

Yeah, me too. In Tenth standard.