It took him more than two minutes and seven odd garbled sentences before he could speak something that made sense. And it did take him a Herculean effort to stop those tears rolling down his cheeks. And so emotional was he that he couldn’t afford look straight into the eyes of the gentleman sitting to his left, lest those tear drops trickle down. Even for a seasoned pro like him who covers more cricket matches in an year than some of the celebrated players play in their entire career, it was an onerous task not to let those emotions get the better of him.
He did compose himself though, and in his usual flair gave a fair analysis of the proceedings of the day. Somewhere down inside though, his heart was still beating at a faster rate, in his mind he was still replaying that last stroke, and if he could, he would have thrown that jacket away and might have done a summersault right in front of those cameras, the pictures of which would have beamed live to all those loyalists still glued to their TV sets, eagerly waiting for every word of the expert talk that was to be dished out in the post match show.
Even for a man who has been doing this job for more than two decades, having seen the highest of highs and lowest of lows, the joy was unbearable. And be rest assured that twenty years from now, he will be narrating the story to his grandchildren. “Yes, I was there, on air, covering the match live. And yes, mine was the loudest scream in that commentator’s box when India finally did it”.
The man—Harsha Bhogle, the channel—ESPN, the show—Follow Through, the time—five minutes after the last of uncountably many boundaries that were hit the entire day, the occasion—when a chennai veeran, wielding a piece of wood not more than three feet long and six inches broad, snatched a victory when a defeat looked all but inevitable.
And no, it was not the gracious elegance of the greatest willow wielder of his era that made the ever-poised Harsha crumble, it was the fearless vigor of a twenty-one year old lad.
For the uninitiated, the context is the sixth cricket ODI that was played between England and India the other day, the greatest willow wielder mentioned above is Sachin Tendulkar and the twenty-one year old lad is Robin Utthappa. But no, this article is not an eloquent poetic rendition of the final moments of the cricket match; this article is about human emotions. This piece is about one of those moments of brilliance that can make even a hardened professional look and sound like an ordinary fan, finding it difficult to control his ecstasy, failing to keep his emotions under wraps after seeing his favorite team, sailing on the last ray of hope, lunge towards glory when everything at one point looked lost.
Strange it seems, how people who appear so cold otherwise being so emotionally attached to something whose results are so out of one’s control. Still, one feels an array of emotions ranging from agony to frustration to desperation to ecstasy to bliss when one is rooting for his/her favorite team. Everyone wants to be a part of those special moments, the vestige of which remains etched ever so eternally.
And when you see someone who is at the peak of his prowess almost crack under the burden of his emotions, you know for sure that something special has happened. Yes, there was something special in the madness yesterday, but even so more special was the reaction of Mr. Bhogle. Thanks Harsha for, among others, demonstrating that even when one is at the zenith of competitive success, one never ceases to be a human being. And sometimes our emotions do get better of us.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Friday, June 08, 2007
Glory Days
Gauri (Gaurav Singh) is leaving Hyderabad tomorrow. He is going to pursue his academic interests in Sales and Marketing and then go on to become one of the shrewdest brains in the Marketing industry. And I aint sugar coating my words just because he is leaving and people tend to get soft, goodie goodie when someone near and dear to you leaves. Honestly, I have been a big fan of his business acumen and knowledge for a long long time. The range of books that he has read and the amount of information that he has gathered is appreciable. And worth appreciating also is his enthusiasm for the field he has chosen for himself. Being a softie was so not right for him.
Gauri has been my flat mate for two years. Among other things that I will remember about him, one of the firsts would definitely be Air Hockey. Dunno how many grown ups actually play this game, but for the three of us (Tushar, Gauri and I), this has been our favorite outdoor indoor game(considering its only available in shopping malls and game arcades). Tushar and I have a long history as far as this game is concerned, the rivalry stretching back to our college days; the two of us always have tried to prove supremacy over one another, the incentives sometimes being a silly college crush, sometimes precious nothing. We introduced this game to Gauri around July of 2005, when the three of us had landed for our maiden job and had shifted into the same house.
Air Hockey is a game usually played by kids before they hit their teens, or by oh-so-much-in-love-couples. Needless to say, the game that these people play is rather slow and monotonous. The goals are far and few in between, the puck is more likely caressed than hit and the mallet held more like a flower than a sword. Fortunately, most of the air hockey tables have timers installed, which let you play for only a limited time, something around 3 minutes. And that comes to rescue of these hapless chaps, whose fruitless pursuit for goals and over lived misery is brought to an end.
We play this game in a slightly different manner. For us, the game is all about power, clever angles and dogged defense. We don’t claim to be the firsts to come up with the idea, but yeah, wherever we have went we have seen people trying to emulate our style of play. Like the Europeans changed the way Field Hockey was played, bringing about their aggressive brand of hockey; we claim we brought about a change in the way this game is played and will be played with our own homegrown brand of power play.
While we were introducing Gauri to our kind of game, it was pretty easy to beat him. For the poor fella was still grasping the nuances of air hockey and the way Tush and I played it. Those were the days when Gauri was almost always drubbed. But my-oh-my, this fella was a quick learner. And was fast in adapting to the conditions. Not long after, he started beating the shit out of us. Guess, he devised his own style of the power game, which we hadn’t faced as yet.
Tushar’s game was about clever use of angles. This devilish genius used to use the side rails to the maximum of his advantage, creating angles that were tough to defend and were almost always goal bound. And yeah, some times he used to sneak in a slower, straighter hit; almost never expected and always achieving the desired result.
My game was characterized by power (which I extracted from my shoulders) and a strong defense, and the trait of never giving up. I used to hit the puck as hard as I could and as straight as I could and for as long as I could. The idea was to pester the opponent and slip in a goal from the slightest of gaps that he left. And then defend as if my entire life depended on it.
Gauri invented a slight variation of the straight shot. He added swing and swirl in his game; and it all came from using the wrists. His straight shot always started from middle of the table, giving an impression that it is coming straight at you, but before you realize, comfortably parking itself into the far corner of the goal slot. And the power behind the shot used to Akhtarish (the word derived from Shoaib Akhtar’s pace), bamboozling us. And that’s how he started beating us. And more often than not. And it was frustrating, to say the least.
The old champions that we were, we were not to give up that easily though. With a new competitor on the horizon, it improved our games too. And took it to a different level altogether. Whenever we used to play, I remember, I could see people gather all around us to see our games.
Tushar left Hyderabad a year ago, leaving the mantle of the game on Gauri and yours truly. And from then onwards started the greatest of rivalries this game has ever seen. Our scores more often than not being separated by just one goal, and not before we used to hit the crescendo, the peak of our games. At times, the level of game that we used to put on display amazed us ourselves, the intensity and the quality of the effort put in used to be exemplary. And with time, this rivalry grew bigger and better. And so did our individual games.
Such is the pace and power level of our game that actually very few tables can support it. We tried the one at Prasads, Hyderabad and the first shot that I hit flew right from the fourth floor down to the ground floor. We tried our hands at few tables in Bangalore, but the result was disappointing again. The puck used to fly left, right and centre. The one at the Hyderabad Central is the one that can keep the pace with our game, and the one at City Centre, Hyderabad just about does the job.
And such is the brutality of our game that we out rightly reject the offer of playing with outsiders. And at times, when we have no choice, we just beat them into submission. This Feb I was in Mumbai and had this urge to play hockey. I asked my friends (Tush and Gauri were not there that time) if anyone is interested and wants to play, poor old Riyaaz volunteered, saying that he know something about this game. And hell yeah, he knew something, none of which reflected on the scoreboard though. The LED displayed the score as 7-0, and the poor guy claimed he never knew the game could be played this way too.
Tushar has rejoined us, doing his summer internships on the weekdays and playing hockey on weekends (if we are sober, that is). And off late we have played a lot of triangular tournaments. I must admit though, time has slowed his reflexes and occasionally he looks out of sorts against the frantic pace of ours. Last week though, we could sense he was coming back to the old champ form of his.
Alas, we just have a solitary Saturday to celebrate the trinity and celebrate the game that gave us so much happiness and ecstasy. Tush is here for one more week though. And guess, after that I have just two options. To sit back and remember the glory days, or groom someone who can challenge me (us). To groom whom is tough to imagine though, ‘cause the enthusiasm we share for this game is almost impossible to match.
Gauri, that air hockey table lying right there on the 4th floor of Hyderabad central will never be same without you.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
I aint the One
A friend of yours meets you or pings you after a really long time. Once the normal niceties like how have you been, where are you these days, how is the life etc is exchanged; invariably your friend will pop up this question. “Aur bata, kya chal raha hai, kuchh naya, koi ladki shadki”(So, tell me, what’s new, some new girl in your life)?
You chuckle and say, “nahi boss, koi nahi hai”(no my friend, there is no one as such). In response of which you get these really good reactions. Sample some of them:
# Haan yaar, hume kyun bataiyegaa, koi nahi, lage raho (Yeah, why would you tell me, no problems, carry on).
# Aisa kya be. Dost ko nahi batayega, samajhta hoon, badal jaatein hain sab (Why so? Won’t even share with a friend. Yeah, I understand, people change).
# Theek hai chhupe rustam, mat batawo. Sachai chhup nahi sakti lakh chhupane se, kabhi toh hume pata chal hi jaayega (Its ok, don’t tell. You can’t hide the truth for long; eventually I will come to know about it).
# Hehehehehehehehe. Tumko kya lagta hai, hume tumhari khabar nahi. Poori news hain apne paas ((A hearty laugh). What do you think; I don’t know anything about you? I have all the requisite info).
There might be variations to the above sample, but all of them revolve around one theme. That you have a girl and you are not disclosing it. At times, its gets really difficult to convince them, at times irritating, and at times you just laugh about it.
Given the fact that I live in a place were I know only a handful of people, and where my social acquaintance aint great enough to boast about, I cant even claim to have minus half a girl with me. And I emphasize on minus, simply because I just cant see from where I will get this girl, about whom I can tell my friends, in the way they wish me to.
Agreed that I know a few girls, agreed that they think of me as this nice happy-go-lucky guy, agreed that at times they think of me as this guy with shit load of attitude, arrogance and stuff, but ask any of them if they want to be my so called ladki shadki (girl), and you will get all kinds of interesting replies.
# Who, he?? Yukkkk
# He aint that kind of a guy.
# I never thought of him like that.
# He and a boyfriend material? What a joke?
# Ask him to get a life.
So, there I go. I can be this nice friend, I can be this guy with whom you can occasionally go out for coffee, I can be the one to take you to a couple of movies, I can be an acquaintance. But when it comes for the girls to upgrade me to “my guy” status, there aren’t enough takers. Chuck the enough part, their aint even a single one.
I hardly complain, simply because this isn’t in my hand. And at times, I even enjoy the fact that I aint bound to just one, that I aint off the shelf yet, that I am still single and ready to mingle.
Someone once told me, boss, if some girl says no to you, there has to be some problem with the girl, maybe because you would be simply too good for her. Nice consolation to fool yourself, only if momentarily.
Sadly-yet-pleasantly, I am single. Take it or leave it.
You chuckle and say, “nahi boss, koi nahi hai”(no my friend, there is no one as such). In response of which you get these really good reactions. Sample some of them:
# Haan yaar, hume kyun bataiyegaa, koi nahi, lage raho (Yeah, why would you tell me, no problems, carry on).
# Aisa kya be. Dost ko nahi batayega, samajhta hoon, badal jaatein hain sab (Why so? Won’t even share with a friend. Yeah, I understand, people change).
# Theek hai chhupe rustam, mat batawo. Sachai chhup nahi sakti lakh chhupane se, kabhi toh hume pata chal hi jaayega (Its ok, don’t tell. You can’t hide the truth for long; eventually I will come to know about it).
# Hehehehehehehehe. Tumko kya lagta hai, hume tumhari khabar nahi. Poori news hain apne paas ((A hearty laugh). What do you think; I don’t know anything about you? I have all the requisite info).
There might be variations to the above sample, but all of them revolve around one theme. That you have a girl and you are not disclosing it. At times, its gets really difficult to convince them, at times irritating, and at times you just laugh about it.
Given the fact that I live in a place were I know only a handful of people, and where my social acquaintance aint great enough to boast about, I cant even claim to have minus half a girl with me. And I emphasize on minus, simply because I just cant see from where I will get this girl, about whom I can tell my friends, in the way they wish me to.
Agreed that I know a few girls, agreed that they think of me as this nice happy-go-lucky guy, agreed that at times they think of me as this guy with shit load of attitude, arrogance and stuff, but ask any of them if they want to be my so called ladki shadki (girl), and you will get all kinds of interesting replies.
# Who, he?? Yukkkk
# He aint that kind of a guy.
# I never thought of him like that.
# He and a boyfriend material? What a joke?
# Ask him to get a life.
So, there I go. I can be this nice friend, I can be this guy with whom you can occasionally go out for coffee, I can be the one to take you to a couple of movies, I can be an acquaintance. But when it comes for the girls to upgrade me to “my guy” status, there aren’t enough takers. Chuck the enough part, their aint even a single one.
I hardly complain, simply because this isn’t in my hand. And at times, I even enjoy the fact that I aint bound to just one, that I aint off the shelf yet, that I am still single and ready to mingle.
Someone once told me, boss, if some girl says no to you, there has to be some problem with the girl, maybe because you would be simply too good for her. Nice consolation to fool yourself, only if momentarily.
Sadly-yet-pleasantly, I am single. Take it or leave it.
Dont damn me
What is the true test of love? Most of us have our own theories. Some derive it from the old, clichéd tales of romance where the two people involved claim to do anything and everything for each other, and are ready to pay the ultimate price even. Remember the tales of Romeo-Juliet, Heer-Ranjha etc; losing their sheen gradually as we evolve but nonetheless stand true for quite a few of us. Others tend to be slightly more practical and think the true test of love is when you want your guy/girl to be around and actually find them; that the two of them are ready to slog through thick and thin together. Few others think that their love is eternal when they find a person who in a short period of time is capable of reading them inside out; one who they think will make them happy, for now and ever. For them it’s a leap of faith.
I have a slightly different take on this and I am not sure how I actually hit upon this theory and how and when I actually developed and implemented it. For me, the real test is when I have this “special lady” with me which as per the common perception has this special something about her, and I have one more lady who might not be as special as the first one, nonetheless, is talented enough. The second lady need not be a total stunner, but yeah, she should know how to carry herself. And carry herself well. And the test involves pitting the two of them against each other. In simpler terms, comparing the two. Most of my ladies have told me not to compare them with anyone else, all of them claiming that they are special. Never denied that, yeah, all of you have been special in your own styles. Still…….
There have been instances where I have been completely smitten by someone, and am not able to think beyond her. I have, at times, taken the courage to take the next step forward. Sometimes met with success, met with failures quite often also. And then we have been on these dates, these coffee evenings, long walks etc. As the days pass and I start knowing the lady more and more, I start thinking that she has to be the best thing that has happened to me for quite some time. Sometimes I also ponder that this might not be the infatuation at all, this time for sure I am in love.
As ill luck could have it, only if to justify the Murphy’s Law, I happen to be in a situation where I have this special lady next to me and I also have one more lady with me. And then this whole theory of comparison comes into play. I look at this lady (can I take the liberty of calling her my lady); I look at the other lady. And snap, everything’s gone. Gone daddy gone, the love is gone. Finished. Never understood why this happens to me, but happens quite often. Was I living in a one-dimensional world where I could not think of and imagine about anyone else? Was I the proverbial frog of the pond that never saw the sea in all its vastness? Was it that she was the only lady with me that my mind actually perceived her to be special?
I don’t preach this theory of mine to anyone, and certainly don’t encourage anyone to implement this. I have an advice though. Don’t make your life spin around one single person, don’t make it one-dimensional. Things might go great for sometime, maybe for a long long time; still, it makes life a tad too monotonous.
About me, I don’t know. Maybe I am mentally sick. I actually confessed to one of my friends that I am a prime divorce candidate, because I might not be able to concentrate on someone for long. Maybe I will find that special someone someday, who will actually pass this weird test of mine. Again and again. And that day, I might actually contemplate tying the knots. But is that possible, cause I am supposed to do an arranged marriage, that’s what my culture and upbringing dictates me to do. For the time being, god forbid that it aint forever, I am a misogamist.
I have a slightly different take on this and I am not sure how I actually hit upon this theory and how and when I actually developed and implemented it. For me, the real test is when I have this “special lady” with me which as per the common perception has this special something about her, and I have one more lady who might not be as special as the first one, nonetheless, is talented enough. The second lady need not be a total stunner, but yeah, she should know how to carry herself. And carry herself well. And the test involves pitting the two of them against each other. In simpler terms, comparing the two. Most of my ladies have told me not to compare them with anyone else, all of them claiming that they are special. Never denied that, yeah, all of you have been special in your own styles. Still…….
There have been instances where I have been completely smitten by someone, and am not able to think beyond her. I have, at times, taken the courage to take the next step forward. Sometimes met with success, met with failures quite often also. And then we have been on these dates, these coffee evenings, long walks etc. As the days pass and I start knowing the lady more and more, I start thinking that she has to be the best thing that has happened to me for quite some time. Sometimes I also ponder that this might not be the infatuation at all, this time for sure I am in love.
As ill luck could have it, only if to justify the Murphy’s Law, I happen to be in a situation where I have this special lady next to me and I also have one more lady with me. And then this whole theory of comparison comes into play. I look at this lady (can I take the liberty of calling her my lady); I look at the other lady. And snap, everything’s gone. Gone daddy gone, the love is gone. Finished. Never understood why this happens to me, but happens quite often. Was I living in a one-dimensional world where I could not think of and imagine about anyone else? Was I the proverbial frog of the pond that never saw the sea in all its vastness? Was it that she was the only lady with me that my mind actually perceived her to be special?
I don’t preach this theory of mine to anyone, and certainly don’t encourage anyone to implement this. I have an advice though. Don’t make your life spin around one single person, don’t make it one-dimensional. Things might go great for sometime, maybe for a long long time; still, it makes life a tad too monotonous.
About me, I don’t know. Maybe I am mentally sick. I actually confessed to one of my friends that I am a prime divorce candidate, because I might not be able to concentrate on someone for long. Maybe I will find that special someone someday, who will actually pass this weird test of mine. Again and again. And that day, I might actually contemplate tying the knots. But is that possible, cause I am supposed to do an arranged marriage, that’s what my culture and upbringing dictates me to do. For the time being, god forbid that it aint forever, I am a misogamist.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Borrowed Ride
There are two types of people in this world. People who drive a bike (anything that has two wheels and runs on an engine e.g. motorcycle, scooter, scooty qualify as a bike) and people who sit as a pillion on the bike.
Members of the first community are characterized by the typical snootiness, the source of which the fact that they claim they are always in the driver’s seat. Damn possessive about their machine, they wont let the pillion touch the vehicle; forget about actually letting the pillion drive it. They claim that the pillions are the second fiddlers, not capable and suitable for the hot seat.
And then there are the pillions. The reason that there are so many members of this clan is because these people either don’t own a bike or are too chicken hearted to drive one. Some pillions just submit to the bossy ways of the members of the first clan, blandly nodding to all the whims and ways of these snobs.
Still, there are some pillions who actually enjoy the whole process of sitting on the rear seat of the bike. They claim that they get the best view; putting forward the logic that the person driving the bike has to perpetually look in the forward direction, with occasional glances to left and right when approaching a curve. And they themselves can look in whatever direction they feel like. And the claim is justified to some extent. When that fine girl in the car is next to you in a slow moving traffic, the pillion can give that fullest and meanest of stares, whereas the poor biker cannot afford to do so. Add to that the laxity of traffic rules that force only the person driving the bike to wear a helmet; the poor guy is turned into “just one of them”. Ala the batsmen in a live telecast of a cricket match, don’t all of them look just the same. On the other hand, the pillion having the privilege of showing his entire face is capable of portraying his identity. Smile and chances are that the fine girl will smile back. Might notice you even.
Happened just the other day with me. I was happily dispatching the duties of a pillion while Kinjal sir (my colleague and one of the very few friends I have in my organization) was proudly driving his thunderbird. It so happens that this most gorgeous girl (happens to be crowned the most beautiful lady in our company) was right on our tail, riding her scooty (she calls it Dio, claims its better than a normal scooty) sometimes overtaking, sometimes getting overtaken by the sheer horsepower of the thunderbird, but more or less taking the same route as ours. But naturally, I jumped on the seat and said, I know this girl. Kinjal sir is like, “Ok, but she is following us. Maybe it’s me or my bike”. I just chuckled and said it might be me even. Promptly dismissed by Kinjal sir (so typical of the people of the first clan, never ready to spare any credit to the pillions). Being followed and chased by the girl for around fifteen minutes made our hearts beat ever so faster, although Kinjal sir were rather nonchalant about it, masking that joie de vivre with
“Oh, its happens quite too often with me” look. This overflowing cup of joy was spilled when we discovered that the fair lady was not impressed by either of us, nor was following anyone. She was just taking her normal way back home, which happens to be only a couple of blocks away from Kinjal sir’s place. Common, how did we fall for that? Girls never follow guys; they like to be chased around. They are the preys, not the predators. And all these days, how didn’t we know that she lives so close to our place. Shame on us.
Anyways, just to confirm if we (Kinjal sir and me) were noticed that last evening, I pinged the lady the next morning. And she is like “so it was u on the thunderbird yesterday”. Three cheers to all the pillions. Moral of the story: pillions are the better amongst the two clans. Oh, I forgot, Kinjal sir was wearing a helmet.
Being a compulsive pillion can also lead you to opportunities, where you get to be the second fiddler to ladies. And my oh my, what a wonderful feeling that is. It’s always a pleasure to go on a drive with a lady, and the feeling amplifies when the lady is actually driving the bike. And you sitting relaxed, your hair floating in the air, your face sporting a wide grin. And then there will be those stares from the normal public; oh, the girl is driving the bike and not the guy. What happened to all those theories of male dominance? Are the equations getting modified? Never read much into those lines, but must admit that those stares give you another kind of high. The grin gets wider. Plus, the lady’s knowledge of all the better places in the town (always pondered why and how these ladies always know of these better places, never could find the answer) and the experience gets richer. To all those pillions out there, if you haven’t experienced this, you actually have missed something.
Needless to say, I love to be a pillion. And enjoy every minute of it. Love the feeling of sun beating down on your face, winds gently stroking your cheeks, sky as your crown and the rear seat as your throne. Plus, it makes you reach your destination without actually having to spend a penny. Sounding like Scrooge McDuck, yeah sometimes I do.
Fellow pillions, remember we are the chosen ones. Long live the pillion clan; long live our companionship with rear seat.
P.S. I don’t own a bike, neither intend to own one. My life on the roads is all about borrowed ride. And yes, I am too chicken hearted to drive a two-wheeler.
Members of the first community are characterized by the typical snootiness, the source of which the fact that they claim they are always in the driver’s seat. Damn possessive about their machine, they wont let the pillion touch the vehicle; forget about actually letting the pillion drive it. They claim that the pillions are the second fiddlers, not capable and suitable for the hot seat.
And then there are the pillions. The reason that there are so many members of this clan is because these people either don’t own a bike or are too chicken hearted to drive one. Some pillions just submit to the bossy ways of the members of the first clan, blandly nodding to all the whims and ways of these snobs.
Still, there are some pillions who actually enjoy the whole process of sitting on the rear seat of the bike. They claim that they get the best view; putting forward the logic that the person driving the bike has to perpetually look in the forward direction, with occasional glances to left and right when approaching a curve. And they themselves can look in whatever direction they feel like. And the claim is justified to some extent. When that fine girl in the car is next to you in a slow moving traffic, the pillion can give that fullest and meanest of stares, whereas the poor biker cannot afford to do so. Add to that the laxity of traffic rules that force only the person driving the bike to wear a helmet; the poor guy is turned into “just one of them”. Ala the batsmen in a live telecast of a cricket match, don’t all of them look just the same. On the other hand, the pillion having the privilege of showing his entire face is capable of portraying his identity. Smile and chances are that the fine girl will smile back. Might notice you even.
Happened just the other day with me. I was happily dispatching the duties of a pillion while Kinjal sir (my colleague and one of the very few friends I have in my organization) was proudly driving his thunderbird. It so happens that this most gorgeous girl (happens to be crowned the most beautiful lady in our company) was right on our tail, riding her scooty (she calls it Dio, claims its better than a normal scooty) sometimes overtaking, sometimes getting overtaken by the sheer horsepower of the thunderbird, but more or less taking the same route as ours. But naturally, I jumped on the seat and said, I know this girl. Kinjal sir is like, “Ok, but she is following us. Maybe it’s me or my bike”. I just chuckled and said it might be me even. Promptly dismissed by Kinjal sir (so typical of the people of the first clan, never ready to spare any credit to the pillions). Being followed and chased by the girl for around fifteen minutes made our hearts beat ever so faster, although Kinjal sir were rather nonchalant about it, masking that joie de vivre with
“Oh, its happens quite too often with me” look. This overflowing cup of joy was spilled when we discovered that the fair lady was not impressed by either of us, nor was following anyone. She was just taking her normal way back home, which happens to be only a couple of blocks away from Kinjal sir’s place. Common, how did we fall for that? Girls never follow guys; they like to be chased around. They are the preys, not the predators. And all these days, how didn’t we know that she lives so close to our place. Shame on us.
Anyways, just to confirm if we (Kinjal sir and me) were noticed that last evening, I pinged the lady the next morning. And she is like “so it was u on the thunderbird yesterday”. Three cheers to all the pillions. Moral of the story: pillions are the better amongst the two clans. Oh, I forgot, Kinjal sir was wearing a helmet.
Being a compulsive pillion can also lead you to opportunities, where you get to be the second fiddler to ladies. And my oh my, what a wonderful feeling that is. It’s always a pleasure to go on a drive with a lady, and the feeling amplifies when the lady is actually driving the bike. And you sitting relaxed, your hair floating in the air, your face sporting a wide grin. And then there will be those stares from the normal public; oh, the girl is driving the bike and not the guy. What happened to all those theories of male dominance? Are the equations getting modified? Never read much into those lines, but must admit that those stares give you another kind of high. The grin gets wider. Plus, the lady’s knowledge of all the better places in the town (always pondered why and how these ladies always know of these better places, never could find the answer) and the experience gets richer. To all those pillions out there, if you haven’t experienced this, you actually have missed something.
Needless to say, I love to be a pillion. And enjoy every minute of it. Love the feeling of sun beating down on your face, winds gently stroking your cheeks, sky as your crown and the rear seat as your throne. Plus, it makes you reach your destination without actually having to spend a penny. Sounding like Scrooge McDuck, yeah sometimes I do.
Fellow pillions, remember we are the chosen ones. Long live the pillion clan; long live our companionship with rear seat.
P.S. I don’t own a bike, neither intend to own one. My life on the roads is all about borrowed ride. And yes, I am too chicken hearted to drive a two-wheeler.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Mute Commentator
“A blog is a user-generated website where entries are made in journal style and displayed in a reverse chronological order.
Blogs often provide commentary or news on a particular subject, such as food, politics, or local news; some function as more personal online diaries. A typical blog combines text, images, and links to other blogs, web pages, and other media related to its topic. The ability for readers to leave comments in an interactive format is an important part of most early blogs.”
(Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blog)
Why do people write blogs? Some write to show the creative side of their personality, some are genuinely good with words and want a platform to showcase that, some just rant for fun. For some it’s a hobby, for some a passion, for others just a time pass.
I write blogs because I want to capture my thoughts, my feelings about things in general. Things that are common in our day-to-day lives, things that we experience every now and then.
I have also written few blogs on sporting events, soccer and F1 to quote a few. At that point in my life, I was contemplating switching over to be a freelance sports journalist. With no formal degree or previous experience in mass communication and with just about to do good English, I decided against it.
For now, I am focused in capturing the beauty and essence of common things in life, things like friendship, emotion, love, hatred, jealousy, success, failure etc. Topics that are complex, but not complicated and cluttered. And topics that most of us can attach to, subjects that almost all of us have an opinion about, emotions that most of us have felt at some point of time in their lives.
I also read blogs. Blogs from friends, family, colleagues, even unknown strangers. The journey has been interesting. I have come across some blogs that have been beautifully crafted. I recently read a poem blog about Trust and the fear of losing it. The human emotions were captured so naturally and effortlessly. I have also read some blogs were, when you read it, will be awestruck with the range and usage of English words by the author. I have also read blogs where the user, with a generous dose of humor and anecdotes, most of which are from the author’s own experience, have made the article worth reading again and again.
And then I have been through blogs that stink of plagiarism. I can also be accused of the same, the sin being committed more than once. Once I tried to lift paras from different sources and pass it as my own. I have learnt my lesson, but few other continue to do the same, effortlessly lifting portions, in some case the entirety of the blog and faking it as their own.
And then I have read blogs that can be termed as complete crap. Blogs that sometimes mean nothing. Blogs that are so poorly constructed and which are so grammatically incorrect that the English professor who used to teach me in high school will faint, if I make him read those even once.
Once the blog is posted, the expectation of people reading and commenting on the same
comes into play. Comments add grace and value to the blog. And they encourage the author; they give him the motivation to write better posts in future.
I have read and experienced some beautiful comments, comments that are so good that they actually surpass the post in terms of their content, language and craft. I have seen comments that summarize the essence of the post so effortlessly.
But as was the case with the posts, I have been, at times, disappointed by the nature of comments. I have seen people commenting without even going through a quarter of the post, just to make the author feel good. And then there are comments from so called friends of the author; who, regardless of how outrageously incorrect and poorly framed with respect to the language, content and grace the post be, have depicted a feeling that the it was one of the most extraordinary posts that they have ever read. Aren’t they cheating the author, for how will the he know about the quality of his blogs, unless someone points it to him?
With that another thought crosses my mind, do all of us can and do take criticism positively and constructively? Some of us suffer from this superiority, self-centric complex; feeling that most of the things we do and approach cant go wrong. And when someone points out that, hello boss you are missing something, do we react appropriately?
With my experience of late, vis a vis comments and the author’s reactions about the same, I am kinda scared to write comments that can be termed as constructive criticism.
I have got this feeling that rather than improving upon the quality of future posts, my comments tend to upset the authors, they take it rather personally.
Guess, sugary, honey coated comments are the flavor of the season. If only to boost some egos.
Blogs often provide commentary or news on a particular subject, such as food, politics, or local news; some function as more personal online diaries. A typical blog combines text, images, and links to other blogs, web pages, and other media related to its topic. The ability for readers to leave comments in an interactive format is an important part of most early blogs.”
(Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blog)
Why do people write blogs? Some write to show the creative side of their personality, some are genuinely good with words and want a platform to showcase that, some just rant for fun. For some it’s a hobby, for some a passion, for others just a time pass.
I write blogs because I want to capture my thoughts, my feelings about things in general. Things that are common in our day-to-day lives, things that we experience every now and then.
I have also written few blogs on sporting events, soccer and F1 to quote a few. At that point in my life, I was contemplating switching over to be a freelance sports journalist. With no formal degree or previous experience in mass communication and with just about to do good English, I decided against it.
For now, I am focused in capturing the beauty and essence of common things in life, things like friendship, emotion, love, hatred, jealousy, success, failure etc. Topics that are complex, but not complicated and cluttered. And topics that most of us can attach to, subjects that almost all of us have an opinion about, emotions that most of us have felt at some point of time in their lives.
I also read blogs. Blogs from friends, family, colleagues, even unknown strangers. The journey has been interesting. I have come across some blogs that have been beautifully crafted. I recently read a poem blog about Trust and the fear of losing it. The human emotions were captured so naturally and effortlessly. I have also read some blogs were, when you read it, will be awestruck with the range and usage of English words by the author. I have also read blogs where the user, with a generous dose of humor and anecdotes, most of which are from the author’s own experience, have made the article worth reading again and again.
And then I have been through blogs that stink of plagiarism. I can also be accused of the same, the sin being committed more than once. Once I tried to lift paras from different sources and pass it as my own. I have learnt my lesson, but few other continue to do the same, effortlessly lifting portions, in some case the entirety of the blog and faking it as their own.
And then I have read blogs that can be termed as complete crap. Blogs that sometimes mean nothing. Blogs that are so poorly constructed and which are so grammatically incorrect that the English professor who used to teach me in high school will faint, if I make him read those even once.
Once the blog is posted, the expectation of people reading and commenting on the same
comes into play. Comments add grace and value to the blog. And they encourage the author; they give him the motivation to write better posts in future.
I have read and experienced some beautiful comments, comments that are so good that they actually surpass the post in terms of their content, language and craft. I have seen comments that summarize the essence of the post so effortlessly.
But as was the case with the posts, I have been, at times, disappointed by the nature of comments. I have seen people commenting without even going through a quarter of the post, just to make the author feel good. And then there are comments from so called friends of the author; who, regardless of how outrageously incorrect and poorly framed with respect to the language, content and grace the post be, have depicted a feeling that the it was one of the most extraordinary posts that they have ever read. Aren’t they cheating the author, for how will the he know about the quality of his blogs, unless someone points it to him?
With that another thought crosses my mind, do all of us can and do take criticism positively and constructively? Some of us suffer from this superiority, self-centric complex; feeling that most of the things we do and approach cant go wrong. And when someone points out that, hello boss you are missing something, do we react appropriately?
With my experience of late, vis a vis comments and the author’s reactions about the same, I am kinda scared to write comments that can be termed as constructive criticism.
I have got this feeling that rather than improving upon the quality of future posts, my comments tend to upset the authors, they take it rather personally.
Guess, sugary, honey coated comments are the flavor of the season. If only to boost some egos.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Hyderabad Zindabaad
“The tag line: Its tough to be a West Indian in India. Bad enough, but far worse was a second ad, in which a romantic black couple is rowed out to the middle of a lake by a boatman who abruptly stops, glowers at them and proceeds to strip off his clothes. The audience is clearly meant to expect that he will assault the girl – but once he is down to his shorts he jumps into the water, leaving the couple mid-lake without an oar. Repeat tag line: Its tough to be a West Indian in India.” – Shashi Tharoor, “On Racism and Censorship”, Shashi On Sunday, Sunday Times Of India, March 4, 2007.
Lambasted by Mr. Tharoor for its poor taste of humor and rightly so, the article made me think, Can I tweak the tag line? Can it be something like “Its tough to be a North Indian in South India.”?
I had my first rendezvous with South India in the dry summers of 2005. July was the month. Hyderabad was the place. Just out of an engineering college, as fresh as they get, I landed in this city for my first job. I still remember, it used to rain religiously in the weekends. And the next morning newspapers will flash headlines like “Enough water till September”, “Enough water till Mid-November for Hyderabad”. I used to think, is the situation so bad out here? Being from a small town, I never faced water crisis. There always was enough water for the people, and even the buffaloes to take a regular bath, quench their thirst at free will; ample resources to plant the gardens, and even indulge in those water fights with my siblings. Never heard anybody storing water for those dry days. More rainy weekends followed and thank God, we had water reserves to last for a long time. No more headlines portraying the water scarcity.
The names of the locations in this city had strange phonetics. Either they were all rhyming or gave a feeling of being borrowed from some ancient, prehistoric language. Ameerpet, Begumpet, Hafeezpet, Lalapet, Shameerpet; they all sounded so similar. And we had some real weird ones as well, the likes of Kukatpally, Meradpally, Moulali, and Paidamaguddi. Only respites were Banjara Hills, Jubille Hills and the good old Madhapur. The expressions on the faces of the auto rickshaw drivers when we tried to pronounce these kinds of names were worth capturing. I still remember the first time I was going to my cousin’s place, who lives in Tarnaka (for the uninitiated, this place is at the fag end of the extended township that we call Hyderabad), I actually had to call him more than thrice to ask for the location, cause I kept on forgetting the name. And I still mispronounce Koti for Kotti.
The biggest problem though was the food. Before I came to Hyderabad, my philosophy was simple. Main khaane ke liye jeeta hoon. But the very first day I had the Andhra food, I had to change the philosophy to Main jeene ke liye khaata hoon. Andhra people like their food hot and spicy. Poor me, I never ate a single chilly before college. And the only one that I had in college was over a stupid “Dairy Milk” chocolate bet. I was one of those guys who always preferred Navratan Korma to Veg Jhalfrazee. Back at home, the spices used for curries and daals never had a trace of chilly, or an overdose of garam masala. Call it bland food habits, call it saada khaana. And I kind of survived the college mess also. Thanks to all those extra food items that we used to get, which we always tweaked as per our taste. Thanks to Sahoojee and the rest of the mess gang. But in the Gultland, there was no escaping. Be it office cafeteria, Chinese outlet, posh restaurants; everything was in authentic Andhra style. And with strange names. Chicken chettinadu, dondakai fry, cabbage puriyal etc. My nose and ears used to go red, eyes watery, sweat all over my face. Still remember the day when Tushar, Gauri and I were invited for dinner to Gauri’s uncle’s place. After the food was served, the first thing that Gauri passed over was curd, lest I find the food too spicy for my taste. Hard were those days. Harder were the mornings, when I literally used to cry in the loo. I had to survive on the lesser spicy items like sandwiches, burgers, pizzas and fruit juices. The only local food item that appealed to me was the Hyderabadi Biryani. Spicy nevertheless, one can always mask that with an overdose of the raitas. I always use to trade Mirchi ka Salan for an extra helping of Raita.
Twenty long months spent here and I still can’t enjoy the Andhra food. Never understood the logic of putting peanuts in Bhindi. Or spraying those green leaves (dunno what they call it) rather generously in almost all the food items. Or the omnipresence of Curd Rice in every buffet spread, however lavish it be. But yeah, I can now stand a moderate amount of spice in my food. And to the pleasure of my south Indian friends, rice and rasam has become an integral part of my lunch. And I feast on Idlis and Vaadas. As they say, “When in Hyderabad, do as the Hyderabadis do (eat).”
Language was also one of the problems that were there, although not to a great extent. Thanks to the Sultans and the Nawabs and the culture brought by them, Hyderabad speaks an offshoot of Hindi, Hyderabadi Hindi. If you are from a Hindi speaking belt, you can almost get away with your lack of local language, Telugu. But when it comes to communicating with the domestic helps, the situations often drift towards hopelessness. As (ill) luck could have it, I never had the privilege of having a bai (maid servant) or a dhobi (washer man) who understand both Hindi and Telugu. Funny are the situations when my bai and I am trying to talk, I sticking to Hindi and she to Telugu, both giving an expression of trying to understand every word of it, although failing to decipher even a single one, finally resorting to the technique that the medieval man used to apply so effectively, the sign language. With sustained effort, we (Tushar, Gauri and I) were successful in teaching our honorable bai some keywords like kapda, jhadoo, bartan etc. The misery is far from over though. And the glowing testimony to it is the dwindling count of my underwear. Being a part of that clan whose members are very particular, choosy and possessive of their underwear, I never have been able to put this across to my bai. Not sure of the fate of my poor companions (read underwear), I almost never get back the same count as I had given for wash.
My reluctance to learn Telugu is paying rich dividends. I still can’t count from one to ten in Telugu, nor can I speak the most basic of the sentences. And the words that I know can be counted on my fingers. “Enti raa”, “Aaa ante amlapuram”, “Malichestaru”, “Chapandi”. And the most important of them all, “Telugu Raadu”, meaning I don’t understand Telugu.
Strangely though, I love this place. And the people. And the culture. Of late, I have enjoyed listening to Telugu songs. And I can boast of a good knowledge of the Gult films and the film stars. Thanks to the last page of Hyderabad Times, a daily supplement with The Times Of India Hyderabad Edition, I know about the latest releases, the heartthrobs, the Mahesh Babus, the Shreyas, the Trishas, the Genelias, the Illeanas, the Kamna Jethmalanis. And not to forget the evergreen trio, Chiru Dada (Chiranjeevi), Nagarjuna and Venkatesh.
The last paragraph was not written with an intention to honey coat this article, the feelings are genuine. And someday I would love to write on this beautiful place we call Hyderabad and about the Hyderabadis. Only if my Hyderabadi friends spare me to see the light of another dawn.
Lambasted by Mr. Tharoor for its poor taste of humor and rightly so, the article made me think, Can I tweak the tag line? Can it be something like “Its tough to be a North Indian in South India.”?
I had my first rendezvous with South India in the dry summers of 2005. July was the month. Hyderabad was the place. Just out of an engineering college, as fresh as they get, I landed in this city for my first job. I still remember, it used to rain religiously in the weekends. And the next morning newspapers will flash headlines like “Enough water till September”, “Enough water till Mid-November for Hyderabad”. I used to think, is the situation so bad out here? Being from a small town, I never faced water crisis. There always was enough water for the people, and even the buffaloes to take a regular bath, quench their thirst at free will; ample resources to plant the gardens, and even indulge in those water fights with my siblings. Never heard anybody storing water for those dry days. More rainy weekends followed and thank God, we had water reserves to last for a long time. No more headlines portraying the water scarcity.
The names of the locations in this city had strange phonetics. Either they were all rhyming or gave a feeling of being borrowed from some ancient, prehistoric language. Ameerpet, Begumpet, Hafeezpet, Lalapet, Shameerpet; they all sounded so similar. And we had some real weird ones as well, the likes of Kukatpally, Meradpally, Moulali, and Paidamaguddi. Only respites were Banjara Hills, Jubille Hills and the good old Madhapur. The expressions on the faces of the auto rickshaw drivers when we tried to pronounce these kinds of names were worth capturing. I still remember the first time I was going to my cousin’s place, who lives in Tarnaka (for the uninitiated, this place is at the fag end of the extended township that we call Hyderabad), I actually had to call him more than thrice to ask for the location, cause I kept on forgetting the name. And I still mispronounce Koti for Kotti.
The biggest problem though was the food. Before I came to Hyderabad, my philosophy was simple. Main khaane ke liye jeeta hoon. But the very first day I had the Andhra food, I had to change the philosophy to Main jeene ke liye khaata hoon. Andhra people like their food hot and spicy. Poor me, I never ate a single chilly before college. And the only one that I had in college was over a stupid “Dairy Milk” chocolate bet. I was one of those guys who always preferred Navratan Korma to Veg Jhalfrazee. Back at home, the spices used for curries and daals never had a trace of chilly, or an overdose of garam masala. Call it bland food habits, call it saada khaana. And I kind of survived the college mess also. Thanks to all those extra food items that we used to get, which we always tweaked as per our taste. Thanks to Sahoojee and the rest of the mess gang. But in the Gultland, there was no escaping. Be it office cafeteria, Chinese outlet, posh restaurants; everything was in authentic Andhra style. And with strange names. Chicken chettinadu, dondakai fry, cabbage puriyal etc. My nose and ears used to go red, eyes watery, sweat all over my face. Still remember the day when Tushar, Gauri and I were invited for dinner to Gauri’s uncle’s place. After the food was served, the first thing that Gauri passed over was curd, lest I find the food too spicy for my taste. Hard were those days. Harder were the mornings, when I literally used to cry in the loo. I had to survive on the lesser spicy items like sandwiches, burgers, pizzas and fruit juices. The only local food item that appealed to me was the Hyderabadi Biryani. Spicy nevertheless, one can always mask that with an overdose of the raitas. I always use to trade Mirchi ka Salan for an extra helping of Raita.
Twenty long months spent here and I still can’t enjoy the Andhra food. Never understood the logic of putting peanuts in Bhindi. Or spraying those green leaves (dunno what they call it) rather generously in almost all the food items. Or the omnipresence of Curd Rice in every buffet spread, however lavish it be. But yeah, I can now stand a moderate amount of spice in my food. And to the pleasure of my south Indian friends, rice and rasam has become an integral part of my lunch. And I feast on Idlis and Vaadas. As they say, “When in Hyderabad, do as the Hyderabadis do (eat).”
Language was also one of the problems that were there, although not to a great extent. Thanks to the Sultans and the Nawabs and the culture brought by them, Hyderabad speaks an offshoot of Hindi, Hyderabadi Hindi. If you are from a Hindi speaking belt, you can almost get away with your lack of local language, Telugu. But when it comes to communicating with the domestic helps, the situations often drift towards hopelessness. As (ill) luck could have it, I never had the privilege of having a bai (maid servant) or a dhobi (washer man) who understand both Hindi and Telugu. Funny are the situations when my bai and I am trying to talk, I sticking to Hindi and she to Telugu, both giving an expression of trying to understand every word of it, although failing to decipher even a single one, finally resorting to the technique that the medieval man used to apply so effectively, the sign language. With sustained effort, we (Tushar, Gauri and I) were successful in teaching our honorable bai some keywords like kapda, jhadoo, bartan etc. The misery is far from over though. And the glowing testimony to it is the dwindling count of my underwear. Being a part of that clan whose members are very particular, choosy and possessive of their underwear, I never have been able to put this across to my bai. Not sure of the fate of my poor companions (read underwear), I almost never get back the same count as I had given for wash.
My reluctance to learn Telugu is paying rich dividends. I still can’t count from one to ten in Telugu, nor can I speak the most basic of the sentences. And the words that I know can be counted on my fingers. “Enti raa”, “Aaa ante amlapuram”, “Malichestaru”, “Chapandi”. And the most important of them all, “Telugu Raadu”, meaning I don’t understand Telugu.
Strangely though, I love this place. And the people. And the culture. Of late, I have enjoyed listening to Telugu songs. And I can boast of a good knowledge of the Gult films and the film stars. Thanks to the last page of Hyderabad Times, a daily supplement with The Times Of India Hyderabad Edition, I know about the latest releases, the heartthrobs, the Mahesh Babus, the Shreyas, the Trishas, the Genelias, the Illeanas, the Kamna Jethmalanis. And not to forget the evergreen trio, Chiru Dada (Chiranjeevi), Nagarjuna and Venkatesh.
The last paragraph was not written with an intention to honey coat this article, the feelings are genuine. And someday I would love to write on this beautiful place we call Hyderabad and about the Hyderabadis. Only if my Hyderabadi friends spare me to see the light of another dawn.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Smile, An Everlasting Smile
I aint an expert, I aint a love guru, I certainly am not the most qualified person to talk about it and I know that most of us already know what I am going to write about. Still, I wanted to capture it, wanted it to be printed in black and white.
So how does it all begin? It all starts with an innocuous smile, a simple platonic extension of the lips and a sparkle in the eyes. The guy feels the vibes, and so does the girl. The guy still is skeptic to take the first step though, ‘cause he still aint sure about the female’s reaction. C’mon, it was just a smile, nothing special. And so he starts pondering. Shall I or shall I not?
Couple of days later, the guy musters strength and finally talks to the female. Nothing special, just the formal chitchat. Talks about hobbies, interests, friends, college, music, movies etc. Couple of sessions pass by. More and more talks, more and more blabber. The guy kind of starts liking talking to the female, they both kind of start hitting the same wavelength.
And then the first coffee date comes. No matter whether either or both of them hate coffee, they say yes. Never understood the glamour associated with the coffee dates. Is it the aroma of the java beans, is it the ambience, or are the movies to be blamed for the glamorization? What ever it is, everyone wants to be on such a date with that special someone (in yours truly’s case, anyone).
The guy returns home with a sense of achievement, the female is all blushing. They keep on reliving the evening in their heads again and again. Was I too shy, too nervous? Was I correctly dressed? Was the tip I left appropriate? Did she notice the perfume that I was wearing? Was I able to pull my A game? The guy puts on Roxette’s cd, takes out a magazine, but all he could think of is about the evening. And what about the female? I aint got any clue, and might never will.
More coffee dates (if both of u like it), ice cream dates follow. The evening walks, the SMSs, the messenger talks all have their effect. They start getting more comfortable, more informal. The urge to meet more frequently increases. The guy likes to spend time with the female.
As the guy is somewhat sure of the way the female will react to certain situations, he starts putting his best put forward. He kind of feels at ease in the females company. His histrionics make the female laugh. And remember, if you make a female laugh, half the battle is won. Ask any female, what do you want in your ideal guy? And pat comes the reply, he should be smart, should make me laugh, and should care about me. (And must have good amount of cash, this part of answer is implicit though, never told but often understood).
The girl is more than impressed by the guy, the guy always was. They can sense something special. And then the guy musters some more courage, and takes the female’s hand into his. For a moment, there is a silence. The female is unsure of her reaction, the guy becomes self-conscious. They both take a step backward, the guy gives a wry smile, and the female has a sheepish look on her face. But only momentarily. They come closer, hand in hand, and start walking.
Aint that easy, aint that simple enough!
So how does it all begin? It all starts with an innocuous smile, a simple platonic extension of the lips and a sparkle in the eyes. The guy feels the vibes, and so does the girl. The guy still is skeptic to take the first step though, ‘cause he still aint sure about the female’s reaction. C’mon, it was just a smile, nothing special. And so he starts pondering. Shall I or shall I not?
Couple of days later, the guy musters strength and finally talks to the female. Nothing special, just the formal chitchat. Talks about hobbies, interests, friends, college, music, movies etc. Couple of sessions pass by. More and more talks, more and more blabber. The guy kind of starts liking talking to the female, they both kind of start hitting the same wavelength.
And then the first coffee date comes. No matter whether either or both of them hate coffee, they say yes. Never understood the glamour associated with the coffee dates. Is it the aroma of the java beans, is it the ambience, or are the movies to be blamed for the glamorization? What ever it is, everyone wants to be on such a date with that special someone (in yours truly’s case, anyone).
The guy returns home with a sense of achievement, the female is all blushing. They keep on reliving the evening in their heads again and again. Was I too shy, too nervous? Was I correctly dressed? Was the tip I left appropriate? Did she notice the perfume that I was wearing? Was I able to pull my A game? The guy puts on Roxette’s cd, takes out a magazine, but all he could think of is about the evening. And what about the female? I aint got any clue, and might never will.
More coffee dates (if both of u like it), ice cream dates follow. The evening walks, the SMSs, the messenger talks all have their effect. They start getting more comfortable, more informal. The urge to meet more frequently increases. The guy likes to spend time with the female.
As the guy is somewhat sure of the way the female will react to certain situations, he starts putting his best put forward. He kind of feels at ease in the females company. His histrionics make the female laugh. And remember, if you make a female laugh, half the battle is won. Ask any female, what do you want in your ideal guy? And pat comes the reply, he should be smart, should make me laugh, and should care about me. (And must have good amount of cash, this part of answer is implicit though, never told but often understood).
The girl is more than impressed by the guy, the guy always was. They can sense something special. And then the guy musters some more courage, and takes the female’s hand into his. For a moment, there is a silence. The female is unsure of her reaction, the guy becomes self-conscious. They both take a step backward, the guy gives a wry smile, and the female has a sheepish look on her face. But only momentarily. They come closer, hand in hand, and start walking.
Aint that easy, aint that simple enough!
Sunday, February 04, 2007
If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Wednesday November 1, 2006 - 10:46am IST)
This fall he is set to lose all that the claimed he had. The script had been written a long time back, the recipe for disaster been brewed, the execution plan followed to the T, only the proverbial final nail in the coffin needs to be put. Skills have deserted him, lady luck never bothered about him, off late. He is going down. He liked to call himself rattlesnake, a fighter to the core. He aint that no more. He has been reduced to a pulp of blood and mud; beaten, bruised, battered.
People say he is a nice guy, he has a nice job, must be enjoying himself. Well, yes, once he used to be a nice guy, but his conscience stops himself from calling himself anything but nice now. The job is still there, for how long, he aint sure. And as far as enjoying himself is concerned, he never had that skill. He was never a leader of men, he always preferred to follow. He partied when they did, he did fun and frolic when they did, he sat idle when they thought so. Never had it in him to call the shots, carve something out for himself.
Times changed. He was thrown into the open, to make a name for himself. And he did what he knew best to do, follow. This time the guys around meant business, no more sunny days, only drab dull evenings and nights. So, he transformed himself. The adopted happy-go-lucky nature gave way to “Ohh, I am too busy right now, come back later” attitude. The one-dimensional nature of his existence killed his social roots.
He hasn’t had a decent laugh in last six months, hasn’t been a part of crowd for most part of this year. He sees people around him smiling so effortlessly, he considers them blessed. He sees brothers walking arms in arms; he sees couple strolling, blushing with the radiance of each other’s company; he sees gangs of friends having a really nice time together. And then he looks at himself, walking all alone, no one to his left or right. No one to follow him, no on he can follow. May be other people have something special about them, may be he has nothing even average about him.
He came to this city with a determination to make it big, make an identity for himself. After all, this was his first job. And don’t they say, well begun is half done. So, he started pumping those long hours, his bosses were more than happy. But what about his friends? He appeared to be too ambitious, too self-centered. Never could afford enough time for them. “Lets go to movie this Saturday.” “Sorry, can’t make it, gotta take care of some unfinished business.” “Lets go out for drink.” “Sorry mate, that aint where I want to be.” And so, he started cutting the very roots that saw him rise to prominence. His friends did care for him, but for how long. They tried their best to have him as one of them, he proved to be a self-destructive freak. And so, with passage of time, he faded out. He was there, but not exactly there. He was cut out. Aint they preach on TV, no one is bigger than the team, and no one is indispensable.
He never tried to make new friends. He always thought he is set for better things. He shrugged few ‘coz he thought they were socially unfit to be spotted with, he rejected few because he thought they lacked a requisite sense of humor. Ha-ha, just that he had been with guys who had real whacky sense for it, he perceived even he had a decent one. He was part of more than a few groups, he never committed to any. His volleyball team still has high regards for him; his basketball gang will have a tough time recalling his face, maybe even his name.
And his workplace team, they always thought he was too good to be true. Everything that goes up comes down. Some day even he will. For the time being, lets not indulge in this cloud headed guy.
So, he walks all alone, chews his dinner all alone.
He was always deemed as a good student, maybe some truth to it, maybe all hype. For a long time, he never let this to creep into his head. But for how long can you ward off the evil? Just because he knew the art of getting good scores when it mattered, just that he was the proverbial one-eyed guy in a village of blinds, he thought he was better than most of the two-eyed clan. Oh yeah, I am smart, I am intelligent; he exclaimed. Maybe he forgot the patchy record of his past, brilliant at times, shoddy often. He thought he can emulate what most other can. He preached his study was incomplete, simple grad wont fetch you anything, he said he needed a post grad. And with a good deal of hype and hoopla, he took that mission, improbable but not impossible. Constant reminders of his limitations never deterred him; failure laughing in his face never stopped him from trying. Maybe that was his strength; maybe he was living in a fool’s paradise. Time will tell, yeah time is a very good judge, and a brutal one. He might have lost the edge, maybe its curtains.
He started his career in a very impressive manner, winning accolades for achieving things in very short span of time. But how? He gave 16 when they asked for 8. For him, results always were the first priority, the method secondary. He gave results, and at a very good pace. Wait a sec. Were his solutions foolproof or were the elements bound by chewing gum, sooner or later going to lose the adhesive. No body cared; maybe this is how they work. But yeah, he rose to prominence. They lauded his skills, they appreciated his dedication. Some preached, some offered advice, others applauded.
Someone advised, “Listen kid, we all know you are special. But so were Tendulkar and Kambli, both equally gifted, both equally talented. One mad it big, the other lost his way in the woods. Stay focused.”
His boss compared him with Mahendra Dhoni. Dhoni’s stocks were rising and so were his. Both were thought to be the best thing that had happened to their respective teams in the recent past. This was about April, both doing pretty well in their fields.
Where are they now? In doldrums. Maybe, success got to their head. May my assessment about Dhoni be farce, wish the same for him too. The matter of fact, though, as it stands is that both of them don’t command the same respect from their bosses they once did.
Isn’t he still working hard? He is, but so are his distractions too. He wants to concentrate on his studies, work taking a backseat. Maybe he is trying to ride two boats, maybe his not fit for even one. The results are still there, but they don’t look as distinctive as they did. He still can deliver what some struggle to; he still is their safer bet in crucial scenarios. He is losing his edge, though.
He had a steady love life, or he thought so. He thought this girl was special. She was brilliant, she still is. She was beautiful, she still retrains her charm. But hasn’t the guy changed. Does the guy still have those features the female fell for? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he is not indispensable anymore. Or maybe he is. Only Lord knows, he never had the ability to read a woman’s mind. She thought he was an honest guy, she felt he was innocent. Is there innocence anymore? Hasn’t the honesty dwindled? She thought he was smart. Maybe he was, maybe momentarily though. She thought he cared for her. Don’t most of guys care for their female? Affirmative sir. She thought he was different, aren’t all of us? She thought he was special. Maybe. He made her feel special, he made her feel wanted, and he made her feel exclusive. But how long they are going to hold the fort. Someone better than him might be lurking in the corner; he will never get a clue. Or aren’t all of them better than him? What is he, nothing more than a weary, drab loser? And no one cares for a loser. Maybe she still loves her, but is he lovable?
Distance heals some wounds, time most. But don’t they leave behind scars.
So, what’s your prediction? Hasn’t he already lost everything? He is finished, dumped and disposed. RIP.
Or is he? The rattlesnake will raise its ugly head again. They have a reputation not for nothing. He will rise, much like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. Skills might have deserted him, fate might have too, but he still has hopes.
Hopes of making it big, hopes of completing his post-grad, hopes of standing tall in the crowd, hopes of surprising his lady. Some day, he will make them proud. Someday…
This fall he is set to lose all that the claimed he had. The script had been written a long time back, the recipe for disaster been brewed, the execution plan followed to the T, only the proverbial final nail in the coffin needs to be put. Skills have deserted him, lady luck never bothered about him, off late. He is going down. He liked to call himself rattlesnake, a fighter to the core. He aint that no more. He has been reduced to a pulp of blood and mud; beaten, bruised, battered.
People say he is a nice guy, he has a nice job, must be enjoying himself. Well, yes, once he used to be a nice guy, but his conscience stops himself from calling himself anything but nice now. The job is still there, for how long, he aint sure. And as far as enjoying himself is concerned, he never had that skill. He was never a leader of men, he always preferred to follow. He partied when they did, he did fun and frolic when they did, he sat idle when they thought so. Never had it in him to call the shots, carve something out for himself.
Times changed. He was thrown into the open, to make a name for himself. And he did what he knew best to do, follow. This time the guys around meant business, no more sunny days, only drab dull evenings and nights. So, he transformed himself. The adopted happy-go-lucky nature gave way to “Ohh, I am too busy right now, come back later” attitude. The one-dimensional nature of his existence killed his social roots.
He hasn’t had a decent laugh in last six months, hasn’t been a part of crowd for most part of this year. He sees people around him smiling so effortlessly, he considers them blessed. He sees brothers walking arms in arms; he sees couple strolling, blushing with the radiance of each other’s company; he sees gangs of friends having a really nice time together. And then he looks at himself, walking all alone, no one to his left or right. No one to follow him, no on he can follow. May be other people have something special about them, may be he has nothing even average about him.
He came to this city with a determination to make it big, make an identity for himself. After all, this was his first job. And don’t they say, well begun is half done. So, he started pumping those long hours, his bosses were more than happy. But what about his friends? He appeared to be too ambitious, too self-centered. Never could afford enough time for them. “Lets go to movie this Saturday.” “Sorry, can’t make it, gotta take care of some unfinished business.” “Lets go out for drink.” “Sorry mate, that aint where I want to be.” And so, he started cutting the very roots that saw him rise to prominence. His friends did care for him, but for how long. They tried their best to have him as one of them, he proved to be a self-destructive freak. And so, with passage of time, he faded out. He was there, but not exactly there. He was cut out. Aint they preach on TV, no one is bigger than the team, and no one is indispensable.
He never tried to make new friends. He always thought he is set for better things. He shrugged few ‘coz he thought they were socially unfit to be spotted with, he rejected few because he thought they lacked a requisite sense of humor. Ha-ha, just that he had been with guys who had real whacky sense for it, he perceived even he had a decent one. He was part of more than a few groups, he never committed to any. His volleyball team still has high regards for him; his basketball gang will have a tough time recalling his face, maybe even his name.
And his workplace team, they always thought he was too good to be true. Everything that goes up comes down. Some day even he will. For the time being, lets not indulge in this cloud headed guy.
So, he walks all alone, chews his dinner all alone.
He was always deemed as a good student, maybe some truth to it, maybe all hype. For a long time, he never let this to creep into his head. But for how long can you ward off the evil? Just because he knew the art of getting good scores when it mattered, just that he was the proverbial one-eyed guy in a village of blinds, he thought he was better than most of the two-eyed clan. Oh yeah, I am smart, I am intelligent; he exclaimed. Maybe he forgot the patchy record of his past, brilliant at times, shoddy often. He thought he can emulate what most other can. He preached his study was incomplete, simple grad wont fetch you anything, he said he needed a post grad. And with a good deal of hype and hoopla, he took that mission, improbable but not impossible. Constant reminders of his limitations never deterred him; failure laughing in his face never stopped him from trying. Maybe that was his strength; maybe he was living in a fool’s paradise. Time will tell, yeah time is a very good judge, and a brutal one. He might have lost the edge, maybe its curtains.
He started his career in a very impressive manner, winning accolades for achieving things in very short span of time. But how? He gave 16 when they asked for 8. For him, results always were the first priority, the method secondary. He gave results, and at a very good pace. Wait a sec. Were his solutions foolproof or were the elements bound by chewing gum, sooner or later going to lose the adhesive. No body cared; maybe this is how they work. But yeah, he rose to prominence. They lauded his skills, they appreciated his dedication. Some preached, some offered advice, others applauded.
Someone advised, “Listen kid, we all know you are special. But so were Tendulkar and Kambli, both equally gifted, both equally talented. One mad it big, the other lost his way in the woods. Stay focused.”
His boss compared him with Mahendra Dhoni. Dhoni’s stocks were rising and so were his. Both were thought to be the best thing that had happened to their respective teams in the recent past. This was about April, both doing pretty well in their fields.
Where are they now? In doldrums. Maybe, success got to their head. May my assessment about Dhoni be farce, wish the same for him too. The matter of fact, though, as it stands is that both of them don’t command the same respect from their bosses they once did.
Isn’t he still working hard? He is, but so are his distractions too. He wants to concentrate on his studies, work taking a backseat. Maybe he is trying to ride two boats, maybe his not fit for even one. The results are still there, but they don’t look as distinctive as they did. He still can deliver what some struggle to; he still is their safer bet in crucial scenarios. He is losing his edge, though.
He had a steady love life, or he thought so. He thought this girl was special. She was brilliant, she still is. She was beautiful, she still retrains her charm. But hasn’t the guy changed. Does the guy still have those features the female fell for? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he is not indispensable anymore. Or maybe he is. Only Lord knows, he never had the ability to read a woman’s mind. She thought he was an honest guy, she felt he was innocent. Is there innocence anymore? Hasn’t the honesty dwindled? She thought he was smart. Maybe he was, maybe momentarily though. She thought he cared for her. Don’t most of guys care for their female? Affirmative sir. She thought he was different, aren’t all of us? She thought he was special. Maybe. He made her feel special, he made her feel wanted, and he made her feel exclusive. But how long they are going to hold the fort. Someone better than him might be lurking in the corner; he will never get a clue. Or aren’t all of them better than him? What is he, nothing more than a weary, drab loser? And no one cares for a loser. Maybe she still loves her, but is he lovable?
Distance heals some wounds, time most. But don’t they leave behind scars.
So, what’s your prediction? Hasn’t he already lost everything? He is finished, dumped and disposed. RIP.
Or is he? The rattlesnake will raise its ugly head again. They have a reputation not for nothing. He will rise, much like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. Skills might have deserted him, fate might have too, but he still has hopes.
Hopes of making it big, hopes of completing his post-grad, hopes of standing tall in the crowd, hopes of surprising his lady. Some day, he will make them proud. Someday…
Barca sweeps UEFA awards, draws Chelsea in group stage
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Friday August 25, 2006 - 02:19am IST)
The testimony to Barca’s dominance of European football last season was on display today at the draw for the group stage of the 2006/07 UEFA Champions League. The European champions swept the awards ceremony, winning most of the silverware on offer. Carles Puyol Saforcada was awarded the defender of the year. Anderson Luis de Souza aka Deco bagged the Midfielder of the year award whereas Samuel Eto’o pipped Henry and Ronaldinho to get the Forward of the year award.
The biggest award of the night was won by the talismanic, buck toothed midfielder from Rio Grande do Sul, Ronaldinho, hailed by many as the greatest footballer of his time, when he bagged the UEFA Footballer of the year award.
Talking about the draw for group stages, Barca find themselves in a rather tough group A with English Champions Chelsea, German giants Werder Bremen and relatively unknowns PFC Levski Sofia from Bulgaria. This is the third straight season when two of the biggest powerhouses of Europe will be clashing at this stage. Although the last two encounters were won by Barca and deservedly so, the resurgent Chelsea with a motto of proving their worth in the Champions league are more than capable of reversing the trend.
Perennial favorites AC Milan find themselves in a relatively easy draw with LOSC Lille Métropole (France), AEK Athens FC (Greece) and RSC Anderlecht (Belgium) giving company. Weakened by Schevencheko’ departure to Chelsea and clearly lacking a world class striker, remember Gilardino and Inzaghi were not even first choices for their country, they still hold a threat to the rest of the biggies, mainly due to their traditional powerful defence line and the art of wearing the opponents down before going for a kill. But the players are aging fast; skipper Maldini is on the verge of 40, Cafu seems to be playing for eternity now and Costacurta is in the fourth decade of his life. With no new signings in the horizon, I don’t see them bettering their last season semifinals appearance.
The red devils, Man United are in group F and will be facing Celtic FC from Scotland, champions of 1966/67, for the first time in UEFA club competition. With a resounding start to their Premiership season, drubbing Fulham and then Charlton, they are the team to beat in this year’s competition. Much depends on the temperamental Rooney and how he inspires rest of the bunch to raise their game a notch above the rest. SL Benfica from Portugal and FC København from Denmark complete the group.
The complete group draw is:
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group A
FC Barcelona (ESP)
Chelsea FC (ENG)
Werder Bremen (GER)
PFC Levski Sofia (BUL)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group B
FC Internazionale Milano (ITA)
FC Bayern München (GER)
Sporting Clube de Portugal (POR)
FC Spartak Moskva (RUS)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group C
Liverpool FC (ENG)
PSV Eindhoven (NED)
FC Girondins de Bordeaux (FRA)
Galatasaray SK (TUR)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group D
Valencia CF (ESP)
AS Roma (ITA)
Olympiacos CFP (GRE)
FC Shakhtar Donetsk (UKR)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group E
Real Madrid CF (ESP)
Olympique Lyonnais (FRA)
FC Steaua Bucuresti (ROU)
FC Dynamo Kyiv (UKR)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group F
Manchester United FC (ENG)
Celtic FC (SCO)
SL Benfica (POR)
FC København (DEN)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group G
Arsenal FC (ENG)
FC Porto (POR)
PFC CSKA Moskva (RUS)
Hamburger SV (GER)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group H
AC Milan (ITA)
LOSC Lille Métropole (FRA)
AEK Athens FC (GRE)
RSC Anderlecht (BEL)
The testimony to Barca’s dominance of European football last season was on display today at the draw for the group stage of the 2006/07 UEFA Champions League. The European champions swept the awards ceremony, winning most of the silverware on offer. Carles Puyol Saforcada was awarded the defender of the year. Anderson Luis de Souza aka Deco bagged the Midfielder of the year award whereas Samuel Eto’o pipped Henry and Ronaldinho to get the Forward of the year award.
The biggest award of the night was won by the talismanic, buck toothed midfielder from Rio Grande do Sul, Ronaldinho, hailed by many as the greatest footballer of his time, when he bagged the UEFA Footballer of the year award.
Talking about the draw for group stages, Barca find themselves in a rather tough group A with English Champions Chelsea, German giants Werder Bremen and relatively unknowns PFC Levski Sofia from Bulgaria. This is the third straight season when two of the biggest powerhouses of Europe will be clashing at this stage. Although the last two encounters were won by Barca and deservedly so, the resurgent Chelsea with a motto of proving their worth in the Champions league are more than capable of reversing the trend.
Perennial favorites AC Milan find themselves in a relatively easy draw with LOSC Lille Métropole (France), AEK Athens FC (Greece) and RSC Anderlecht (Belgium) giving company. Weakened by Schevencheko’ departure to Chelsea and clearly lacking a world class striker, remember Gilardino and Inzaghi were not even first choices for their country, they still hold a threat to the rest of the biggies, mainly due to their traditional powerful defence line and the art of wearing the opponents down before going for a kill. But the players are aging fast; skipper Maldini is on the verge of 40, Cafu seems to be playing for eternity now and Costacurta is in the fourth decade of his life. With no new signings in the horizon, I don’t see them bettering their last season semifinals appearance.
The red devils, Man United are in group F and will be facing Celtic FC from Scotland, champions of 1966/67, for the first time in UEFA club competition. With a resounding start to their Premiership season, drubbing Fulham and then Charlton, they are the team to beat in this year’s competition. Much depends on the temperamental Rooney and how he inspires rest of the bunch to raise their game a notch above the rest. SL Benfica from Portugal and FC København from Denmark complete the group.
The complete group draw is:
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group A
FC Barcelona (ESP)
Chelsea FC (ENG)
Werder Bremen (GER)
PFC Levski Sofia (BUL)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group B
FC Internazionale Milano (ITA)
FC Bayern München (GER)
Sporting Clube de Portugal (POR)
FC Spartak Moskva (RUS)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group C
Liverpool FC (ENG)
PSV Eindhoven (NED)
FC Girondins de Bordeaux (FRA)
Galatasaray SK (TUR)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group D
Valencia CF (ESP)
AS Roma (ITA)
Olympiacos CFP (GRE)
FC Shakhtar Donetsk (UKR)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group E
Real Madrid CF (ESP)
Olympique Lyonnais (FRA)
FC Steaua Bucuresti (ROU)
FC Dynamo Kyiv (UKR)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group F
Manchester United FC (ENG)
Celtic FC (SCO)
SL Benfica (POR)
FC København (DEN)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group G
Arsenal FC (ENG)
FC Porto (POR)
PFC CSKA Moskva (RUS)
Hamburger SV (GER)
2006/07 UEFA Champions League
Group H
AC Milan (ITA)
LOSC Lille Métropole (FRA)
AEK Athens FC (GRE)
RSC Anderlecht (BEL)
Argentina begin their campaign in style
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Monday June 12, 2006 - 02:07am IST)
Day two of the 2006 FIFA World Cup Germany™ got off to the most unexpected of starts. Despite the fact that several of the world’s leading strikers were taking to the stage, by the time the last of the day’s three games kicked off only a solitary goal had been scored, and that by a defender past his own goalkeeper. Order was restored late in the day, however, when Javier Saviola , Hernan Crespo and Didier Drogba each bagged a goal for their sides to add a little spice to the race for the coveted adidas Golden Shoe.
The goalscoring exploits of Miroslav Klose and Paulo Wanchope yesterday proved a hard act to follow for the men in action on Saturday. Sadly for English strike duo Michael Owen and Peter Crouch, Paraguayan tandem Nelson Valdez and Roque Santa Cruz, and Swedish sharpshooters Henrik Larsson and Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the task proved beyond them. It was left to club team-mates Hernan Crespo and Didier Drogba to save face for the strikers’ union in this evening’s clash.
After disputing the main striking role at Chelsea over the last season, both men showed tonight that their predatory instincts remain undimmed. Although this is the 30-year-old Crespo’s third FIFA World Cup finals, it is the first time he has arrived at the tournament as his country’s first-choice centre-forward. The responsibility obviously sits well on his shoulders. With only 24 minutes on the clock, the Chelsea man appeared out of nowhere to slam home a loose ball in the six-yard-box and score for the second consecutive FIFA World Cup game. After stamping his mark on the game, the Argentine opportunist left the field to rapturous applause when he was replaced on the hour mark. Crespo did not let the acclaim go to his head, though, and was modesty personified after the final whistle: “I was lucky enough to get on the end of a rebound, but let’s hope I can carry on.”
With Crespo off the field, sparring partner Drogba began to flex his muscles. The Elephants skipper looked sharp throughout and proved a handful for the Argentine rearguard. He was finally rewarded for his battling performance in the dying stages of the game when he notched his country’s first-ever FIFA World Cup finals goal. Unfortunately for the talismanic Drogba, it proved too little too late.
The man they call Conejo (The Rabbit) earned a place in the starting line-up ahead of Carlos Tevez, and linked up in typically slick style with Juan Roman Riquelme to neatly slip the ball past the advancing Jean-Jacques Tizie and extend the South Americans’ lead. The Sevilla forward is the highest scorer in the history of the FIFA U-20 World Cup, and this was his first goal in the senior tournament.
The battle for the Golden Shoe has obviously only just begun, but with the likes of Ruud van Nistelrooy, Jared Borgetti and Pauleta about to step into action, the fans are rubbing their hands in anticipation of a goalscoring feast. Defenders of the world, you have been warned.
Disclaimer: This is a feed from FIFAworldcup.com
I am leavibg for a vacation and wont be able to cover any matches till 16th of this month.
Day two of the 2006 FIFA World Cup Germany™ got off to the most unexpected of starts. Despite the fact that several of the world’s leading strikers were taking to the stage, by the time the last of the day’s three games kicked off only a solitary goal had been scored, and that by a defender past his own goalkeeper. Order was restored late in the day, however, when Javier Saviola , Hernan Crespo and Didier Drogba each bagged a goal for their sides to add a little spice to the race for the coveted adidas Golden Shoe.
The goalscoring exploits of Miroslav Klose and Paulo Wanchope yesterday proved a hard act to follow for the men in action on Saturday. Sadly for English strike duo Michael Owen and Peter Crouch, Paraguayan tandem Nelson Valdez and Roque Santa Cruz, and Swedish sharpshooters Henrik Larsson and Zlatan Ibrahimovic, the task proved beyond them. It was left to club team-mates Hernan Crespo and Didier Drogba to save face for the strikers’ union in this evening’s clash.
After disputing the main striking role at Chelsea over the last season, both men showed tonight that their predatory instincts remain undimmed. Although this is the 30-year-old Crespo’s third FIFA World Cup finals, it is the first time he has arrived at the tournament as his country’s first-choice centre-forward. The responsibility obviously sits well on his shoulders. With only 24 minutes on the clock, the Chelsea man appeared out of nowhere to slam home a loose ball in the six-yard-box and score for the second consecutive FIFA World Cup game. After stamping his mark on the game, the Argentine opportunist left the field to rapturous applause when he was replaced on the hour mark. Crespo did not let the acclaim go to his head, though, and was modesty personified after the final whistle: “I was lucky enough to get on the end of a rebound, but let’s hope I can carry on.”
With Crespo off the field, sparring partner Drogba began to flex his muscles. The Elephants skipper looked sharp throughout and proved a handful for the Argentine rearguard. He was finally rewarded for his battling performance in the dying stages of the game when he notched his country’s first-ever FIFA World Cup finals goal. Unfortunately for the talismanic Drogba, it proved too little too late.
The man they call Conejo (The Rabbit) earned a place in the starting line-up ahead of Carlos Tevez, and linked up in typically slick style with Juan Roman Riquelme to neatly slip the ball past the advancing Jean-Jacques Tizie and extend the South Americans’ lead. The Sevilla forward is the highest scorer in the history of the FIFA U-20 World Cup, and this was his first goal in the senior tournament.
The battle for the Golden Shoe has obviously only just begun, but with the likes of Ruud van Nistelrooy, Jared Borgetti and Pauleta about to step into action, the fans are rubbing their hands in anticipation of a goalscoring feast. Defenders of the world, you have been warned.
Disclaimer: This is a feed from FIFAworldcup.com
I am leavibg for a vacation and wont be able to cover any matches till 16th of this month.
The Curtainraiser
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Saturday June 10, 2006 - 12:39am IST)
Germany 4 CostaRica 2
If this is the precursor of things to come, then Soccer World Cup 2006 is gonna be one hell of a sporting event. Ninety minutes of high crescendo drama, six goals in total, none better than the last one.
Forget the two teams, forget the on field referees, forget the soccer hooligans, forget the gum chewing coaches, the main attraction for the opening game of this 64 match extravaganza was the euro 280 million 66000 sitting capacity Allianz Stadium. Architected by Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron and owned by Bayern and TSV 1860 Munchen, this unique stadium can change its color(blue Bayern, red 1860) depending on which team is playing its home match. This brand new stadium came into existence when the people of Munich unanimously voted in favor of a new stadium to take place of Olympic Stadium.
Coming back to the game, contrary to the public sentiments, German coach Jurgen Klinsman opted to rest his ace strike Michael Ballack. Also, his continued faith in the Arsenal goalkeeper Jens Lehmann meant the legendary Oliver Kahn had to warm the bench. The captains armband was worn by Bernd Schneider .
For the central American team Costa Rica, their hopes were pinned on Paulo Wanchope. Emerging as the highest goal scorer in the qualifiers ,with eight shots to the net, this guy is the inspirational figure around which the whole team revolves.
The match got off to a flying start which saw three goals inside first 17 minutes. The Mannschaft got off to a fantastic start as full-back Lahm cut inside on the left flank and curled a beautiful drive which clipped into the net off the far post to send Germany into an early lead.(6th minute). The parity was brought by Wanchope who beat Germany's offside trap, sprinted clear and composed himself before sliding the ball past goalkeeper Jens Lehmann to score the equaliser(12th minute).
Continuing the fast paced game, the Germans swung into lead again when Schneider fed Bastian Schweinsteiger from near the corner flag and his cross from just inside the area was turned home by Miroslav Klose.(31st minute)
The two teams slogged till half time with no goals added to the scoreline. After the breather, the game got off to a subdued start. Both teams preferred to stick to the lower midfield most of the time, occassionally going for rather innocuos attacks.
Life was fed into the game when Klose, celebtrating his 28th birthday, increased Germany's lead. Tipped as one of the challengers for the Adidas golden shoe, Klose scored his second goal of the match and seventh overall in finals by virtue of a teasing cross from Lahm.(61 minutes).
The Ticos were in no mood to sit back and let Germany dominate the proccedings as Wanchope matched Klose by once again skipping through Germany’s defence courtesy of a delicate chipped pass by Walter Centeno and wrong-footing Lehmann, who was left exposed for a second time (73 minutes).
With just a slender lead(3-2) the game was far from over. But the match was sealed three miutes from regilation time courtsey a stunning 25 metres drive by Werder Bremen midfielder Torsten Frings. The truly spectacular shot swirvled, curved and parked itself nicely into the right corner, eluding the streching hands of Jose Porras. And thus ended any hopes of a CostaRican comeback.
Germany made the best possible start to the finals with three points and a healthy return of four goals, but there will be questions raised about their offside tactics after being caught out twice at the back. And the guns are already out for keeper Lehmann, who was far from composed. Kahn, better be warmed up when the oppurtunity comes.
Till next match, Auf Wiedersehen.
Germany 4 CostaRica 2
If this is the precursor of things to come, then Soccer World Cup 2006 is gonna be one hell of a sporting event. Ninety minutes of high crescendo drama, six goals in total, none better than the last one.
Forget the two teams, forget the on field referees, forget the soccer hooligans, forget the gum chewing coaches, the main attraction for the opening game of this 64 match extravaganza was the euro 280 million 66000 sitting capacity Allianz Stadium. Architected by Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron and owned by Bayern and TSV 1860 Munchen, this unique stadium can change its color(blue Bayern, red 1860) depending on which team is playing its home match. This brand new stadium came into existence when the people of Munich unanimously voted in favor of a new stadium to take place of Olympic Stadium.
Coming back to the game, contrary to the public sentiments, German coach Jurgen Klinsman opted to rest his ace strike Michael Ballack. Also, his continued faith in the Arsenal goalkeeper Jens Lehmann meant the legendary Oliver Kahn had to warm the bench. The captains armband was worn by Bernd Schneider .
For the central American team Costa Rica, their hopes were pinned on Paulo Wanchope. Emerging as the highest goal scorer in the qualifiers ,with eight shots to the net, this guy is the inspirational figure around which the whole team revolves.
The match got off to a flying start which saw three goals inside first 17 minutes. The Mannschaft got off to a fantastic start as full-back Lahm cut inside on the left flank and curled a beautiful drive which clipped into the net off the far post to send Germany into an early lead.(6th minute). The parity was brought by Wanchope who beat Germany's offside trap, sprinted clear and composed himself before sliding the ball past goalkeeper Jens Lehmann to score the equaliser(12th minute).
Continuing the fast paced game, the Germans swung into lead again when Schneider fed Bastian Schweinsteiger from near the corner flag and his cross from just inside the area was turned home by Miroslav Klose.(31st minute)
The two teams slogged till half time with no goals added to the scoreline. After the breather, the game got off to a subdued start. Both teams preferred to stick to the lower midfield most of the time, occassionally going for rather innocuos attacks.
Life was fed into the game when Klose, celebtrating his 28th birthday, increased Germany's lead. Tipped as one of the challengers for the Adidas golden shoe, Klose scored his second goal of the match and seventh overall in finals by virtue of a teasing cross from Lahm.(61 minutes).
The Ticos were in no mood to sit back and let Germany dominate the proccedings as Wanchope matched Klose by once again skipping through Germany’s defence courtesy of a delicate chipped pass by Walter Centeno and wrong-footing Lehmann, who was left exposed for a second time (73 minutes).
With just a slender lead(3-2) the game was far from over. But the match was sealed three miutes from regilation time courtsey a stunning 25 metres drive by Werder Bremen midfielder Torsten Frings. The truly spectacular shot swirvled, curved and parked itself nicely into the right corner, eluding the streching hands of Jose Porras. And thus ended any hopes of a CostaRican comeback.
Germany made the best possible start to the finals with three points and a healthy return of four goals, but there will be questions raised about their offside tactics after being caught out twice at the back. And the guns are already out for keeper Lehmann, who was far from composed. Kahn, better be warmed up when the oppurtunity comes.
Till next match, Auf Wiedersehen.
Bangalore Trip (Alternate Lyrics)
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Sunday May 7, 2006 - 05:26am IST)
A little peek into the past before I proceed with the main story. It was 25th Feb. I am not very good with remembering dates and all, found it out from my gtalk archive. I was gradually developing into a seasoned drunkard, my boss from USA had sent across a bottle of Johnnie Walker, and my teammates and me had a really good time. The whiskey was really smooth, and I took more than a couple pegs neat. I am one of those who don’t believe in mixing coke with my drink, I kinda hate the sweetness invoked. Sometimes I prefer neat, sometimes on the rocks. Anyways, after having more than what I should have, I rushed back to my office. I had a deadline of my deliverables to meet. My sincere gratitude to the people who came up with the idea of Pacific Daylight Saving Time (PDT). That gave me an extra hour’s cushion. It was around 11 in the night when I resumed my work. I had couple of bugs in my queue that should be pushed in for this code freeze, and with all sincerity I started working on them. I was feeling dizzy though, the computer screen was moving, and I could barely type what I wished to. Couple of coffees down, I felt better and resumed my work. An hour or so later, my friend Amish pinged me. Talking about topics in general, the discussion diverted about this female he was talking for a past few days online. Drunk, overworked, fatigued, I asked him to make her talk to me. And this is how it all started. Needless to say, this blog revolves around this girl only.
Fast forward to 24th mar. I had made myself comfortable in the train that was to make me to Bangalore. I had intimated Suchit about my arrival, not the purpose though. When asked I had said it was an unofficially official trip. Dunno what does that mean, or does it even mean something. I slept for around 4 hrs when someone broke my sleep. It was maybe an hour past midnight and the TTE had chosen a really good time to check if the passengers really bothered to carry their tickets with them. Somebody must have interrupted his sleep too. Tried hard but couldn’t sleep after that. Maybe it was my anxiety to reach Bangalore in double quick time, may be it was because I could hardly fit myself in the sleeper berth.
I gave this lady a buzz, her phone was switched off. I gave Ripple a couple of rings. She didn’t pick up. Who cares about cell phones when it is around 2 and you are deep into sleep. I certainly don’t. Tried all the weird tricks that could help me sleep. Finally at around 4 I got lucky.
Got up at around 6. The big day had started. I wanted to manipulate it my way, I had my plans. Suchit was there at the station to receive me when the train finally reached Bangalore City. Luggage on one shoulder, loads of confidence on the other, I stepped off the train. All the best Arnie. May the force be with you.
Reached Suchit’s place, settled there and started calling her. Her phone was still switched off. WTF? I had tried her last day since morn and it was switched off. It still was. Her train was supposed to reach by 8. Had that been the case, she must have reached by now, ‘coz it was well past nine. Tried maybe ten-twenty times more. But will continuous dialing switch the phone on? Stupid me. Did I walk so effortlessly into a well planned trap? Did the girl play a nasty joke on me? If my friends come to know about this, I will be the butt of their jokes for a long long time. I was shit scared, my heart literally in my mouth. Phatt gayee thee meri. Two full days and no purpose. Unable to bear my misery I slept.
Around 11 I tried her phone again. Eureka eureka, it rang. “Hi where are you?” “Ohh, I am stuck in this stupid train.” “Where not you supposed to be in town by now?” “Yeah, but the train is running late. It will take another hour.” “So, when and where are we meeting?” “Place you decide, 1o’clock would be fine with me.” God thanks for being nice on me. Thanks a lot.
The confidence was back, so was the smile on my face. I decided to tell poor old Suchit my real purpose for being here, that I was here to meet this girl whom I had met on the net and been talking to for precisely one month. “Wahi toh, yeh jab tune unofficially official bola tha, tabhi se mujhe laga tha ki baat kuchh aur hai. Good good. Badhiya hain.”
Forum was the place decided for the rendezvous. Suchit and me arrived some 10mins earlier and decided to grab a quick lunch. Steeped into KFC and ordered a bucket of chicken. Bird flu scare and they had slashed the prices from 275/- to 175/-. Good for people like us who never gave a damn about the wicked flu. Of all their offerings, the bucket has to be KFC’s best offering. 4 legs and 5 breast pieces, all nicely baked. Expert exponents of gluttony, we started our ritual. Over those chicken pieces, I had warned Suchit to be prepared for the worst, and run without even looking back if she was not what I had expected and her picture portrayed. Smart-ass that he is, he even figured out the alternate exit door.
The phone rings, it was she. I asked her to walk into the restaurant. Smoke filled place, nice heap of bones (she is a gujju and strict veggie), two freaks trying to clean the last possible flesh in the plate, I could not have chosen a better way to introduce myself to her. She came and she ran away (She asked me to finish and come outside).
She had her bro and bro’s friend as company. She got rid of them and now it was Suchit, her and me. After such a good lunch, I wanted some ice cream. I asked her and she was game for it. We walked into McDonald’s, Suchit ordered some stuff for us, and we chose a nice bench and started talking. Common boring topics though, Suchit was still around. I needed him to be out of the scene, and SMSed him “get lost for sometime”. Good soul that he is, he promptly obliged. The lady was like, no stay for some more. And when I said “yeah Suchit, what’s the hurry. Stay ”, you must have seen the expression on his face. “Double talking jive, bastard”. And the lady still believes that it was he who left. (Sorry fella, a man has got to do what he has got to do).
Anyways, we started doing some window-shopping. I was feeling really good; this girl was beautiful and carried herself quite nicely. We checked few apparels and moved on to the bookstore. Can’t remember the name, rhymes with Hallmark, nice place with good collection of books, CDs and gift items. Flipping a few pages from here and there, we moved on to the design and interiors section. Being an interior designer herself, she started looking into the books. She tried to teach me the nuisances of the trade, I grasping some and some flying tangentially flying across my brain.
Suddenly these two devils appeared from nowhere. Guess, they hadn’t left the mall. Must have been around only, maybe watching my steps from some distance.
We moved towards Brigade road, and while on our way, I started talking to her bro and the rockstar friend of his. I should not give an impression that I am a nervous, bumbling, jittery guy who starts choking when there are more than a couple of people. We talked about racing; cars and he gave me his insight about the street racing in Bangalore. We reached brigade and these kids were hell-bent on watching some movie. I though was not very keen, I could easily have done that back in Hyd and in a better company, I hadn’t come here to watch some fucking movie.
A little peek into the past before I proceed with the main story. It was 25th Feb. I am not very good with remembering dates and all, found it out from my gtalk archive. I was gradually developing into a seasoned drunkard, my boss from USA had sent across a bottle of Johnnie Walker, and my teammates and me had a really good time. The whiskey was really smooth, and I took more than a couple pegs neat. I am one of those who don’t believe in mixing coke with my drink, I kinda hate the sweetness invoked. Sometimes I prefer neat, sometimes on the rocks. Anyways, after having more than what I should have, I rushed back to my office. I had a deadline of my deliverables to meet. My sincere gratitude to the people who came up with the idea of Pacific Daylight Saving Time (PDT). That gave me an extra hour’s cushion. It was around 11 in the night when I resumed my work. I had couple of bugs in my queue that should be pushed in for this code freeze, and with all sincerity I started working on them. I was feeling dizzy though, the computer screen was moving, and I could barely type what I wished to. Couple of coffees down, I felt better and resumed my work. An hour or so later, my friend Amish pinged me. Talking about topics in general, the discussion diverted about this female he was talking for a past few days online. Drunk, overworked, fatigued, I asked him to make her talk to me. And this is how it all started. Needless to say, this blog revolves around this girl only.
Fast forward to 24th mar. I had made myself comfortable in the train that was to make me to Bangalore. I had intimated Suchit about my arrival, not the purpose though. When asked I had said it was an unofficially official trip. Dunno what does that mean, or does it even mean something. I slept for around 4 hrs when someone broke my sleep. It was maybe an hour past midnight and the TTE had chosen a really good time to check if the passengers really bothered to carry their tickets with them. Somebody must have interrupted his sleep too. Tried hard but couldn’t sleep after that. Maybe it was my anxiety to reach Bangalore in double quick time, may be it was because I could hardly fit myself in the sleeper berth.
I gave this lady a buzz, her phone was switched off. I gave Ripple a couple of rings. She didn’t pick up. Who cares about cell phones when it is around 2 and you are deep into sleep. I certainly don’t. Tried all the weird tricks that could help me sleep. Finally at around 4 I got lucky.
Got up at around 6. The big day had started. I wanted to manipulate it my way, I had my plans. Suchit was there at the station to receive me when the train finally reached Bangalore City. Luggage on one shoulder, loads of confidence on the other, I stepped off the train. All the best Arnie. May the force be with you.
Reached Suchit’s place, settled there and started calling her. Her phone was still switched off. WTF? I had tried her last day since morn and it was switched off. It still was. Her train was supposed to reach by 8. Had that been the case, she must have reached by now, ‘coz it was well past nine. Tried maybe ten-twenty times more. But will continuous dialing switch the phone on? Stupid me. Did I walk so effortlessly into a well planned trap? Did the girl play a nasty joke on me? If my friends come to know about this, I will be the butt of their jokes for a long long time. I was shit scared, my heart literally in my mouth. Phatt gayee thee meri. Two full days and no purpose. Unable to bear my misery I slept.
Around 11 I tried her phone again. Eureka eureka, it rang. “Hi where are you?” “Ohh, I am stuck in this stupid train.” “Where not you supposed to be in town by now?” “Yeah, but the train is running late. It will take another hour.” “So, when and where are we meeting?” “Place you decide, 1o’clock would be fine with me.” God thanks for being nice on me. Thanks a lot.
The confidence was back, so was the smile on my face. I decided to tell poor old Suchit my real purpose for being here, that I was here to meet this girl whom I had met on the net and been talking to for precisely one month. “Wahi toh, yeh jab tune unofficially official bola tha, tabhi se mujhe laga tha ki baat kuchh aur hai. Good good. Badhiya hain.”
Forum was the place decided for the rendezvous. Suchit and me arrived some 10mins earlier and decided to grab a quick lunch. Steeped into KFC and ordered a bucket of chicken. Bird flu scare and they had slashed the prices from 275/- to 175/-. Good for people like us who never gave a damn about the wicked flu. Of all their offerings, the bucket has to be KFC’s best offering. 4 legs and 5 breast pieces, all nicely baked. Expert exponents of gluttony, we started our ritual. Over those chicken pieces, I had warned Suchit to be prepared for the worst, and run without even looking back if she was not what I had expected and her picture portrayed. Smart-ass that he is, he even figured out the alternate exit door.
The phone rings, it was she. I asked her to walk into the restaurant. Smoke filled place, nice heap of bones (she is a gujju and strict veggie), two freaks trying to clean the last possible flesh in the plate, I could not have chosen a better way to introduce myself to her. She came and she ran away (She asked me to finish and come outside).
She had her bro and bro’s friend as company. She got rid of them and now it was Suchit, her and me. After such a good lunch, I wanted some ice cream. I asked her and she was game for it. We walked into McDonald’s, Suchit ordered some stuff for us, and we chose a nice bench and started talking. Common boring topics though, Suchit was still around. I needed him to be out of the scene, and SMSed him “get lost for sometime”. Good soul that he is, he promptly obliged. The lady was like, no stay for some more. And when I said “yeah Suchit, what’s the hurry. Stay ”, you must have seen the expression on his face. “Double talking jive, bastard”. And the lady still believes that it was he who left. (Sorry fella, a man has got to do what he has got to do).
Anyways, we started doing some window-shopping. I was feeling really good; this girl was beautiful and carried herself quite nicely. We checked few apparels and moved on to the bookstore. Can’t remember the name, rhymes with Hallmark, nice place with good collection of books, CDs and gift items. Flipping a few pages from here and there, we moved on to the design and interiors section. Being an interior designer herself, she started looking into the books. She tried to teach me the nuisances of the trade, I grasping some and some flying tangentially flying across my brain.
Suddenly these two devils appeared from nowhere. Guess, they hadn’t left the mall. Must have been around only, maybe watching my steps from some distance.
We moved towards Brigade road, and while on our way, I started talking to her bro and the rockstar friend of his. I should not give an impression that I am a nervous, bumbling, jittery guy who starts choking when there are more than a couple of people. We talked about racing; cars and he gave me his insight about the street racing in Bangalore. We reached brigade and these kids were hell-bent on watching some movie. I though was not very keen, I could easily have done that back in Hyd and in a better company, I hadn’t come here to watch some fucking movie.
Bangalore Trip Part II
Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Sunday April 9, 2006 - 01:54am IST)
A little trivia before the main note, I had written this on my train journey back to Hyderabad from Bangalore, the date was 26th Mar 2006. That I was frustrated would be an understatement. She has ditched me and I had to get my anger out somewhere. So, I started writing on a piece of paper, that the attendant gave me, with a borrowed pen. A little disclaimer as well, this blog doesn’t suggest my actual feelings Vis a Vis the trip and the girl, I was low and I wrote whatever came out. And yeah, if you want to know who this girl is and if you want to know the good side of the story, I have another blog on the stove.
I don’t know if my Bangalore trip can be called a success, I don’t know if I did the right thing in going there to meet a girl whom I had known for hardly twenty days. And I don’t know why am I writing this, for I am not one of those diary writers. I am feeling low, but should I be? Wasn’t the original plan to meet on Saturday and then bye, cya later. Am I demanding? Did I overcook it somewhere down the line?
I had my doubts; I had my bouts of confusion, whether or not to be on this trip. I mean, was it worth that. Was the girl worth it? For some reasons, I never made a trip from Ranchi to Dhanbad. So, why did I go? I know that she and me are just friends (don’t want to put any adjectives here, as after today, I don’t know where I stand), we cant be much more than that. I mean, we can never be the good old classic boyfriend-girlfriend. I know my limitations, I know my boundaries. And I think, she pretty much knows that as well.
Last night, I confessed to Ripple that had I found this girl three years down the line, I could have married her then and there. Maybe, I was high. Ten glasses of beer aint a joke.
May be I dreamt a bit too far, may be I overcooked it there. Maybe my expectations demanded fuel my existence cannot afford. Or maybe, my priorities are different. And yeah, that’s what I told Ripple. I told her that I want to do my MBA. And perhaps, I aint that mature enough. Maybe…..
So, how do you rate the trip? How does she look? How are her assets? Was there any chemistry between you and her? These are the typical questions my friends will ask. And my answer will be a small, wry smile. That’s it. I never feel strongly for things, I never will. I would mention how I managed to get her out of that movie theatre though, because that was one of the highpoints of my brief, shaky rendezvous with her. I emphasize on brief, because with her brother around most of the time, I never felt like myself. Maybe, I am a choker. I always felt like I was meeting her under a close surveillance, with deep cunning eyes prying. Measuring all my moves. Still, those two and a half hours, may be three that we spent alone were awesome. My heart say, yeah she is a nice lady. But my mind says, wait, get your facts correct. Did her brother stick around because he didn’t want to leave his sister, or may be she purposely brought him along. I don’t know if I will get this mystery solved, I will not even try. What’s the use?
But yeah, she was a good company whenever it was just two of us. And yeah, she did care about me when her brother was around, seeing that I was lost in a world of my own. And yeah, she did try to make me comfortable. But aren’t all women leg spinners! You would think, ok, this is gonna be another good old leg break, surprise surprise, it was a googlee that crashed into your stumps. Maybe she was. Maybe not. It’s again the question of whom you want to listen to, heart or mind.
We met, we had fun, we parted ways, and then I had fun. Mugs and mugs of beer through, I was relaxed. I was on high. I remembered, we had planned we will meet the next day.
She didn’t. She might have her own reasons. I though felt fucked. For those two and half hours, she sang like a canary, changing her tune every now and then. Ok, I am coming. Sorry, I can’t make it. I am on my way. I have lost my way. Bullshit. I mean, its ok to ditch a guy. So many girls effortlessly do that. Perfectly acceptable.
What’s the problem then? Why are you pissed? Didn’t she make a complete ass of me in front of my friend? Poor old Suchit. Thanks pal for your support and thanks for understanding me.
How do you feel now? Relaxed, calm, still a bit frustrated though. No problems, just take it in your stride. Don’t remember this trip for what you missed/lost, no point, remember it for what you got. Those three hours, a good company, a good friend………
A little trivia before the main note, I had written this on my train journey back to Hyderabad from Bangalore, the date was 26th Mar 2006. That I was frustrated would be an understatement. She has ditched me and I had to get my anger out somewhere. So, I started writing on a piece of paper, that the attendant gave me, with a borrowed pen. A little disclaimer as well, this blog doesn’t suggest my actual feelings Vis a Vis the trip and the girl, I was low and I wrote whatever came out. And yeah, if you want to know who this girl is and if you want to know the good side of the story, I have another blog on the stove.
I don’t know if my Bangalore trip can be called a success, I don’t know if I did the right thing in going there to meet a girl whom I had known for hardly twenty days. And I don’t know why am I writing this, for I am not one of those diary writers. I am feeling low, but should I be? Wasn’t the original plan to meet on Saturday and then bye, cya later. Am I demanding? Did I overcook it somewhere down the line?
I had my doubts; I had my bouts of confusion, whether or not to be on this trip. I mean, was it worth that. Was the girl worth it? For some reasons, I never made a trip from Ranchi to Dhanbad. So, why did I go? I know that she and me are just friends (don’t want to put any adjectives here, as after today, I don’t know where I stand), we cant be much more than that. I mean, we can never be the good old classic boyfriend-girlfriend. I know my limitations, I know my boundaries. And I think, she pretty much knows that as well.
Last night, I confessed to Ripple that had I found this girl three years down the line, I could have married her then and there. Maybe, I was high. Ten glasses of beer aint a joke.
May be I dreamt a bit too far, may be I overcooked it there. Maybe my expectations demanded fuel my existence cannot afford. Or maybe, my priorities are different. And yeah, that’s what I told Ripple. I told her that I want to do my MBA. And perhaps, I aint that mature enough. Maybe…..
So, how do you rate the trip? How does she look? How are her assets? Was there any chemistry between you and her? These are the typical questions my friends will ask. And my answer will be a small, wry smile. That’s it. I never feel strongly for things, I never will. I would mention how I managed to get her out of that movie theatre though, because that was one of the highpoints of my brief, shaky rendezvous with her. I emphasize on brief, because with her brother around most of the time, I never felt like myself. Maybe, I am a choker. I always felt like I was meeting her under a close surveillance, with deep cunning eyes prying. Measuring all my moves. Still, those two and a half hours, may be three that we spent alone were awesome. My heart say, yeah she is a nice lady. But my mind says, wait, get your facts correct. Did her brother stick around because he didn’t want to leave his sister, or may be she purposely brought him along. I don’t know if I will get this mystery solved, I will not even try. What’s the use?
But yeah, she was a good company whenever it was just two of us. And yeah, she did care about me when her brother was around, seeing that I was lost in a world of my own. And yeah, she did try to make me comfortable. But aren’t all women leg spinners! You would think, ok, this is gonna be another good old leg break, surprise surprise, it was a googlee that crashed into your stumps. Maybe she was. Maybe not. It’s again the question of whom you want to listen to, heart or mind.
We met, we had fun, we parted ways, and then I had fun. Mugs and mugs of beer through, I was relaxed. I was on high. I remembered, we had planned we will meet the next day.
She didn’t. She might have her own reasons. I though felt fucked. For those two and half hours, she sang like a canary, changing her tune every now and then. Ok, I am coming. Sorry, I can’t make it. I am on my way. I have lost my way. Bullshit. I mean, its ok to ditch a guy. So many girls effortlessly do that. Perfectly acceptable.
What’s the problem then? Why are you pissed? Didn’t she make a complete ass of me in front of my friend? Poor old Suchit. Thanks pal for your support and thanks for understanding me.
How do you feel now? Relaxed, calm, still a bit frustrated though. No problems, just take it in your stride. Don’t remember this trip for what you missed/lost, no point, remember it for what you got. Those three hours, a good company, a good friend………
Champion draws the first blood
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Sunday March 12, 2006 - 07:22pm IST)
Fernando taking the first place, Michael to his left and Kimi to his right, there could not have been a better start for Formula One season of 2006.
The chequered flag at the season opener of Formula One at Sakhir, Bahrain was taken by the Renault of Fernando Alonso, followed by the red Ferrari of Michael Scumacher with just a fraction over one second separating the reigning and the multiple champion.
The ever unlucky Kimi Raikkonen drove a superb race to power his way to the third position. The result was satisfying for the big four teams for season of 2006, Renault, Ferrari, McLaren and Honda, not necessarily in any order, the cars and the drivers giving a teaser preview of what to expect for the whole of year.
The starting grid for the season opener had an all Ferrari front row, Michael taking the pole and his new teammate Felippe Massa alongside him. The reigning champ Alonso was on the second row, just behind the Briton Jenson Button. Kimi was staring from the back of the grid, having suffered a right wing and right rear suspension problem the day before.
The last light was on, and the drivers went for their warm up lap, thus breaking the silence of four months. The noise of the V8 and some V10 engines, the cheering of the crowd,the tension in the paddocks, the increasing decibel levels in the commentators enclosure, and you knew that the formula one season of 2006 was on. One round of the 5.412 Km track and the drivers neatly tucked their cars on the starting grid.
All five lights lit up, five, four, three, two, one and go. Michael made a perfect start, Massa making a fraction of a mistake, Alonso overtaking Button and Massa going into the first corner, and thus started the 57 laps of high intensity drama that we call F1 race.
Kimi could not have asked for a better start too, and before he took the flag for the first lap, he was already making himself comfortable in the 13th position, a gain of 9 on the opening lap.
The cars steadied themselves for the next 10 laps or so, with an occasional twist in the tale at the back of the bunch. Alonso keeping Michael in sight, an interesting battle for the third position between Montoya and Button, Kimi steadily making his way up, the etenal bride's maid, Rubens taking the sixth position, Nico Rosberg having his first feel of the formula one.
Could not complete it. Sorry.
Fernando taking the first place, Michael to his left and Kimi to his right, there could not have been a better start for Formula One season of 2006.
The chequered flag at the season opener of Formula One at Sakhir, Bahrain was taken by the Renault of Fernando Alonso, followed by the red Ferrari of Michael Scumacher with just a fraction over one second separating the reigning and the multiple champion.
The ever unlucky Kimi Raikkonen drove a superb race to power his way to the third position. The result was satisfying for the big four teams for season of 2006, Renault, Ferrari, McLaren and Honda, not necessarily in any order, the cars and the drivers giving a teaser preview of what to expect for the whole of year.
The starting grid for the season opener had an all Ferrari front row, Michael taking the pole and his new teammate Felippe Massa alongside him. The reigning champ Alonso was on the second row, just behind the Briton Jenson Button. Kimi was staring from the back of the grid, having suffered a right wing and right rear suspension problem the day before.
The last light was on, and the drivers went for their warm up lap, thus breaking the silence of four months. The noise of the V8 and some V10 engines, the cheering of the crowd,the tension in the paddocks, the increasing decibel levels in the commentators enclosure, and you knew that the formula one season of 2006 was on. One round of the 5.412 Km track and the drivers neatly tucked their cars on the starting grid.
All five lights lit up, five, four, three, two, one and go. Michael made a perfect start, Massa making a fraction of a mistake, Alonso overtaking Button and Massa going into the first corner, and thus started the 57 laps of high intensity drama that we call F1 race.
Kimi could not have asked for a better start too, and before he took the flag for the first lap, he was already making himself comfortable in the 13th position, a gain of 9 on the opening lap.
The cars steadied themselves for the next 10 laps or so, with an occasional twist in the tale at the back of the bunch. Alonso keeping Michael in sight, an interesting battle for the third position between Montoya and Button, Kimi steadily making his way up, the etenal bride's maid, Rubens taking the sixth position, Nico Rosberg having his first feel of the formula one.
Could not complete it. Sorry.
Crushed
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Wednesday February 8, 2006 - 11:27pm IST)
I had my first crush when i was in class I perhaps. I mean, at that age nobody understands what crush is, but yeah, i liked this girl. She was in my section, IA, and was a good friend of mine. Of some 20 odd girls, she was the prettiest. Or may be, that was what my mind perceived. I still remember how i enjoyed her company, the way she could come to me with all her silly doubts, that she looked like an angel on my birthday party. How i used to reach school earlier than all of them, and wait eagerly for her rickshaw to arrive. I remember, how other boys in my class were jealous of me, 'coz she would share her lunch box just with me. This oh-so-sweet story lived for around two years and was abruptly disrupted when I was pulled out of that school and dropped into an ALL BOYS boarding school. Far from my place and far from my girl.
Cant tell how much i hated that school. The food was aweful, the environment pathetic. Plus, the warden looked more like a WWE wrestler. Dont knw how i survived seven months there.
After a forgettable experinece at the boarding school, ppl back home decided not to send me again to boarding school. Still, i was not happy. I couldnot find my girl. She was gone, moved out of the town.
After attending classes in some stupid schools for about six months, i was admitted into this school situated in an air force base. It was my class VIth. For the uninitiated, i never attended class III and Vth. Jump from II to IV and then to VIth.
New school, new girl. Hmmmmm, true if u are myopic and take only my side into account. But yeah, i felt something for this girl. stronger than what i had felt a few years back. the school was in its initial stages, plus it was in the outskirts of the town. Not many students in my class. The rollcall had thirty students registered. everybody was friends with everone else. me and this girl shared some thing special though. But unlike the first case, this was not an exclusively yours stuff. We were part of a group, four guys and six girls.
i was love struck. again. i never used to miss a single school day. and wished there were lesser holidays. and no summer vacations.
i could not think of anything else but her, she was everywhere. In movies. on the roads, in my cola, in my social studies book.
But like all the stupids of my clan, i never took the next step forward. She was a good friend, and I was satisfied with that. never went ahead and claimed her.
Seasons passed, and we parted ways. I had to go and prepare to be an engineer, she had to pursue her arts career. We used to meet, rather infrequently though. may be once in six months. the feelings subsided with time. new school, new girl..........
heard that she got married last summer, some bangalore softie. good for her. girls prefer well settled guys.....
A few days back was her birthday. Happy birthday, girl.
I had my first crush when i was in class I perhaps. I mean, at that age nobody understands what crush is, but yeah, i liked this girl. She was in my section, IA, and was a good friend of mine. Of some 20 odd girls, she was the prettiest. Or may be, that was what my mind perceived. I still remember how i enjoyed her company, the way she could come to me with all her silly doubts, that she looked like an angel on my birthday party. How i used to reach school earlier than all of them, and wait eagerly for her rickshaw to arrive. I remember, how other boys in my class were jealous of me, 'coz she would share her lunch box just with me. This oh-so-sweet story lived for around two years and was abruptly disrupted when I was pulled out of that school and dropped into an ALL BOYS boarding school. Far from my place and far from my girl.
Cant tell how much i hated that school. The food was aweful, the environment pathetic. Plus, the warden looked more like a WWE wrestler. Dont knw how i survived seven months there.
After a forgettable experinece at the boarding school, ppl back home decided not to send me again to boarding school. Still, i was not happy. I couldnot find my girl. She was gone, moved out of the town.
After attending classes in some stupid schools for about six months, i was admitted into this school situated in an air force base. It was my class VIth. For the uninitiated, i never attended class III and Vth. Jump from II to IV and then to VIth.
New school, new girl. Hmmmmm, true if u are myopic and take only my side into account. But yeah, i felt something for this girl. stronger than what i had felt a few years back. the school was in its initial stages, plus it was in the outskirts of the town. Not many students in my class. The rollcall had thirty students registered. everybody was friends with everone else. me and this girl shared some thing special though. But unlike the first case, this was not an exclusively yours stuff. We were part of a group, four guys and six girls.
i was love struck. again. i never used to miss a single school day. and wished there were lesser holidays. and no summer vacations.
i could not think of anything else but her, she was everywhere. In movies. on the roads, in my cola, in my social studies book.
But like all the stupids of my clan, i never took the next step forward. She was a good friend, and I was satisfied with that. never went ahead and claimed her.
Seasons passed, and we parted ways. I had to go and prepare to be an engineer, she had to pursue her arts career. We used to meet, rather infrequently though. may be once in six months. the feelings subsided with time. new school, new girl..........
heard that she got married last summer, some bangalore softie. good for her. girls prefer well settled guys.....
A few days back was her birthday. Happy birthday, girl.
Curtain Call The Hits
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Thursday February 2, 2006 - 01:15am IST)
I first started listening to rap when i was in class XIth. The song was Real Slim Shady by Eminem, and apart from the explicit lyrics(all of which i eventually deciphered), it was the exaggerated finger and hand movement that attracted me to the song.
Eminem was born Marshall Mathers. Initially attracted to rap as a teen, Eminem began performing at age 14, performing raps in the basement of his high school friend's home. The two went under the names Manix and M&M (soon changed to Eminem), which Mathers took from his own initials. Due to the unavoidable racial boundaries that came with being a white rapper, he decided the easiest way to win over underground hip-hop audiences was to become a battle rapper and improv against other MCs in clubs. Although he wasn't immediately accepted, through time he became such a popular attraction that people would challenge him just to make a name for themselves.
A protégé of Dr. Dre, Eminem emerged in 1999 as one of the most controversial rappers to ever grace the enre. Using his biting wit and incredible skills to vent on everything from his unhappy childhood to his contempt for the mainstream media, his success became the biggest crossover success the genre had seen since Dre's solo debut seven years earlier.
A few weeks back i bought his latest CD, Curtain Calls The Hits. The record has a hangover about it of rumours that this is gonna be the last piece of shit from Eminem's factory. For someone like me, for whom eminem has been a staple source of rap diet, it came as a heart jerker. Despite this uncertainity over his career as a rapper, he continues to fuel the gossip with Curtain Call: The Hits, a collectors-edition greatest hits album. Here he includes all of the favorites, from “My Name Is” to “Cleanin’ Out My Closet,” plus new and unreleased material.
The CD starts with a small Intro. The song has an obvious reference about his daughter. The yin to Em’s yang of personal introspection comes in the form of next track “Fack,” a hilarious, yet mildly disturbing description of an extended sexual run-in which includes everything from shrieks of stimulation to chants of “shove a gerbil in your *ss through a tube.”
Next in the line is the song The Way I Am. This soul-baring songs reflects the intrsopective mood of M&M. How he desperatley wants that always elusive privacy, how much he hates the unwanted public attention. the lyrics say it all.."I’m so sick and tired of bein admired
That I wish that I would just die or get fired
And dropped from my label and stop with the fables
I’m not gonna be able to top on my name is..
And pigeon-holed into some pop-py sensation "
Next is my personal fav My name Is. Dont think any comments will suit this. Better grab a record and listen to it, form ur own opinion, mine wil be heavily biased in favor of eminem.
Other smashits include Stan(feat. Dido), Without Me, Like Toy Soldier, The Real Slim Shady, Mocking Bird, Just lose It and the bonus track Stan(feat. Elton John).
Another new song is Shake That which is 75% Nate Dogg.
Lose Yourself is one song that has always inspired me. The song describes Eminem's huge screen fear, how he fails again and again, rises from the ashes to deliver that knockout punch. It is song of a man racing so far ahead of his peers - both inside and out of hip-hop - that the competition must be embarrassed. The motto of the song says it all--"success is the only motherfucking option".
Sing For The Moment is another song worth special mention.
Guilty conscience featuring Dr Dre is a hilarious portrayal of the split personality of the protaganists. The presentation of good vs evil is really catchy, and guess in this case which side wins. This is rap dude, and evil always wins here.
The best of the pack is the new song When I Am Gone. Over somber strings, Shady vividly illustrates the inevitable struggle between being a father and worldwide musical luminary: “‘Daddy’s writing a song, the song ain't gonna write itself / I’ll give you one underdog, then you gotta swing by yourself’ / Then turn right around on that song and tell her you love her / and put hands on her mother who’s a splitting image of her.” This song stinks of an untimely retirement, why Shady, why?
After listening thru to the end of the album, you wuld wish u culd have had few more of his songs punched in. Then your thought diverts to what if this is the end of Real Slim Shady.
"And when I'm gone, just carry on, don't mourn
Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice
Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling
And I didn't feel a thing, So baby don't feel no pain
Just smile back "
I first started listening to rap when i was in class XIth. The song was Real Slim Shady by Eminem, and apart from the explicit lyrics(all of which i eventually deciphered), it was the exaggerated finger and hand movement that attracted me to the song.
Eminem was born Marshall Mathers. Initially attracted to rap as a teen, Eminem began performing at age 14, performing raps in the basement of his high school friend's home. The two went under the names Manix and M&M (soon changed to Eminem), which Mathers took from his own initials. Due to the unavoidable racial boundaries that came with being a white rapper, he decided the easiest way to win over underground hip-hop audiences was to become a battle rapper and improv against other MCs in clubs. Although he wasn't immediately accepted, through time he became such a popular attraction that people would challenge him just to make a name for themselves.
A protégé of Dr. Dre, Eminem emerged in 1999 as one of the most controversial rappers to ever grace the enre. Using his biting wit and incredible skills to vent on everything from his unhappy childhood to his contempt for the mainstream media, his success became the biggest crossover success the genre had seen since Dre's solo debut seven years earlier.
A few weeks back i bought his latest CD, Curtain Calls The Hits. The record has a hangover about it of rumours that this is gonna be the last piece of shit from Eminem's factory. For someone like me, for whom eminem has been a staple source of rap diet, it came as a heart jerker. Despite this uncertainity over his career as a rapper, he continues to fuel the gossip with Curtain Call: The Hits, a collectors-edition greatest hits album. Here he includes all of the favorites, from “My Name Is” to “Cleanin’ Out My Closet,” plus new and unreleased material.
The CD starts with a small Intro. The song has an obvious reference about his daughter. The yin to Em’s yang of personal introspection comes in the form of next track “Fack,” a hilarious, yet mildly disturbing description of an extended sexual run-in which includes everything from shrieks of stimulation to chants of “shove a gerbil in your *ss through a tube.”
Next in the line is the song The Way I Am. This soul-baring songs reflects the intrsopective mood of M&M. How he desperatley wants that always elusive privacy, how much he hates the unwanted public attention. the lyrics say it all.."I’m so sick and tired of bein admired
That I wish that I would just die or get fired
And dropped from my label and stop with the fables
I’m not gonna be able to top on my name is..
And pigeon-holed into some pop-py sensation "
Next is my personal fav My name Is. Dont think any comments will suit this. Better grab a record and listen to it, form ur own opinion, mine wil be heavily biased in favor of eminem.
Other smashits include Stan(feat. Dido), Without Me, Like Toy Soldier, The Real Slim Shady, Mocking Bird, Just lose It and the bonus track Stan(feat. Elton John).
Another new song is Shake That which is 75% Nate Dogg.
Lose Yourself is one song that has always inspired me. The song describes Eminem's huge screen fear, how he fails again and again, rises from the ashes to deliver that knockout punch. It is song of a man racing so far ahead of his peers - both inside and out of hip-hop - that the competition must be embarrassed. The motto of the song says it all--"success is the only motherfucking option".
Sing For The Moment is another song worth special mention.
Guilty conscience featuring Dr Dre is a hilarious portrayal of the split personality of the protaganists. The presentation of good vs evil is really catchy, and guess in this case which side wins. This is rap dude, and evil always wins here.
The best of the pack is the new song When I Am Gone. Over somber strings, Shady vividly illustrates the inevitable struggle between being a father and worldwide musical luminary: “‘Daddy’s writing a song, the song ain't gonna write itself / I’ll give you one underdog, then you gotta swing by yourself’ / Then turn right around on that song and tell her you love her / and put hands on her mother who’s a splitting image of her.” This song stinks of an untimely retirement, why Shady, why?
After listening thru to the end of the album, you wuld wish u culd have had few more of his songs punched in. Then your thought diverts to what if this is the end of Real Slim Shady.
"And when I'm gone, just carry on, don't mourn
Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice
Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling
And I didn't feel a thing, So baby don't feel no pain
Just smile back "
Black Magic Woman
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Friday January 27, 2006 - 11:12pm IST)
It was a really cold day, with temperature hovering just a few degress above the freezing point. Just the perfect day to tuck yourself neatly beneath the thickest blanket. But if you want to see miracles happening, u better drag ur ass out of the bed and get going. Talking of miracles, do miracles really happen on days like this, a day tailor made by God to punish his children for all their sins. But yes, it did happen.
Life was going at its normal pace, though it lacked the punch. Walking aimlessly on the near empty roads (only lunatics or people with no shelter dared to be out, me belonging to none of the two categories), I was just recapturing my past few weeks here. They had been hectic by all means, with little time for me to sit back and reflect where my life was heading to.
Deeply lost in my thoughts, i didnt realize where i was going. My trance was broken by a loud honk from behind. Turned around, and for a few moments was frozen. Was she for real? And if she was, why was she mad at me? Idiot, you are standing right in the middle of the road, and honey had i not been careful, u would have been in the hospital by now.
That she was beautiful, will be an understatement. That she was with some other man, a harsh reality. But i wont loose my sleep over that, cause i have a plan for every situation. What if they fail on most occassions.
She caught my eye, as we walked on by. And she could see from my face that i was fucking high. And I don't think that i will see her again, but we shared a moment that will last till the end.
There must be an angel up somewhere, with a mischievious smile on her face, when she thought that i should be with you, girl.
Time's up, over. Snap back to reality dude. That she has zoomed past u, leaving a cloud of smoke as her souvenir. Couldnt capture it, just let it diminish.
Miracles do happen, so do realizations. That i will never be with you.....................
It was a really cold day, with temperature hovering just a few degress above the freezing point. Just the perfect day to tuck yourself neatly beneath the thickest blanket. But if you want to see miracles happening, u better drag ur ass out of the bed and get going. Talking of miracles, do miracles really happen on days like this, a day tailor made by God to punish his children for all their sins. But yes, it did happen.
Life was going at its normal pace, though it lacked the punch. Walking aimlessly on the near empty roads (only lunatics or people with no shelter dared to be out, me belonging to none of the two categories), I was just recapturing my past few weeks here. They had been hectic by all means, with little time for me to sit back and reflect where my life was heading to.
Deeply lost in my thoughts, i didnt realize where i was going. My trance was broken by a loud honk from behind. Turned around, and for a few moments was frozen. Was she for real? And if she was, why was she mad at me? Idiot, you are standing right in the middle of the road, and honey had i not been careful, u would have been in the hospital by now.
That she was beautiful, will be an understatement. That she was with some other man, a harsh reality. But i wont loose my sleep over that, cause i have a plan for every situation. What if they fail on most occassions.
She caught my eye, as we walked on by. And she could see from my face that i was fucking high. And I don't think that i will see her again, but we shared a moment that will last till the end.
There must be an angel up somewhere, with a mischievious smile on her face, when she thought that i should be with you, girl.
Time's up, over. Snap back to reality dude. That she has zoomed past u, leaving a cloud of smoke as her souvenir. Couldnt capture it, just let it diminish.
Miracles do happen, so do realizations. That i will never be with you.....................
Crashed and Burnt
(Originally posted on Yahoo 360, Monday January 16, 2006 - 09:30pm IST)
Dont think anybody's first blog starts like this. But with me, you never expect the expected.
Was asking her out really wierd. People say you get lucky third time around. Not exactly. Third time unlucky.....
What's the big deal in getting a refusal from a girl. Happens to most of us. A slap on your ego, on your confidence...a kick on the butt.
The girl... comes to the food court everyday, all alone. Swallows her dinner all alone. Sophisticated, has to be. good looking, has to be. bitchy, but ofcourse.
But why did i go after her? Thought I might get lucky. Hoping against the hope hopen.
dont beat around the bush. come to the point. we need to know about what happened. dont care about ur emotional crap, no sentis please. we wuld like to hear the story, spice it up a bit more and propagate it to all and sundry. Nice gossip over a cuppa coffee.
Ok, ur wish my command. Nothing new happened. went to the foodcourt for a quick grub, had to get back to work fast. same old atmoshphere, same stale food. the only thing good about it was that she was there. our eyes met at the food counter, liked what i saw. thought it was worth giving a chance.
Finished my dinner in double quick time. Had to finish it before she did. Walked towards her, a bundle of confidence on each of the sleeves(finger sleeves). Asked her "Can i buy u a coke or smthing?"
It was a warm day by all means. A chilled can culd have been just fine. besides, just hundred odd calories wont make u fat overnight. pee and its all gone. and u dont have to pay for it........cant say if she was really bitchy or was i a dumb-ass.
The rest of conversation was immaterial. Me uttering some crap, she reciprocating. One thing sure is common between us. We both dont knw hw to talk to outsiders.
A brisk walk, few deep breaths and i buried it. another feather in the cap.
good job arnie
Dont think anybody's first blog starts like this. But with me, you never expect the expected.
Was asking her out really wierd. People say you get lucky third time around. Not exactly. Third time unlucky.....
What's the big deal in getting a refusal from a girl. Happens to most of us. A slap on your ego, on your confidence...a kick on the butt.
The girl... comes to the food court everyday, all alone. Swallows her dinner all alone. Sophisticated, has to be. good looking, has to be. bitchy, but ofcourse.
But why did i go after her? Thought I might get lucky. Hoping against the hope hopen.
dont beat around the bush. come to the point. we need to know about what happened. dont care about ur emotional crap, no sentis please. we wuld like to hear the story, spice it up a bit more and propagate it to all and sundry. Nice gossip over a cuppa coffee.
Ok, ur wish my command. Nothing new happened. went to the foodcourt for a quick grub, had to get back to work fast. same old atmoshphere, same stale food. the only thing good about it was that she was there. our eyes met at the food counter, liked what i saw. thought it was worth giving a chance.
Finished my dinner in double quick time. Had to finish it before she did. Walked towards her, a bundle of confidence on each of the sleeves(finger sleeves). Asked her "Can i buy u a coke or smthing?"
It was a warm day by all means. A chilled can culd have been just fine. besides, just hundred odd calories wont make u fat overnight. pee and its all gone. and u dont have to pay for it........cant say if she was really bitchy or was i a dumb-ass.
The rest of conversation was immaterial. Me uttering some crap, she reciprocating. One thing sure is common between us. We both dont knw hw to talk to outsiders.
A brisk walk, few deep breaths and i buried it. another feather in the cap.
good job arnie
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