#ThankYouSachin

Star Sports has been running this ad campaign for the past three weeks now. The BCCI is trying its best to catapult its own advertising revenues. Twitter is flooded with the hash tag #ThankYouSachin. And do you know why is that so? Because we all owe him, big-time.

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar had eclipsed the status of a mere mortal long time back. The 16 year old boy who smashed the ball to every corner of the park right from the onset of his illustrious career has done and achieved everything that exists. I am sure there must be a record book which only tells us how many records belong to his name. But this post is not about me showering adulation on him. And even if I attempt to do so, I am sure there are some adjectives I will still miss out on. Tomorrow the man who represented the hopes and aspirations of a billion strong will take to the field for one last time. For one last time he will do his famous half squat to adjust his guard and we all hope that for one last time, he raises his bat in the air for us. Yes we all love him and everything but inherently we are all selfish, aren't we.

But again this post is not about all that. I am sure CricInfo has better written articles with accurate statistics to support them. Neither am I as good as someone like Harsha Bhogle to whip some magic instantaneously (the IPL final, "replays are for mortals like us"). This is all about an entire generation growing up with dreams of not becoming engineers or doctors or crickets. It is about an entire generation wanting to be the next Sachin Tendulkar. It is about trying to emulate his stance, his panache, his straight drives. It is about those quarrels for batting with a bat with a MRF sticker on it (they used to cost Rs. 10, also we used Brittania for our fondness for Rahul Dravid). It is about staying glued to our television sets when Sachin was in his 90s and then jumping with our siblings as he raised his bat and looked up in the sky. Its about a man who installed a belief in the Indian sporting community. Its about being humble and polite and not letting fame and money to turn your head around. Its about being criticized over and over again and then coming back with a not out score of  248* on the SCG (honestly I can quote about 30-40 such innings but this picture says it all).

It is about my childhood, my love for this game and my admiration for this man.

#ThankYouSachin

PS: Dear Darren Sammy, no disrespect for you or your team but this all about SRT. 

The Mango Tree

As I made my way back to home after another monotonous day, I saw her sitting under the shade of the mango tree. Officially I am giving another one of those "midterms", which have diminished in their importance with each passing semester. No they still carry the the same weight as they did before but the sincerity is long lost and seriousness has dissolved in the abundant distractions and apathy of time. Yet they are a part of the cycle which I have to oblige for another year or so.

I tried avoiding catching her eye, once again. The mango tree- which has belonged to my family for about four decades and at which she holds an even stronger claim, was swaying gently in the cool spring breeze. I knew for sure that her eyes were fixed on me, I could feel that piercing gaze as I scrambled to park my bike and get inside. What transpired was not new, yet it leaves me with a strange, empty guilt each time.

Not long back she was the buzz of the locality, the "Narad Muni" in a more generalized sense. She had the agility and cunning of a fox. It was impossible to escape her eyes before leaving or entering the lane, let alone my own house. The agony aunt of all the domestic helps that fretted to and fro all day. The secret keeper of all the dodgy business in the 1 km radius. The live, walking and talking source of all new and old. She was Taijee. As I have grown up in a typical Indian setup where the neighbors have always had a more important say in the decision making process rather than the family members themselves, I called her Taijee ever since I learnt to speak. Taijee, which in Hindi means aunt. She had some command on me till I grew out of her reach, and practically everyone else's too. I always received this specially bought box of Gulabjamuns on my birthdays, which was occasionally peppered with a chocolate candy-bar. And picking up a ripe mango in front of her was a challenge in itself. The truth was that my Grandpa had planted the tree way back, and it was half in our's and half in her domain. Nevertheless, its origin and location made no difference to her, for all the mangoes that were on her side of the tree belonged to her. On countless occasions my Grandma, who herself is a tough cookie to crack, would go all guns blazing for all the mangoes belonged to "us". It never made any difference to her, and I guess it never will.

She has always been present. I rarely have any memory of her not being there.  I remember her calm and composed self when my mother went into labor with my younger brother and her compassionate smile, reassuring me that everything is fine. I remember her presence my Grandpa passed away, and the void that was created due to his untimely demise. I remember her happy face when I came home running to declare my impressive Board result. I remember her in all the small and big events that have happened in and around me. 

Then a few months back, Godly forces took toll of her health. As she came home after picking some fresh flowers for her morning rituals, a failed attempt to please the Gods as one would later conclude. What followed some nausea and vomiting was a severe brain hemorrhage. She ended up in the critical care unit, and subsequently paralysis. As a 21 years old male, I am supposed to take these things without any significant display of emotion, and so I did. Obviously, with such close family ties and her only son being out of station, my parents and our family was the only significant support they had. Her husband was mentally and physically exhausted, not to mention the immense financial strain this unforeseen situation had put him under. Even the doctors had given up and it was left for the Almighty to deal with.

Then as if it was a miracle, and her health began to improve, slowly yet steadily. After three weeks she was discharged and she made it back to home. Her health though receives continuous jolts and is subject to a lot of uncertainty. She cannot walk anymore, at least not without someone supporting her. Her faces is now nothing more than a lopsided accumulation of mass. Her voice has a very difficult accent now, mostly because of the paralysis. She needs support for even making it to the loo and every thing. She has ceased to be just a shadow of her former self.

But there is something that has changed somehow. Her gaze, her piercing gaze which makes me jump out of my skin now. Earlier it were these eyes which meant a lot more reassurance and brought a calmness to the state of affairs. But now they resemble something completely different- the plight of a woman who for her entire life has defied the odds, and stood against the tide of time for her own good. I cannot help but feel sorry about her, and her family. To be honest she has been family for us ever since, and it is going to stay so.

I tried avoiding catching her eye, once again. She must be thinking of me as an ungrateful brat, who does not even turn up to ask her well being- let alone any help. But I hope, that she understands my pain, which I feel each time I see her in this dilapidated condition. I hope she forgives me for my conduct, which is definitely not appropriate. I hope she gets well soon- well enough to give me a wry smile. Yes, even a wry one would suffice. It would be more than enough.

This year there are going to be no mangoes in the tree. It remains barren, though still in tact. The spring is here, the leaves have turned green once again. It is as if the tree has been put itself on hold, waiting for you Taijee. For you to come up to that boundary wall and stake your claim on your half. Frankly I won't even mind if you wish to extend your territory. It waits for you.

The Juvenile Nation

It's a date that has been etched in our memories forever. December 16 2012 will not be forgotten easily. For a country that has already surpassed the hundred and twenty five crore mark in terms of population, it had to be something out of the blue to shake a sleeping nation out of its slumber. Sadly enough it came at the expense of a young girl. Leaving behind yet another helpline number and another committee whose recommendations will be reviewed and re-reviewed. Yes, it happens only in India.

For a nation which calls its holy land as "Mother" India, the social status of women, in spite of the numerous efforts and schemes, has been in a state of free fall over the decades. Even six decades after attaining independence, the streets are not safe. The "involuntary contacts" persist. We boast of arsenals of advanced ammunition  an excellent GDP, advancement in space science and technology, renewed diplomatic relations. We have icons in virtually every field, be it sports, politics, economics, literature; but each time a girl steps out of her house she is under a constant threat. The fact is that the rape incident which occurred on that unfortunate night was not the first which happened in our country. But it was the sheer brutality and savageness which prompted the nationwide demonstrations. From our primary classes we remember that man is a social animal, perhaps we are still animals who don't know a thing about a civilized society yet.

Rapes and eve teasing are given coverage in the media in such magnitudes because they are the tip of the iceberg. They are observed on a vivid scale as it is a phenomenon which is somewhat centralized with the urban population. If we widen our perspective, the plight of women in modern India is much more acute than it is actually perceived. Female infanticide, sex trafficking, domestic violence, dowry, abduction; these are just to name a few o fully functional mature society has imposed on the female kind. The laws have always been in place and so have been the loopholes. The culprits ditch the bars and roam around in the open, with the devil inside them unscathed.

And then comes in the question of being juvenile. How old one has to be to commit a hideous crime such as rape and murder? If there cannot be an "appropriate" age for them to descend to a nadir, then why can't we pursue the punishment the guilty likewise? If we can render a culprit who is 17 years and 364 days old as juvenile, then perhaps we must simply accept that ours is a juvenile nation- a nation which does not dare to look beyond the obvious. We create these escape routes and then battle our wits and reasoning on live video feeds. the heat from these discussions is used to cook political ambitions. If the rules have to be changed then they have to be- for what lies ahead of us is an abyss.

How many candle marches, protest rallies and demonstrations we conduct, it is simply not enough may well never be enough.. What we need in real is an educated society where respecting women doesn't come  as an option- it comes as something which is as natural as breathing. Where women don't suffer from social hiatus, where there is equal participation irrespective of the gender- both on paper and in practice. For these helplines numbers are not only of any use like today- but a society where they are not needed at all. that is what we aspire as a part of this generation- a modern India, true to its name.