The Big Fun

Yesterday after a long time, I watched an ODI innings on TV. India notched up a series win in the Compaq cup beating rivals Sri Lanka by some 60 or 80 odd runs. India was bowling and Bhajji's superb 5-crucial wickets haul swung the game in our favour after the Lankan tigers fought bravely in their 7th wicket partnership. I even watched the presentation ceremony with full enthusiasm. And memories came back...

I wasnt the conventional cricket freak but yes, I used to be super excited during every India match, whether it be with arch rivals Pakistan or Australia or whether be it seemingly minnows, Zimbabwe or Kenya. It was a huge affair for me every time. Endless discussions with friends about our odds of winning the match usually preceeded them. Many a times I have got onto verbal duels with my friends regarding who is a more competent player in the match, Sachin or Saurav? or will Srinath's in swings be a match decider today? How many runs will Debasish Mohanty go for? Or will Mongia pinch hit today or will Kumble's leg spin do the trick? I am talking about the 1996s and the 1999s and the 2002-03s and a couple of years after that. We lacked spinners. Though he picked up 6 wickets once, I didnt admire Sunil Joshi. The other spinners apart from Kumble and Bhajji were negligible. Among the pacers, Srinath and Prasad ruled the mantle usually at that time, supported by either an abey kuruvilla or a Debasish Mohanty. The openers were a delight-Ramesh or Jaffer or Laxman. The Sehwags and the Gambhirs came much later.

From my childhood days I was notorious of playing cricket at home, alone. How? Well i used to bounce a 'cambis' ball on our wall (spun it usually) and I had a knee long slender wooden bat with which I used to hit it all through out my room. And my Mom used to shout aloud seeing the clumsy white spots on our painted walls. But I didnt use to stop. Till now i have broken showcase glass and glass panes by whacking a ball at them, and all unfortunately in my house. Everyday (during vacations and holidays) my daily regimen would be a cursory study session followed by the cricketing bonanza. I used to maintain a copy where I wrote down serially, the batting order and imagined to be in a wide green stadia, cheered by lakhs of people in the stand and an imaginary commentary also used to take place. Ah those were the days-simple, uncluttered and passionate. I also remember, my dad used to bowl to me while I batted-in our house, with the ball occasionally dropping inside the uncovered utensil on the table full of fish curry or hitting my mother in the kitchen. But nevertheless i didnt use to stop, neither learn.

And then there were the cricket cards which came free with chewing gums like big fun and center fresh. Its bliss to recapitulate those fond memories. how I used to hanker after buying me a gum-big fun, which was extra sugary and bland after the initial chews-but then the card which came along with them, which bore the picture and career details of cricketers were the nadir of possession for me. We used to trade them, possess them, flaunt them, brag about them and routinely go through them in awe and disbelief. I was then, uncorrupted by the television, mobile, computer and other gadgets of modernity. I still treasure those cards, which were a source of delight for me in my younger days.

Who can forget the maniacal possession of cricket mags and the posters which came along with them for free. Many times, have i persuaded my parents to buy me a latest copy of sportstar or sportsworld or cricket samrat or cricket world. Not that I used to read them in details but i just used to glance through them, see the pics, read the scoresheets but unmistakably used to perform three things as rituals-savouring the copy, pulling out the posters, treasuring it and treasuring the copy too.

Nowadays, when i see a tabloid copy of sportstar, i feel sad. The feel of the mag is no more. I was just thinking a few days back-that the unique marketing strategy of luring the kids to buy a gum or a mag by giving a card or a poster free was an unfailing marketing tool too. But sadly, nowadays, youngsters have their own crazes-notably PS2 games, CD Roms, the latest scientific gadget and so on. Television and the internet and the computer games have ensured that those plastic cards and those mega sized posters never come back. But still when I open my treasure trove and rummage my memories or when I watch an India match or read about it in papers, i still feel that pulsating urge to dive back to my past and retrieve those golden bays of untampered joy and passionate existence.

Ya ain't doin' nothin'

There is only one entity that plays fate- Fate, itself.

Yeh Dilli hai mere yaar

Two faces of Dilwaala Delhi

Episode 1: Overheard a conversation between an elderly person and a middle aged service man in a bus en route dhaula kuan.

oldman is smoking bidi, thick moustached, white and peppered
service guy is sitting in front of him. apparently had a tiff with someone in office.

service: (irritated) arre yaar! tumko pata nahin smoke karna mana hai bus mein?
oldman smokes

service: oye! sun sakta hain? maine kahan smoke karna mana hai...(looks at the conductor) aap kuch batao inhe! aap log kuch batate nahi...
oldman smokes, glances and mutters incomprehensibly...( i thought i heard 'main pee raha hoon, tera kya jata hai be...')

service man continues for 2 more minutes and concludes...
"saale buddhe! ghar mein beti nahin hai? beti ke saamne peeta hai tu?"

oldman quirks up for the first time: saale behen ch**, main jo bhi karta hoon, karunga. tu nahin dekhta tv apne beti ke saamne? tu saale fashion tv nahin dekhta apne beti ke saamne?
serviceman shuts up for the first time

oldman (smoking): chal tu kaale khan mein, dekhta hoon tujhe...
service: huh! kya kar lega mera? kya ukhaar lega?

passengers laugh. I reflect.

Episode 2: Mera Bharat mahaan. En Route to Delhi from Gurgaon in a jampacked share cab

Traffic police comes up to tavera driver
police: oye bitha le inko, dhaula kuan drop kar dio. duty pe jaan hai

driver: saab, jagah hi nahi hai

police: abbe, bitha le dekh ho jaaega. lawyer hai court pe jaane hai

driver: (curtly) jagah nahi hai!
Police comes near the driver, pulls away the car key. driver protests.
police: saale, nikaal ek aadmi ko! isko bitha le! zyaada karega to challan kar doonga! chal nikaal 5000 rupae.

driver gulps.passengers protest
passenger1 : oye tuney kya samjha hai apne aap ko? police hai to kuch bhi kar lega? banda bol raha hai ki jagah nahi hai. aur tu bol raha hai ki ek aadmi ko nikaal

other passengers: thik hai bitha le...

other police joins in. passenger 1 says: chalo thik hai dekho bitha le

police throws away keys under the wheels. and goes away. driver retrieves it. resumes journey.lawyer is not seen.

passenger 1: dekh leta saale ko, saale behen ch**, ek phone karta DIG ko, sahi kar deta.
others murmur. i yawn.

Imagine l'eclat d'un paysage qui te submerge
Pas a pas, tu penetres dans cette athmoshphere
Tel une sphere qui t aspires ,toi tu regardes qui t inspires
(Delhi-6)

Faces

Interview day: Among the new faces, one was extremely alluring. She was a namesake of an Indian beauty pageant winner but was more beautiful than her. Of course, that time i was committed and I didnt have any excuse or willingness to flirt with her. And another thing which was stopping me was the fact that she was almost a 6 footer and was quite charming to not to be proposed before or not to be engaged at that time. As these thoughts clouded my mind (Note: without any intentions to lech), we picked up a conversation which veered around the time tested and 1000 times heard prospects of journalism and stuff about it. She was working with some channel in Mumbai at that time and said that she was very casual about ACJ. It wouldnt matter to her if she did not get through. Anyways, She didnt and I dont know whether it mattered to her or not. It sure didnt matter to me. Also because, later on I heard from a common friend of that girl and mine that she was once knocked-up. There was another girl from Calcutta at whom almost all the men in our college leched about afterwards. Another bengali girl from Pune became a good friend later on, more so as she went on to replace my room buddy's girlfriend and become a source of my inconvenience whenever I strolled in my buddy's room in shorts and tee. There was another bong from Asansol, at whom I looked and made up my mind to make her my sis in college. Well, i coudnt help. She looked so much like a sis. Maybe that's the reason why I almost made up my mind to hit out when a drunken bastard on chennai street teased her, when i was interrupted by my friends. There was another guy who later on went on to become one of closest roomies and i still miss him a lot-the quintessential F-1 expert and a know all about business. He is working with reuters now and is being paid a whopper. He was a guy's guy, really and is currently mending a broken heart due to a girl whom I never thought would be a perfect choice for him. There was another guy, a passout from jadavpur university who I hoped would make it to the college as he was turning into a friend. But he didnt. In the midst of all this sat a mouse-faced guy, smiling at everyone from a distance but never opening his mouth to utter a single word. I felt weird and he didnt looked like a bong, though he was one from Silchar. He turned out to be one of my best friends in ACJ and arguably, the best guy in our college. When I was ushered into the longish room, with a longer table and men and women with even longer and well fed faces, I was a little taken aback seeing the sight of around 8 to 10 people sitting opposite me and the thoughts of them trying to grill me after a few seconds. But then they were sweet and they believed that I was made for television-a thought that did not for once crossed my mind in the last 20 years. I was aghast and said that I want print and only print. But later on, I was offered television and within a few months I found myself fumbling with a microphone in front of a camera which looked like a scary sten gun. But then, such was the environment and our instructor and the ringing faith in me of the teachers, that soon I began to love the medium.

I still remember the interview day distinctly, a day which was a sort of prelude of things to come in an eventful and learning period of 10 months.

Kapil Sibal's 'Dus' ka Dum

Kapil babu says that it will rot the rote. Well we are up for it. But is Mr. Sibal's 'Dus' ka dum really foolproof? A brief examination...(grades only!)

So finally a decade long plan to scrap off Class X boards examinations will be implemented. Or rather it will be made optional. In March 2010, there will be exams but no marks, only grades. In March 2011, exams will be made optional and there would be no marks and grades. So the question arises how will the students be evaluated? And the western notion of internal tests, assessments based on personal skills creeps in. Good for many, strange for few and for others, skeptical. Remember the world of Riverdale in good ol' Archie comics? How there used to be surprise quizzes, tests, projects and umpteen homework which made archie, betty, ronnie, and reggie burn the midnight oil over them. A similar thing, if not the same, is going to be introduced by the education minister in CBSE schools-a change which may alter the fabric of the Indian education system. Lets examine whether it will be for good or otherwise...

A. No marks, only grade

The level of competition among students and their parents over ho has scored better and who has outstripped whom by how many marks is on a fanatical and foolish rise. which is leading to extremem steps taken by students-like suicides and by parents-like making their wards work till the last drop of his energy so that he can beat the neighbouring bittu in exams. A mere tool to satisfy their inflated ego. All these would stop through this blanket of a rule which will have no differentiation between a student who gets 91 and the one who scores 99. Though on the flip side, it will tamper with meritocracy. The exact marks, I hear, will not be disclosed. Also, further rectification based on current performance will not be exacted as the marks will not be shown.

B. Comprehensive Evaluation

Meaning assessment through everything except for studies. like speaking skills, oratory, physical education, mental assessment, memory power, diction, emotional skills, attitude towards teachers, school mates and public property, attention power, drawing skills and so on. An international module but very difficult to implement. Why? because of the underskilled and the half baked talent of the teachers in India. A lot of time would require to train the existing teachers in the new formula. And, not sounding cynical, I seriously doubt the assessment capability of our esteemed teachers. But then it will add to the all round ability of a student. There are padhakoos who simply dig themselves up in books and score a perfect ten in exams but are wimps when it comes to public speaking. There are others who are really good in studies but are equally inattentive in classes. This rule may be the nail in the coffin for the under achievements of these students.

C. Internal tests

The CBSE will send some suggestions in the form of question which the schools will set their questions from and evaluate internally (grades will be awarded). No questions of exam pressure. Students can very well chill. Though not to th extent of thinking that my favourite teacher is evaluating my scripts, which may guarantee me better marks. But the concept of favouritism looms large as a possible and later on, inevitable negative to this module. also, I hear that the FAQs will be enlisted on the CBSE website. cant this give access to the students, the possible questions that may come?

D. Extra curricular assessments

Like homeworks and projects. I personally feel that a round the year assessments on shorts like these can go a long way in building up the character of students and also take away the real fear factor among the students-which is exams. Projects will need creativity, the need to pay attention in classes, dexterity among the students. Regular homeworks will ensure that the students follow up whatever was taught in the classes that day and also exercise their brain after that. It will also give the parents another reason to hanker after those students who feel that education is only limited to schools. But this is, apparently, the biggest complains among the children and their parents. They want this regulation to be scrapped as it may bring unnecessary pressure to the students. But surely, nothing can be worse than terminal exams, can it be? Apart from this assessment will also be made on GK, computer science will will enhance the comprehensibility of a student.

So as we can see, everything has its flip side though i appreciate the minister's initiative to revolutionize our education system in an attempt to decrease pressure and increase global standards of the Indian education system. Though the evils of corruption, inability to assess correctly owing to the lack of skilled teachers, competition ( now to the accord of whose child is more attentive, or has the best oratory skills or has dished out the best project) will ultimately and inevitably creep in. So its not a foolproof system entirely. What i feel is that the minister can be a bit slower and impart proper skills to the teachers and remove all doubts from the minds of the students and the teachers before proceeding to implement these. Yes, if the government thinks that it can be possible in another two years and has faith in our teachers' adaptability then nobody should complain. The common man does advocate plans for improvisation but it also demands results...

A Rick-ety ride back

Friendship for me has nowadays made me a little wary before plunging in it, though I still retain my old habit of making people feel comfortable in my company.

In Gurgaon, I prefer my computer to friends.

Although for the past few months, my spirits are feeding on to some passing chunks of delights. Precisely when I get up on a rickshaw queuing up at IFFCO chowk, thirsting for a passenger, and more so for a fat customer like me. They are all Bengali Moslems from Malda district in West Bengal (a fact tat I have known for the last 6 years) And invariably, they know all the people among their cluster very well, which provides a little consolation to their longing wait for a passenger, when it doesn’t rain. I am a hot property among the Rick wallahs in IFFCO chowk. They know that every day this guy in thick specs and carrying an oversized bag would approach one of us and take a ride till Supermart area for a fair (according to them) or a fat (according to me) sum. It’s a treat to watch their excitement that who will be the lucky one to ply me to my destination as soon as they see me approaching me from a distance. At times I feel embarrassed and very indecisive when a bevy of dark skinned nerve protruding reed like structures, with flies hovering around their uncleaned body stand in front of me advertising themselves and their rickety ricks, and unfailingly cursing other rick wallahs who try to lure me to that hard wooden seat, seemed to be made comfortable by a cushiony cover. But its unmistakable to notice a gleam of fun in their day long strained faces, highlighting poverty, dissatisfaction and a million wishes unfulfilled, as they start their bids. Its fun for me but I still feel the pangs of maybe upsetting the others as soon as I board a rickshaw. To solve this problem I always try not to repeat taking the same rick for consecutive days. I believe it’s a fair practice. After crossing the first polluted and smoke blurting signal, I always offer the rick wallah a biscuit from my tiffin and we continue our journey munching those simple snacks. I have heard so many stories on the way from them about them-family, monthly income, an accident that they have faced; about their families back in Malda-their properties, the feuds within their brothers, how Didi has brought in smiles to their faces after decades of fearing the left and so on. Yes the roofs are low and the ride is a bumpy one, but I seem to enjoy these simple, carefree and unpretentious conversations with them. Moreover they also feel good to steal a discussion or two with their passengers, that too in their native language. As I pay them after the ride, I don’t look at their faces lest that I see a glint of disappointment in them.

But a strain of undercurrent still remains. They are not totally devoid of that money minded mentality. And there have been many days that I need a rick desperately, maybe during rains or something, but don’t find them.

So I still don’t trust them, neither do I try to be really close to them. The old, unassuming, demanding, reckless unsuspecting and unaware-of-my-own-doings nature of me has subsided…for good.

Mr. Porter in the 21st century?

In the morning I wake up disturbed and impatient, longing to realize the commercial, loving and insensitive world ahead of me.
Consolations work and i enter a deep reverie of immaculate memories peppered with a morbid trance and flustered by the tingling sweat on my back, while the chartered creeps slowly to its destination, not mine.
At work, I am sincere and entertaining. When I am not, I am insecure.
Having lunch is a delight. Afterwards, my stomach feels complete.
As I leave work, I tend to get impatient again. By this time, I become a sinner and look back at those olden days of living and glance at the ones, survival.
In the evening, I seldom control my temper. I shout.
And feel miserable at the end of the day, only to be lulled to sleep by a seemingly inconspicuous solace and only to be woken up at the middle of the night by haunting voices, a distant dream and an empty room...

A fragment within a Copy-Editor and Packaging producer, 21