Chennai Day - 3

My brother's happy birthday. 26 today is the boy.
Don't know his phone number so would call and log the wishes with his parents.
Maybe drop in a line as well if gmail remembers it.
And a slow day at the office till now.
After the hysteria around the new animal in the zoo on Monday & Tuesday.. the place has quietened down. They sent out a "Welcome to S & P - AMS, Hari Singh" e-mail, with my picture - so that no one misses the new animal when he goes to the loo or cafeteria.
Some people are pasting buntings and exploding random balloons from cubicle to cubicle. "Happy Diwali" says a large banner. And I am telling myself to be calm and not over-react to explosions like I did 2 days back. Ek blast hi to hai ??
One of my flatmates- shocked me yesterday when he said
1) Lara was the better batsman
2) Definitely looked better and provided more excitement
3) He had seen his 153* at Bridgetown Live on TV and its the big performance that matters.

I .. I don't know.. these days when you meet sensible people.. you are at a loss to say anything.
I think the last time I gaped so much was when I was 15 3/4 ~ 16.
Those were the days - life was full of surprises and things unknown - I am sure you have been through the same period at around the same time in your life. Hmm...
Some stupid f**k just exploded another balloon behind me. Hey Bhagwaan, ab main zyada der control nahi kar paoonga. Suar kahiin ka. Lets get out.
P.S. Had an awesome conversation with Manish Agnihothri (IIFT), and finer people you don't get. Meeting him next week.

Chennai Diary - Day 2

... So, the manager was aghast when he heard I did the bus journey to office - and smiled when I told him I would do the bus thing tonight.
"But you can take the cab!". I mumbled something about how tough it was negotiating for the cab since morning - amendments would be tough to manage at 7 PM Monday.
And so began reverse osmosis - the autos here are amazing because they are triple rowed - with the middle seats ripped out and just a wooden plank at 0 level to sit on and people behind. As the saying goes about not making the same mistake twice, I sat ramrod straight this time.
Then the railway station was negotiated with no problems and onto the bus stop. The 5A came fashionably late - but got me near my colony in very quick time. Near because the bus conductor conveniently dropped me off one stop before my destination. And then I forgot directions to the CTS guest house.
Friends from IIFT would remember my telling them about this short course girl who used to turn up at my room looking for Puneet's. Both being diametrically opposite on separate sides of the first floor. And trust me.. it wasn't funny after the first 2 times. Clearly, she was not the only one with "Direction - Problem".
So I started a door to door "Sir/Ma'm - please can you tell me where plot number 10 is ?" Friends from everywhere would also remember my telling them about my father's cosmic capacity of making his presence felt just as I am about to do something wrong. He knows when I am drinking, when I am planning to run away on a trip, when I am out of money, when I have messed up etc. ( Papa just knows - and that is why, I have learnt to respect him. )
So papa calls just as I am talking to this lady with 2 kids and a dog. She's trying to help me in Tamil. Papa is also trying to help me in Hindi from 1500 km's away. One kid is studiously bent near the gate trying to do something I am ignoring at my peril. A cracker goes off. The b*****d dog goes ballistic with pleasure, younger kid starts screaming with joy, Mummy is pleased with her elder fixed deposit, Senior is in heaven, happy domestic scene - except I got scared and let out a torrentz.com of abuse in Hindi.
Friends everywhere know what happens when that happens. :( So, I gave Senior a burst :( I hope he did not have a sister inside that house. And then, horror of all horrors, papa is still on the line. Senior's Mummy screams at me in Tamil. How dare I shout at her aankon ka tara. And my father is laughing hysterically. He has heard both the blasts. I have never, never, ever done this.

Suitably chastened, with one last malevolent look at the b*****d, I slink away into the next street. And find the guest house after 45 mins.
Sachin's smug fan is in the drawing room.
He knows.
"Bahut der hui aaj, heh ?"
I choose to ignore. Almost.
"Haan kuch developers aaye huey they milne" . Sachin's fan goes c hussey b bollinger in the 4th innings. After all, he may be honest and better, but I'm still an Ass. Con. with Cognizant.
Entered my room with a smile. Slept off. Good day.
P.S. Papa... called me an hour back and asked why I abused the kid. "Papa.. I.. " :D
P.S. 2
If you know Saptarshi Ganguli, please take 2 minutes of your time, stand to attention and sing Happy Birthday. He just pinged me and said.. ‎‎
Ganguli, Saptarshi (Cognizant)‎‎ [2:34 PM]:
hahahaha salle ‎‎
Ganguli, Saptarshi (Cognizant)‎‎ [2:34 PM]:
wish me on my bday stupid
‎‎Singh, Hari (Cognizant)‎‎ [2:34 PM]:
ohh shit man!~‎‎
Ganguli, Saptarshi (Cognizant)‎‎ [2:34 PM]:
ha ha np
Pops. .we love you. You are evil.. but a very necessary evil. 28 & cheers!

Chennai Diary - Day 1

I came to office today via a 45 min bus ride, a 2km walk, another 20 min auto ride and then a shuttle ride. No wonder I am pleased with myself.
Office looks ok - food is ok. Flat is nice. There is no lift - just an inviting abyss that meets a watery grave 4 floors down - sleepwalking is curable as per the cook's malicious claim.

More adventures on the return bus journey are promised. My limited experience of the bus journey tells me that Chennai women are not as innocent as their ample behinds and oiled hair suggest. Would make sure I stay at the back today while returning. Roomie is a mallu & a fresher, who is from Thrissur and in his words, "doesn't smoke, doesn't drink." I regret to say that in the one hour at the flat & the hour and half to office, he has become a fan.
If I remember correctly, he's promised to look for a place near office today for me as well. "you can join us". And the "I'm a puppy, pat me" look.Well, I guess he's just plain lucky.

One thing I have learnt in 24 hours is that you cannot criticize the short b*****d Tendulkar in Chennai. Him of the 38.44 fourth innings average. Yeah, same one! :D
I was trying to explain my views on the subject to one of my flatmates last night and he got into a sulk. Hmm.. "Main die-hard fan hoon Sachin ka" in his own words. And the first thing that hits you on arrival is CSK - Messrs. Murali, Dhoni, Hayden - and well, one's a chucker, the other's a flat track bully and the third was sanctimonious. Anyways, with RR out of the IPL, and don't I love the benaami, clueless Shilpa Shitty asking people for support, CSK would soon be my favourite IPL team - because watching an IPL game at the MAC is high on my agenda :D

People are reserved and don't appreciate in your face - so I stay away and say excuse me - and approach only if permitted. Office workers are just as laidback here - And I have been given a rather cozy conference room for the day here as well. Some things just don't change! I guess I need some filter kaapi - and I need to hunt it so that I can get my fix.

Life's tough - but then Toska got me here. Take care.
Whoever & Wherever you are.

A Quarter Life Crisis...

When I was pushing 18, my mother told me...
1) Tattoo kabhi mat banwana
2) No Bike/Car racing
3) Mann laga ke kaam karna.. no fooling around.

When I am pushing 28,
1) I am seriously contemplating bringing "Avinash" aka Papa onto my bicep. Need to be careful, half shirt, office, blah blah. Quite a thrill being improperly proper.
2) Almost every Saturday night is spent driving on the Shamshabad Airport road. The grand finale is settling down on the landscaped highway side, overlooking the international runway, looking at flights taking off till the cops come and ask me needless questions like "ye kiski gaadi hai", "kahaan kaam karte ho", "yahaan kyun aate ho", "license dikhao"
3) I am indifferent to a job that actually pays me reasonably well. I am supposed to be reasonably glad. I am indifferent to what my mother euphemistically refers to as "settling down"

I am a 27 year old boy.
Tyler: Maybe, A woman is the answer to all our problems. Buhahahahhahahahahaa... :D

Mind Games

What a kickass start to Monday!
Papa calls me at 8 and says I had a Dream.
Too fuzzy with sleep to see the Martin Luther King connection, I asked him kya dekha. He was sounding very cheerful.
Him: "Maine sapne mein dekha.. ki main tumhe kas ke dho raha hoon. Full on peet raha hoon."
Me: "Bahut maza aa raha hoga ?"
Him: "Kaafi zyada"
Me: "Well... I am glad to be of service papa... "
Then the bombshell.. "I called to ask you.. are you doing something in Hyderabad that would make my dream come true ?"
By now I was totally awake. Of late, I have only done things he might find loony. Insanity is running high in Hyd.
Me: "Nahi papa."
Him: "Office ke liye taiyyar ho gaye ?"
Me: "Bas lag gaya hoon. 9 baje tak pahuch jaoonga"
I was at my desk at 08:58. Don't know who was more surprised. Security or Me. People have just started trickling in now. :)
What Cognizant still can't, Papa can.
Like Ian Chappell, he is a player of effect. :)

The days just roll by... :)

Well for one.. La Furia Roja!!!!!!!
La Furia Roja!!!!!
La Furia Roja!!!!!
La Furia Roja!!!!!

Spain prevailed after fluffing their lines more than a few times in what, after 10 days, can only be described as an ill tempered game of very little sophistication. The Dutch played an excruciatingly thuggish game not worthy of a WC final. I had liked their resourcefulness & purpose till then. In the finals, I had no such sympathy since they were more sinning than sinned against.
It could have all ended otherwise. The 9 yellow cards not counting for much had Robben not fluffed against Casillas. Had Puyol been awarded a deserved yellow for gamely trying to sacrifice himself by tripping the explosive Robben in what was otherwise a 1 0n 1 against the Real Madrid custodian. Ironically, the one time Holland were on the right, getting on with the game by not falling, they were penalised.

Iniesta was delightful on 116 minutes. A smart pass from Cesc Fabregas and he slotted the ball with might. He had taken too long on a previous chance in front of goal some minutes before. In 4 minutes only a miracle would have saved Holland. No such miracle was forthcoming. The Dutch protested that a corner call on Casillas was erronously given as a goal kick which led to the goal. That was a little rich coming from a side which had sorely tested the referee all night. Nigel De Jong, it appeared had watch back to back Bruce Lee movies before the final.

As a neutral observer to start with, I tilted towards Spain more out of outrage against the Dutch tactics, it was heartening to see a game not going to penalties.

I slept happy after the game. Could not help but chuckle at the memories of WC 2006. Much water had flown under the bridge. Re-learnt an important lesson that night. At the end of the day, it's just a game :)

Keep forgetting it frequently though. My take is.. if you don't go all in.. Why bother ?

The days are rolling by. Already 2 months and 20 odd days into the job. Its smooth. Its not rocket science. Maybe, it is for the best ?

What was supposed to be the theme became the post script. What would life be without sports. Cheers to that.

The mind goes back...

I distinctly remember 9th July 2006. Worked on 8th till about 3 30AM before I took the office cab. Was back in office by 11AM & again worked till it was time to rush home & watch the kick off.
It was Italy vs France in the 2006 WC Final. As if to answer my specific prayer God had put the Great, great, gr8 Zidane in the WC final. It was going to be a tryst with destiny. I would tell my kids I was there. In front of the TV.

Within 7 minutes the Great, great, gr8 Zinedine Zidane, him of the cerebral skill and the rapier touch, infinitely delicate & supremely powerful, equal parts man & equal parts magic, had scored off a penalty of such ridiculous chutzpah that you had to rub your tired complaining eyes to believe it.

Gianluigi Buffon was the greatest goalkeeper on the planet at that time. And while the word is not generally associated with his ilk, a craftsman in his own right. Surely, Le Bleus would not let it go now.

Suddenly, Pavan Chitragar was on the phone. I don't remember whether I called him or was it the other way around. "It will end on penalities". My heart sank. Chitra was a footie exp & had got every analysis and prediction right till then.
From nowhere, Marco Matterazzi headed one & it was on parity.
I don't remember much of the game till about 110 minutes, except for letting off a huge puff of relief when Serie A's top marksman Luca Toni was adjudged offside after he had netted.

By 110 minutes, the Great Zidane was mostly prowling like a caged animal. Henry, Ribery & the others had all been neutralized by the Azzuri Wall. I had never seen a team "defend" in waves till that day. It was almost as if by magic the entire Italian team would metamorphose behind their lines and thwart the first whiff of a French move. The Rhino Gattuso, The mercurial Pirlo and the Semi Final hero Grosso would try their luck from time to time. But, at the heart of Italy was the supreme centre back, il capitano Fabio Cannvaro. The slightly built defender who made short work of people a foot taller. The ensuing years taught me what I did not see then, Cannavaro was just as much a Talisman as the Great Zidane was. He was precise, he was calm and he was strong.

If memory serves me right, around the 110 minute mark, a cross found an unmarked Zidane right at the edge of the box. I have never seen a player move into a header like Zidane did. In that one instant Zidane was all purpose. As far as headers went this one was perfect. It was sinister. Except that somehow, by some maniacal power of will, Buffon flung himself vertically to get his fingertips to parry what was a certain goal.

Then came the infamous headbutt. Hypocrites may talk and talk about role models. In a flash Zidane was off. The pot had simmered long enough. Trezeguet missed his penalty to finish things off. It was painful to see Cannavaro lift the Cup of life.

It was 3 30 AM. I was crying bitter alone tears in my house. Had just got into a dirty argument with a friend who had Materazzi'd me. In that moment the frustration with life, job etc. all boiled up. More tears.

I slept with the memory of the Great Zidane unrolling the protection he wore around his wrist as he walked past the trophy. Not once did the great man look in the cup's direction.

Next day I walked into office with purpose. Headache and red eyes be damned. I would take out any bastard who spoke ill of Zidane. I was waiting for someone to make a sanctimonious comment. Then I would fuck his happiness three times over.

Got into skirmishes all day long. I used to mediate fights on MysoreSports. Today I was hunting. Some iota of ego was assuaged knowing people were not taking me on.
The day passed somehow. And then a few years passed.

I reconnected with Preetish the day WC 2010 started. I am 27 now. 2006 seems a long time away. I remember it with sadness. I remember it with much love. I believed in things back then. I am a little more cynical now. A little more hard. Its called aging. But every now & then, I indulge myself. And believe once more.

It was & remains the best worst memory of my adult life. If my bad memories end there... God Bless for that. Merci Zizou! thanks for the memories. You won.