When The Shit Hits The Fan...

.... Some Guys Run.

..... Some Guys Stand.

Good Food. Great Drink. Excellent Company.

The Admiral had finished his exams. The civilian had an evening free. The Navy of the nation maintains an excellent facility "Varuna" in the capital. Improperly dressed civilians who can manage just a tee and a clean pair of jeans are "entertained" on the poolside by a small but adequate catering corner that doubles as a fully functional bar.

The poolside also comes with its forbidden advantages. Of course, we are all officers and gentlemen.

We sat. We ordered. We waited. GK had just finished "doing" his exams. Whichever godforsaken tub he was claiming to design had as much chance of making it ashore as the code he wrote in his previous life.

For the record, his work survives him. By a combination of lethargy and revolving door labour policy, his work has probably remained largely untouched. I would not doubt him if he told me, very unlike him though, that he still got the odd SOS.

Meanwhile, all is forgotten. The "Varuna" is really a beautiful set of buildings. The lawns almost border the pool. Both are quiet. No birds on either side.

Hard day for him. Most of my days are hard.

The bartender has very conveniently forgotten that the rum colas & the two colas ordered were to be in parallel & not in series.

GK has a hurt puppy look when he realizes that it is The BC for me. I decide. I have a special intuition that tells me that it matters to GK. He needs a little company. I tilt the glass.

Then. Nothing. For a while.

And then it spreads, the familiar warmth. I feel it like old times. Always. It spreads from the base of the stomach. Kunal always called me the-other-way-round.His capacity for classy rum always exceeded mine even in the days when we drank vintageless rum in college. His theory was that you must feel it burn down your throat. He once convinced me to drink nearly a quarter of a poison called Khoday's Old Monk 7 Year Vintage Rum to accurately determine why my throat did not burn.

I gagged when the second quarter was shoved in the name of science, and the experiment was sadly & mercifully abandoned; depending on whose point of view you got to hear.

However, we digress.

I jigged all my senses and perceptions but could not find a sense of homecoming.

I am sitting with rum swirling in my mouth and there is no "mama, i have come home."

GK sees that the drink has not sat well... He also knows it is where it is because he wanted the camaraderie. He then says these words about the old days...

"Dude, you are almost the only proof I have in this place that we had a past in Mysore, sloggin' our asses off as young impressionable SE s for whatever was the cause.... "

I reflect on what he has just said. It has been said very simply. GK is no great orator. Most times he might just wring his hands in frustration when the words fail him. Many times we read him between his lines.

I realize that a chapter did finish back there. GK, Sanath, Suhas, Bone, Jacob, Gun & Me.
Lived in the same mud and the same blood.

GK is pensive here. I think he would reach out to the rum cola and finish it off. He is also a little apologetic.

I pick the glass before him. He is mildly surprised. I tip the glass. My old powers are restored.
I tip my head back as well.

"Let's move. ABCD is calling. Business Communication Meeting."

We bundle ourselves in. It is dark in the rick. GK gets down at IIT. The road is a little dark. We slap palms.

"Next time Kota House".
"Sure Mate"
He slips a note into my hand. I am surprised this time.
"Pay the bugger off... I have change."
"So do I, mate!"

GK has moved already.
I move on and get down near my hostel. Full lights here. Crisp clean green bill in my hand.
I think I am grinning. GK can sometimes leave more than your throat stinging.

3.5 * 6 FEET - The little pleasures we sometimes miss.

And So Shall The Soul Be Devoured.

Some Of Our Stars Are The Same.

"Remember... When in doubt... kucF..." - Al Pacino.

Watched Scent Of A Woman. Never expected to find a DVD rip at ABCD. Three days off as well.
Watching Lt. Col. Frank Slade in top form, priceless!

BTW, found this in one of my mails. I had become rather exercised when this happened in Australia some time back.

streettalk@ESPNSTAR.Com had the good sense not to publish it. So, here goes:

RE: AUSTRALIAN SOJOURN

I have read with some incredulity, the statement of Mr. Mike Proctor where he so sanctimoniously "pontificates" that his decision to impose a ban on Harbhajan is based not on hearsay, as I see one's word against another's, but on "having lived most part of his life in Africa and knowing what racism is".

The ICC is well advised to understand that with the game's proliferation beyond the Anglo-Saxon world, with more cultures being thrown into the mix, perceptions of mal-adjusted people like Mr. Proctor need to be backed by EVIDENCE.

How I wish a lawyer puts him on the stand and rips his decision part by part.

Mr. Proctor is apparently not well versed with the rules under which disciplinary action must be taken. Maybe, his past not having strong democratic roots, doesn't allow him to see what we have known for sixty years.

YOU DO NOT PERSECUTE BASED ON CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.

I am sure there have been acquitals in jurisprudence because of insufficient evidence. Harbhajan should have been dealt with severely, IF VIDEO/AUDIO evidence were to be found against him.

Otherwise, what is wrong with Sachin's word ?
Because he does not stand before the southern cross or genuflects on a hundred does not make his version any less authentic.

The ICC needs to come out of it's mentality of offering positions that require training and sensitivity to people just in lieu of their records as players or through the old boy network. They need to verify from time to time that match officials are also CAPABLE and TRAINED to CONTINUE doing their duties.

We are probably heading for another legal battle where the soon to be hapless Mr. Proctor would find that Mr. Ponting lacks stature not just literally and that Mr. Hayden may not balk at making the sign of the cross, once he realises he is unable to throw his weight around like he does from the slips, after the dust settles on this sordid matter.

It is sad that legal recourse is the only option left for teams without adequate representation at the high table of the ICC.

In all this, how does one respond to Mr. Symonds ? He gave a good account of himself when he was on air during the T20 against NZ at Perth.

Symonds:"This guy(Jacob Oram) is going to come hard at me so I am going to try and jam this bastard"

Gilchrist: "(Giggling) (like the prom impressed by the brute, probably) You didn't Roy, did you!!! OMG!!"

Maybe we should exchange a list of words with him which maybe used during games when he starts the chatter and those which he feels are not racist.

And the much maligned monkeys at the zoo, by all accounts, must be preparing to sue, given that they have linked synonymously to such low intelligence.

More than our 9% GDP growth, today I feel, with rich irony, that we must have really come a long way towards being equals as serial offenders and abusers cry to the mothers, "Mama, the Indians down the road are giving better than us!!"

Cheers and no offence, specially to monkeys,

XXXX

Indian
formerly, Aussie cricket fan

- Mail Ends

Oscar Wilde was so right.

"Patriotism is the virtue of the vicious."

I continue to learn from my past mistakes. Or so I think. I also repeat them with disturbing frequency.

And lest we forget, vigilantism and monkeys, both Indian and Australian, be damned.

Nice Things Come In Small Packages.

I tried being a better man. For about a couple of minutes. It did not work.

There is a small disc like area in my lower back.
It is hurting like hell.

I am also flipped on my tummy, so that the back is up. Literally.
There is a pillow beneath the... let me check... well.. below the ribs.
It is providing a cushion as I hear differential equations being discussed.

The bad back occurred because I did something I generally do not.
Stayed up late last night and worked.

For something challenging and very insightful. I have wonderful takeaways from it.

Mr. Brown is studying very hard next to me, while I am keen to get my back cured.

A nice load of about 45 kgs standing on my lower back might be the answer to all my problems.

Mr. Eric Clapton is on and would like to put in his 2 penny worth opinion as well.

"And then she asks me.... Do you feel all right ?"

And I Would Love To Say: I feel wonderful tonight.

Nice things come in small packages... Hmmm...

P.S. Next change; Cry Me A River. Justin Timberlake is such a spoiler. Earthbound.

Be A Better Man.

I attended an august gathering today where I tried my best to blend into the background like barley in fine single malt whisky.

The experience was huge, because a really Learned Man for whom I have respect turned up to address us.

Learned Man made us take an oath of decency, righteousness and celibacy. No, not celibacy, now that I remember.

I had a chance, which I had passed, to hear Learned Man sometime back as well. The circumstances are murky and enjoyable.

Jake was leaving the job that weekend, I was on my way out too.

" What the heck mate, lets have a relaxing lunch at Roost. Have a "good" time as well. Who would notice ?"

We went. We settled. We ordered.
Things were good and fine.

Then she turned up.
She and I met once while working on the office newsletter.
She was also in HR. But she was nice, despite being in HR.

The time to weigh the options was nigh. Bang in front lay the nectar. I decided to salvage the reputation.

Ditch the drink. But where ? Can't throw it in Jake's face. It is his farewell.
GK (now admiral GK of the Navy) meanwhile cannot see her because the clouds in front of his face are yet to part.

I decide to do a weak imitation of Yeh-to-paani-hai-madam!
Toss it in like water.

Alas, the blasted appendage reaches for the lemon. Just then. Reflex actions learnt over long hours of practice. Practice can make man and misery perfect.

Nice lady gives a nice smile, despite the gargantuan goof up.
I smile. She smiles. Even my mates smile.

I think she also felt the urge to cut some strings. Drink on duty. Have a power trip. All in a day's work for a tigress.

We disperse in an hour and a half. Nobody would miss us anyway.

And now comes the Learned Man. While coming back to office, I see a military chopper land on campus.

I have heard some outlandish things about what goes on here. Including a story about a nuclear reactor that functions underground while we work. My worst fears are now true!

We pull over. I quickly pour some water on my head once I am on the road. I am imagining things.

Work stress. Must be.

I ask a hawker on the road.

"Woh uss building mein kya gaya abhi ?"
"Kya bhai, chadhha li hai kya? Helicopter hai Helicopter." HELIKOPTER. I still remember.

And So Came The Learned Man That Weekend. The HELIKOPTER was there to lay the ground for his visit.

2008 BC.
It is a somber auditorium that awaits the Learned Man. Dear Sir, it has been sometime since I spoke along with someone, much less took an oath. It was really nice. Felt good to be good.

I would try tomorrow to be what you want me to be. But, no promises. I might cheat in my Economics test. Just a harmless look. Not much, Sir!

I would really try to be a better man.

I also wish I had not missed the chance when you were down in the office last year. It was worth listening to you sir, even with a stiff back.

"New" Coke. Near The Nose. Partially Successful.

"Mate, try the new coke!" A pinch near the nose.
I choke on the other coke.

Chagrined.
Irritated.
Surprised.

Reverse the order.

Never trust a stranger. Old jungle saying.

Angry. Guilty. Bullcrap.

Burning nostril, actual or perceived, priceless!

Nothing Makes A Big Problem Smaller Than A Good Night Spent In An AC Room.

Oblivion. Blessed Oblivion.

Two shots of electral to drive the cramp away. One bowl pasta. One bowl salad. Small cup ice-cream.

Ten hours sleep.

Priceless.

Busted In Economics. Redux.

Flash forward. 3 Days. A class after Hurricane Economica.

Square 1 has never looked more familiar.

Despite efforts, I am still not up to date with the case. I have some ideas though. They are on broad artistic lines. Point/Arc elasticities are so confusing. I would stick to what I feel might have happened.

The OPEC bastards have had a gun to our collective heads for the last 30 years.

"Carlos, The Jackal.. Where Art Thou? And Where Art Thy Gun, Bugger ?"

5 minutes before class commences, I make some curves. I draw beautifully. Or at least I think. The case emerges in my mind. I forget the case statement. Why not cut some strings and let the imagination soar ?

Epilogue. Nearly.

I have not covered income elasticities because... well... imagination has its limits.
But I feel generally OK. I have done some things. Images of me with my sleeves rolled, glasses perched and hands flexing on the board fleetingly pass through my mind.

I sit next to this very pleasant lady. Our seating is decided by professional casino gamblers at the beginning of the week. My cards normally suck.Don't get me wrong. Mr. Brown has exchanged seats with pleasant lady. Pleasant change. Pleasant lady tells me that my supply curve is wrong because no extraneous factors have influenced supply. It is simply a movement along the same curve. Not very pleasant. I cringe. I also keep a straight face.

Icarus anyone ?

Epilogue. Almost.

5:30 PM. The class is over. The Prof. has decided to take the case in the next class. I have escaped another working over. A feeling of relief. Mr. Brown and I slap palms. G S gives me a half hug. It is about as much affection as he shows. Wow!!!

Epilogue. Finally.

The leopard has still not changed its spots. The case continues to gather dust.

Ashes to Ashes. Dust to Dust.

SHANE KEITH WARNE. CAPO DI TUTTI CAPI.

It was said of Augustus that he found Rome brick and left it marble.
The same is true of Shane Warne and spin bowling.

~ Gideon Haigh.

Warne is more than a great name. He has kept people young, lifted the sport's interest and become a global superstar. With his passing cricket will wait for somebody to step up. Perhaps we'll be sitting in hope for a long time. What a ride, what a player.

~ Peter English

Sometimes, on subjects you really feel about, there remains so little you can say.

Tequila. Straight Up. And Volunteering At Last.

BC has its points.

Your life is cleaner. You feel mature. You feel I-have-left-all-that-behind-me-now,-thanks-ishly mature.

On such a mature night I was in the oven. Time and place sub systems have crashed after a long week. Sometime this week must suffice for the time being. The full presidium was on the dais. Mumbo - jumbo began.

I suddenly faced a dilemma. Do you take a tequila shot and then use the lemon? Or was it the other way around ? I looked around hastily. No Mr. Brown in sight. No answers on the fly. Unfortunate.

When in doubt, start all over again. The specter of guzzlers emerged in my mind. I am lined up with two mates.

One. Two. Three.
Salt. Tequila.Lime.

One. Two. Three.
Salt. Tequila. Lime.

Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! You are there!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At this point I have that look in my eye. Someone described it as the "I- have- achieved- Nirvana" look today.

My brows furrow. Is it Salt. Tequila. Lime? Or the other way around ?

I dislike loose ends. I am worried. It could not have been that long. "How time flies!" says a comforting voice. I push it to the back of my mind. Lets get this right. My expression matches that of a politburo member on the dais. We are both exercised.

More droning happens. It suddenly strikes me. The big lick. The big toss. And then the big jolt.

Question answered. I push the chair back. I am relaxed. Now. I have it figured.

At some point volunteers are required for. WE are asked to volunteer for the editing, (or was it something else ?) of ABCD's inhouse quarterly magazine "XYZ".

Now, although I stick to my I-am-smart-in-a-dumb-sort-of-way act, I wrench my mind away from my lethargy and wrench my hand up at the same time.

Voila. I have volunteered. The Berlin Wall is down. Whether our names are taken down or not, I do not remember. But, a few days later, I am in my class at 11 in the early evening. I am writing an essay on my self - sterilized experiences over the past four weeks.

I fail to remember what the second question was. After having covered all the bases with tattered cloth, I submitted the paper. Forgot my name. Wrote my name. Forgot returning the pen. Returned the pen. Walked out.

On a long enough timeline, the selection possibility would fall down to zero. The timeline is big enough as of now.

Without loss of generality, is it time to volunteer for something again considering that hope has lived eternal and died young in this case ?

After all, there is the small matter of getting onto the scoreboard as well! Ambitions rising ?

Goodness!

Business(Busted In) Economics.

I was down the hole just passing time.

Mr. Brown, (with your permission Mr. Tarantino), was sitting next to me.
We were laughing at a joke. Mr. Brown is a funny guy. He is also... risque... when it comes to jokes.

We have just had a good laugh. I have just cracked up. When I crack up, I start banging the flat of my palm on the desk. 3- 4 times. My inanimate face gets a bolt of electricity. I am interested and alive.

Mr. Brown laughs. I laugh. Others around us are serious.

We are in the class. Game Theory (or Russian Roulette or Minnie Mouse) has got our seats bang beneath the fan this week. Life is good.

I see the odd snicker directed at our bonhomie. And some xeroxed bundles in those hands. It is a bundle of case studies. It is also among the many things that I have but do not own. We are at best impersonal and business in our dealings. They come to me. I slide the zip of my bag. They go in. I come to my room. They get neatly stacked in the drawer. My inventory increases.

I have a feeling the Prof. had asked us to do something for this class. I also have a feeling I have no recollection of what it is supposed to be. Very comforting. Hang on, so many guys in here. Elementary probability says chances of me being asked a question are 1/54.

I grow tired after the the .01.. Hmmm, don't worry. You are making it safe and sound.

The class starts. Mr. Brown has now morphed into this serious guy who has a low-bent head. His head is down in his books. I turn around. I think I am doing my best "this is not my class, is it ?" impersonation.

Never make eye contact with the Prof.
Lock on target. Bingo. I offer a weak smile. A smile in return ?
Does not form.

"Mr. X, Have you read the case study?". I have a feeling that this time, it really is my time.

"Aaaah! Mam!"

"Well, have you or have you not?"

"Well mam,...."

I am experiencing a Whisky, Tango, Foxtrot (thanks Mr. Brown!) moment. It is the equivalent of a mid life crisis precipitated by the disappearance of your dog or spouse. When the guests are in the drawing room waiting to have a look. At spouse or dog as the case might be.

Nothing intellectual comes to mind. 'I am shafted here'. That's come with a lot of precision.

"Well actually mam,... I have not."

I decide on the Robin Hood(not the one in tights) approach.
Further details are hazy.

Two minutes later.
I am suitably chastised.

A couple of suckers had taken the ill timed chance to turn back and grin. I am sure they did the same when they were in class 2. I am also sure, personally;unfortunately, that not much has changed since my own dear golden childhood. I am always so in the cross wire.

The case begins without me.

American farmers have been deviant and over produced over the last 20 years and seen the wheat prices fall down. But there a cosmic angle here. Something else has also happened. Naked hungry India has started producing wheat as well. Copiously. The "International" demand in the "local market" has fallen.

I am trying to assuage my teeny weeny guilt. And my sizable embarrassment. My feelings are similar to the ones you get if you drop a drink in a lady's lap.

I am also trying to follow what is actually happening in the case.

I had once remembered something similar happening in some other text book. I formulate a plan. The cases look remarkably familiar. The same suckers got into trouble in that book as well.

I think that solution had something to do with the "demand" curve falling "parallely". My hands jolt into action.

Mr. Brown is jolted too. He has a puzzled look. My hands are in a state of rigor-mortis-parallelis. "Minimum Support Price", I blurt. Nirvana looks remarkably near the nostril. Mr. Brown is now agitated. He has had forebodings of trouble.

"Dude, this might be a good time to shut the _ _ _ _ up."

I look benevolently at him. Watch me. Redemption is just a line away. I think I can bet all on the last chip. Say "All In". Call "Show". Then tell. Pun intended.

Rigor-mortis-parallelis is meanwhile sustained. I detect a break in conversation.

"There comes a tide in the lives of men which taken at flood leads onto fortune." Thank you, Bard. Thank you Sir Wodehouse.

"Ahmmm... Madam."

The Prof. has now turned her attention towards rigor-mortis-parallelis. And me. I speak the golden words.

I then wait for comprehension. Compassion. Appreciation. I am already sneaking a look at the buggers I mentioned above.

Nothing for the first 3 seconds. Applause delayed is applause denied.

"Mr. X," .... O... o....

Irritation. Irritation. Irritation.

"If you have not read the slide, please do not make idle guesses. Please do not participate, if you have not read the case."

I have swallowed a golf ball at this point. Mr. Brown would later make a very vulgar deduction about the golf ball's origin when we get back to the room.

Epilogue:

"Mr. X, I would take up the next case in the next class. "Gasoline shortage and automobiles." You would start the case, after you have gone through it completely. And also please contribute to your team's write up of this case."

Case dismissed.
Lock, stock and two smoking barrels.