Death to test cricket

So I decided to sit down tonight and revisit one of my first loves, one that I had been giving the cold shoulder for quite some time since wife and kids and diapers and office and diapers and kids and wife decided to stake their claims on the... well, warmer shoulder... Now, why should one shoulder be colder than the other anyway - does the heart have a propensity to favor one side over the other in its supply of warm blood, or has one side been the leeward side during my office-commute - and will not the said temperature-difference cause a small electric current to flow through the body, and if so, will it be fatal...?

But as usual, I digress. So, like I was saying, I decided to sit down tonight and indulge myself by spreading out in front of the Ind vs WI test match that the idiot-box was going to dish out between 8pm and 4am. Back in the days when cricket used to have a right on the more comfortable shoulder, test cricket used to be riveting stuff - any five-day matches involving Australia used to be packed with three days of engaging action, ending in a demolition job through either bat or ball, and Shane Warne/  Adam Gilchrist claiming the Man of the Match award (come to think of it - so did any match involving Bangladesh or Zimbabwe, for entirely opposite reasons though). Any other match would be played between two teams so similar in their incompetence that you could never predict whose rubbish would tilt the match the opposition's way, and when, and hence made for compelling viewership. If New Zealand ever started to employ the strategy of playing consistent codswallop in an effort to lend some stability to the bottom-most rungs of world cricket hierarchy, Pakistan would suddenly ambush it by putting up such an outlandish display on the field that the ICC would have to set up review-panels to investigate whether the PCB did indeed send their national cricket-team on the tour, and not the unlettered youth battalion that the ISI had recruited to spread terror in Afghanistan. India, meanwhile, would be doing its best to make sure that every single player in the country got at least one chance to open the batting with Tendulkar, in an effort to convince Srikanth that there was no regional bias amongst the selectors, which is why they made sure that Tendulkar featured in every single Test, ODI, 3-day, 2-day and exhibition match that India were invited to (Lalit Modi hadn't thought-up T20s by then). England had their brains so addled from trying to distinguish their own South Africans from the opposition's, that their habit of running out their own partners or dropping dollies Geoffrey Boycott's grandmum would have caught in her sleep no longer even raised an eyebrow. South Africa themselves were suffering from the double whammy of having their best cricketers exported to England, and of their team spending more time practicing the Heimleich manoever than in the nets, in an effort to control their "choking" situation.

So at any rate, test cricket used to be good stuff. Stuff you'd be willing to sacrifice half a night's sleep for, and risk ruining the next day's presentation for, and not be disappointed with your decision in the end.

Tonight, however, was different. Today was a day Rahul Dravid chose to showcase (again) the brand of cricket so dear to him - that of attrition. Worse - his style seemed to rub-off on his much-younger and overawed batting partners as well. What followed after the tantalizing second-over dismissal of M. Vijay, out to an ankle-high grubber from Rampaul and reminiscent of the good old days when balls used to routinely misbehave in a similar fashion on subcontinental landfills that doubled as cricket-pitches, was over after over of tedious nothingness. The bowler would, depending on his style and speed, either pound-in furiously from 45 yards behind the popping-crease or take one-and-a-half baby-steps to feint a run-up, and summon all his craft to combine with the pitch's devilry and make the ball unplayable, but on reaching the vicinity of Dravid's bat, the ball seemed to lose all intent, tamely thud into the bat and fall dead at its feet, to be recovered by an increasingly tired and annoyed wicketkeeper. Delivery after delivery, the script retained its infuriating sameness - gallopgallopgallopgallopgallopgallopgallopgallop-whinnnnng-THUD! Rinse and repeat.

The routine apparently got so tiresome after 150 overs that everyone in the stadium lulled himself to sleep, with even the bowlers themselves  too drowsy to deliver the ball any more. Dravid did not seem to care, as he kept brandishing his bat in the same monotonous arc irrespective. Eventually though, he too got bored and declared himself out (he was too polite to interrupt the umpires' reverie to coerce a decision from them). The day's play had to be called off prematurely because the batsmen in the dressing room were either hypnotized or had successfully appealed for euthanasia, and hence were in no position to bat. I had long since surrendered to slumber, and came to know of the (non)-events only in the newspaper the next day, but not before making a quiet resolution to not risk another night's sleep over a test match till the day Rahul Dravid hangs up his boots.

A fortnight in Paris

I got a chance recently, to go to the land of pretty girls, tall towers, large palaces and elaborately embellished places of worship. Partly because I haven't seen too many foreign countries and I was excited to do so, and partly because it was part of my curriculum at IPMX (1 year MBA program at IIM Lucknow) and I didn't have too much of a choice, I grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

Now, statistics suggest that it takes an alert person approximately 2 weeks to assimilate an alien culture, and co-incidentally, my visit was scheduled to last exactly 14 days. (Of course, like most other statistics you've come across, this one too, has been concocted on-the-spot, entirely with the intention of sounding convincing and knowledgeable about the point just made.)

So anyway, in the little time I was there, I came to know a lot about the people there. For example, the general impression about people from this part of the world is that they have w-a-y too many holidays and that they never get any real work done. Well, that is slightly true, but only slightly. The new generation is very task-oriented and is changing the work-culture dramatically, getting the job done inspite of all the holidays/ frequent strikes and closures of work. Even though the customer-service is quite literally, pathetic, the general public itself is a pretty helpful lot (which is to say that if a certain individual is paid to be helpful, he won't be; its only when you establish a momentary bond with him/ her, preferably in his/ her mother tongue, that you can hope to receive any assistance).

The country spends a good amount of time preening its history and reminiscing about the "good old days when we used to be a power to reckon with". Indeed, the country does have a fabulous military past, and judging by its considerable number of architectural masterpieces, a better-than-fair cultural heritage. There are a good number of sites of historical significance scattered in the national capital region alone.

Foodwise, the country is a gastronomer's paradise. You can hardly ever go wrong with anything you pick on the menu. And the chef's there love to compare everything with the creations of their brethren in Great Britain. Seriously, if you want to tick someone off, make a mention of the British. "I dare you to. No, I IMPLORE you to", said our professor.

People love to speak, and appear intellegent at the same time (two traits which force them to be helpful on the street, 'coz they'd hate to say "I don't know" to anything).

There's a strong sense of the family, and although it is slowly eroding, it's not quite dead. People love to engage in mind-games, speak without really saying anything of value, haggle... hmmmm..... now that I've started to pen down my experience, I might as well have been writing about India.

What I sacrificed at the altar of efficiency

Its official - I lack creativity!
Of course I knew that. Anyone who knew me knew that. Anyone who didn't know me but was unfortunate enough to spend a few moments with me knew that. But now, I have something that definitely, conclusively, puts the issue beyond any measure of doubt. I couldn't do my 'creativity' assignment!

It's not that I wasn't up to the stratospheresque standards expected of an IIML detainee, or even up to my personal strictly-middle-of-the-pack kind of mediocre ones, or that I absolutely sucked. I-just-couldn't-do-it!

"The above 5 sentences to be included in any kind of write-up, as long as at least one is innovatively used" is not really a tough assignment. You can pick-up a word and play on it. You can armtwist a phrase into meaning something else by interpreting it in an altogether irrelevant context. Heck, in a pinch, you can look to compulsive perverts like Shakespeare for inspiration on how to intentionally molest something into meaning it should never do.

Unfortunately, 4 hours of sitting and staring at my laptop, sometimes gently coaxing my brain to release its creative juices, sometimes letting it just have its way and in occassional moments of madness, threatening to pull it out of miserable habitat and feeding it to slavering dogs, produced nothing. Nada. Zilch!
The sentences just wouldn't make any sense other than what they did. Words obstinately stayed true to their intended meaning, and any alternate contexts simply refused to materialize.

Then it hit me! Its not me. Its what has been drilled into me over the past few decades of my life. Standardization. Uniformity. Sameness. First by way of school-uniforms, then by the rote of faithfully reproducing textbook knowledge into reams of answer-sheets, and subsequently through subjection to the grindstones of efficiency, optimization and refinement (all similar words, I know; thank you for making my point), my brain has developed a bleeding edge matched by few, but that creative stream of innovation... ideation if you will, has lost its way in the sands.

Oh well, goodbye Marketing; hello Operations!

Busy, busy day

Taken from the unofficial blogsite of IIM Lucknow, Noida campus.

June 5th, although scoring comparatively low on the acads-meter of IPMX, was one of the busiest days we’ve had this year.

After assignments and various other commitments had kept us awake for the better part of last night, the day started pretty early for most of us. Dragging your reluctant bodies out of the coziness of your sheets becomes far more easier when it is for a social cause, as evident from events today. Roughly 30 of the 48 enrolled were up, about and done with an early breakfast by 0600 hours, a time at which nary a soul stirs on any other day. From that point on, the day took two distinct routes for us, to converge at a well-deserved celebration in the evening.

Let’s Do It, Delhi – We Came, We Saw, We Cleaned

20-odd students decided to spend their Saturday morning practising something recently discussed in class – Social Responsibility. Armed with our indomitable spirit to make a difference, we landed at the Red Fort, to do our small bit to clean the city. The clean-up started with the lanes of Chandni Chowk. Not an eye flinched as former executives from sophisticated backgrounds rummaged around and picked garbage from around the shops. Some curious onlookers were bewildered - IIM Lucknow students in Delhi! picking trash! Is this a unique Prof. B punishment for not submitting your assignments in time?
Chandni Chowk done, it was the turn of the Red Fort lawns. Over 2 hours of back-bending, finger-numbing, sweatwork later, Red Fort was clean enough to be rechristened the White Fort (copyright violation alert!).
Everyone, though, was left with the thought that this is only the beginning, and we have miles to go before we sweep... er, sleep.

Sustainable Transport Rally – 9 kms of ‘no big deal’

A handful of souls were representing the batch at a bicycle rally near Jantar Mantar, organized to mark the celebration of World Environment Day, ahead of the Commonwealth Games to be held in a little while. Our method of transport was bicycles, in line with the preferred transport of the majority populace (a few drove electric cars). There were some initial apprehensions about how bodies accustomed to years of settling into comfortable bucket-seats of their cars would react on being subjected to a 9 km journey on no more than a triangular piece of hard foam. As it turned out, though, we don’t give the human body enough credit where it is due, as everyone reached the end-camp comfortably.

Noted environmentalist R.K. Pachauri was there to address the rally, and left us convinced that he would make an excellent speaker at our Leadership Summit planned later this year (more news on this in a little while).
Catching up on some well-deserved shut-eye, we reconvened to lend energy and enthusiasm to the Leadership Talk session w/ Mr. Ashis Sanyal, Director e-Governance and Sr. Director, Ministry of Communications and Technology, who incidentally has been responsible for a couple of placements from IPMX himself.

Finally, the day ended with a party, courtesy new daddies GJ and Mehul. Anand's partyhouse, fitted with a refrigerator, was selected to play host as music blared, drinks flowed and pizzas were more talked-over than eaten, all amidst the familiar background of a mini-storm and the now-off-now-on electricity-supply.

Day's done, though, and the next week beckons with more assignments and projects. Noses back into the grindstone, guys!

Uniform Civil Code

Lately, I've been giving a lot of thought to the Uniform Civil Code of India. And don't get me wrong here - I am not referring to the other Uniform Civil Code of India, which has already been flogged to death in Barkha Dutt's panel-discussions over the past few decades. No sir, here I allude to the Uniform Civil Code of India, which is an Indian Code, of Uniforms, imposed on the Civilians of the country (hence the name, duh).

I forget the exact text, but the general consensual interpretation of the code seems to be that no civilian, who has any notion of self-worth of any kind, will be permitted to carry himself gracefully in human society, and will be encumbered to that end, by various government-controlled institutions that he/she is associated with, with one or more (preferably more) accessories scientifically designed to make him/her resemble a cross between an okapi and a budgeriger. For all the lingually-challenged folk (like my all my blood-relatives), Exhibit A on your right.

It seems that Delhi Public School has taken the notion of "standing out in the crowd" to extremes. With a uniform like this, our children are not just going to stand out in a crowd, they're going to stand out in the universe; in fact, given a choice, I bet most of them would beg to stand outside it!

But what is the disagreement of a few hundred thousand children against the esteemed opinion of the handful of specialists hired specifically for the job of dress-code standardization? How would a kid's underdeveloped brain even begin to comprehend the immense service he renders to all his fellow-beings he comes in contact with, howsoever remotely, and the profound impact he has on their otherwise drab lives? For example, here is a case of a suicidal farmer struggling to make ends meet for his family, who, when he saw this schoolgoer in his lurid costume, had a turnaround of intent, as he surely must have thought, "There is greater grief in the world than mine". Or the one about the banker, who would drive himself to the point of a nervous breakdown everyday, keeping tabs on the wildly oscillating fortunes of his investments. But the sight of his neighbour's 5-year old daughter step gingerly into her hired rickshaw, all smothered in hideous shades of pink and beige, would, to use video-gaming parlance, 'frag' his self-pity, "At least I'm not her". In fact, recent statistics show a steady rise of "Why Me?" Tshirts amongst the age-group of 2-25.

Oh, and just in case you started to disconnect from this stream of thought thinking it is not applicable to you, hang on! for things are going to change for you, too. The UPPCL (Power Corporation of UP, for the uninitiated) recently announced an equally, if not more, appalling code of humiliation for all its employees. Photographs, unfortunately, are not available, as the union has threatened to dismember anyone who brings a camera or some such device within a 15-mile radius of the Shakti Bhawan in Lucknow. Suffice to say that, were you to chance by Hazratganj some day, and encounter an army of people, cutting across ages, gender and financial strata, all trussed-up in what can only be described as Ramu blue shirts (apologies to the ladies; I know you'd prefer a more culinary adjective along the lines of apple green/ peach/ eggshell, but this is the closest I could come to the kitchen; Ramu was my permanent fixture in the said part of the house for 20 years), you'd be better advised keeping your snide comments about 'an NCC cadet-force who forgot their caps' to yourself, as this would be the same union everyone was warned about. Of course, what this has done is cure the entire workforce in UPPCL of their Monday blues!!

Now, only if someone could come up with a phrase about the peacock colours that my son refuses to be seen with.