A day at the Opera!

Posting this from a train.... (how u love technology sometimes!!)

     I love my country, and I love nothing more than it's countryside! In my view, there is no better way to experience it than by undertaking a long distance train journey. Flights miss out on the point completely while road trips require too much attention to the road and very little freedom of thought (in addition to the change (for better or worse) that the touch of a road brings to the countryside).

     So it was fantastic standing at the door, wind blowing your hair back as scene after scene of beauty passed you by. Palm plantations that stood against a lazy morning sky as if painted on a gray canvas, the leaves coloring from a yellowish brown to a deep shade of green as my eyes moved up, blushing like a new bride under an admiring eye. And a farmer who had burnt the undergrowth in his coconut grove set up a sight so spectacular, it was like watching poetry in slow motion from a fast moving train. The smoke curling up slowly held from it's escape by the foliage, forming snaky wisps brilliantly lit by the morning sun, providing the background on which the dreamy smoke extended it's arms welcoming you to an embrace that would hide you from all the worries that last night you went to bed with.

     The sun as the day progressed worked overtime as conductor of an orchestra played by undulating green fields, by banana trees standing in row, by hilltops dressed in brown and green, by little shanties standing proud and by big cities whose sudden discordant notes jarred you back to reality, but without which the composition would be incomplete. Oh! What fun it is when lunch is followed by a shimmering lake caressed by a strong wind, its touch visibly leaving the lake aroused with passion, and yet in her arousal she welcomed like her own children the little birds that landed and took off leaving behind a trail of ripples that the brilliance of the conductor in the sky so subtly highlighted.

     All this on the backdrop of a sky that changed all day long, so subtly that you never noticed it until the encore when suddenly the rage of red and the fire of orange blossomed and the sun decided to be more than just the conductor and took over the playing of the final piece. Filling out the stage with his fiery presence, dominating the colors of the new bride, of the passionate lake and it's homecoming children, taking the pride as well as the embarrassment of the city and filling it with a color that dominated your senses such that you could for a while taste the fire within, hear the heartbeat of passion, smell a forbidden yearning and reach out and touch a bit of paradise.

     And as you reached out your hand in love you saw the sky blush to a rosy pink and as you pulled your hand back there was the violet of jealousy and eventually the darkness indicating the end of the best opera you could have asked for. Then just as you began to smile at the thought of how your heart was left a churning pot of emotions you realized that it was not over yet. Because the sky had handed over it's brilliant blazing gold coin to the night in exchange for a purse full of silver ornaments so she may win your heart all over again! (to continue...I hope!)

Chequered Knights!!

This is one continues from where "World Champions of College Cricket" left off!!


(contd.).........and the tall, languid coach (Abhijit ‘Gary’ Kasture) who with his book and pen (didn’t then have his now omnipresent laptop) always had the most accurate statistics and tips at the end of the day’s play.Well I call him Gary not just in relation to the South African of the same name but also the Russian, for besides cricket there was one other passionate sport we played – chess.
     The closer to the exams we got the more time we spent indoors, the more chess we played and on the night before some exams I think we played more chess than we read our books. Two rooms in our hostel were always open for party irrespective of the occassion or of the presence of their owners. One was 90 (that was Amit's and mine) and the other was 75 (Dharmya and Swapnil), and chess we played. Played as if we were addicted to it, we couldn't stop, couldn't walk away, no matter how tired, no matter how important a job we had, no matter if we had an exam the next day - we played.
     Lets first name the addicts – there was the GM (Subir Roy) undisputed King of chess in the college, an eccentric fat guy whose logic though brilliant was always off-centre. Then there was the Mukesh loving, Anil Kapoor fan (Abhijeet Shinde) who would die if ever he was caught doing anything that was the norm. From reading only the most obscure textbooks for his exams to sleeping more often at the dhaba than in his room to never being seen in class, this guy was one specimen. Then there was Gopal "Ashwin" Borkar, the fellow who refused to waste his time playing before the exams. So he sat studying in the same room we were playing in and probably knew every move being made better than anyone else. Gary Kasture, singing Swapnil and myself completed the rest.
     Now let me tell you something about chess – it is not a 2 player game, atleast not when we played it. It was a 6 player (could be more) game always. Even though only 2 people sat at a game at a time, every move was debated, dissected and discussed by everyone and then often changed by majority consensus (Subir had veto powers, I should add). One game lasted for hours and could only be interrupted for a snack from Bhagwanta, who like his name was God when hunger struck at midnight.
     There are many memories that come from these chess marathons, one in particular involves an unfortunate junior (Bagate, I think) who while on an errand had the audacity to say chess was his ‘hobby’ and then looking at Subir felt he could beat him easily in no time. He spent the whole night playing chess and the only thing he beat that night was his head on the wall in regret. There was one game in particular where I think we had 5 queens to his none by the time we beat him, and whenever he asked for a break I think he sat at the window forlornly staring at the ladies’ hostel and laughing out to himself.
     Most of these chess sprees were in room no. 75, for in my room lived the great leveler, the batting genius (Amit Hartalkar) who never played chess but could end any game of chess in a draw. One swell blow when everyone was at the height of their frenzy trying to come up with a miracle move and he would scatter the board with a smile that only he could get away with. Of course we could have set the board up again exactly the way it was but the guy on the losing side of the board would never agree, would he?
     What happened in those exams and what the results were I do not wish to comment upon but it would suffice to say that each one of the people aforementioned are doctors today doing good work somewhere, hoping that they could one more time walk out onto that field or spend an entire night playing chess or just be a bunch of kids with wide eyes and big ideals again!

World Champions of College Cricket!

Its cricket fever everywhere, more like lambast-your-team fever actually, so I did the same. “Out with the Duncan” (sounds so much like the way Mr. Sawant, my school P.T. teacher called us ‘donkey’) on social network and added how he had taken a world champion side and made it resemble my college cricket team. Not too much thought was actually put into the comparison but now that I think of it some common patterns do emerge. Ours too was a team that revolved around one man’s batting (Amit Hartalkar).
     A man who, when he batted, even the opposition couldn’t help but admire. A man who set records that were impossible then and seem improbable even now. A man whose legend eclipses all others before or after him. A man who told his batting partner (yours truly) that he would hit Sudeep’s first ball for a six and indeed deposited said delivery onto the boys’ hostel terrace. When he fell cheaply then we fell cheaply (except that one final where the middle and lower order pulled its weight). This man generally would come in after a swashbuckling opener (Pradnyesh ‘Sallu” Gorad) had lived by the sword and died by it too. A maverick who was as thrilling as he was exasperating. I am sure Swappy feels the same way about Sehwag as he did about Gorad in those days.

     Talking of Swapnil, he was one of the 2 bowlers we had. Of course we had others but the long and the short of our bowling attack were these 2 fellas. Iqbal, the “Malegaon Express” was just that – express fast, making the batsmen hop everytime he put his wrist into the action. The other (Swapnil Sonar) made the ball ‘sing’ like he sang in the canteen, line and length and movement on a tennis ball that you had to see to believe! But he came with a confidence that was like an icicle in the sun. Unplayable when ‘on-song’ he just needed a quiet word of encouragement when he wasn’t.
     Unfortunately the words of encouragement he got were never quiet. They came from a loud-mouthed oaf  (yours truly) who was probably the most frustrating wicket-keeper batsmen around. A batsman whom everyone had hopes from, who generally batted well in non-consequential friendly matches but not once in 5 years came up with an innings of worth when it mattered. When it came to wicket-keeping though, he was everywhere, most often in the oppositions’ faces, timing his abuses and insults so that his loud voice was not more than a foot away from the batsman’s ear when the choice word was uttered. His need for chatter made up for any lack of entertainment if the chip-chip-chip man (Dharmraj ‘Rajput’) was not manning the mic. 

     There were others in the team who should forgive me for not being able to mention them in detail – the left arm spinner (Sulabh Bhamare) who decimated the opposition in one series and then got banged all over the park in the next, the left-arm quick (Gopal 'Ashwin' Borkar) who probably played one match where he bowled one unplayable over due to his unerring angle and accuracy and another unplayable one because all the balls were wides, the excruciating middle order (Harshal, Durga, Gads) that knocked about runs one day and folded up the other, the complete team-man who fielded everywhere (Vijay Patil), wherever it may be never complaining once. The inexplicable left handed batsman (Nipam) who never needed a fielder on the off-side and the tall, languid coach (Abhijit ‘Gary’ Kasture) who with his book and pen (didn’t then have his now omnipresent laptop) always had the most accurate statistics and tips at the end of the day’s play.

Well I call him Gary not just in relation to the South African of the same name but also the Russian, for besides cricket there was one other passionate sport we played – chess..... (to be contd.)

Flight

Here's one more...night duties have their side effects...


Flight 

Let me take you to the ceiling of the world
Where we can sing a song of love.
Let me take you beneath the seas
Where we can find everlasting peace.
Let me lead your wings to the open sky
Where we can meet without goodbye.
Let me bridge this river wide
And lose to you my hollow pride.

And

Let me take with me your smile
When 'last I run my final mile!! 

Distance

Sometimes the teenager in me wakes up from slumber and then out comes some cheesy romantic poetry that once could have gotten me a lovely evening away from the solitude of my hostel room...today I just use it to put something on a blog that has been neglected for long...


Distance

I cannot bear to hear your voice some days
Because it reminds me in so many ways
Of all the words you didn't say
Of memories wilting in May
Of caresses and kisses so sweet
They never really were complete
No, I cannot bear to hear your voice
Talk to me and mesmerize
When the distance that my heart can leap
My eyes can only see and weep
So let the silence tonight prevail
When words we know are bound to fail.