I have an OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
I bug people to read my blog. Each and every one.
It’s a problem. It’s a disorder.
And problems have to be solved. Disorders need to be sorted out.
Here is the solution. It’s over.
This is my last post. No writing. No disorders.
Friday, April 6, 2007
Silence
Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
His point of view
The marriage was over. It was a beginning.
They stood in the stark naked room, looking at each other, for eternity. Neither of them was crying. She looked at him, with calm, pale eyes. Her mind was at peace. She knew he had sensed it.
He looked at her, eyes questioning her, searching for love, in her eyes. They explored her face, her hands, and her body, for even the faintest of signs, of love, of longing. He knew, she knew, that he had sensed it.
Several minutes passed, neither uttered a word. They didn’t need to.
He wanted to keep looking at her. In her eyes, he wanted to look for his face, in her hands, his name in the fate lines, himself, in her warmth.
He wanted to feel her fingers on his face, tracing his eyelids, his skin, his lips… he wanted to feel her lips, close to his… her warmth against his body, he wanted his fingers to trace her body, her spine… he wanted her to close her eyes with pleasure… he wanted to kiss her.
They were still standing there, looking at each other. Asking for explanations, for answers, for reasons.
No I should not go. Who will take care of you?
This sentence always brought tears to his eyes. This time also. Standing just steps away from her, he cried like a baby, he fell on his knees, which resulted in a another bout of stark pain in his already injured leg, and cried.
She didn’t come to him, to soothe him, to love him, to make him smile, to kiss him. She stood there and a stray tear rolled down her cheek.
He managed to stand, tears in his eyes, he felt lonely. Totally alone. He had to leave her and go. He had taken a decision. He had to stand by it.
She never stopped him from going. She never said a word apart from, ‘Who will take care of you?’
He stood at the door and fought with the desire to turn back and look at her. He heard the silence for a few seconds.
Just when he was closing the door behind him, he heard, almost like a whisper, ‘Don’t go. I love you.’
After 10 years of marriage, it was all over.
The marriage was over. It was a beginning.
They stood in the stark naked room, looking at each other, for eternity. Neither of them was crying. She looked at him, with calm, pale eyes. Her mind was at peace. She knew he had sensed it.
He looked at her, eyes questioning her, searching for love, in her eyes. They explored her face, her hands, and her body, for even the faintest of signs, of love, of longing. He knew, she knew, that he had sensed it.
Several minutes passed, neither uttered a word. They didn’t need to.
He wanted to keep looking at her. In her eyes, he wanted to look for his face, in her hands, his name in the fate lines, himself, in her warmth.
He wanted to feel her fingers on his face, tracing his eyelids, his skin, his lips… he wanted to feel her lips, close to his… her warmth against his body, he wanted his fingers to trace her body, her spine… he wanted her to close her eyes with pleasure… he wanted to kiss her.
They were still standing there, looking at each other. Asking for explanations, for answers, for reasons.
No I should not go. Who will take care of you?
This sentence always brought tears to his eyes. This time also. Standing just steps away from her, he cried like a baby, he fell on his knees, which resulted in a another bout of stark pain in his already injured leg, and cried.
She didn’t come to him, to soothe him, to love him, to make him smile, to kiss him. She stood there and a stray tear rolled down her cheek.
He managed to stand, tears in his eyes, he felt lonely. Totally alone. He had to leave her and go. He had taken a decision. He had to stand by it.
She never stopped him from going. She never said a word apart from, ‘Who will take care of you?’
He stood at the door and fought with the desire to turn back and look at her. He heard the silence for a few seconds.
Just when he was closing the door behind him, he heard, almost like a whisper, ‘Don’t go. I love you.’
After 10 years of marriage, it was all over.
The marriage was over. It was a beginning.
The twin particle
She stood there, words floating around her.
I love you, I care for you, I live for you, I can die for you…
Everything around her was moving at such a fast pace that she could hardly see anything. Everything was so random that it made sense.
The early morning sunlight was falling on his face. He was fast asleep and that made him look at peace. She loved him, the way she had never ever loved a man before.
She could literally see her emotions. Watch her feelings, twisting and turning, taking birth and coming to life, smiling and swirling inside her.
There… she could see the ‘love feeling’. But unlike the ‘free-born love particle’, she could see something strange attached to it. She could easily tell that the other feeling attached to it looked almost like its twin. How can something be attached to ‘the love-feeling particle’? How can it look exactly like it?
That’s when she saw another new ‘feeling particle’ taking birth. She was a genius at recognizing each and every one of them. She knew it was the ‘memory-feeling particle’.
She went into a daze as the ‘memory-feeling particle’ started making its presence felt. She didn’t want to think of the past. She immediately sent a message to her mind. Her mind reacted quickly, and soon she could see the ‘memory-feeling particle’ disappear. Now she could again concentrate on the ‘love-feeling particle’ and the one attached to it that looked like its twin.
She felt weird and defeated.
How come I never noticed the identical twin? She thought.
She was only watching the twin now. They both shared the same body and seemed comfortable with it too. She was surprised how the twin had existed but was never been noticed or felt by her.
The sunlight was bothering him now. She didn’t feel like getting up from the bed, to draw the curtains. But, she had to because he couldn’t. She drew the curtains, and went back to watching and reading the ‘twin particle’.
The sight surprised her. This time the twin was moving ahead. The last time when she was watching it, the love particle was leading the way for its twin. But this time it was the strange twin which led the way. That’s when she understood.
The reality shook her soul. That identical twin was the ‘sympathy particle’. Everything began to fall into place.
That’s why it looked like a twin… That’s why they share the same body… that’s why I care for him so much… that’s why I love him… what???
This time it was not the ‘strange twin’ that bothered her. She felt complete. She felt happy at the thought that the ‘sympathy particle’ was not alone. It shared the same body with the ‘love-feeling particle’. She cared for him. She loved him. That made her happy.
She saw the ‘happy-feeling particle’ germinating and soon grow bigger and bigger. She closed her eyes and smiled.
I love you, I care for you, I live for you, I can die for you…
Everything around her was moving at such a fast pace that she could hardly see anything. Everything was so random that it made sense.
The early morning sunlight was falling on his face. He was fast asleep and that made him look at peace. She loved him, the way she had never ever loved a man before.
She could literally see her emotions. Watch her feelings, twisting and turning, taking birth and coming to life, smiling and swirling inside her.
There… she could see the ‘love feeling’. But unlike the ‘free-born love particle’, she could see something strange attached to it. She could easily tell that the other feeling attached to it looked almost like its twin. How can something be attached to ‘the love-feeling particle’? How can it look exactly like it?
That’s when she saw another new ‘feeling particle’ taking birth. She was a genius at recognizing each and every one of them. She knew it was the ‘memory-feeling particle’.
She went into a daze as the ‘memory-feeling particle’ started making its presence felt. She didn’t want to think of the past. She immediately sent a message to her mind. Her mind reacted quickly, and soon she could see the ‘memory-feeling particle’ disappear. Now she could again concentrate on the ‘love-feeling particle’ and the one attached to it that looked like its twin.
She felt weird and defeated.
How come I never noticed the identical twin? She thought.
She was only watching the twin now. They both shared the same body and seemed comfortable with it too. She was surprised how the twin had existed but was never been noticed or felt by her.
The sunlight was bothering him now. She didn’t feel like getting up from the bed, to draw the curtains. But, she had to because he couldn’t. She drew the curtains, and went back to watching and reading the ‘twin particle’.
The sight surprised her. This time the twin was moving ahead. The last time when she was watching it, the love particle was leading the way for its twin. But this time it was the strange twin which led the way. That’s when she understood.
The reality shook her soul. That identical twin was the ‘sympathy particle’. Everything began to fall into place.
That’s why it looked like a twin… That’s why they share the same body… that’s why I care for him so much… that’s why I love him… what???
This time it was not the ‘strange twin’ that bothered her. She felt complete. She felt happy at the thought that the ‘sympathy particle’ was not alone. It shared the same body with the ‘love-feeling particle’. She cared for him. She loved him. That made her happy.
She saw the ‘happy-feeling particle’ germinating and soon grow bigger and bigger. She closed her eyes and smiled.
Fate lines
For a long time, with a sharp blade in his right hand, Arun wanted to change his fate.
His past was an uninvited guest, in his sleep, every night. He hadn’t slept for the last three nights. His eyes refused to stay closed. They wanted to stare into space, looking for a solution to everything. He could see the shadows of his memories looming over him.
He knew what the solution was. He just had to use the sharp edge of the silvery blade, against the softness of his skin. It was easy, and relief was just centimeters away. Without giving it a second thought, he used the blade mercilessly against his palm.
He didn’t want to die. He knew his destiny was in his hands, so he used the blade to make his palms smooth, free of any ‘fate-lines’. He took the pain as a blessing, because he knew, at the end of suffering, there was relief. He managed to scrape off the upper layer of the hard skin on his palm. With blood, all over, he smiled. He knew he had achieved it. He had changed his fate.
But, as usual, the reality was something else. He was holding the blade I his right hand, and suddenly he remembered that a man’s fate-lines are on his right hand. Without any further repentance, he took the blade in his blood-stained left hand and repeated the same act on his right hand.
Now, he was happy. Now, he knew that everything in his life will happen according to his plans, his hard work and his deeds. He will prove everyone in this world, wrong.
Fate, he muttered to himself. The immediate gesture that came to his mind was – his own hand tracing the forehead. Some people say your fate lies on your forehead, in its wrinkles and in the incomplete lines formed over it, by time.
Arun was not in the mood to take any chances. He immediately took the blade and this time it was his forehead. 10 minutes later, Arun managed to get on his feet and walk. He felt free, unburdened… he knew; now everything was really in his hands. He had managed to control his destiny. His decisions were final.
He felt like God.
His past was an uninvited guest, in his sleep, every night. He hadn’t slept for the last three nights. His eyes refused to stay closed. They wanted to stare into space, looking for a solution to everything. He could see the shadows of his memories looming over him.
He knew what the solution was. He just had to use the sharp edge of the silvery blade, against the softness of his skin. It was easy, and relief was just centimeters away. Without giving it a second thought, he used the blade mercilessly against his palm.
He didn’t want to die. He knew his destiny was in his hands, so he used the blade to make his palms smooth, free of any ‘fate-lines’. He took the pain as a blessing, because he knew, at the end of suffering, there was relief. He managed to scrape off the upper layer of the hard skin on his palm. With blood, all over, he smiled. He knew he had achieved it. He had changed his fate.
But, as usual, the reality was something else. He was holding the blade I his right hand, and suddenly he remembered that a man’s fate-lines are on his right hand. Without any further repentance, he took the blade in his blood-stained left hand and repeated the same act on his right hand.
Now, he was happy. Now, he knew that everything in his life will happen according to his plans, his hard work and his deeds. He will prove everyone in this world, wrong.
Fate, he muttered to himself. The immediate gesture that came to his mind was – his own hand tracing the forehead. Some people say your fate lies on your forehead, in its wrinkles and in the incomplete lines formed over it, by time.
Arun was not in the mood to take any chances. He immediately took the blade and this time it was his forehead. 10 minutes later, Arun managed to get on his feet and walk. He felt free, unburdened… he knew; now everything was really in his hands. He had managed to control his destiny. His decisions were final.
He felt like God.
God, I am a human being
Yes I am a human being. Yes I am a human being.
I err. I really don’t know what’s right or wrong.
Sometimes, like every human being, I feel like God. I begin to think and believe that everything is in my control. My decisions can change lives. Sometimes, they do. That makes my faith even stronger. But, then I feel pain.
That’s not divine. God doesn’t feel pain. Then I look for a justification for this pain, and when I don’t find any, I cry. Like a human being.
But sometimes I don’t cry, because the tears seem to be too lazy. As a kid, I always used to think that crying in the night is very dark. I hate dark thoughts. But I want to cry. It’s an expression. And an expression is a form of energy, and energy is always supposed to be released.
Then suddenly I feel weak. Because I cant rule over my mind and my body. I can’t cry even when I really want to. So, I feel weak. Helpless. Like a human being.
I like to think that I am an adult… a sensible, mature adult. But, when I sleep, I curl up like a small baby, yearning for his mother’s warmth. But there’s no mother. I am an adult. Adults are supposed to father. Not mothered. Adults are supposed to handle situations on their own. They are supposed to offer solutions to everyone around.
I look for a hand to hold. Like a human being. But, there’s none. I feel lonely. I want to cry. I want to cry.
Why do all the right things happen at a wrong time?
When you want to be a human being, God wants you to be him, and decide what’s right or wrong. When you decide, he proves you wrong. He proves, that he’s God, and you can’t be him.
But, this time I have made a decision.
YES I AM A HUMAN BEING. Now, God, prove me wrong!
I err. I really don’t know what’s right or wrong.
Sometimes, like every human being, I feel like God. I begin to think and believe that everything is in my control. My decisions can change lives. Sometimes, they do. That makes my faith even stronger. But, then I feel pain.
That’s not divine. God doesn’t feel pain. Then I look for a justification for this pain, and when I don’t find any, I cry. Like a human being.
But sometimes I don’t cry, because the tears seem to be too lazy. As a kid, I always used to think that crying in the night is very dark. I hate dark thoughts. But I want to cry. It’s an expression. And an expression is a form of energy, and energy is always supposed to be released.
Then suddenly I feel weak. Because I cant rule over my mind and my body. I can’t cry even when I really want to. So, I feel weak. Helpless. Like a human being.
I like to think that I am an adult… a sensible, mature adult. But, when I sleep, I curl up like a small baby, yearning for his mother’s warmth. But there’s no mother. I am an adult. Adults are supposed to father. Not mothered. Adults are supposed to handle situations on their own. They are supposed to offer solutions to everyone around.
I look for a hand to hold. Like a human being. But, there’s none. I feel lonely. I want to cry. I want to cry.
Why do all the right things happen at a wrong time?
When you want to be a human being, God wants you to be him, and decide what’s right or wrong. When you decide, he proves you wrong. He proves, that he’s God, and you can’t be him.
But, this time I have made a decision.
YES I AM A HUMAN BEING. Now, God, prove me wrong!
The Beggar
Jehangir’s hands were rubbing against the coin impatiently.
For the past 20 years, every morning, Jehangir sat on the same footpath near the local train station. His stained tattered shirt was very seasonal. He could feel each and every season through it.
He knew how much a one-rupee coin weighed and also how it was made. He knew it was round with no edges, unlike the 20 paise coin earlier. But they didn’t make any of those now. They only made 25 paise, 50 paise and one rupee coins now. Unlike many other rich beggars, Jehangir made only 6 rupees a day. He always thought that people had gotten used to him by now, and also the fact that he was blind. Once something becomes a part of your everyday life, you take it for granted. He knew that people, who saw him sitting there for the past decade, knew that he could survive without their charity. Initially he felt angry because of his helplessness and the assumptions of people. But slowly and naturally he got used to that.
He never stretched out hands or begged for money. He just sat there, exposing the hollows of his eyes, to people who could see. He heard the footsteps of men, women, kids, stray dogs…everyone.
There were days when he didn’t even get those 6 bucks. But, whenever he managed to collect at least 4 (now 5), he went to the close-by ‘vada pav’ vendor to feed his perennial hunger.
Today was his unlucky day. He had managed to win sympathies from only three passers by, who gave him one coin each. His expert hands quickly surveyed all the three coins. Since the previous morning he had eaten only one rotten piece of bread. Even that was actually a share of the stray dog’s lunch. Jehangir couldn’t even finish one mouthful of it.
The shape of the coins disappointed Jehangir. It brought tears to his eyes. All the three coins were round. 3 rupees. But he decided to go to the vendor and plead him for the remaining 2 bucks.
I was busily munching on the vada pav when Jehangir gave the 3 coins to the vendor and told him a detailed story in order to get the 2 rupee credit. He said he will definitely come and give the 2 rupees tomorrow. The vendor said with a smile, that it was okay, but insisted that Jehangir paid him the balance tomorrow.
Just when I was beginning to believe that humanity is still alive I happened to catch a glimpse of the three coins, which Jehangir had given the vendor, lying on the table. I was startled.
They were 3 brand new 2 rupee coins, which Jehangir’s expert hands had never felt before. The new 2 rupee coins, recently rolled out, are round in shape, unlike their old versions.
The vendor had just duped the beggar for 3 rupees. The remaining two rupees will come to him tomorrow. A profit of 5 rupees.
More than angry, I felt helpless. I took out another 5 rupee coin (for the vada pav I was eating), looked at the vendor and said, “Maaf karo… aur aage badho… mere paas aur change nahi hai.”
For the past 20 years, every morning, Jehangir sat on the same footpath near the local train station. His stained tattered shirt was very seasonal. He could feel each and every season through it.
He knew how much a one-rupee coin weighed and also how it was made. He knew it was round with no edges, unlike the 20 paise coin earlier. But they didn’t make any of those now. They only made 25 paise, 50 paise and one rupee coins now. Unlike many other rich beggars, Jehangir made only 6 rupees a day. He always thought that people had gotten used to him by now, and also the fact that he was blind. Once something becomes a part of your everyday life, you take it for granted. He knew that people, who saw him sitting there for the past decade, knew that he could survive without their charity. Initially he felt angry because of his helplessness and the assumptions of people. But slowly and naturally he got used to that.
He never stretched out hands or begged for money. He just sat there, exposing the hollows of his eyes, to people who could see. He heard the footsteps of men, women, kids, stray dogs…everyone.
There were days when he didn’t even get those 6 bucks. But, whenever he managed to collect at least 4 (now 5), he went to the close-by ‘vada pav’ vendor to feed his perennial hunger.
Today was his unlucky day. He had managed to win sympathies from only three passers by, who gave him one coin each. His expert hands quickly surveyed all the three coins. Since the previous morning he had eaten only one rotten piece of bread. Even that was actually a share of the stray dog’s lunch. Jehangir couldn’t even finish one mouthful of it.
The shape of the coins disappointed Jehangir. It brought tears to his eyes. All the three coins were round. 3 rupees. But he decided to go to the vendor and plead him for the remaining 2 bucks.
I was busily munching on the vada pav when Jehangir gave the 3 coins to the vendor and told him a detailed story in order to get the 2 rupee credit. He said he will definitely come and give the 2 rupees tomorrow. The vendor said with a smile, that it was okay, but insisted that Jehangir paid him the balance tomorrow.
Just when I was beginning to believe that humanity is still alive I happened to catch a glimpse of the three coins, which Jehangir had given the vendor, lying on the table. I was startled.
They were 3 brand new 2 rupee coins, which Jehangir’s expert hands had never felt before. The new 2 rupee coins, recently rolled out, are round in shape, unlike their old versions.
The vendor had just duped the beggar for 3 rupees. The remaining two rupees will come to him tomorrow. A profit of 5 rupees.
More than angry, I felt helpless. I took out another 5 rupee coin (for the vada pav I was eating), looked at the vendor and said, “Maaf karo… aur aage badho… mere paas aur change nahi hai.”
I am a kid
I have just discovered writing and I am very excited about it. I have just learnt to combine words to make sentences, combine sentences to make paragraphs, paragraphs to pages, and pages to stories. I have just learnt what makes sense.
I have been so excited and engrossed in my discovery that I forgot everything else. No one was equally excited about my discovery. No one should have been. Someone was needed to bring me back to my life, my existence. Someone had to break the hard-nut of my ‘discovery-ecstasy’ domain. Someone had to mother me.
Who better than ‘situations’. They hit you hard in the face and bring you back to your adulthood. You cannot be a kid at 27. You cannot get excited about silly words.
If you become a kid, then situations don’t affect you. You are always cheerful. You are selfish. You cry for selfish reasons. You are happy for selfish reasons. You don’t care what other people think. You do things that excite you. You want people to be interested in your discoveries, no matter how small they might be. When you are a kid, you think this world is a nice place.
I am discovering words, stories… life. I am discovering emotions. I am discovering silly things. I am getting slapped by situations. I am learning.
I am a kid, because I want to be a kid.
I don’t want to grow up. I don’t want to understand situations. I don’t want to learn how to tackle them. I don’t want to become an adult because they ‘don’t’ make mistakes.
I want to keep making mistakes all my life. I want to fall flat on my face. I want to lie. I want to ask stupid questions. I want to offer stupid solutions. I want undivided attention. I want to keep discovering. I want to feel overjoyed at simple things, for simple reasons. I want to feel this way, all my life.
I have been so excited and engrossed in my discovery that I forgot everything else. No one was equally excited about my discovery. No one should have been. Someone was needed to bring me back to my life, my existence. Someone had to break the hard-nut of my ‘discovery-ecstasy’ domain. Someone had to mother me.
Who better than ‘situations’. They hit you hard in the face and bring you back to your adulthood. You cannot be a kid at 27. You cannot get excited about silly words.
If you become a kid, then situations don’t affect you. You are always cheerful. You are selfish. You cry for selfish reasons. You are happy for selfish reasons. You don’t care what other people think. You do things that excite you. You want people to be interested in your discoveries, no matter how small they might be. When you are a kid, you think this world is a nice place.
I am discovering words, stories… life. I am discovering emotions. I am discovering silly things. I am getting slapped by situations. I am learning.
I am a kid, because I want to be a kid.
I don’t want to grow up. I don’t want to understand situations. I don’t want to learn how to tackle them. I don’t want to become an adult because they ‘don’t’ make mistakes.
I want to keep making mistakes all my life. I want to fall flat on my face. I want to lie. I want to ask stupid questions. I want to offer stupid solutions. I want undivided attention. I want to keep discovering. I want to feel overjoyed at simple things, for simple reasons. I want to feel this way, all my life.
Thursday, April 5, 2007
A nation celebrates
In India, cricketers are God. The statistics say: Sachin tendulkar is the best batsmen in the world.
The same statistics support these facts:
Nov 2005: India recorded 17 successful straight ODI chases. 5-1 ODI series win over England
July 2006: First test series win in the Caribbean in 35 yrs.
Dec 2006: First-ever test win in SA
Feb 2007: Back-to-back home one-day series against West Indies and Sri Lanka at home.
In tests: 38.88 (%win)
In ODIs: 51.61 (%win) (As good as the average of John Wright)
We can go on and on.
So, Greg Chappell resigned. And the rest of them are safe.
When there’s litter on the roads, the government is made a scapegoat… for the suffering law and order, the police… for cricket, Greg Chappell.
In a country where people have temples for their favorite celebrities, where people can even kill for their favorite stars… in a country that believes more in the players than the game, a revolution will always begin with criticism and wrath.
Why can’t Sachin be dropped, if he is not playing well? The game makes him what he is, he doesn’t make the game.
The cameras zoom, capture and report, the biggest event in the history of Indian cricket. Greg Chappell leaves the scene, like a hero, smiling, unhappy and shattered. It ends.
This one is for all our ‘senior and “capable” heroes’ – The revolution has begun.
Meanwhile the ‘media eye-washed’ fans of Indian cricket celebrate.
The same statistics support these facts:
Nov 2005: India recorded 17 successful straight ODI chases. 5-1 ODI series win over England
July 2006: First test series win in the Caribbean in 35 yrs.
Dec 2006: First-ever test win in SA
Feb 2007: Back-to-back home one-day series against West Indies and Sri Lanka at home.
In tests: 38.88 (%win)
In ODIs: 51.61 (%win) (As good as the average of John Wright)
We can go on and on.
So, Greg Chappell resigned. And the rest of them are safe.
When there’s litter on the roads, the government is made a scapegoat… for the suffering law and order, the police… for cricket, Greg Chappell.
In a country where people have temples for their favorite celebrities, where people can even kill for their favorite stars… in a country that believes more in the players than the game, a revolution will always begin with criticism and wrath.
Why can’t Sachin be dropped, if he is not playing well? The game makes him what he is, he doesn’t make the game.
The cameras zoom, capture and report, the biggest event in the history of Indian cricket. Greg Chappell leaves the scene, like a hero, smiling, unhappy and shattered. It ends.
This one is for all our ‘senior and “capable” heroes’ – The revolution has begun.
Meanwhile the ‘media eye-washed’ fans of Indian cricket celebrate.
Monday, April 2, 2007
One killed
The loudspeaker roared.
The customer standing at the shop was scared. Aman saw the fear in his eyes. He knew what was coming. He was silent.
Aman said, “Arre Ahmed bhai… kya hua?”
Ahmed said reluctantly, “Kitni baar bola hai maine, itni zor se kyun lagaate hain ye speaker… har kisi ko nahi pasand aata…”
Aman said sympathetically, “Arre jaane do na Ahmed bhai, kuch nahi hota…”
Ahmed said matter-of-factly, “Arre Aman bhai… aap bhale insaan ho…par aapko nahi pata… jo hoga achha nahi hoga”.
Two days later, the people broke-out in a protest against the roaring and the ‘annoying’ loudspeaker. There were complaints, pretests, processions, curfews, rumors, clashes, injuries and death. Two days later, everything was slowly limping back to normal. The shops were open again.
Aman’s day was normal and ‘as usual’. He always found the newspaper very engrossing. The dark black bags under his eyes reflected the intake of words per hour, by his eyes, and also the distance (in kms) covered by them. Every morning from 7 AM to 12 noon, his eyes were accustomed to the black ant-like alphabets printed on the off-white newspaper. They traveled from left to right, everyday, without complaining.
Today was nothing special. It was 11.30 AM and the Aman had squeezed the newspaper enough for the NEWS. Aman’s business gave him ample time at home. The ‘Shri Hanuman General kirana store’ was one of the biggest landmarks of his colony. It was named after the great Indian bachelor God. Incidentally, Aman’s father was named after Him.
Aman called his wife from the store. His house was just a few blocks away. He told her that he will be home in another half an hour, for lunch.
The loudspeaker roared again.
The mosque was on the way to Aman’s house, which was just a 3-minute walk from his store. Aman saw a mob outside the mosque.
They are at it again.
Just when Aman was trying to move away from the mob, trying to avoid their eyes, someone threw a boulder at another man who was standing inside the mosque. Aman knew what would follow. He bagan to run. But, even before his body could gather some momentum, something very hard hit the back of his head. He fell flat on his face and died.
Aman’s wife is still running around the insurance firms to collect the compensation. His son is sitting at home, as there’s no money to pay the fees of his school. The ‘Shri hanuman general kirana store’ has been closed ever since and the land lord says he will take the goods and everything else in the store as compensation towards non-payment of the rent.
3 days after the incident, the loudspeaker was roaring again, with a 6 PM deadline.
The black ant-like alphabets printed on the off-white newspaper read,
‘Clashes in the city - One killed’
The customer standing at the shop was scared. Aman saw the fear in his eyes. He knew what was coming. He was silent.
Aman said, “Arre Ahmed bhai… kya hua?”
Ahmed said reluctantly, “Kitni baar bola hai maine, itni zor se kyun lagaate hain ye speaker… har kisi ko nahi pasand aata…”
Aman said sympathetically, “Arre jaane do na Ahmed bhai, kuch nahi hota…”
Ahmed said matter-of-factly, “Arre Aman bhai… aap bhale insaan ho…par aapko nahi pata… jo hoga achha nahi hoga”.
Two days later, the people broke-out in a protest against the roaring and the ‘annoying’ loudspeaker. There were complaints, pretests, processions, curfews, rumors, clashes, injuries and death. Two days later, everything was slowly limping back to normal. The shops were open again.
Aman’s day was normal and ‘as usual’. He always found the newspaper very engrossing. The dark black bags under his eyes reflected the intake of words per hour, by his eyes, and also the distance (in kms) covered by them. Every morning from 7 AM to 12 noon, his eyes were accustomed to the black ant-like alphabets printed on the off-white newspaper. They traveled from left to right, everyday, without complaining.
Today was nothing special. It was 11.30 AM and the Aman had squeezed the newspaper enough for the NEWS. Aman’s business gave him ample time at home. The ‘Shri Hanuman General kirana store’ was one of the biggest landmarks of his colony. It was named after the great Indian bachelor God. Incidentally, Aman’s father was named after Him.
Aman called his wife from the store. His house was just a few blocks away. He told her that he will be home in another half an hour, for lunch.
The loudspeaker roared again.
The mosque was on the way to Aman’s house, which was just a 3-minute walk from his store. Aman saw a mob outside the mosque.
They are at it again.
Just when Aman was trying to move away from the mob, trying to avoid their eyes, someone threw a boulder at another man who was standing inside the mosque. Aman knew what would follow. He bagan to run. But, even before his body could gather some momentum, something very hard hit the back of his head. He fell flat on his face and died.
Aman’s wife is still running around the insurance firms to collect the compensation. His son is sitting at home, as there’s no money to pay the fees of his school. The ‘Shri hanuman general kirana store’ has been closed ever since and the land lord says he will take the goods and everything else in the store as compensation towards non-payment of the rent.
3 days after the incident, the loudspeaker was roaring again, with a 6 PM deadline.
The black ant-like alphabets printed on the off-white newspaper read,
‘Clashes in the city - One killed’
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