The Legend

My love and passion for cricket began on a March morning in 1994. For some strange reason my cricketing memory prior to ‘94 remains woefully inadequate (barring Venkatpathy Raju getting run out in the ‘92 World Cup match against Australia or that match where Gary Kristen’s brother was Mankaded by Kapil Dev). It all changed that morning. Sachin Tendulkar opened the innings for India against New Zealand. I had heard his name earlier; had perhaps even seen him play. Yes he was the one who bowled the last over against South Africa in the final of the Hero Cup. Heck, that was 20 years ago.

What followed was blitzkrieg. An attack so ferocious that the Kiwis were numbed. Even my normally ‘I don’t care a tiny rat’s ass about cricket’ father sat down and applauded the young gun at work. My brother and I cheered our lungs out. What Tendulkar did that morning changed the face of world cricket. What Tendulkar did was bestow the nation with a new religion. And thus began the nation’s love affair with a man who became bigger than the game.

The ‘96 world cup was jointly hosted by India, Srilanka and Pakistan. And many felt, for the first time in many years that India had a good chance of winning the cup. And we looked well on track with Sachin going hammer and tongs in most of the matches. Then he got stumped by Kaluwitharana and the nation’s dreams lay in tatters. And while the teary eyed Kambli might have believed he could have won the match, but for the rest, the match was well over when Sachin got out. He had got half of the total runs India had scored.

No one really cared till then about his records. As long as he was at the crease anything was possible. No other player could create a mixed bag of emotions in his admirers the way he did. Behind the admiration for his dazzling and fearless strokeplay, always lingered the fear of him getting out the next ball. His dismissal gave rise to both disappointment and relief. Disappointment because the match was as good as lost. And relief because now we could get on with our day to day work. It didn’t matter if the match was lost. Sachin was not supposed to be out cheaply. As long as he scored, the nation cheered.

1998 remains the third most wonderful year for Indian cricket, the other two being the World Cup wins. We won almost every tournament that year and Sachin scored in almost all of them. He scored a record 9 centuries that year. Perhaps that was the year we realised what lay in store for his fans. The nation counted and cheered his every century. A strong sense of pride surged through me when the newspaper carried the heading ‘21^st Century Fox’. It was the day after he had scored his 21^st century against Zimbabwe and won India yet another match. Not very long ago he had went past Desmond Haynes when he scored his 18^th century and a similar feeling had overwhelmed me.

It was a weird fixation we had with the champion. He could do no wrong. He was honest, selfless and a patriot. So when he was caught on tape messing with the seam of the cricket ball, the entire world stood up for him. The weirdest justification being that since Sachin had the habit of chewing his nails there was no way he could have tampered with the ball. He was too great a sportsman to do such a petty thing. Or match fixing for instance. It was preposterous to think of him to be involved. But Azharuddin, Prabhakar, Jadeja and Mongia weren’t shown any compassion. Neither by the Board nor by the public in general.

It is amazing how the little man overshadowed other players, some even better than him. A classic case being Vinod Kambli. A look at his record and one can see that if it hadn’t been for his self- destructing tendency he would have given Sachin a run for his money. A simple example is the fact that it took Sachin 10 years for his first double ton in tests while Kambli had smashed two double tons in his very first year of test cricket. The misfortune was not reserved merely for Indian players. Foreign players too had to live with the grudge of having played in the same era as the little master. The list is endless. Jacques Kallis who has been the bulwark for South African cricket ever since my memory serves me is currently sitting on 44 Test centuries as compared to the 51 held by Tendulkar. But does he get the same adulation? Or Shivnarine Chanderpaul. One of the most ungainly batsmen in world cricket but very very effective nevertheless. He too holds a 50+ average and also has 10000+ runs in tests. Ricky Ponting, Inzamam ul Haq, Jayawardene, Graeme smith, Steve Waugh, the list is long. Closer home Ganguly, Dravid and VVS Laxman add to the list. Ganguly has 11000 + runs and 22 tons in ODIs. Dravid, perhaps the most technically sound cricketer of modern times, too has an astounding test record. And not to mention VVS who on his day is even better than Sachin Tendulkar.

So what sets this man apart from the rest? What makes Andy flower quote ‘there are two kinds of batsmen. Sachin Tendulkar and the rest of us.’? What quality makes him a God for millions? What makes him so special, when he has so many times shown that after all he is a mere mortal with many chinks in his armour? What made him a darling of the BCCI? What made them unable to ask him to leave?

The man has played for 24 years. I was 6 when he made his debut. I have grown up watching him. And like the countless many, I too have copied his stance and his grip. I would even adjust my imaginary abdominal guard the way he did.

Sachin Tendulkar stood for India. Every Indian saw himself in Sachin. He was the relief to all their worries. He gave us the belief that finally we had something to flaunt in front of the world. He was our pride. His failures were our own. His achievements were ours. When a bowler sledged him it was personal for us. When he was dragged into the ball tampering controversy it was a question on our integrity. How can a single person who isn’t even physically intimidating, hold so much control on a furious Eden Gardens crowd whose main purpose was to burn down the stadium in victory and defeat?

We might never know the reason. But the truth remains that with his retirement my childhood and youth have become just that – memories. Memories of watching him bowl that last over in Hero Cup. Of him getting stumped in the ‘96 World Cup semi final. Of him bludgeoning the Aussie attack in Sharjah. Of him getting fiver against them in Cochin. Of him smashing the straight six against Eddo Brandes to qualify for the finals. Of him getting his 10000^th run against Aussies. Of that assault against McGrath in Nairobi. Of his pulled six against Caddick in the 2003 World Cup. Of his foxing Moin Khan with his googly. Of his mischievously pouring water on his team mates and running away after the 2011 World Cup win. Of his being the first man to score a double ton in ODIs. Of him being given a lap of honour on the strong shoulders of Yusuf Pathan, Virat Kohli and Suresh Raina.

Some time later next month…

In God's Abode

“Periyar is the longest river in Kerala and along its banks lie the beautiful rain forests of the Western Ghats.”  This was the only piece of information I had about Periyar as our car stopped at the entrance of the ‘Periyar Sanctuary’. I didn’t know what to expect. To be honest, I hadn’t really expected to spend my honeymoon in the midst of a forest. And a famous tiger sanctuary at that!

“Jungle me mangal?” a friend of mine had asked me as he winked at me naughtily for the 1000^th time.

But Divya’s (my wife) excitement on reaching the sanctuary was infectious. She remained on the edge of her seat throughout our journey from our hotel (Wild Corridor) in Thekkady to the sanctuary.

“You need to walk towards the river bank. Its a 'no vehicle' zone from here” said Anish, our driver.

Nodding, we entered the sanctuary. I haven’t seen a more peaceful sight in my life. The path towards Periyar River is overshadowed by huge trees on either side; sunlight struggling to break through. Divya looked around excitedly as the cackling of various birds filled the surrounding. However her desperate attempts at spotting a bird failed as they seemed perfectly camouflaged in the thick foliage. But she didn’t lose hope and her gait assumed a sense of purpose.

The shade above cleared slightly as we neared the bank of river Periyar. Two big boats awaited us. We bought the tickets and proceeded towards the top deck of one of the boats. Divya and I occupied our seats, one behind the other. We were asked to wear the life jacket provided by the boat crew. The life jackets were made mandatory when the river witnessed a tragic accident few years ago. Around 45 people died when their boat capsized in the river. All the passengers in my boat put on the lifejacket without a word of protest.

A shrill whistle by one of the boat crew and the boat’s engines chugged to life. The boat started its journey on the river. There are times when words fail us. This was one of them. We were in the midst of a river which was surrounded by a jungle. The hills and the monsoon clouds added to the charm. It was beauty like I had never known. Birds of various kinds rested atop trees while some swam in the river. The more boastful kinds dived into the water to showcase their fishing skills. Divya scanned the skies for a sight of one of her favourite birds, the Hornbill, but to no avail.

A small trivia about my wife. Divya is an avid bird watcher. Which means that unlike me, she finds the avian variety extremely interesting. I can't tell apart a myna from a koyal to save my life. So whenever I excitedly attempted to point out a bird or an animal that I felt was unique she would retort in the following manner:

"Sunil, for the 100th time...that is the Cormorant. and its very common in Ahmedabad too." (as if I knew...).
"Sunil, thats a crow." (the look on her face made me want to jump in the river)
"Sunil, thats a piece of log, not a tiger." (in my defence, it could well have been a tiger camouflaged as a log).

So for the rest of the journey I silently scanned the banks in the hope of seeing elephants, and tigers if we were really lucky. Half an hour went by with nothing more than birds for company.

Suddenly, the gentleman behind me pointed at some movement near the bank on our right. 

 “Look it’s a baby elephant” he shouted. 

All eyes turned towards the elephant. All the cameras were out and clicking ferociously. The boat moved a little closer and we realized that the baby elephant was in fact a wild boar. This time I felt like throwing the gentleman off the boat. And to add to the irritation he guffawed as if he knew all along that it was a boar. Amidst groans and laughter, we all resumed our seats. The rest of the journey proved to be uneventful barring the sight of a monitor lizard basking in the sun (I did try taking its pic but all my cam could capture was the brown soil. Stupid camouflaging ability!) And a couple of deers grazing in the lazy noon sun.

Just as we alighted from the boat, Divya caught the sight of four foreigners crossing the river towards the forest on a raft. On enquiry we were told that it was part of the ‘Nature Walk’ organized by the forest department to provide an up-close encounter with the wild to willing tourists. Divya smelled blood. Half heartedly I agreed to accompany her for the tour.

After paying for the tour (800 bucks), Divya and I proceeded towards a small hut that served as the office cum rest house for the forest guides. After the initial form filling formalities, our guide- Babu provided us with a pair of long socks that extended till the knees.

“Leeches. Trust me, you will need those.” Babu replied seeing our puzzled expressions.

Few minutes later, Babu, Divya and I made our way towards the river bank where a bamboo raft awaited us. Adrenaline rushed through my body as the raft slowly reached mid river. I kinda felt like Indiana Jones.

“How deep is the water?” asked Divya.

“Oh its quite deep. This area should have a depth of atleast 15-20 feet” replied Babu.

My Indiana Jones vanished into thin air.

Precariously Divya and I balanced ourselves on the raft as it made its way to the opposite end. Soon we touched the bank and slowly got off the raft. It was raining quite sharply now. Babu led the way and we followed him anxiously. A few steps towards the forest and suddenly Babu stopped near a bush and motioned us to wait. He went to examine the bush and then beckoned us to approach him. Babu pointed towards something. What I saw next scared the living daylights out of me.

It was a viper and a dangerously venomous one at that. The presence of Divya helped me curb my instinct to scream like a sissy girl. Something told me that this was just a precursor to what lay ahead. I had to summon the Indiana Jones within me once again. We entered the forest and were soon plunged into darkness. The forest cover was immensely dense. We followed Babu quietly, hoping for the tour to be risk free. To increase my worries Babu wasn’t carrying any weapons. What if we encountered an elephant. Wild elephants are known to rip off tall trees and short limbs with minimal fuss. What if a tiger attacked us? I am pretty sure my umbrella would fail against the rampaging tiger.

But what followed was worse than a tiger attack. Leeches.

Babu pointed towards our socks and to our shock and disgust, we saw several leeches, not more than 2-3 cms in length, trying to climb on to our legs. Some of them had almost made their way to my thigh. Divya screamed in shock as one creepy crawler rested peacefully on her arm and sucked blood. Babu calmly flicked the leech away leaving a small spot of blood.

 The next 5 minutes we tried in vain to get rid of the leeches. But they were everywhere. They moved with surprising speed in their attempt to reach our bare skin. Babu assured us that we had nothing to worry.

“Don’t stop at one spot for too long and keep a small stick in your hand. Just keep checking your legs every now and then. Flick them away if they get too close.”

We nodded nervously as we followed him once again. Sadly his assurance was of little help as we continued to freak out. And suddenly it felt like the wrigglers were crawling all over our body. After a point even Babu quit assuring us and continued to lead the way.

Suddenly he motioned us to stop as we heard a sound coming from the trees. Judging from the sound, the source had to be some animal. But our movement alerted the source. And suddenly the sound of swishing wings filled the air. For a moment it felt like the blades of a chopper reverberating through the forest. The next moment, Divya jumped up in glee. She had finally managed to spot the source of all the ruckus – the Great Pied Hornbill - flying royally from one tree to another.While we couldn't capture our friend on the camera, we did manage to click this cute guy sitting in full 'tashan' - the Malabar Grey Hornbill!

The excitement over spotting the Hornbill had barely subsided that the eerie silence of the forest returned. As we walked some more we witnessed various kinds of flora such as this tree which looked like a cobra baring its hood.

Or this tree brimming full of passion fruits

A loud knock which echoed through the forest made us look towards the tree tops. There sat a woodpecker at work. Watching a woodpecker pecking at the wood is a treat for both the eyes and the ears. The sound that generates as its beak makes contact with the hard wood is almost as if a carpenter armed with a humongous hammer is hammering his way to glory.

We had company even in our solitude. We knew that as we walked every life form in this jungle was following our movement. And they lay invisible, almost as if the forest was their invisibility cloak. We would have passed by them or they could have stood right behind us. There was no way of telling where they were. This cute little frog for instance would have missed our eyes had it been not for Babu who pointed it out.

As we walked through the jungle we could feel countless eyes watching us closely. It was incredibly creepy. Ever so often I would stop and take a peek behind to see if someone or something was following me. All I could see were bright patches of green, black and the occasional blue of the sky.

A little later the forest cover thinned. The darkness faded. And the river bank appeared. It had been close to 3 hours. 3 hours of pure ecstasy and spine chilling fear. It isn’t often that one feels happy and dejected at the same time. We couldn’t spot a tiger. It was a shame that we couldn’t spot one even inside the sanctuary.

"Tigers can sense human presence from quite a distance. And they prefer avoiding contact. And in any case you were really lucky not to have met one."

But something told me that it wasn't true. Something told me that we were followed. We were watched very closely. Some creature, perhaps a tiger, had been on our trail; watching us, sniffing us. Almost like a ghost.

Going on nature's trail was perhaps the wisest decision I had taken. And I thanked Divya profusely for making me go. I watched the forest as the raft took us back to civilization. And that’s when I realized just how vulnerable and insignificant we were standing there, surrounded by the jungle. The forest could have engulfed us without anyone noticing our absence. And yet it did not. The forest is benevolent. Harsh at times and scary most of the times. But it let us live. The forest lives and breathes. At times an explosion of myriad sounds shatters the peace of the forest. At others, an eerie silence pervades the dense foliage. It is a haven for the living,

The dead 

And the spirit...

Perhaps this is what heaven looks like!

The Devil

A deep worry creases my brow,

Inevitable it is that much I know.

She looks at me; an evil grin,

With me in tow, she wants to sin.

Erupts in protest, every bit of me,

Spare me, leave me, just let me be .

Against my will, she pulls me through,

Feeding me poison she made me brew

“Oh I wish to buy that fancy mop”

The devil woman takes me to shop.

Ignores my groans, my pleas, my cries.

She debunks my many, countless tries

“We need pillows, curtains and trays”,

“That store has sale, my best friend says”

“We should probably get that neat shoe rack”

“Oh, and Reebok offers 20% off on tracks”

Carrying her bags, my feet get sore,

Walking through malls and a million stores.

“Is this top good or that pink one?”

“Don’t just nod; you are no fun”

By EOD I just don’t care,

And my poor wallet, lighter than air.

She doesn’t see my spirits drop,

The devil woman takes me to shop!

***

Disclaimer:  The above poem/post is a work of fiction based on actual events and experiences. In case no one noticed, I hate shopping. 

The Ghost and the Darkness

‘The Conjuring’ tells the nightmarish ordeal of the Perron Family who are haunted by an evil witch. My three friends and I decided to watch an evening show of the movie after couple of friends claimed to have had nightmares after watching it. The opening scene with the creepy doll named ‘Annabelle’ and the hauntingly awesome background score told me that I was in for a scary ride.

The movie ended 2 hours later (and I was glad about it). My very good friend Maddy who has a particularly good gift of storytelling, for no welcome reason, started narrating creepy stories he had heard or experienced.

“I was coming home after a late night dinner at a dhaba. I was on the highway and there wasn’t much traffic. And I swear to God. I had the distinct feeling of someone sitting behind me. I looked into the rear view mirror. And saw nothing. Yet there it was again. The unmistakable feeling of some presence behind me.”

We looked at him unimpressed. We mocked and made fun of him and had a good laugh about it. But as I rode my bike back home, Maddy’s story replayed itself in my head. And I felt like kicking myself for living on the outskirts of Ahmedabad. Not to mention owning a dog who had a particular proclivity towards staring at vacant spaces as if watching someone invisible.

Living in a hostel during graduation introduced me to all kinds of ghost stories. Almost everyone had a ghostly experience to share. And strangely when it comes to narrating ghost stories everyone becomes a master story teller. And all the ghost clichés like the ‘chudail’ on the peepal ka tree, the guy with twisted feet hiring a rick, the faceless chudail who’d flag down vehicles for a lift and vanish in to thin air, the many spirits who dwell near railway crossings, etc., stood tall. Over the years Vikram Bhatt has covered most of the ghost stereotypes in his atrocious movies.

But what if ghosts do exist? An incident in the first year of my graduation had me asking that very question.

University exams were only a few weeks away when a rumour started doing the rounds. Apparently some guy on the top floor of the hostel had heard the moans of a woman late one night. And the news spread like wildfire. Initially we assumed that some hostel guy (who had to be a great lover) had invited a female friend over for some late night hanky panky. However, as the days passed, the rumours took a ghostly turn. And it was only a matter of time for some smart ass to come with a haunted story about the spirit of a girl who had died near BVM - an engineering college near our hostel. Some said that the girl had committed suicide, for some she was murdered. Yet everyone was certain that the ghost was a ‘she’. Some people even claimed that they had seen an apparition in a white sari near our hostel.

But we just couldn’t digest the fact that the hostel and its surrounding which had been so peaceful till then had all of a sudden became a hotbed for paranormal activity. What added fuel to the fire was the fact that our hostel security guard too had heard such noises and he acknowledged that there was a spirit haunting the premises of BVM. He claimed to have heard the wailing of a woman and that lights flickered ominously at midnight. The rumours had started taking its effect. Our late night adventures ceased almost completely. What was more irritating, was the irresistible urge to answer the nature’s call in the middle of the night. The bathroom itself was a scary site. There was a lone tube light that flickered every now and then. The silence of the bathroom was broken only by the water dripping from the taps. There were two windows looking out of which, we could only see the strange shapes of the trees in the moonlight. Other than that, it would be pitch dark.

Despite the fact that everyone was shit scared of the situation, almost everyone seemed to have the perfect weapon to ward the evil spirit off.

“Always keep a piece of iron with you. The iron keeps ghosts away” advised a guy named Chandresh who lived on the 3^rd floor.

“Does the buckle of my belt qualify as iron?” asked his skinny roommate.

“Recite the Hanuman Chalisa whenever you feel fear and the evil spirit won’t touch you” advised another guy.

But the weirdest advice came from Satish Chaubey, the hostel pervert. For some weird reason he reminded me of the ‘Sherman’ character from American Pie.

“Whenever you come face to face with a spirit immediately mark a circle around you with your urine. It will keep the evil spirit away from you.”

Silence followed for the next few moments as I tried to decide if he was pulling a fast one on me. He wasn’t though. Till that moment I hadn’t realised the immense potential my urine possessed. And to think that I wasted it so blatantly each day. A shame really! The tricky part was to make a perfect circle because if I’d come face to face with a ghost my pee would make all shapes but a circle.

However, Chaubey’s last piece of advice actually took the cake.

“And if nothing works, simple remove your pants and stand in front of the ghost naked.”

Now I had heard everything. Eventually it was the tension of the exams that proved to be scarier. The haunting ceased almost abruptly. But till this day no one has been able to explain the haunting that scared the living daylights out of us.

So to sum it up, it is highly debatable if ghosts exist or not. And it sounds like a truckload of crap given in today’s times. But then science too has its limits. There are many things beyond explanation (like spontaneous human combustion. That shit really freaks me out.) And the fact that my dog has been staring at the wall behind me since the last hour and a half. Animals can sense paranormal presence, they say. Time to lose the track pant I guess!

Waterloo

This is a story I had written for a contest. The theme of the story was 'Graveyard' and had to be written in 110 words. For some reason I couldn't enter the contest so decided to post it here. Here goes...

12 years of flying couldn’t prepare him for anything like this. The clear sky betrayed the violent trembling his plane faced; as it would in a storm. As the radio died on him panic rose through his body like fire. Smoke billowed from the left engine. It was inevitable. He was falling ferociously fast. The end came quickly as the plane crashed; disintegrating as it hit ocean floor sending up a big cloud of sand. Peaceful calm enveloped the turbulence of the crash as the plane joined countless other crafts in the watery grave.

Newspapers carried a small article next day.

“Bermuda Triangle: Aircraft, pilot go missing over devil’s triangle.”

The End

The Betrayal

This post was written for the 110 Creative Challenge Contest, hosted by Thewhitescape. There were 6 entries and I won :). The topic was 'Friend' and had to be written in 110 words. Here it is.
  

Ronnie felt betrayed. He was a bad judge, agreed. But could an error be so fatal?

Ronnie had met Jack at a party. Jack’s sophistication and suaveness charmed him. Jack became his best friend, a confidante. Jack made him feel special. And so he ignored the notoriety Jack and his family carried. A mistake.

“I thought you were my friend” cried Ronnie as he gasped for breath. His insides exploded in pain as he coughed up blood.

Jack Daniels frowned as he rested in Ronnie’s cupboard. He had been honest enough. The words on his label couldn’t be clearer.

‘Consumption of alcohol is injurious to health.’

What had Ronnie expected?

The End

Rains of Hope

“This post was written for the 110 Creative Challenge Contest, hosted by Thewhitescape. The word limit was 110 words and the topic was 'Rain'. And I got the 3rd prize." And what made me happier was the fact that my brother stood 2nd. You can check it out on http://barfingbs.blogspot.in/2013/08/a-story-in-110-words_6.html. Here is my effort.

Bittu loved the rains. He stood near the window; peering out as he heard clouds rumbling at a distance. He loved the fragrance.

“Its the first raindrops touching parched soil” his mother said.

“Can I eat it?” he asked in a way only an innocent 6 year old could.

Moist breeze brushed against his face. It reminded him of his mother’s grip when she helped him cross the roads; firm enough not to lose him, gentle enough not to hurt.

Mother had assured him that after the operation he too could see the beauty of monsoon.

As he felt the rain drops on his face he smiled.

“Soon” he thought.

The End