Howazzat!!!

It was a fine morning in November, when I woke up to the chirping of birds out in my garden. I welcomed the day with a smile on my lips which traveled to my eye and became a sparkle. It was one of those perfect days when I preferred to do my kind of things. My mood compelled me to sip on hot cocoa and sway to the tunes of Kenny –G and his saxophone. I was mesmerized in my arcadia that everything outside of it seemed oblivious to me. The music from my mp3 player tingled my senses and lulled me into a deep trance. Then, it happened. Just as the waves hit the sea side rock with a fury and rage unknown, I heard the jarring and shrill voice of Harsha Bhogle, praising Sachin for the four he hit. I peeked out from my abode to see my entire family engrossed in watching a cricket match. To my surprise, my kid brother who had a “severe” stomach ache in the morning, was staring at the screen of the TV with his tongue hanging out, salivating furiously at Sachin’s super shot. My brother’s stomach was such a conditional entity, which got upset only for school and homework, but was perfectly fine for a cricket match. My father also took leave from work as he suddenly had a bout of imaginary sickness. (His mobile was switched off and the rest of the household had practiced their dialogues in case of a call from his office. Now I know where the son takes after his father). My mom was neutral to any kind of television activity. She simply watched whatever played on the idiot box. I sometimes wonder if the Formula 1 racing and the sensex reports on NDTV made any sense to her. Television time for her would be a time where she would perform all the miscellaneous chores; making garlands for her puja, cutting vegetables etc. So, even now I saw her sitting in a weird stone like silence, her hands busily working on the sweater for my dad. So, there was my family, as if under a spell of cricket.


It was not only my family, but many other homes in India where you could witness a similar scene. In actuality, cricket is a game in which there is a 160gm ball, a wooden bat, 6 wooden rods, 4 smaller versions of wooden rods, and two teams of 11 players each, either throwing a ball or hitting it with a bat. Sorry, if I sounded very unceremonious in describing the tools of a much hyped game called “cricket”. I sometimes wonder, why do we have hockey as our National game? (Any ideas?).

Everyone in India is so much influenced by cricket, that you can see small little Kapil Devs and Sachins, in every street, playing with so much vigor. It’s fun to watch the youngsters play the game with such passion. It is their passion and perseverance that I salute to, but not the game. In test match seasons and world cup seasons, cricket is the hot topic of discussion at workplaces, morning walks, at the gym, over a cup of coffee. Cricket is prevalent to that extent in air that, even cricket non-lovers, like me can’t help but hear about it from every other person and acquaintance. I definitely appreciate the sporting spirit, which I feel, is lacking in us. A game must be enjoyed and it must be a sort of learning experience for both the teams. It is a simple fact that when two teams play one has to win and the other lose. I don’t know why we oversee this simple logic and take the loss or the victory so personally that we either garland the players and call them God or stone their houses. After all, they are human and this is just a game, for Pete’s sake!!

If the match is an India- Pakistan one, then god bless both the countries. Everyone in both the countries, stick to their TV sets and pray to all the possible Gods for their county’s victory. People in Pakistan converge for extra prayers in the mosque and the women in India chant holy verses while counting the beads of their “jap mala”. I don’t know if the same people took out even a minute to pray for the soldiers at Kargil during the time of war. A few years, ago this cricket craze evolved into a fanatism which took the shape of violent brutality. Thanks to the match fixing that the wave of fanatism has now lulled. It so hopeless and such a pitiable state of blind devotion towards cricket we have that we sometimes miss out certain vital things in life. The dad just mutters an insignificant “nice” to a little girl who is longing for appreciation for the drawing she made. The wife is disappointed with her husband, as he speaks to her only during commercial breaks during the match. I don’t mean to sound anti-cricket. All I have to say that Cricket is just a game; attach only the required amount of importance to it.

I know there will be several cricket fans out there reading my blog, muttering curses beneath their breath. All I have to say to them is that, maintain the sporting spirit, this is just my point of view!!

Dreams Inc.

After 4 years of fooling around in engineering, I got recruited into Wipro. I couldn’t fathom their funda of recruiting an Electronics Engineer into a software firm. The pay was reasonable for a fresher, so I didn’t ask any “smart” questions. Plus, there was an additional pressure - “Sachin made it to IIT, Sachin was absorbed into Microsoft”. Sachin was our family friend’s son, a benchmark for me as he was supposed to be Mr.Perfect. I would surely like to see him play badminton or sing for that matter. The thought itself makes me chuckle. In order to brace my self against the constant artillery of Sachin’s achievements, I sacrificed my love for English Literature and joined the herd of software professionals. After my interview, I came home, just to face a pregnant silence. My house was brimming with almost all the people from my colony. I could see the anxiousness on everyone’s face. I savored each moment of their anxiety and proudly announced my success. The totally still household broke into a surge of “I knew you could do it” and “I believed your abilities”; the same people who raised Sachin to a demi-God status. My mom, typical of her, ran into the puja room and whispered a thousand thanks to God. My dad just patted my back and tried to look away from me, but I caught a glimpse of his misty eyes, which were laden with immense pride. I was equally proud of myself as I had proved a point to Sachin.

My recruitment into Wipro had definitely changed a hell lot of things- some bold and visible and some really subtle and almost unnoticeable changes. Automatically my status in society seemed to have elevated. Unknown friends, acquaintances and a number of unseen relatives and well-wishers emerged out of nowhere. Everyone gave me importance and respect. In my colony, I had become the topic of discussion at the kitty parties and social gatherings my mom used to attend. I was the ideal daughter that every mother had to be blessed with and shortly was to be the goody-goody and obedient “bahu” that every mom-in-law would dream of. I also started receiving marriage proposals, which my parents very politely, but very importantly refused. My cousin who used to be bossy (despite the fact that she was young) was being very polite to me. My mom changed her vegetable shopping venue from the “subji mandi” to “Food World”. When I sat for dinner with my family, my dad addressed me regarding banks, savings, shares and stocks. We discussed the Indian economy and he asked me my opinion which concerned some household matter. He was treating me like an adult. I ran to the mirror in my room and checked if I was any different. I had not grown any horns, neither did my wisdom teeth come up; and then why were people treating me differently. Though I initially enjoyed this importance, later on it started to bother me. As now I was surrounded with appreciation and praise, I couldn’t distinguish eulogy from genuine compliments.

After joining work it was a different ball game all together. It had opened a whole new world for me-new faces, new people and a uniquely refreshing environment. Initially I had to struggle with criticism, which I was conveniently spared from in the last few months. It was a challenge to my wits, my morale and my zest. In the pursuit to prove myself to my boss and superiors, I became a rare commodity at home. Initially I decided that I wouldn’t let my interest for Literature die. Months rolled by, the clocks ticked off time that couldn’t be got back. In the battle between my dreams and my duties at work, the duties took control of the steering of my life and forced the dreams to take a back seat. Today, as I sit and reflect over the past, over a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, a thought incessantly surfaces to my mind- “Without passion man is a mere latent force and possibility, like the flint which awaits the shock of the iron before it can give forth its spark.” -Amiel, Journal or maybe Sachin Shasrty.....

Boy, O Boy!! Not a Girl!!

It was my first stride in the world of motherhood. I was embraced with a hoard of mixed feelings. I was joyous, dreamy, apprehensive, and petrified all at the same time. It was an indescribable new phase in my life, all of a sudden promoting me to the status of a “mother”. I felt it a very short journey of transformation from daughter to wife to mother. But this title of motherhood to be bestowed on me was full of serenity, beauty, duty and dreams. I always wanted to be the mother of a charming little princess who would light up our lives like a fairy and who with her fluttering little wings would spread happiness, content, harmony and peace. The little one, for me, would be the embodiment of beauty giving our lives a new direction.

I passed by the pavements and just peered into the glass panes (literally fogging the windows) of stores that sport the prettiest of baby stuff. The baby basket with satin and muslin covers, the frocks with the prettiest of laces and frills. The bows and the ribbons, the clips and the hair bands were simply made for my sweetheart. The ribbons had to be lucky to touch the soft tresses and the gowns had to be thankful to drape the tender body of my darling. So, I imagined and wove a very private and sentimental dream of the princess of my heart.

On a fine day, with great pains, I labored the child of my dreams into this world. My baby was placed next to me and I gently kissed it’s forehead and whispered the words “little princess” in it’s ear. It was my husband who snapped me to reality and said that I had given birth to a little prince!!!!

My dreams instantly vaporized and I was dumb struck by this unplanned eventuality. And now, strange as it may seem, remorse was not to take over me. My thoughts took a new turn. My dreams of doll-houses transformed into battlefields, car racing, HE-MAN, GIJOE and other action heroes. The ribbons and frocks re-tailored into pants, shirts and shorts. The sugar, spice and all things nice were now snails, puppy dog tails, as that’s what boys are made of.

Despite the fact that I loath the sight of a half naked ruffian running around the house with a gun, climbing trees, breaking window panes and having fights, I simply cannot stop myself from being proud of my little monster, the apple of my eye- my bonny boy.
So, all I can say is….. Boy, O Boy!!! Not a Girl!!