This, then, is the immutable SC. Lanky and caring enough to arouse suspicion, SC wields wizardry in the kitchen usually with a halka saa this or that. A sometime poet of might have beens, SC also paints in shades of grey, puts happiness to shame around his many children friends and reads fat books with gusto. In the four years that I have known him, he has failed only twice to recognize a movie within the first minute of viewership. He conducts quizzes and asks bloody impossible questions.
Now if you want to know what is wrong with him, you will have to mail me. It will be juicy, I promise.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Monday, January 17, 2005
Are you game?
About nine -ish each evening the bean bags are strategically positioned to save the telly and the sound boxes in the hall. The doors are pulled. A stool is summoned. Light at one end switched off. A plastic bat is harnessed and a tennis ball dug up, & a group of gentlemen in their late twenties, not to mention shorts, gear up for a quick game of cricket.
I am sure that each one of us has some unique experience to tell, but for me & SA its about out thinking your opposition. For SC, ostensibly, it is extinguishing any chance I have of furthering my lineage, which is probably a good idea in the whole scheme of things anyway. Each one of his deliveries, projected from his super height & hurled with a great deal of sidespin, is targeted to pitch, gather ample turn and bounce, and end up with a soft thud a few inches below my waistline. You should see him beam with endless joy, but since we are friends & all that he stops short of doing cartwheels & happily lends me a cigarette afterwards.
SA, like I said, sets you up. He showers you with bouncers so that your feet grow roots & then suddenly there is ball turning away from you at which you play like Ganguly - play the most inelegant stand n deliver cover drive & get a solid nick. Embarrassment & sheepish smiles follow. General happiness all around. Chu**** Saala & the like, you know.
Then there those searing yorkers that he unleashes. Just when you are happily checking out if your head is still attached to your neck & wondering if the next bouncer will end it all, comes this yellow trace of a tennis ball , your weight still on the backfoot, & violently shakes the stool behind you. Sometimes, if your reflexes are fast enough & you think you are beginning to read this trick, you can bring your bat down fast enough & crush your own toes. That is adding injury to insult.
MG is probably the most complete cricketer amongst us. SA has the most guile, besides being a very safe pair of hands. SC, like you might have figured, is absolutely fatal when bowling & suicidal, like you might not have figured, while batting. He continues, though, to be a champion of perseverance. And, VH has not been around lately.
And me, well, I am still hanging in there. "Shaken, not stirred!", as James Bond puts it.
I am sure that each one of us has some unique experience to tell, but for me & SA its about out thinking your opposition. For SC, ostensibly, it is extinguishing any chance I have of furthering my lineage, which is probably a good idea in the whole scheme of things anyway. Each one of his deliveries, projected from his super height & hurled with a great deal of sidespin, is targeted to pitch, gather ample turn and bounce, and end up with a soft thud a few inches below my waistline. You should see him beam with endless joy, but since we are friends & all that he stops short of doing cartwheels & happily lends me a cigarette afterwards.
SA, like I said, sets you up. He showers you with bouncers so that your feet grow roots & then suddenly there is ball turning away from you at which you play like Ganguly - play the most inelegant stand n deliver cover drive & get a solid nick. Embarrassment & sheepish smiles follow. General happiness all around. Chu**** Saala & the like, you know.
Then there those searing yorkers that he unleashes. Just when you are happily checking out if your head is still attached to your neck & wondering if the next bouncer will end it all, comes this yellow trace of a tennis ball , your weight still on the backfoot, & violently shakes the stool behind you. Sometimes, if your reflexes are fast enough & you think you are beginning to read this trick, you can bring your bat down fast enough & crush your own toes. That is adding injury to insult.
MG is probably the most complete cricketer amongst us. SA has the most guile, besides being a very safe pair of hands. SC, like you might have figured, is absolutely fatal when bowling & suicidal, like you might not have figured, while batting. He continues, though, to be a champion of perseverance. And, VH has not been around lately.
And me, well, I am still hanging in there. "Shaken, not stirred!", as James Bond puts it.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Deductive thinking
Everybody knows that we are the absolute tops. I mean we invented pizza, not to mention shoving the MIR space station right out there. We decomposed the DNA into selective & sequential base pairs, and fought apartheid with gusto. In principle, we are nice things enjoying our tea & prising institutions of virtue - things also of our own invention. We make movies that revolve around the resilience of the human spirit - we may be down, but not quite out - to get an Oscar. Everybody stands up and claps, as some super thespian expresses her gratitude to mothers and the like. Nice & proper.
Glorious, if you ask me.
Tsunamis, therefore, are not for us. They are for lower forms of carbon.
Glorious, if you ask me.
Tsunamis, therefore, are not for us. They are for lower forms of carbon.
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