strike of the pun'gent

.................................................curse of the apple

we are all just prisoners here of our own device

bees saal baad

Apparently there was this piece written by Harsha Bhogle, a greenhorn then, talking about one Sachin Tendulkar, very well a greenhorn then. This appeared in Sportsworld, a magazine that I used to consider a poor man's Sportstar (of course not literally). Whenever I couldn't lay my hands on a Sportstar, I would grudgingly settle for a Sportsworld. But that tale is for another day.

In this article, written in his trademark simple yet weighty style, Harsha Bhogle delineates the early story of a man, whose principles we would cynically dismiss as those belonging to Aesop's Fables. In italics are a few select Bhogle's words followed by a reflection of the current situation. What can one not do armed with an arrogant hindsight?

And for all the publicity he has received, Sachin Tendulkar is really still a kid... And is very shy. Opening out only after you have coaxed him for some time.

Oh! really?

His record is awesome. He has scored far more runs than all of us scored looking dreamily out of the window in a boring Social Studies class when we were his age.

:) :)

Quite often, he is playing all day; important because it has helped him build the stamina to play long innings. "I don't get tired," he says, referring to them. "If you practise every day, you get used to it."

Madras'99 ........... Bristol'99

Wasn't he thrilled at being invited to the Ranji nets? "Definitely. After playing there I got a lot of confidence."

thrilled?! invited?! Ranji nets?! (with all respect to the Ranji Trophy)

The question that arises then, given all the publicity is: Just how good is Sachin Tendulkar?

For an honest reflection ask Henry Olonga, Shoaib Akhtar, or better, Shane Warne.

Luckily for Sachin, there is a calming influence over him, just so he doesn't get carried away by this acclaim.

There are a few things in life utterly immune.

Achrekar, in fact, is quite upset about the publicity Sachin is getting. "People don't realise that he is just 15. They keep calling him for some felicitation or the other. The other day he was asked to inaugurate a children's library. This is ridiculous. These things are bound to go to his head. He will start thinking he has achieved everything. I hope all this stops so he can concentrate and work hard."

Promise kept, chinta karu naka, Achrekar Sir!

In how many cities would a 15-year-old be presented a Gunn and Moore by the Indian captain?

GM signage be damned, after him, in fact, it has become an honor for a batsman to share the letters M.R.F on their English willows with him. Brian Lara and Steve Waugh would concur.

This is really just the beginning and I will be watching this little star with avid interest for the next three years. He is in the right company. And the right environment. The next few years will show whether he has it in him the mental toughness to overcome the over-exposure. If it does not go to his head, surely there is a great future beckoning.

No comments.

and the best for the last.

Isn't there a lot of pressure on him now? Everyone assumes he will get a big score? "Only in the beginning. Till I get set. Once I get set, I don't think of anything."

ha ha ha, little did one expect Harsha Bhogle to be some soothsayer from another world we didn't know of, prophesying something which has only changed recently, a little bit.

The Fruit of Eden

cometh the hour, cometh the man

my unsung hero, V V S Laxman

return of the pun'gent

Dravidian beauty of State College, PA

Penn Azhagi

of comatose elements

It was time to head back home after a near grueling day at work.

Music, particularly Indian film music for me, lends itself to various interpretations and recollections in a different light (no pun intended) at different time points, moods, frames of mind and milieus. More often than not, top notch US roads do help.

This time it was So Gaya Yeh Jahaan (N Chandra's Tezaab 1988).

Alka Yagnik's chubby voice dipped in milk, and honey helped Madhuri Dixit pine; Shabbir Kumar's vocal chords seemed as if they were perennially stretched to the limit allowing gusts of air to go in, go out, go in, go out (imagine Alif Laila, Alif Laila, Alif Laila) helping Anil Kapoor reminisce; Laxmikant-Pyarelal, taking a detour from their heavy duty arrangements deeply rooted in India and Indianness, brought in a delightful rock star orchestration with a nice backup vocal chorus .

Of course, the star of the song, Nitin Mukhesh. I can only imagine a wood pecker at work going about what it does best when I think of the nasal Nitin Mukhesh on this track. Man, Chunkey Pandey couldn't have asked for more!

Could I be ported back to my naive '80s?

Kissa KJo Ka

Rare hopping across Twitter eventually led me to one of the more refreshing one-on-ones in recent times. Now there are interviews and then there are interviews. If you are unlucky you could chance upon utterly stifling, choking, diabetes inducing interviews that are dipped in the caramel of diplomacy. If you find my words cheesy, then you had better brace yourselves to the interviews I am talking about.

Now, ever since that monster called Kuch Kuch Hota Hai took the shine away in 1998 from Satya and Dil Se, two gems that I have held close to my heart, I have had problems with his cinema. Cinema mind you, not the person, which is what it should be. Slowly but surely his stature grew, and slowly but surely my hatred for his offerings travelled northwards. Nothing could stop him, it seemed, so much so that he and his cinema became a reference point and his brand worthy enough to be derided. We are dealing with India here.

But with time, I realized that here was a man who was comfortable in his skin, totally unapologetic about that, in a right way. While we winced, he seemed to maintain his composure and cool even when his orientation, sexuality which is no Tom, Dick and Harish's business, was tossed up and made an object of national debate and fodder for gossip mills by every Tom's Dick and Harish. He believed in his cinema, knew where his inspiration came from, knew who his idols were, made no bones about the fact that he craved being lapped up by the hoi polloi of Bihar as well as the hoity toity of Birmingham. Whether we took to his tales or not, whether we admired his craft or the lack thereof, his steel was respect worthy. Time and again he acknowledged his cinematic limitations, acknowledged what he could offer, and he could not be what others were. This is all when he needn't have! The TIMESNOW interview where he owns up to his follies, his supposed lack of vision or the ability to take risks makes you respect him a little bit more. You admire his honesty where he mentions there are far better filmmakers than him, whose work he cannot even dream to emulate. Isn't this coming out clean, when there is absolutely no need (keeping in mind your self-respect), heartwarming? Doesn't this make for good television at least from the standpoints of the interview, the interviewer, and the interviewee? Isn't it good when he dodges all those scathing barbs with a smile, unflustered stripping the interviewer of his pants confining all dirty linen to laundries or bedrooms? Doesn't this make it less synthetic, less plastic? Doesn't this make you purge out all that frustration has been bottled up courtesy other celebrities' pseudo-diplomacy, pseudo-chivalry on air into a sigh of relief?

Bring them on more. Whether we like it or not. So what if the honesty seems to be a little selective, so what if this is a pre-recorded programme.

For possessing balls apparently made of pure stainless steel, whether or not I take to or talk of your cinema, Karan Johar, respect!

Rare hopping across Twitter did eventually lead me to one of the more refreshing one-on-ones in recent times.