The Musical Mistake
Disclaimer:
Dear reader,
This post is not to criticize you or your feelings or actions. It is just what I feel and what happened to me and I take complete responsibility of the transformations stated. You are no way responsible for this.

10 years ago
I opened the gates panting after a 3 hour non-stop play under the hot sun during 9th standard summer vacations. Being in Chennai, summer was hottest as compared to hot winters. As I neared the doorsteps I noticed more chappals than usual. I glanced at my watch – it was 5 PM. I wondered who these guests were. I could hear voices from inside – my mom’s being the loudest as usual with her excitement pouring out as if she’s met some old family friend after 30 years. And to my surprise, it was true. I strolled lazily into my house towards the drawing room where everyone was seated with all smiles ranging from ear to ear. “Adi, take a guess on who this is”, shouted my mom with full of enthusiasm. I stared with a blank face at them. There were 3 of them, 2 ladies and a guy – all of them definitely more than my age and looked like NRIs. I shook my head gently as I had no clue about their identity. “Don’t you know them? C’mon Adi”, asked my mom again. I scratched my head – my mom’s words sounded as though I couldn’t recognize Sachin Tendulkar sitting in front of me. “Think, think….”, continued my mom. “Was it a concept or a situation to think and arrive at a solution? Cant anyone understand that if I didn’t recognize a person there’s no concept of thinking on that?”, I murmured within my breath.
As I continued thinking indefinitely, one lady spoke out, “He was so small when we saw him at Ahmedabad. He wont be able to recognize us.” Ha.. at last they understand. My mom has a problem of overestimating my capabilities in a lot of ways, but lets not discuss that right now. At last they introduced themselves as my grandfather’s friends who resided in Ahmedabad when he used to work there. I greeted them and introduced myself. “Enjoying vacation is it?” asked another lady. “Yes, of course”, I replied immediately with a sense of laughter. My tiredness was still prevailing. After all I had been playing since 2 PM and who would not be tired by this time? I sat in a corner of the drawing room listening to their conversations when my brother arrived on the scene. He too, of course, had played long under the hot sun for hours and put up the same stare as I did some minutes earlier. But my mom was not to leave him as the same questions were posted to him too – poor thing he might not have even born when both our families last met. After an unsuccessful tremendous thinking from his side, he got introduced to them through my mom. He too was so tired after play and decided to sit beside me so that he could secretly tell me about his match. Though our heads were aching, thanks to the scorching sun, we looked as though we would fall down and sleep for 48 hours non-stop. Our eyes were half-closed with tiredness and we didn’t even bother to contribute to their conversation and resisted ourselves to remain awake at least till they left.
They continued their conversations bringing in stories more than 30 years old when suddenly from nowhere my grandma enthusiastically exclaimed. “Do you know? These 2 guys sing very well. They have been learning classical music for more than 5 years.” My brother and I looked at each other with scary faces. Oh no! Not again. We looked at our mom and gave a sharpened look. We knew where this was going to lead. “Oh, is it? Very nice.”, the lady started off. “We all love music and we hardly get a chance to listen to Indian classical music in the States. Why don’t you guys sing for us?” Both of us were drained out and here was a set of people who would love to hear us sing not bothering about the state which we are in. Of course we loved music, at least I did. Music was my world and I couldn’t do without it. But was that a situation to give a performance, do you think we were in a mood to perform?

Between 10 years ago and now

My brother shunned music and I was the only victim for all my relatives. They used to pester me for a song whenever we met and being a part of a huge family, such meetings are often. I used to oblige every time no matter in whatever mood I was - not want to hurt their requests. Sometimes I enjoyed singing, sometimes I hated it. It depended on my mood. Just like you cant taste a cup of tea immediately after tasting a chocolate, just like you cant go into the hot sun at 45 degree temperature immediately after being inside an air-conditioned room, just like you cant drink a cup of hot water after accidentally tasting a spicy chilli, getting into a singing mood is always tough unless you are already in it. My obligations and talent for singing spread like a woman keeping a secret and thus expectations were raised. Every time I met someone I had to sing – sometimes I was in mood and loved singing and sometimes I hated as I wouldn’t be in that mood although I obliged every time. Slowly and steadily an internal pressure started to build up and I started avoiding such request citing some reason or the other much to the surprise of many of my relatives and friends. I stopped practicing music and slowly my isolation with it became an easier excuse. Was it a mistake learning singing? Why does this happen to singers only? And why not to many other instrument players? Just because we carry our instrument along with us, why is it being exploited? Why cant requestors understand the comfort level of the singer and why do they pressurize them to sing? I know many people who have asked me – “Why do you need a mood to sing?” and this write-up is directed to such readers and not to criticize anyone. All these instances have made me avoid music although I wouldn’t love to do it; it has slowly made me feel – “Was it a mistake learning to sing?”

Future
I never know how music in me will grow or fade over time, but I would always love to be a singer and just keep singing, keep singing, keep singing………….

From gloves to bare hands

Cricket – a game termed as lazy by busy men around the world. Of course, it might be considered lazy for athletes who live on rapid sports like ice-hockey or table-tennis or badminton. In cricket, the ball rests for more time than being in play. Agreed. Cricketers require far less stamina than soccer stars. Right in some sense. So why doesn’t everyone become a master of cricket? Why isn’t Baichung Bhutia or Sharath Kamal or Saina Nehwal as popular as Sachin Tendulkar? Cricket has its own class, its own difficulty areas and creates its own fears in players. One such fear is “the fear of the cricket ball”.

Yes. The fear of the cricket ball might sound ridiculous for the ones who stay distant from the game, but more than three-fourths of the population who play the game in various streets and grounds and terraces and lanes in India cites that as a reason not to raise their game beyond playing with tennis balls. I remember being asked about my capabilities as a cricketer in the organization where I worked, before the captain nominated the playing squad. I, having the fear of the ball, told the captain that I was a wicket-keeper – knowing well that a wicket-keeper would have a pair of gloves to catch the ball with as compared to the other fielders who would need to painfully catch the ball with bare hands. I was fortunate to have been handed the gloves ever since and had no problems with fear having the big gloves to protect my hand. Of course, wicket-keeping had it own difficulties, but I was ready to take it as long as I didn’t touch the ball with bare hands.

Days passed and I continued as a wicket-keeper. Months passed as I moved away from cricket-ball cricket. Years passed and WCC enrolled itself into a cricket-ball tournament nominating me as the captain. Although I was initially assumed as the wicket-keeper, plans changed later on and I had to accept being a fielder. I had to throw away the gloves and go into the field with bare hands. I had to touch the hard ball with bare hands. I had to stop the fluent drives and pulls and cuts with bare hands. How painful would that be???? Oh my God!!!! I’d seen players getting hit on their palms and fingers and shouting in pain. I trembled with fear at that moment. I touched my hands – it was so soft. I had to make it harder. I had to practice harder. I had to catch harder. Even with all these fears, I had to set an example to my team. What more, I had to stand at slips, supposedly the toughest position with bare hands. I’ve seen balls flying over to the slip region, the place where most players get hurt on their fingers and palms. How am I going to catch with bare hands????

WCCs 2nd match - and I was watching the batsman’s blade with full concentration from 1st slip. I had to keep focusing even as the batsman moved his bat to complete a stroke. The ball hit the edge and that was the moment for me to react. Having dropped a couple of catches at slip previous match I had to make it a point to hold on to anything and everything that came my way. I had only a fraction of a second to react to that edge as the ball came flying towards me. I lost the track of the ball as it left the bat’s blade but my concentration converged my eyesight back to the ball that was now already only a couple of feet closer to me at chest height. I raised my hands towards the right side of my chest and the ball pouched in safely there. Ha…. What a moment!!!! The fear of the ball against bare hands was thus eliminated.

The Birthday Special

I have always fancied and expected the nearing of end of July. A clear guess would be due to the climate change as the monsoon slowly shows its head in this part of the country, though not full-fledged. But my excitement at this time of the year is always different. It is so special for me – yes it draws me closer to my birthday.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve enjoyed birthdays. I enjoy them even now – yes, even after marriage and even after having a kid. Unlike typical dads who ignore the enthusiasm associated with their own birthdays to concentrate on their kids’, I will never be willing to shed mine. People around me make it so memorable that I relished every birthday of mine till date. One dearest friend of mine starts wishing me in advance from a month before and is very particular that she is always the first person to wish me right at the stroke of midnight and that too with her trademark “Happy Birthday” song, until she accepted to give away that privilege to my sweetheart wife later on. I bet she still wishes that she be the first.
As a kid studying 2nd grade, I distinctly remember one of my birthdays in school where I loaded my backpack with a packet full of chocolates easily more than twice my class strength. When the teacher asked me how many chocolates I was willing to give each student, I said, “One” with almost no hesitation. Was it a weakness with Maths? Or with my chocoholic attitude? – I don’t know. I was just another kid who loved to swim on chocolates. No prizes for guessing what happened after that – I ate chocolates for lunch and for snacks too – I finished the excess happily all alone before I reached home. Guess what – I was down with stomach germs for the next few days.
The birthday I will remember the most is when I turned 25. 2 years into marriage and being acquainted for more than 6 years with my wife, I thought it was just another wonderful birthday ahead. With wishes flowing in since midnight, I was already into a dream as to what my wife would gift me – as though I gift her something for all her birthdays. Let’s forget about that for now. My wife was carrying and she had no opportunity to go out for any purchase and I wondered how she would be able to get me something. I convinced myself that nothing would come from her this time – poor thing. As the day progressed I got many more wishes from all my friends world-wide and was happily enjoying my time, till my wife called me into our bedroom and slowly dragged out a greeting card from between her stuff with a gentle smile on her face. Of course she had to be appreciated for somehow arranging this in spite of her restrictions. I was touched – touched deeply. I went close and hugged her with a ‘thank you’. The card was awesome, the words melted my heart. It was one of the beautiful moments of life – one of the beautiful birthdays I have ever had. I read the card again and again and loved it so much. I again hugged her – for a longer time now. Hours passed and I was still touched by her lovely gift until she came to me with a sarcastic smile and said, “This was the card I gave you on your last birthday!!!” I was stunned. :)

An experience with GOD...

On a hot Saturday in Chennai in early 2008, I was sitting alongside my mates cramped up on an uncomfortable plastic chair, focussing on the green floored area just in front of me that had a white rectangular strip at its center with timbers at either ends. Numerous advertisement boards were enclosing the area that was open to sky from the top. Close to 15 people on white clothing were spread across the landscape with more people converging towards the centre - where most of the action was taking place.

My mind was regretting the fact that the location was void of my presence the earlier day, a dreadful day for most of them who were currently positioned on the ground. Most of them must have lost their hearing senses upon the unanimous vociferation of more than many thousand local voices on the previous day. I had come in search of divinity, to quench my thirst on the religion I follow, to take a distant glance on the one and only GOD of my religion - a living GOD.

The red cherry, looking bright and shiny, was ready for yet another sling onto the surface. Only god knew if it was destined for further beating. If it could talk, it would have helplessly surrendered falling on Sehwag's feet - knowing the treatment its predecessor received throughout the previous day. But this cherry had an inborn luck, probably due to the goodwill it gained during past births, a blessing more than what I had - to physically reach closer to GOD. The black handed man gripped the cherry tightly and danced towards one end of the rectangular strip from the greenish turf, most definitely with a vigor on the face and purpose in the mind. It pitched and bounced and drifted in a jet high speed. The sleeping part of the willow on Sehwag's hands woke up, took a beating for probably the first time in the match and misdirected the cherry to slip's safe hands. Out went the devotee and in came ..................

All heads turned to one door towards the pavilion end and all throats were rehersing to render the scream of their lifetime. And so did mine. A little tiny figure walked out of the room, dressed in white, heads down with a willow in hand and probably with his ears plugged already. The inanimate willow was probably one of the luckiest of all - to have been taken care by god himself in his close proximities. It was probably more luckier than I. The head slowly went to look up at the sky - silently offering prayers to the creator of GOD. By the time, the stadium went berserk, with all throats putting up a tremendous live show, all eyes concentrating on the one and only GOD of cricket and all other organs deep into their worshipping mode till the little master took centre stage to take guard. The GOD in him will remain immortal, the worships will never end, and his soul will last forever.

I follow Sachinism.

A fisherman's exit and a team's decline

A man goes to fish. The management takes it as an opportunity to throw him away from the Ashes.

Cricket Australia is going nowhere. Compared to the time when the team was ruling the world in all possible formats and departments, it has declined in its process right from team selection to performance. With aging players quitting the team time and again proactively, the team hasn't got the right combination for more than a year.

Coming back to the fisherman. The entire cricket eternity knows his contribution in the recently concluded IPL in South Africa. The Ashes team selection was made when he was pulling his team back on track after a series of defeats midway up the tournament. Critics might argue about the fact that T20 is a different ball game compared to a test match - but people should always remember that he was a good test player and has made more than handy contributions with bat, ball and in the field. Moreover, his confidence was tremendous when he played his part in the IPL and that would have reflected in the Ashes as well. He is usually the man of crisis for them, batting at #5 or #6 and more often a partnership breaker with the ball. He might have a problem in holding his weightless tongue, as it was evident in Harbhajan's case and also during the IPL 2009 finals where. God only knew why he wanted to poke his nose into Manish Pandey and Van der Merwe. But he was instrumental in turning the match in favour of his side by scalping 2 successive wickets of 2 very good batsmen. His inclusion into the side would have been important for the Aussies to retain the Ashes considering the fact that England are playing at home this time and are grooming up to be a good test side even during tough times for a few of their members.

Another reason to blame Cricket Australia is their adamant behaviour in rejecting Nathan Bracken for formats outside ODIs. As a dedicated Indian fan, I would love not to see him as an opponent, but as a cricket thinker, I disagree with the logic behind such decisions. Its been a pity that the team has declined so badly since winning the 2007 WC in the West Indies and other teams like India and South Africa are waiting to stamp on their head to occupy the top spot.

Come T20, I wont be surprised even if Australia, placed alongside Sri Lanka and West Indies in the group of death, doesn't catch up with a super 8 spot. At least such shocks will inject some thought into the management to come up with a more balance side looking into the future. They will definitely be a team to watch out for, but in the negative sense.

Aditya.

Dream-Girl

I looked at her from a distance. There was a mob around her. It looked like everyone was waiting to see her as soon as she came out. She looked amazingly beautiful and the instant I saw her I knew she was mine. It looked like the so-called “God” pulled her to be with me. I looked around to check if my wife was watching. She was nowhere to be seen. Ha!! What a relief!!!!

“How do I close in on her? Will she accept me? How do I plunge in through the mob and capture her attention?” All these thoughts ran through my mind in a flash. She looked as though she was loved by everyone. Everybody wanted to surround her. Possessiveness could have crept in within me, but it did not – I didn’t know why. Was it because I was confident enough that she will love me the most? I didn’t know. And I never bothered. I just loved her at first sight. What a heavenly feeling it was!!!!

My wife was still nowhere to be seen. I took few steps forward to get close to the dream girl – she looked gorgeous with minimal attire. Someone took her to a different room and I quietly followed. I wasn’t allowed inside the room and I preferred to peek in through the window waiting for her to get back. I dreamt of the life I’ll be living with her. I felt chilled. Was this the happiest moment of my life? I didn’t know. It was one of the days that filled a lot of emotion within me. Almost immediately, I called up my best buddy to tell him about what I saw and how I felt. He too felt happy for me and I was thrilled. All the while I was thinking of her and I suddenly wanted to meet my wife. What do I tell her? How will she react? Where was she? I went in search for her. Where do I start? Was I right carrying this emotion? Will my wife feel cheated? She’s been my love so far, been through my ups and downs, happiness and worries, crests and troughs. We’ve spent several years’ together right from our college days. How much struggle it’d taken for us to get ourselves married to each other. And now what’s gonna happen? Is everything gonna get spoilt?

I didn’t bother about the past as I kept searching for my wife. She’s been my best friend so far and I never wanted to resist sharing this with her. I saw her finally resting alone. She definitely deserved some rest then. I went across to her looking into her eyes. My heart missed a beat….. I held her hands and slightly caressed her forehead. We kept looking though each other’s eyes and they communicated our thoughts. I smiled gently. We understood what our eyes said to each other – “it is a baby girl”!!!!

Prologue:

Saturday, Dec 13^th 2008, MAC Stadium, Chepauk, Chennai

“This is going to be another draw”, I thought. “Yet another draw in Chennai this year.” That was the 3^rd day of the 1^st Test match between India and England. We got 4 tickets to watch the match from the F-stand, the same place from where I witnessed an India vs West Indies ODI about 2 years ago. That was a wonderful experience and I hoped this would also be something memorable. With both Kartik and Murali for company, I had decided to unwind over the weekend at Chepauk. However, the blast of terrorism in Mumbai, the original venue for this test match, a couple of weeks back was a blessing in disguise for Chennai – although what happened in Mumbai shook the entire country. With India failing to overtake England’s 1^st innings score, the English were truly on the driver’s seat with a decent start to their 2^nd innings and looked to win this match against all odds – although I was convinced with myself that this would be a draw.

Sunday, Dec 14^th 2008, MAC Stadium, Chepauk, Chennai – 9:30 AM

The same stand, the same seats, the same people for company and with the same opinion, the Englishmen started the day with a very solid opening session. Strauss and Collingwood chose to remain unbeaten while the Indian bowlers showed no signs of picking up a wicket. At lunch, I was genuinely convinced that this would be a definite draw. Chappathi and the tasty side-dish for lunch were the only satisfactory elements till then. Something more satisfactory that happened after lunch was the Indian bowling, especially Zaheer and Ishant, who bowled with accuracy and purpose with support from other bowlers as well – restricted England to only 57 runs in the entire session. When all of us went for tea still carrying the same opinion on the result of the match with another serene session in hand, little did anyone realize that there was a person who thought a bit more that could cause a shock of life to the newly emerged English captain – Keven Pietersen.

A deep regret full of happiness

Monday, Dec 15^th 2008, Home – Early Morning

“Should I go to work or shouldn’t I?” My mind vacillated from minute to minute, from office to Chepauk, from profession to passion, from work to cricket. My companions encouraged me to join them to the stadium – my cricketing God would walk into bat, provided we lose at least a wicket today. And especially after the mighty Viru gave a blistering start to the 4^th innings – little did anyone on this planet realize that 387 would be chasable on a tearing 4^th & 5^th day pitch. That innings of Viru was an innings of life, an innings of punch, an innings of demolition. No cricketer would have ever thought that a 5 day game could be decided in an hour – a decisive hour. For the first time in the last 2 days, we all saw the Barmy Army losing out their voice on the F-stand – being surrounded by Indian cricket fanatics cheering a “Bharat mata ki Jai” against their fluently composed cheer song. That innings of 83 from 68 balls was ultimately the decider between the 2 teams.

As I stepped out of my house, I pondered. I tried to avoid office that day, but wasn’t convinced. Against the wishes of my mates and desire, I headed straight to office – physically to office, but travelling mentally to MAC stadium. A satisfactory part was that I could keep track of the scorecard at office – thanks to internet and technology; I adore it for this part. At around 8:30, my brother teased me with the happenings at the practice sessions with Sachin playing around with Harbhajan’s shoes. Even at that moment I had the option of leaving office and plunge into the stadium, but I didn’t. Not that I was so dedicated to work, just that I was uncomfortable having to provide explanations to my senior officials. I was too tempted to do it, but I didn’t. It wasn’t too late to change decisions, but I didn’t. I was to later regret this decision all through my life.

At 9:30 sharp, I opened the scoreboard at my system – to get updates from the online commentary that gets refreshed just adjacent to the scorecard which read Gambhir (batting) and Dravid (batting). India still needed 256 runs on the final day with 9 wickets in hand and against a very good English bowling attack that contained 5 specialist bowlers who had the capacity to rip through the batting order. After a few refreshes, when Dravid nicked a Flintoff delivery to Prior who safely pouched it my thoughts went back to Peter Reubok who once said – There is a hush around the stadium when 2^nd Indian wicket falls when India plays at home, not to dishonor the exiting batsman, but for his replacement. I could imagine the situation around the ground at that moment and the fact that there wouldn’t be a single soul keeping his throat shut till the master takes guard. I’m never superstitious, but am forced to only when Sachin is batting. I never know why, I’ve always wanted him to perform all the time, like the other millions of Indians.

He started with his trademark flick, capturing 2 runs; giving signs of a good start. Sunil gave me confidence saying that Sachin always performs well when he starts off with a flick. Was that his superstition? I don’t know, but I felt confident, my pressure dropped down to normal. Every time I refreshed the scorecard, I felt nervous. Slowly and steadily, his innings progressed, with some good applied strokes and a few ones with his own class as I could read out the commentary updates. Two of his partners fell on either side of lunch, but THIS MAN was determined to stay there – challenging himself to erase the ghostly memories of the Pakistan chase almost a decade back. His new partner now was Yuvraj Singh who had just replaced Ganguly in the test squad and was determined to do well to keep his spot in the test side. The Indians, unlike the English, slowly and steadily scored at a good rate and came closer and closer to the target. The chief anchor of the innings was the master himself – anchoring the innings altogether and anchoring Yuvraj to stop improving his English language upon conversation with Flintoff. Every minute and every second was a joy to see - the master progressing towards his 41st century and India progressing towards the record target of 387. Along with the joy, emotions started building up - as always when he scores a century. This time it was his match, his own match, his own script that could lead India to a mighty victory. India came closer and closer to the target and he came closer and closer to yet another milestone. We even discussed how great it will be if he scores a boundary from 99 to seal India’s victory. At one stage, we were all sure that we were going to win it, but we all wanted the master himself to take us home. He crept towards his century and suddenly leapt ahead with a couple of boundaries to take him to 96. With few crosses between the wickets, he touched 99. Having been dismissed several times in the nervous 90s, we were still waiting for the century to get completed. Swann bowled a length delivery that turned a touch more than what the master thought. It was lucky that it did not kiss the stumps after deflecting from his glove. The next ball was paddled away fine – and the leap said it all. The boundary sealed India’s record victory and incidentally the master’s 41st century. I was in office till then, trying to control my tears of emotion. My mates had the leisure of expressing it at the stadium. What a victory it was – and what a way to end the match. It was the finest display of master class, not only by the master himself, but by the entire Indian team. This was a day to remember and rejoice - and of course to celebrate forever, forever, forever.

Epilogue:

Monday, Dec 15^th 2008, Mugil Soup Shop – Late evening

Having expressed our emotions about the day as soon as I got down from my bus, we went to celebrate the day with a soup for ourselves. “How good will it be to celebrate this day every year?” All 4 of us vowed to celebrate this day every year. “And why don’t we record this day?”, suggested Kartik. And that’s how one of the most memorable days of my life came into books. What a wonderful day it was, filled with emotions and happiness – still with a deep regret within me that will last till my last breath.

"After 20 years of an untiring career filled with aggression, emotion, leadership, respect, character and modesty - when the critics continue writing him off after every innings - the majestic little master brings tears to our eyes when he looks up to the heavenly abode with his 41st century - to keep us reminded that he is indeed our 'GOD'. I follow Sachinism."