God Retires - Thank You Sachin

I had promised myself I wouldn't write a tribute to Sachin Tendulkar since the situation had become so much over-hyped and dramatic. But then here I am - I just can't stop myself.

We were the truthful owners of Sachin's legacy. From 1989 when I was six years old I knew Sachin and he was a part of my life growing up. He played for us and us only. All others came and went - Vinod Kambli, Inzamam, Brian Lara, the Waugh brothers, Ricky Ponting, Gilchrist, Kallis, Sehwag, Dravid, Ganguly - Sachin remained there for us.

No other player single-handedly raised the spirits of this nation like Sachin did. When Sachin got out we cursed and shed tears. We switched off the TV and went outside. Sachin's was the first poster I stuck inside my new cupboard. His batting was like a beacon of hope for a nation starved of heroes. During my teenage and youthful years when I struggled with my own demons, desperation and despondency, Sachin taught me not to give up hope. It is not about his statistics and records - it is about what he meant to each of us individually that made him great.

I remember the time when Sportstar published the poster of Sachin alone with the tagline - "The Indian Cricket Team". How I had to struggle to get a copy of that one.

Of course later things changed. Sehwag came, Dhoni came - Sachin's injuries and his change of style came. We too were growing up and our concentration turned to other things when it became evident that we were no Sachin Tendulkars and had no chance of making it to the national, state or even a district team. And no chance of landing huge advertisement deals either. We grew up into girls and politics. But still when we were engrossed in some thing else and someone said "Sachin is batting" we dropped everything and went back to watch him.

Once upon a time cricket was truly our religion and Sachin was truly our god. Today that God has retired. Perhaps an age has ended, not just for him and the cricketing world, but for me as well. Today perhaps I have finally realized I have grown up too. And its time for a new innings.

Thank you Sachin...

I bleed

I am a man. I bleed.  I have my periods regularly. Once in every thirty days or so, I bleed. Only that its not a natural thing. Every month I manage to get myself hit, hurt, cut, bruised or injured someway or the other. I walk into lampposts, crash the bike or atleast do something incredibly stupid like checking the sharpness of the new scissors by cutting my finger and finding out that it is indeed sharp – sharper than I thought. My head alone is a magnificent testimony to the fact that I bleed. The beautiful ‘Y’ above my left eyebrow which I got trying to play football (that is ten stitches), the small and graceful cut on the right forehead which I got from a falling hammer (please don’t ask how – but it got me three stitches) and plenty more. 

However this last month I did not have my bleeding. I got worried. I have missed my periods! Could something have happened? Some failure on my part? Did I forget something? I started to think it over and it got me more worried. I noticed I have been experiencing bad feelings in my body for the past month. Some ulcer-type boils, pains here and there. I really started to get anxious. I was pretty sure it was the bad blood. If only I would bleed. Or at least if I could donate some blood. It was last October that previously donated my blood. If I didn’t bleed soon something really bad was going to happen. I could feel it.

Then yesterday while I was standing outside my room, my friend came to me saying he had lost his room key. I promptly went with him to his room, took a stone, took aim at the lock on his door and brought the stone down in a huge swoosh – and smashed the little finger of my right hand. While the pain was great I ignored it and raised the stone a second time and noticed the stone was dripping blood. Then I realised it was not the stone but my little pinky that was bleeding. And I was so happy at the sight of it. I was bleeding! I am bleeding! Praise the Lord! I am ok. I am having my normal periods. There is nothing wrong with me. I am bleeding. I am perfectly ok. 

This morning I woke up feeling healthy – and a huge swollen little finger, of course. But I am happy. I am safe. At last it has been confirmed – I bleed! 

The Lap Question!

Me n Ben find each other in the internet late into the night. I’m pretty much still exploring my new laptop while he is chatting with his soon wife-to -be girl. The conversation runs somewhat like this:

Ben: thats the problem when you get a new lap or a new wife…

DS: hahaha

Ben: both never lets you sleep…

DS: wish one could replace the other

Ben: may you get your replacement soon… hopefully…

DS: ha! naah… i'm happy with the present one

Ben: but the question is… what you will take in your lap, when both are around…

DS: hehe… i hope the wife keeps the lap in her lap when she is sitting in my lap

Ben: and then comes the real question… who gets whose attention..

DS: hmm… if she's talking too much i'd like her to concentrate on THE lap rather than MY lap

Ben: either the way you won't be attending to any of it… the one in your lap or the one in the lap of
your lap..

DS: ahh the irony... better buy a lapdog

Adding Spice - Father’s Day Special

“When I was a boy of seventeen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in there years.” – Mark Twain

Like all children, the fondest memory of my dad in my childhood is of him shaving. Dad shaving was truly a scene of wonder for us – me and my sister. I used to watch in awe as he lathered the shaving cream in his face – an instant transformation into Santa Claus. And how I used to shriek in delight when he obliged by lathering up me too. Then amazement turned to wonder and concern as he took the blade and we watched open-mouthed as in quick, clean sweeps his stubble and the lather vanished. After his turn was over, he removed the blade and ‘shaved’ me too. Boy! Wasn't I so proud to shave like my dad. But the most enduring memory of this daily ritual was the lingering fragrance of the Old Spice aftershave. That was what truly announced the arrival of the new day – “OK new day, we have shaved – here we come!”

Again, like most children, the smell and bottle of Old Spice represented Dad for us. 

But once I entered college and shaving age, after the initial attempts I gave up shaving and took to trimming. I felt having unkempt stubble gave me better looks than being clean-shaven. It did wonders for my rebel look. And again, like most children, I grew distant from my Dad – the representative of the old bourgeoisie tyrant trying to oppress the voice of freedom and the hope of the new generation (me obviously).

Years passed. I entered my new job far away from home - one that required during training days to get up and shave first thing in the morning. We grumbled initially but gradually it became a habit. Whenever I went to the store or supermarket to buy aftershave I used to see the bottle of Old Spice – the same old bottle after all these years – and I would feel pangs of guilt. Of not having been a dutiful son. Of disobeying and rebelling against my dad. So I religiously avoided Old Spice. Firstly all my friends went for the next generation brands – Park Avenue, Axe – the ones whose ads showed chicks running after you.  So did I. Secondly I didn't think myself as good as my dad – not in shaving, not in anything. So I felt I was not worthy of using it – yet. When I saw it in the stands I felt like it belonged to my dad and so I avoided it. 

I finally came home after a long gap to my parents. I had used up my aftershave and so for a couple of days I just went without it. One dad my dad noticed and said – you can use mine if you want. It was a moment of pride for me. My dad was recognizing me as a grown up individual. The prodigal son had truly returned. I went to his bathroom and looked for the familiar Old Spice bottle. But instead, to my utter amazement, I found the Axe ‘Dark Temptation’ aftershave there! I was stunned into silence for a moment. And then I couldn't help smiling at this anti-climatic moment.

I came out with the bottle and asked Dad – Since when did you stop using Old Spice and turn to…uh the new brands? He smiled too as if he had been expecting this question and said – Since I knew you were returning. Besides I’d like some change and isn't this what you youngsters use now. I figured I’ll have to keep up-to-date with you, eh? And he went back to reading the newspaper. 

Happy Father’s Day dad. Everyone thinks their dad is the best. But only mine truly is. :)