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Paean To The Best Champion I’ve Known

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Trying to keep pace...

“In an era of specialists, you’re either a clay court specialist, a grass court specialist, or a hard court specialist…or you’re Roger Federer.” - Jimmy Connors

For me Roger Federer isn’t just two words, it isn’t just a name either. It defines the perfect sportsman, a gentleman, exemplary class and above all a good human being. He has been an inspiration to millions like me and yesterday, despite succumbing to a shocking reversal, yet again displayed absolute humility – this time in defeat.

He started with two sublime sets and was looking good to stroll into the semis, playing shots that only he can play and boasting a first serve percentage in the 80s. Sun was then shining bright on centre court and Tsonga seemed to have no answer for either the tie breaker or the 16 time champion.

But something changed drastically in the third. As I saw it (and maybe felt), Federer got a bit complacent. Some of his shots were almost nonchalant, and his break happened in a game where he was ahead on all points, yet managed to lose as if he cared a damn. Now not for a moment I mean to play down Tsonga’s brilliant game, but in the third set, Federer definitely wasn’t there mentally.

We all know what followed, and at the end of over three hours, the Swiss genius walked into yet another sunset out of the green courts. Sunset of his career maybe? Well that’s stretching it a little too far, as the great man himself refused to concede, commenting “I don’t think so, it wasn’t a shocker, a second-round loss in straight sets, some stupid match I played. It was a great match, I think, from both sides. I really did play well and I also thought Jo played an amazing match, as good as I have seen him play for such a long time. You can only respect that. That is why there is no reason to look too far ahead.”

But for his legion of fans and the ever hungry media, there will be speculations. After-all we are not accustomed to contemplating almost two whole barren seasons (Grand Slam-wise) for the maestro.  Yes there is the US Open to come, but any die-hard Federer fan always wants to see him win at SW19 and equal Pete Sampras’ record of seven Wimbledon titles. What probably hurt most about this defeat is not that he dropped out of another Grand Slam, nor that his dream to match Sampras is put on hold for another year, but that he went down playing such tasteless tennis in the end.

I won’t deny that time has caught up with him (neither does he I think). First it was only Nadal, but recently its been Del Potro, Tomas Berdych, Novak Djokovic and now Jo Wilfried Tsonga. For sure that aura of invincibility that lasted from 2003-07 was over with the onset of Nadal, yet he still had the sting in his shots. That is sadly disappearing with every passing day, and as a ripple effect the fear in the minds of his competitors is slowly being replaced by a belief – a confidence that the Swiss Maestro can be beaten, on his turf.

History has already provided us with such a rough patch in the past; when chasing his 14th Grand Slam title proved to be emotionally too demanding for Roger. It all came out (very publicly) in a burst of tears at the 2009 Australian Open ceremony, where the champion showed his humane side – and as the video below illustrates, a large part of the tennis world cried with him.

But we do know now, that he bounced back, got his 14th slam, got the Career slam, and today stands tallest among his sport with a tally of 16 Grand Slam titles, a feat unparalleled – yet. That gives me hope and a belief that he can go on to relive the glory days of the past, even if for a brief moment. Personally I would love for him to reach the unscaled 20 Grand Slams mark, but most of all would want him to win the seventh crown at the All England Club, probably the final entry left unchecked in his long list of records.

However even if that does not happen, even if he does not win any more slams, he shall forever be the classiest player I’ve seen take field – and not just in tennis, pretty much in any sport. He is human, he is humble, he is a pure champion, and some of his strokes could make you cry with joy. And when he does indeed finally walk into the sunset, he shall be a content man – one who is revered by millions, considered a legend in his sport, with two wonderful kids and a loving wife and richness beyond dreams.

To end I would just bring out the lines from an iconic poem by Rudyard Kipling. It adorns the walls of Wimbledon, and was once recited by the hallowed duo of Federer and Nadal. But most of all, these eight lines encapsulate for me, the spirit that is Roger Federer.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son!

ps: watch this just for fun (look at poor Nole dumbfounded)

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Great India Roadtrip: Day 15

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I finished the previous day’s report (a long time ago) on a note that this post would  have an interesting beginning. Well it will, as that is the way the 15th day of our trip began. I brought out in my earlier post,  that we were staying right across the Puri beach and this sparked some ideas in my brain. We had three of the best SUVs in India at our disposal, and not taking them for a ride on the beach seemed criminal.

So we woke up early and under my (not so able) aegis, drove the cars (sans the Innova ofcourse) on to the beachfront. Now since none of us were pros at this, we certainly drove with much trepidation, but then the supreme abilities of these vehicles, made it easier than expected. That encouraged much experimenting, with driving through shallow water and lots of shutter clicking.

Ya it was a bit stupid of us :P

Our antics had certainly attracted a sizable crowd, who were there as much for the cars, as to see the faces of the stupid people (or maybe celebs, it’s the same thing) fooling around with them. Our juvenile tendencies sated, we headed back towards dear tarmac, and this proved to be a different task altogether as it entailed driving over a small rise on the beach, which for added fun, had loose sand. Me being me, chose the LC200 and a different route from the rest two – well I am always hat ke from the rest you see.

Little did I realise that while I was indeed avoiding loose sand, I was also heading bang into populated territory and with an attractive brute, it only meant people blocking my progress to get a better view. Now anyone who has ever experienced or heard of driving on sand knows that momentum is critical, and once that is lost it does not take long for the car to sink into the soft surface. And I was maneuvering nearly a 3 tonne monster at that.

Bam! Tyres hugged the sand, threw up most of it as they spun, and all the electro-mechanic wizardry of the Toyota could not get it to move an inch. This  seemed to press all the panic buttons in my brain, all at once. Various worst case scenarios started floating in my mind. We will have to call a crane and I’ll embarrass everyone, the expedition would  come to a stupid halt etc etc. Thankfully it did not come to that as the people were extremely helpful – after being offered Rs 1000 for their services. A couple of heaves, followed with an unblocked way ahead, and the LC literally breezed out of the seemingly insurmountable terrain.

We were later told that such off-roaders on the beach are nothing new for the locals, and they were not attracted by any inquisitiveness, but very cunningly  cornered the one away from the pack, to precisely block and get it stuck and make an easy buck! So much to their entrepreneurial abilities then, but I was mighty relieved to make it out of the sticky situation.

Normalcy restored, we continued on our journey towards Vishakapatnam, though before that we had a brief lunch halt at INS Chilka. This Naval Base is the basic training organisation of all the enlisted men joining the Indian Navy, and hence holds a major significance. Situated on the banks of the world’s second largest lagoon – from which it gets its name – it is a picturesque base and one full of surprises.

Sadly we landed on a Sunday afternoon, meaning we were far from the daily hustle bustle, with most people preferring a quiet siesta indoors away from the stifling heat (yes even during November). So we limited ourselves to some photography at the lovely watermanship training center of the base, with its views of Lake Chilka spreading out till the unseen, masquerading as the mighty ocean, only to be betrayed by its calm visage.

Roads in Orissa are nothing much to write about, and not fun to drive on either. Firstly there are no carriageways to let loose, neither the kind of twists to keep one involved, and the incessant cattle traffic is a sore to the eye and steering. Entering Andhra Pradesh then provided for a welcome change. One could notice the stark difference in the countryside which was much lusher despite being pretty much in the same environment.

Paddy fields stretched till far and there seemed to be a purpose about the place. This is one of the many disputed areas in our country with the battle on for the formation of a new Telangana from within the existing state, with Vishakapatnam as its capital. Thankfully we did not get any hint of trouble during our passage and infact it turned out to be a soothing last few hours before we entered the “city of destiny” – as the locals choose to call the coastal city of Vishakapatnam.

That may be a grand euphemism for what is a pretty regular port city, and I prefer to stick to the nickname Vizag. Nevertheless I had served here for close to two years during my first appointment on a warship, and it indeed brought back many memories. Not much had changed since I had left, either in the manic traffic culture, or the quaint “Beach Road” that’s a shining example of how a beach front should be developed and maintained.

The best part though was yet to come. We checked into Green Park, a hotel close to the beach, and might I say that among all the varied places we bunked during our trip (from the grand to the bare-bones), I never experienced the kind of personal touch and true Indian hospitality as this place. It was just perfect, from the food to the staff, with everyone attempting to make our stay that bit special. I know it’s not among the famed chain of hotels, but if any of you happen to visit Vizag, I would recommend this place with eyes closed.

We were being hosted by the Admiral Superintendent the next day and that meant some smart military turn out and a chance to meet old friends and colleagues after long. Vizag is home to the Eastern Fleet and probably the most important city after Bombay in context to our Naval might. Right from the best in gas turbine technology to the latest and meanest nuclear submarine, all find home here.

But the high point for the day was a drive up Dolphin’s cove. This place was still coming up when I was here last, and to see it near completion was a sight in itself. It’s on top of Dolphin hill that stands like a sentinel over the vast blue sea stretching till infinity – needless to say then that the visuals here are purely breathtaking. To add to my pleasure, the route is a spaghetti of tarmac draped across the mountain, curving its way towards the top – and on to automotive nirvana.

Evening was reserved to catching up with old friends in an unofficial atmosphere and taking the Landie for a spin on beach road with all embarked. Overall one of the best two days in the trip (definitely since Delhi) and a very rejuvenating halt. Next we headed to Chennai, covering the most kilometers in a day during our entire trip. But indications were that the road would be nice and scenic, so we were geared up for it.

I know this was long, but trust me I had to really trim it down. Mostly as the stay was nostalgic and the drive was proving the most enjoyable yet with the new crew being the most fun by a long way compared to the others. And this proved to be a precursor to the remaining leg, which only continued to get better. But that’s for future posts. So till next time adios and drive safe :)

Classy Copenhagen

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Copenhagen, the first thing that probably comes to your mind on hearing this name is the Climate Conference that was held here and caught worldwide attention. Sadly my trip was before these series of meets and otherwise too my knowledge of recent events falls far short than my knowledge of history (or maybe even the future). Anyways for me it was a convenient halt in my journey from Amsterdam to Gothenburg.

But having been there, I can perfectly understand why the city was chosen for a Global Climate Council. I’ve been to a few cities in my brief lifespan, and while they might just be a sprinkling of the wide world, I’m yet to see a city closer to nature than the Danish capital. Notice the word capital, cause one would never associate greenery and bonhomie with nature in ruthless, pragmatic and self-important capital cities. All that nature humdrum is better left to second rate cities, so that they have something to talk about. National capitals have much more important things like economy and governance to focus on, rather than the irritating and trifling issue of environment conservation.

Anyways, as I boarded the train from Amsterdam, which was supposed to be an overnight journey through Germany, I found that the 6 people compartment was just having me and two others (what inefficiency I say, would never happen in India). So I had to kill time with two pretty girls from Norway and US (needless to say who was more interesting). Both incidentally were backpacking too and it was great fun to exchange notes – isn’t this the best part of travelling, meeting random people and learning from them, its just what makes the whole experience unforgettable.

Since we were just the three of us, the Norwegian came up with a suggestion for two of us sleep on the bench chairs (these trains don’t have bunks like back home, they have padded benches as in a day train/local) while the third sleeps on the floor. Now I was a bit ambivalent as naturally I would have to be chivalrous enough to take the floor. But to my surprise the Norwegian insisted as she found the benches too uncomfortable! These Europeans I say. Good banter apart, I was also fortunate enough to share some great Norwegain (sort of) pancakes, which – might I say – were quite strange yet yummy.

15 deg on a summer afternoon!!!

Disembarking bleary eyed in Copenhagen I was immediately hit by the cold. I mean it was summers then and was pretty sure this was far cooler than any Mumbai winter I had known. The next thing to hit me (as I got out of the train station) was the number of cyclists. For a moment I thought I’ve travelled back in time as there were hardly any motorised vehicles to be seen. Thankfully though I could find some oil burning contraption in this nature hugging city to ferry me till my hostel.

Now everyone had warned me about the exorbitant prices in Scandinavia. But no one mentioned extortion. I got to experience this first hand as my hostel (which had already charged me a fortune to bunk my a**), asked me to pay extra for bedding. “Go to hell” was my initial reaction, which thankfully I managed to subdue just in time, and refused the accessories as I was carrying a sleeping bag with me. “No” was the stern reply as “guests are not allowed to use their personal bedding due to health concerns.” Being the principled person I am (???), I refused to bow to what I felt was plain extortion, and hence thought of declining the bedding altogether. But just in time a gust of cold breeze blew all my principles away with it, and I grudgingly swiped my card, succumbing to the corporate fleecing, not for the last time.

Citybike - absolute bliss :)

But soon I was to see the good side of the city. As I picked a few fliers and sat down to plan my day (with a wonderful cup of coffee), I found the the city council provides free bicycles (with an accurate map) for tourists to explore the city (not restricted to tourists, but locals have other options). The concept is that you walk to any of the several bike ATMs (my word, not the official jargon) and deposit a 20 kroner coin to unlock a bike. Thereafter you can use it for as long as you desire (within city limits ofcourse), and having finished you lock it back at the nearest ATM anywhere in the city, and out pops a 20 kroner (well not the same coin you deposited ofcourse).

Ironically it is the same corporate culture that I have vilified above, that supports this concept. The bikes are illustrated with ads, and the benefiting company in turn pays for the machine and its maintenance. It’s just such a beautiful concept, one step ahead of even the Paris Velo programme (which in itself is brilliant). To be able to explore a city on the sedate pace of a bike is far better than zooming from monument to monument in any public transport (I need not point out the extra cheese it helps you burn out).

I would point out though, that the comfortable (slightly chilly infact) climate and the small size of the capital do act as major advantages to make this concept a success. And the city does it’s bit by having one of the most organised bicycle traffic management system in the world. Amsterdam is generally more famous as the city of bikes (supposedly having more bikes than people), but there one is perennially under the terror of being run over by one. There are too many of them, going too fast and mostly with the singular aim of maiming an unsuspecting tourist. I have a strong feeling they have some sort of national league in Amsterdam wherein locals gather points for terrorising tourists by their bikes. Bonus points ofcourse if you run someone over.

Copenhagen has well defined, wide cyclists-only lanes, with their own dedicated traffic lights. And this is not on the sidewalks or for side roads, it runs all across, including all major intersections. Cycling in the city then, was THE experience for me, and I can’t wait for the day I would be able to do that in amchi Mumbai (in the so called winters atleast).

 

 

 

For all interested, yes I did visit (insanely popular) The Little Mermaid overlooking Copenhagen’s breathtaking harbour. Having read so much about it, in reality I was a bit let down. It’s really tiny and has a queer expression which is somewhere between bored and waiting (or do the two go hand in hand). But that’s understandable considering how long the poor thing has been sitting there watching ships sail in and out.

Copenhagen harbour incidentally is one of the very few in the world, whose waters are clean enough to swim. And not some small isolated corner, but a huge area literally metres away from the shipping channel. One can see lots of crazy Danes jumping in the harbour water and making merry. Quite a shocker for me, as our Navy divers think twice before jumping in to inspect a ship (and then come out looking right off the sets of an Indian Jones movie having finished the slush fight scene).

The visual treat does not end with the crystal waters though, and soon the visage changes to a lush green treat. Now I’ve seen beautiful and massive parks in cities (Munich’s vast and famous Englischer Garten comes to mind), but Copenhagen I felt is an average sized city – in a huge park. Everywhere I went I could see vast flowing greenlands, or tree lined boulevards. Water so crystal, you could drink, and no sign of any human caused pollution (is there any other kind). But I did have one serious (unanswered) question – don’t they not produce ANY garbage!

As I explored, I walked into their maritime academy – which was a shocker in itself, cause in any other part of the world I would not be allowed within light-years of it, and would be kept off bounds with multiple rings of perimeter fencing. Instead here I walked right in and enjoyed watching two academy teams play football (albeit guarded by an armed soldier). I also strolled near their barracks which were in the middle of achingly beautiful rippling green fields, adorned with windmills and little memorials. And it just wasn’t me, there were several other people jogging, cycling, reading; and all this at 4pm!!! back home I (and most) take a tea break at that time, preparing for another 2-3 hours of work.

 

 

 

 

 

The only blot (if I may use the rough term) that I found was the Tivoli entertainment park. Garish, noisy and totally out of place. It is extremely popular and must be great from the inside, but I hadn’t come this far to go into an amusement park, especially when there were much more interesting things to explore. Sadly I just had a day and needed to change after all the strenuous cycling. Reaching back I found a boisterous Brazilian in my dorm who had just arrived, also for the first time in the country.

We struck a conversation and I learnt she was on her way to Ibiza, to get drunk and party hard (as if Brazil is not good enough for that). So we thought of getting her a little practice and went to the local Hard Rock Cafe, which is unlike any other you would visit. It has an unmistakable European feel and most of the patrons prefer to sit on the sidewalk rather than the air-conditioned interiors. I do not remember much after that (I was tired you see), except that we had an amazing conversation and coupled with some great Danish beer (not Carlsberg though).

There is much much more to explore in the city, sadly I cannot bring it all out here – and frankly would not want to either. Safe to say that the day and half I spent there has left me hungry for more and if I were ever be given a chance to pick a city to live in, I would choose Copenhagen with my eyes closed. Don’t get me wrong, Paris is beautiful and a treat to visit, Rome is awe inspiring, London feels so alive, but if you wan to LIVE somewhere and enjoy your existence on Earth as god desired it to be, then Copenhagen is the closest that you can get to it.

Victoria Concordia Crescit

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I was very excited in anticipation for the last weekend. It promised much drinking with friends, music, travel and above all the day Arsenal finally broke their drought of trophies. So nothing then could be more painful when the two fate-full days disappointed in most respects (except for the drinking with friends part though, thank god for that!). The best maybe, was the nail-biting India-England match (and you know its sad when I’ve to quote a cricket match as the weekend’s high point).

Anyways let’s be focussed on the beautiful game here. It was termed to be the day when Arsene Wenger’s philosophy bore its first (albeit small) fruit. It was to be the culmination of endless hours spent by young stars such like Wilshere, Nasri and Van Persie, toiling towards perfect footballing finesse. And most importantly, it was when millions of Gunners worldwide would be rewarded for their patience and trust in everything the club stands for.

Fact they say is often stranger than fiction, and so it turned out in this case. The moment and fervent anticipation got a wee bit to the young players, ofcourse compounded by the absence of their mercurial captain. The Gunners then, never got into full flow, except for a brief period in the second half, and in the end succumbed to the kind of mistake they are always vilified for.

A mix up between the precocious goalkeeper and (relatively) experienced Koscielny led to the most embarrassing of goals, though that is lesser of the two evils considering how deflated it would have left the players. I do not need to repeat here the barrage of the world’s media on Wenger’s stubborn refusal to get a reliable keeper and his lackadaisical approach towards shoring his team’s defences.

While the above might be true (personally I don’t agree), but even if so, can anyone take away from us the mesmerising goal that was scored by Van Persie. Richard Williams called it one of the most beautiful goals ever scored in a Wembley final, and it indeed was quintessentially Arsenal. A fast flowing counter attack followed by a thundering strike from Wilshere which unfortunately bounced off the woodwork. Only to be collected by a fleet-footed Arshavin, and his cross was volleyed goal-bound by an acrobatic Van Persie.

But as always with Arsenal, it had to be bittersweet, and that acrobatic shot left Van Persie with a knock, which now rules him out of the Barca return tie in the Champions League. Strangely that is not what worries me. What does is the fact that while we are good enough to trouble excellent outfits like Barcelona and top teams in the League, we do still have that soft belly when facing stubborn physical teams that look for breaking our rhythm and blocking all entries to goal. In short we still find it hard to win ugly.

Also lacking is the impetus when the best are missing. I mean Rosicky is nowhere as good as he should be, Bendtner is an enigma to say the least, and that is not what you expect from your bench strength. Where is the hunger that was so innate in Viera and Henry. Bendtner seems almost casual about the way he carries himself on the pitch. As if the opponents would feel obliged and let him score.

But despite all this I still follow the club and would continue to do so forever. There are a million reasons for it, but if I’ve to point out only one, then it is that we don’t buy talent. We do it the hard way, by nurturing them and watching the sapling grow and finally bear fruit. And the world is proof that every time an Arsenal team walks out on the pitch, there is anticipation in the air. We know that things might turn pear-shaped, but with increasing frequency the team is mesmerising one and all, displaying pure, flowing and positive football.

Remember this....not long now :)

For all the detractors, let me point out that in the long history of English football, we still are the only ones alongwith Preston North End to have gone through an entire season undefeated. The invisible era might seem like a faded memory to all Manchester and Chelsea fans, but mind you it was the same manager who brought about it, and he can’t be taken lightly. This season I believe is the tipping point and that elusive trophy is certainly not far now (whatever the omens might be).

We are the Arsenal, and make no mistake, we are as hungry for trophies as all the rest. Victoria Concordia Crescit or “victory through harmony” that is the motto of Arsenal football club, and for sure the current managers believes in it to the hilt. If it takes a few more months for that motto, and the philosophy inspired by it to bear fruit, then so be it. We’ll wait Arsene, cause when it manifests, nothing would be sweeter.

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Goooooooaaaaaalllllllll!!!!!!!!!

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Umm no ma, we're not exactly searching for the ball....

WARNING: this post was typed after tasting the extract of a few finest and pleasant barley hops, so readers beware!

Last night as Arsenal battled Stoke somewhere on a little island, a strange thing happened in my little watering-hole-of-a-home. I was in the company of a few “non-football type” friends, one of whom happened to be born 29 years ago precisely on this day – or so he claims atleast (wonder how can he be so sure about it). Anyways, others too had had the good fortune of tasting the above mentioned delicacy, and were therefore quite vocal in putting across their dissent for my changing from VH1 to ESPN, but I doggedly ignored their boos.

Then, 8 minutes of captivating football (for me) or aimless kicking of a round object (for my friends) later, Sebastien Squillaci managed to test gravity more than others and (with the fine understanding of angles as of an astute mathematician) managed to divert the oncoming trajectory of the ball between two vertical poles. Fortunately for him, Stoke’s goalkeeper seemed to have skipped his school trigonometry lessons, and could do little to appreciate the line as the ball went past him into the forever waiting net.

This seemed to have triggered some juvenile switch in my mind – which off-late my friends say, is coming into action with increasing frequency – and turned me into a jumping, shouting and mentally unstable soul for the next minute or so. Now for the “strange” thing, suddenly all of my friends’ earlier hostility towards the broadcast seemed to have vanished, which come to think of it now, may also have been in concern for my suddenly deteriorating condition.

Everyone did focus on the repeat of the same magical skill, now being displayed in slow-mo, obviously to help people with slower understanding of the game. This was the moment I heard (and am sure the barley hops were not tricking my ears) a few ooohs and aaahs from these atheists. I agree that the goal in question was nothing which will go into the annals of sport, but it must be said that this moment of the “round thing” going past the ”white line” has some magic draped around it, which makes otherwise sane human beings turn into (at the very least) wide eyed statues or (at the other end of the spectrum) bring them closer to the antics of their long lost predecessors (read howling and chest thumping).

What is it – this GOAL thing – that so captivates our attention. To test my theory, I took a FIFA approved ball, painted a white line in my local joggers park and relentlessly repeated the process of push-the-round-thing-across-the-line. Sadly this seemed not to enthuse many, and those that were intrigued, left tut-tutting and pitying the state of my grey cells.

NOTE: the barley hop effect seems to have drained, so you can expect human text now!

So definitely it is not just the matter of crossing a line, there has to be something more to it. This something has been termed as the “magic of sport” by many while also vilified as our species’ innate barbaric tendency to glorify physical achievements. Whatever the truth may be, it cannot be denied that sport captivates our attention like nothing else.

We make gods out of mortals, cry with joy or sorrow and completely forget our own predicaments, just by witnessing action that is as remote to our life (in the literal sense) as a supernova exploding in another corner of the galaxy (the supernova mind you, still has the capability to bring our joyous moment to an abrupt and permanent halt). This then, ladies and gentlemen (and the aliens who are decoding this) is the intangible “spirit” all humans are born with.

Sport calls to us deep inside, and its not surprising considering its had time to hone that skill for the whole of our evolution period. If its not so, try explaining those goose bumps you got when Usain Bolt crossed yet another white line in 2008 (or is it really something about white lines??). Don’t take my barley hop influenced words for it. Mr Mandela in all his wide wisdom called to this spirit to astounding effect in apartheid infested South Africa. Tony Blair (ok I agree not the best of examples to quote, but whatever) recently said, “Sport has enduring qualities. It shows us how to participate in something that is bigger than ourselves. Sport brings people together; the self-wroth and self-belief that it teaches are values that can last a lifetime.”

So it did not matter if my friends followed the Gunners or not, nor the fact that Squillaci was as familiar to them as JJ Berzelius (provided the wiki link to help with your curiosity). They were nevertheless attracted almost subconsciously to ”that moment“ around which the sport rotates. For all non believers, tell me how many people have you seen queuing outside a TV retailer, watching the trailer of that long anticipated movie, and compare that with those you saw when Dhoni was pummelling the hapless Banglas.

I started this post by expressing surprise for the strange moment that froze my friends, but am only too pleased to state that moments such as these are here to stay – that is till that supernova finally decides to make a point about itself. Finally, to all those wondering what on Earth messed up my brain cells to make me type this nothing kind of an article, all I can say is, just seem to have done it lost in the “moment”.

 

Tribute to a True Champion

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Source: Unhindered by Talent

Well I was supposed to pen this last week (the day his retirement became official), but seriously, despite how much I’ve followed Lance, read and wrote about him, I was quite tied for words this time. I mean how do you describe a person – no a phenomenon – like Lance Armstrong. Nothing typed could remotely do justice and maybe its apt to say that as the legend walks into the sunset, it definitely is the end of an era.

That may be the lamest of cliches to describe the iconic sportsman (note I consciously do not use the word cyclist), but then for things that are difficult to be put into words, one ends up resorting to cliches. Am sure by now all of you know that on 16 Feb the American cyclist and seven times Tour de France winner decided to call it quits from competing in any more events (himself terming it Retirement 2.0).

His swansong was the Tour Down Under, an event which must hold some significance to him considering he chose it to launch his comeback three years ago. There was not to be any fairy tale ending as he finished a modest (or by his own high standards – below par) 67th overall. Surprisingly he hardly spoke to the eagerly waiting press, maybe a little overwhelmed by the occasion himself.

Much has been written and read about his bout with cancer, the dodged determination during treatment and miraculous recovery crowned by a place in sport’s hall of fame (and its no point me repeating that here). “Lance Armstrong’s story is the stuff of legends” it says on the back cover of his maiden book, and that probably is the best way to summarise the events in the riders life, especially in the last millennium. If a book can cause change in the world and touch people’s lives for the better, I am yet to find a more suitable one.

But more than anything else, more than the bestselling book, more than the multiple records he set, more than the fact that he single handily revived the sport of cycling, is his commitment to the Livestrong foundation. While its almost a fad nowadays for celebrities to patronise a charity or two, its hard to find anyone so involved with the process.

Lance is everywhere, organising events, participating in them, hell he even faced the wrath of Le Tour officials for changing his team’s jersey on the final day to bring attention to the fight against cancer. Maybe that is the reason I chose the pic above for this post and not one of several capturing his intense determination and steely resolve while tacking a monstrous Col or battling laws of physics during a time trial.

There will be those who will point to the several allegations against him and the ongoing investigation by the US Food and Drug Administration. All I got to say is till anyone’s got corroborative evidence, all is hot air. I mean there have been allegations galore in sports, more so in cycling, but the man’s never been found wanting in a test, and mind you he’s been at the receiving end of a million needles.

But proof or no proof, the fact remains that for his legion of fans and many more fighting patients, all this does not matter. They do not care about the minutiae being quoted by officials, they don’t give a damn for conspiracy theories, because for them Lance is a beacon of hope, he is the living proof of the President’s oft quoted line “Yes we can.”

For me personally, I owe him much to him for a very trying period in my life. No, I’m not a cancer survivor (thank god for that), but Lance did touch my life in a very special way and I can never for one forget the inspiration and resolve I got from him. There are sportsmen and then there are legends, and Lance fits the bill perfectly if there ever was one.

I may have got a bit emotional in the post, but it is such a moment. Not everyday do we get moments in sports that far surpass their circle of influence. And when the harbinger of such moments fades into history, there will always be a emptiness hard to fill. In the end, I’ll only quote what Lance said in his farewell interview “Never say never.” Well he clarified that it was in jest and not relating to any future comeback, but am sure his followers got the message clear – Never say never…..

Great India Road Trip

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It all started with an innocuous thought between a few of friends – Gaurav Sahai, Bibin Abraham and myself – sharing drinks sitting across the Arabian sea. Thinking of an apt way to commemorate the 275th anniversary of Naval Dockyard Mumbai, we thought of driving to all the major bases and command organisations of the Indian Navy. Well that plan extrapolated – and how!

The Naval Dockyard, Mumbai was established in 1735 to cater to the demands of the then nascent ship building industry of India. The Yard has since grown in leaps and bounds, serving the nation right from the two World Wars, to supporting the cutting edge warships and submarines today. It boasts of having built the oldest ship afloat presently, the HMS Trincomalee, and has the proud distinction of being the premium technical defence establishment and one of the oldest in the whole of Asia.

So, to commemorate the occasion in a befitting way (and in the bargain live a long cherished dream), our small team of four led by Commodore SK Tewari set about planning the road trip, which now aimed at encompassing a good deal of our vast country. The hunt for sponsors took us from dear old Maruti-Suzuki to the mighty Volkswagen group.

With mixed reactions from various manufacturers, we hit luck by getting in touch with Overdrive mag – the leading automobile print journal in the country. Team Overdrive were extremely positive in helping us organise this drive (with several other ideas in addition) and got us in touch with Toyota. The Japanese are world leaders in four-wheeler production and their enthusiasm and commitment shown towards our event left us in little doubt about the main partners for the expedition.

Toyota Landcruiser is a synonym with off-roading and the first image that comes to mind are white liveried UN vehicles thrashing across the battlegrounds of the middle east and Africa. So it was delight to know that the company were to provide us with the flagship LC200, Landcruiser Prado, Fortuner and Innova for the duration of the expedition.

Then started the hunt for fuel sponsors, and thankfully this was much easier, for the Navy is a major customer of the Indian Oil Corporation. The management at IOC were approached and consented to cater to the car’s thirst (which knowing the beasts, would be tremendous).

The toughest phase though was planning and finalising the route. Everyone had suggestions and pre-conceived notions. While some wanted to skip the desert in Rajasthan, others were not too keen to drive through some parts in the Bihar-Jharkand belt. Though one thing we all were keen was to drive to Khardung La; alas that was not to be as the dates of our expedition fell during the beginning of winters (we were to flag off from the historic Lion gate of the Naval Dockyard on 07 Nov).

Finally we decided on a route consisting of four legs, first being from Mumbai to Amritsar via Koteshwar – the westernmost point of mainland India – and Jaisalmer. Second leg took us through the enigmatic states of UP and Bihar uptill Kolkata. The return journey had us navigating the scenic eastern and western coasts, touching Pondicherry, Kanyakumari, Kochi and Goa. Each car was driven by a set of three officers from the Naval Dockyard with a core team of Bibin, self and PP Singh doing the complete circuit. The remaining officers changed after the completion of each leg, so as to provide the opportunity to a wider pool of personnel.

The expedition finally culminated on 04 Dec, which is “Navy day” celebrated to commemorate the decisive Naval victory over Pakistan in the 1971 war. Overall, it was an epic journey for all participants which taught us a lot about our diverse country, all the while involving a bit of fun with some extremely impressive machinery. The cars were simply mind-blowing in their ability to handle any terrain thrown at them, with even the Innova managing to rough it out to quite some extent.

Toyota’s fabled dependability and renowned customer support were certainly a boon to the expedition. Yes, there were hiccups as would be expected with such a long trip, but they were insignificant in the broader picture. Now I cannot wait to repeat such a trip, this time probably incorporating the extreme north and the eastern region of our country. I’m sure someone would need to celebrate the 276th anniversary of the Yard too!

ps: and hey if you liked this trip, check it out & vote on Cleartrip here



Why do we all love Barney Stinson

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10 reason’s we all love Barney Stinson (even if we may admit it or not):

1.  For his awesome awesomeness :P

2.  Come on guys, somewhere inside, all of us want to be Barney Stinson. And this applies to all the Marshalls out there too. You know it, you envy the crazy Barneys out there.

3.  His “thinking; such a waste of time” attitude.

4.  His frankness in general, not hiding his promiscuity nor his intentions.

5.  His “never give up” attitude ;)

6.  The way he “just does things” in an impulse.

7.  For his “perfect” job. I mean we would kill for such a “do nothing, get paid tons” job.

8.  His gifts to mankind – Bro Code and The Playbook

9.  Legen – wait for it – dary! lol…

10.  And if for nothing else, if it were only down to just ONE reason, it’s because he got Lily back to Marshall.

I would love comments suggesting if I’ve missed out on any other befitting “likes” (am sure there are millions of them out there :P )

Love all

Alekh

ps: girls don’t leave your numbers in the comments box, mail them to me ;)

Image courtesy Lolo

Is this the much feared anti-football

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Nothing gets past this billion dollar corporate wall

Wednesday’s match between Arsenal and Manchester City might have been a regular festive season fixture, and maybe one whose result was music to the red side of Manchester, but it ended up reasserting an ugly side of the modern game. Even an amateur would not have failed to notice the fecund football on display by the men in blue, who played almost the entire match in a 9-0-1 formation (and that “one” player too ventured into the rival half only very occasionally).

Now I know am an Arsenal fan and obviously a bit frustrated, but I just need to bring out Mr Mancini’s post match comment to stress my point here. The blues manager said, “I prefer one point and being booed than no points and being applauded off the pitch.” Right then, so a scenario of being applauded off the pitch with ALL THREE POINTS never occurred to the Italian. It’s all very obvious that right from the start Man City came to the Emirates with a single goal – that of not letting the rivals score one over them. And that is a perfectly understandable strategy, only that this time, they went about doing this without intending to score one themselves.

Now all people who follow football (more precisely the EPL) know the story. Few years ago a certain Mr Murdoch managed to squeeze the weekend game into tiny bits and transmit them thousands of miles across, to lands where the beautiful game was just beginning to pick up. Soon people were singing “You’ll never walk alone” from the deserts of Africa to the bazaars of Indonesia. All well, but it was only a while before the corporate crocodiles came out of the water and begun swallowing clubs, in the process dragging them inside the ever flowing river of liquidity.

Ok so the puns apart Man City, like many other clubs were bought by a zillionaire who empowered the (un)lucky manager with more money then he actually needed. Now one would assume then for Mr Mancini to build an “Arselona” but sadly as before (with Chelsea and others), he only focussed on the shortest way to success – and that often meant “bully your way to the nearest trophy”. Isn’t it a funny coincidence that none of the so-called billionaire clubs are renowned for their eye-catching football (and I would include Real Madrid here). On the other hand more attractive clubs – Barcelona (first) and Arsenal – continue to be owned by the community (and not some Mr Money-in-the-banks) with more realistic aspirations.

But all of this was still acceptable till last weekend when it all descended to an altogether different low. Even before Mr Mancini’s comments, the sight of Gareth Barry crawling till the diagonally opposite touchline (for a supposed “injury”) when he was inches off the goal line, gave a different meaning to the term time-wasting. And I do not even need to explain what a statistic of ZERO shots on target speaks of a team.

Now I’ve seen quite a few dull draws in football, including Greece defending their way to European glory in 2004, but even in those games there was an effort – or atleast a semblance of it in all but the dullest – for the players to try and break the opposition defence and attempt to put the ball into the net (Greece did so atleast once in all games). Yes the Arsenal of old were often revered for their leak-proof defence, yet at the same time they were also feared for their incisive counter-attack. Where on wednesday then was that long, defence splitting pass; or the fast break that sent adrenaline rushing in your veins. Why was a par-excellence and tenacious striker like Tevez reduced to ambling near the half-line and occasionally chase balls lobbed towards Fabianski.

The answer may lie in the unreasonable pressure on Mr Mancini to produce results (read trophies). Money they say can’t buy happiness, but billionaire owners of football clubs seem to believe it certainly can buy success. Which may be partly true, but success is not fast food and needs to be cooked well for it to really taste sweet. But the pressure ensures Mr Mancini focuses more on eking out “strategic” results which bring him on top at the end of the season – even if at the cost of the game itself.

For all my critics (yes Arsenal have won NOTHING since 2005) and proponents of the “win dirty” philosophy, I don’t want every club to be Barcelona – that would kill variety. I am perfectly well with hard defending teams like Stoke and Birmingham, but please have attack atleast as your plan B. Take a shot at the goal, you never know you might get lucky as the ball ricochets off a defender, and you leave the pitch with all three points. And then Mr Mancini, it won’t matter if you are booed off it or applauded, cause you would have given the fans what they came for – 90 minutes of the beautiful game.

Great India Road Trip: Day 14

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Ok so after an extended hiatus, I’m back with my travelogue. Blame it on a couple of hectic weeks (read boring office + super exciting new year weekend), but thankfully now I’ve some time to spare (read vacation at my parent’s place). I left at the half way mark of our trip at Kolkata and that is right where we pick up from.

For those of you who are wondering where did “Day 13” of the trip vanish, the answer is not any superstitious reason, but that the much maligned “13th” day was conveniently a rest day at Kolkata, and nothing worth writing about happened there. Well, we started on our way towards Puri with a new crew, and what was to be the longest leg of our trip (please note that I now write all of this in lot of hindsight).

We received three warnings when leaving Kolkata and all three concerned a diversion we were to encounter before Kharagpur. Now are two ways from Kharagpur to Bhubaneshwar, one rough enough to shake the fillings out of your teeth, the other smooth enough to bore you to death. We ofcourse chose the lesser of the two evils and braved boredom rather than a visit to the dentist. Now the third warning was that the intersection where we would be faced with the choice of route was an extremely confusing one, and often people who chose one, ended up on the route not preferred.

Having been there I can vouch for the warning, it is confusing like hell. And that fact that road signs for both routes display exactly the same text does not help!!! Three cars turned one way, the fourth chose the other (and this was when we were travelling in a convoy). The lone car then turned back (on the one-way road mind you) to join the remaining three, only for all to realise that the lone car had actually made the right decision. So yet another wrong way U-turn  (and some off-roading) later, we returned to the correct (read smoother) route. Now for any of you who need to make the decision in future, when you come at the diversion before Kharagpur, continue straight to the underpass on the seemingly uninviting road and do not be tempted by the attractive curving diversion towards left. The diversion, like most attractive (and curvaceous) things, would only flatter to deceive and lead you to the rougher of the two routes.

Well West Bengal scenery had nothing much to write about, and entering Orissa things didn’t seem to change much. The highways in both states were definitely not as well endowed as those of the western or northern belt, though the eastern state obviously had better infrastructure than Orissa. Finding good eating joints was not easy either and even when we found one, the food was nothing to write home about.

Our plan was to reach the Sun Temple at Puri right before sunset and enjoy the breathtaking views it has to offer. Sadly that was not to be courtesy some enthusiastic photo-stops we had enroute (come on, it was the first day for most of the crew, so they were reasonably excited). In any case the roads approaching Puri did not help being a sad state highway, narrow and littered with village traffic, which meant average speeds were hardly above 40kmph. So we made it to the temple much after sunset, but the illuminated structure looked Legen – wait for it – Dary, to say the least. My pic above could be a testament to it I guess, I mean for those of you who can take your eyes off me in my awesomeness and notice the temple behind.

Right, enough of Barney Stinson (sorry but off late I just can’t get over HIMYM) but the temple did indeed look great. Our guide opened our eyes to some really promiscuous details of our forefathers and also their architectural innovativeness. Ofourse he served us with the clichéd and fabled stories about the magnet on top which supposedly held the structure together and how the British messed with it and blah, blah, blah……but overall a visit which was definitely worth every minute.

But better was to follow. As we made our way to the pious city of Puri, onwards to a road named “Marine Drive” (now that felt like home), we were to be treated with the most stunning road I’ve ever driven on. With the sea for company just on our left and the moonlight cantering along the waves matching us for pace, the atmosphere was purely magical. The cherry on the cake was the stunning tarmac, which though narrow, was traffic free and had just the right amount of turns to keep the keen driver enthralled. But wait-a-minute, it does not end there. The route passes briefly through a wildlife sanctuary, and while it was too late to spot any fauna, the overhanging branches of trees made a canopy over the road, making it feel like driving through a tunnel. The branches also played tricks with the headlights to create some brilliant illusions, and while the overall effect was haunting, it was delightful nonetheless.

I wished the 30 odd kilometres would never end, but sadly they did and steered us right into the chaotic city which was like being dropped from the lap of Katrina Kaif to that of Rakhi Sawant. Meandering through the boisterous crowd we navigated to our hotel and peace was restored at last. We were fortunate to check into a quaint little place, towards the end of the crowded road, yet right across the beach which meant we could do some beach-roading the next day, but more on that later.

So overall an interesting drive – mainly due to the last 30 kms – and a nice start to the leg. From here we were to move on to Vishakapatnam the next day, touching the largest salt water lake “Chilka” enroute. Our Orissa stay then was to be quite brief, but very eventful nonetheless. And that eventfulness will come out in my next post. So till next time adios and drive safe……..and gimme a “virtual five” (OK enough of Barney for now).