Indian team playlist

And now for something completely different!

Sure, Sydney was depressing. So depressing, in fact, that talking about it would be like beating a dead horse, mincing it into tiny pieces, feeding them to a bunch of wild dogs, then beating them. It's horrible, brutal, disgusting, and brings to the mind a great horror and despair.

So! Instead of that, here's something to distract us:

While travelling over the last couple of weeks, I tried to keep myself occupied by thinking of songs that would go best with the current Indian line-up. Here's what I came up with. This is, of course, entirely my opinion and my music preferences - feel free to make suggestions/additions/deletions. I'd love to hear them. :)

Here goes:

1. Virender Sehwag - "Wanted Dead or Alive" -- Bon Jovi
2. Gautam Gambhir - "Little Lion Man" -- Mumford and Sons
3. Rahul Dravid - "After the Storm" -- Mumford and Sons
4. Sachin Tendulkar - "Eye of the Tiger" -- Survivor
5. VVS Laxman - "Marchin' On" -- One Republic
6. Virat Kohli - "Vienna" -- Billy Joel
7. Mahendra Singh Dhoni - "Float On" -- Modest Mouse
8. R Ashwin - "Feeling Good" -- Muse
9. Zaheer Khan - "When They Come For Me" -- Linkin Park
10. Ishant Sharma - "Hot 'n Cold" -- Katy Perry
11. Umesh Yadav - "It's My Turn to Fly" -- The Urge

Oh dear lord.

One response:



Also, sorry. Got nothing meaningful to add, really. I thought I'd get more into the IPL as it progressed, but I've been able to muster nothing even near the enthusiasm of the last three years. However! I'll be going to a couple of matches in May (and I'll finally be seeing the brand new MAC!) so hopefully that'll put me in a blogging kind of mood.

'Tis the season of the Eye-Pee-Elle!

Disjointed post, ahoy!

1. Okay, I'm getting sick of the Dhoni-madness. I lapped it all up with much glee the first couple of days, but all the bandwagon-hopping hypocrite groupies are pissing me off. You really love the man so much? Try sticking by him when he's not winning World Cups!

2. IPL! I mean, look. I consider myself a pretty indefatigable cricket fan: keep it comin', is my motto. I'll snark, I'll groan, I'll shake my fists, but trust me, I'll make sure I follow the match somehow: TV, internet commentary, radio, mobile updates, what have you. But this time? First match was CSK v KKR, and I couldn't work up anything. I was half-asleep until the last five overs of the match. The World Cup took more out of me as a spectator than I'd expected. Huh. Who'd've thunk?

3. Speaking of the last five overs, hah. What an exercise in hilarity. But good for you, Southee. Aaaalso, I think everybody needed that cliffie. Both teams and their fans were sleepwalking till that time. All of us needed that fillip, I think. Feeling ready for the rest of the season? I think. Hopefully I'll get tickets to go to a few of the matches this time 'round.

4. I know I've been pretty critical of IPL opening ceremonies in the past, but I expected this to be better, since, you know. It's Chennai, and everything. But, no. It sucked beyond belief. I couldn't even watch it. Why?

• Too much Bollywood. I honestly expected the likes of Sivamani, Simbu, Vijay, etc, etc., to be shaking a leg out there. Not Sunidhi Chauhan and Shah Rukh friggin' Khan. WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF BOLLYWOOD, AND ITS STUPID, GENERIC PSEUDO-PUNJABI BEATS. IF YOU WANT A CEREMONY IN CHENNAI, YOU MIGHT TRY MAKING IT A LITTLE MORE LIKE IT'S ACTUALLY IN CHENNAI.
• What's that? SCREW "NATIONAL APPEAL". YOU WEREN'T EVEN ABLE TO ENTERTAIN THE CROWD PRESENT AT THE STADIUM, YOU FOOLS.
• Blah blah blah magic and then the obligatory Shah Rukh friggin Khan "speaking" (read: horribly dubbed) in Tamil, and dancing to the very obligatory Appadi Podu. Do you guys realise that that song is over eight years old? Man, slap a label and milk it to the very last stereotypical drop! Insulting and disappointing.
• SRK? Vijay pwns you in the dance-department. Just saying.
  
• I repeat: this is Chennai. Not pseudo-Mumbai. What a frustrating and terrible ceremony.

5. It was physically painful to see Balaji bowl for the opposition. Seriously. Love the man so damn much, and he sticks out like a sore thumb in the Sourpuss Squad, also occasionally known as the Kolkata Knightriders.

6. What the hell, Gambo. Comin' in at 6? Not one of your brighter ideas. I get it when Dhoni does it - he's played in every position in the line-up, and 6 is usually his place. But you're an opening batsman, dude. Not a slogger.

7. One of my favourite moments from last night's game was this: Gambo hits one to long-on (I think, I was still fighting sleep at the time), where Albie's fielding. Albie fumbles a bit, but he gets the throw back to Dhoni, who kinda stops the ball with his body. The ball rebounds off his gloves and dribbles behind him, so he loses sight of it. Gambo senses an opportunity and scampers for the second run. Dhoni's looking frantically for the ball, but Styris swoops down on it and throws it at the stumps with Gambo short of his crease. KKR sink further into the depths. And what happens? Even abject incompetence from Dhoni is made to look like genius. He set Gambo up for the run-out by muffing the take! seemed to squeal the commentators. Dhoni just grinned sheepishly. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

8. I love that CSK is more or less the same team as the last three seasons. How much do I love this team, you ask? Sometimes even more than the Indian team, is my answer. Chennai, the city, remains my only love in India.

9. ... And that's all she wrote. I'm back at the hospital after a break, and I am exhausted. Possibly last night's fatigue wasn't entirely due to post-World Cup hangover. Whatever.

ADDENDUM: Oh god, I'm so tired I think I'm hallucinating. I just saw Laxman hitting a six.

*reaches blearily for caffeine*

Brilliance.

I sometimes feel out of place in cricket discussions: the upstart, the young girl who's followed cricket for barely nine years, the fangirl who hero-worships Dhoni like some people hero-worship Tendulkar. They speak of several years of supporting a faltering Indian team, watching it slump and then grow and then slump again; they talk of the choking emotion in watching it move from triumph to triumph after the turn of the century. Their heroes are slowly going out, one by one, except for that one man who's been a constant fixture in Indian cricket for more than 2 decades. They talk of the '83 World Cup victory with unbridled nostalgia; in '83 my parents were still five years away from even meeting each other for the first time. This World Cup win, then, is special for them in so many ways - ways that are scattered across cyberspace, freely - but for me?

My affair with cricket started with the 2003 World Cup, when I was a giggly 12 year old who barely knew the difference between 'leg side' and 'off side'. My grandmother was - and is - the original cricket buff in the family. She religiously watches every single match that India plays - and as many other cricket matches as she can - and her enthusiasm as the '03 Cup approached rubbed off on me, more than any amount of media hype. I remember studiously cutting out the colourful World Cup match schedule from the backpage of The Hindu, laminating it, and then checking it every morning to see what match was on that day. Much of my emotional investment in the game today comes from my memories of that tournament. I whooped and I cheered and I cried. I pestered my Dad with all sorts of cricketing questions. I remember enjoying listening to Sanjay Manjrekar and Rameez Raja commentating together. I remember giggling at all the jabs at Mandira Bedi. I remember the Tarot card reading before the Ind v Kenya semifinal. I bought an India jersey just before the final and sat in front of the TV, hoping, hoping, praying. Of course, the team flopped at the final stage, but long before Tendulkar fell, Ponting blitzed an amazing century and I think we'd all come to accept that India wasn't winning this one. But hey, we said, we reached the final. That's pretty damn good, right?

At that time, it was. I religiously followed the Indian team after that. There were periods - most of 2006 - where cricket was the last thing on my mind, but for the most part, I followed the team that I believed would do it, would do it next time. I acquired a working knowledge, played backyard cricket with my brother, devoured as many cricket-related articles as I could.

In 2007, I was the hormone-ridden 16 year old who believed "Dhoni's going to win the World Cup for us this time." I was in the throes of a crush on the man, what can I say? Those dreams, of course, came crashing down pretty quickly, but it was nice while it lasted. I had a copy of the World Cup schedule - this time, it was an already-laminated copy that came free with some magazine or the other - under my pillow, so when I woke up, the first thing I'd do was check the day's match.

One of the things I remember best about the run-up to the tournament was our ability to fool ourselves. Not all was well with the team - the unceremonious ousting of Sourav Ganguly, Chappell being an unpopular coach and media-handler and PR... well, just unpopular in general, home series losses to Australia and Pakistan, a godawful tour of South Africa, where we lost everything except that Test win in Jo'burg and our first-ever Twenty20 - but we won a couple of hastily-arranged bilaterals at home against SL and WI, which of course, assured us that we could still make a fist of things. It wasn't to be, and like the '03 final, we'd (or I'd, anyway) forgiven the Indian team long before the final wickets fell against SL and Rahul Dravid's tears broke my heart. I remember feeling a kind of malicious glee as reports came in about a tournament that was poorly organised and poorly attended, a tournament that had its final end with one of the most pointless and farcical finishes in the history of the game. After all, how can a tournament that had neither India nor Pakistan even make it to the second round ever be popular? But still I told myself: we would do it, we would do it next time.

That debacle prompted me to up my cricket obsession by several levels. I followed the exploits of the team more intensely than ever before. If you ask me, I can tell you anything you want to know about India's matches in between May 2007 to December 2008. Anything. I can even quote some of the scorecards. "Religious" didn't even begin to cover it. We were beginning to lift ourselves after that disaster, and I didn't want to miss a moment. A Test series win in England, a curious, good-now, bad-now, good-again sort of 3-4 loss to Eng in the ODIs (characterised by the most atrocious fielding I have seen from the Indians ever), and then: the inaugural Twenty20 WC.

Hah, that tournament. Full of dizzy highs. The thing that I found remarkable about that tournament - more than Yuvraj's six sixes, or Irfan Pathan's performance, or RP Singh's magic with the new ball, or even Rohit Sharma's emergence - was something that happened during our tie in our first match against Pakistan, and that ridiculous(ly awesome) bowl-out we had to decide the winner. Malik had no clue what was going on; he just picked five bowlers who'd bowled the best that day, and that included the likes of Umar Gul and Asif. Dhoni? Dhoni picked Sehwag, Harbhajan and Robin Uthappa, who'd never bowled an international ball in his life, much to everybody's astonishment. Result? India win that 3-0.

Why? everybody asked Dhoni. What was the rationale? And Dhoni said: they'd been preparing for just such a scenario. The squad had divided itself into 4 groups, and during practice sessions, they would have bowl-out tournaments. So, it was easy, he said. He just picked whoever had the best record in those little tournaments. In fact, he said, Rohit Sharma, who was not in the XI in that game, had a 100% record.

That, for me, was mind-boggling. Here was a guy, just appointed captain of the team, playing a tournament in a format of the game that was still in its infancy, coming into it just days after a long, draining tour of England, with no senior players, having played just one Twenty20 till that moment, no practice matches, no coach... and he was so goddamn prepared. He was at the top of his game, he had every base covered, right from match one of his captaincy. This was a keeper, I thought, and I didn't mean his role in the side. I hoped it was a portent for great things to come.

We would do it next time. Next time.

I watched this team with a sort of open-mouthed fascination over the next year or so. The superbly entertaining, if controversial -- oh, who am I kidding, it was that entertaining because it was so controversial -- Australian tour, the CB series of awesomeness, IPL, the Asia Cup, the Mendis menace and the SL tour, the Border Gavaskar trophy, Ganguly and Kumble's retirement, the captaincy going over to Dhoni completely, the whitewash of England in the ODIs and then that magnificent Test win at Chennai-- 2008 was a fab year, and I loved every moment, cherished them. I became more involved with cricket online -- I joined various forums, I'd check out cricinfo at least once every day, I started reading blogs, and late '08, I finally created one of my own.

'09 and '10 were what I like to consider the sobering years. I didn't follow cricket as closely as I moved to my college hostel which has no TV (it's an evil hostel, I know) but I made up for it with online commentary. One of my favourite memories was listening to Sachin Tendulkar score his ODI 200 on radio a year and half ago. A long lazy afternoon, but I was sitting in front of my radio, super-tense and practically vibrating with excitement. And when Sachin hit his 200th run? I ran out into the empty corridors - everybody else was either sleeping or reading or lazing about - screaming. I knocked at doors, screamed "Sachin scored a double-century!" and hugged everybody in sight, friend or enemy.

But yeah. Those two years gave us a better idea of what this Indian team was settling into. There was failure now, interspersed with success, and people were finally beginning to realise Dhoni was human (about time!) but not dealing with it very well (which sucked). We are a lot with our heads up our asses a lot of the time - the sense of entitlement we possess is staggering, and I do not consider myself an exception. But I love this team, and I understood they had to grow on their own terms. I ranted and raved when I could, and I defended them fiercely. We can still do it, was my constant refrain.

So. This World Cup arrived. My gut feeling was India's going to win this. I told my friends until their ears had fallen off: there can't be a better opportunity for India than this. We are perfectly placed. If we don't win this, then we don't ever deserve to win the World Cup.

My previous post elaborated my feelings on India's journey in this World Cup: I felt like they were saving their best for the last. We would do it, we would do it, I chanted. And how--!

The first striking thing was the fielding. My jaw dropped open! So quick, so fast, so dedicated! Not even in the T20 WC '07 did I remember them being this sharp. Yuvraj, throwing himself around and saving boundaries like a friggin' Superman on steroids! Raina! Kohli! Gambhir! Sreesanth, Zaheer, flinging themselves near the boundary rope! My house did not have current supply for exactly the period between the 44th over and the end of the Sri Lankan innings, and apparently that was the time the Indian plans came apart. Just as well for my blood pressure that I didn't see that, then. But still -- to come out with this kind of a mindset with a billion people breathing down their necks... my heart burgeoned with fresh admiration.

The prospect of chasing 275 was an interesting one. My grandmother had given up. It's Sri Lanka's day today, she said, with a shrug of her shoulders, All fate. What can we do? But I told her to just wait and see. Unlike a lot of the fans out there, I've seen this team slug it out a lot more times than I've seen it roll over in the mud.We would do this. We would do this. We ARE doing this.

Sehwag goes first thing, but I pushed down my trepidation, swallowed it like it was a particularly large chunk of bitter medicine, and thought: Okay, Sachin. Here you go.

Here's the funny thing about Sachin Tendulkar. He has played so many matches and played with so many generations, I bet he has enough to material to fill half-a-dozen very interesting books. He also means different things to different generations. To my generation, he's the Established Hero. We were what? 7, 8 years old when he played some of his most memorable innings? Hell, I was born a whole year after he made his debut. A lot of my contemporaries idolise him, of course. But for me, he's the kind of guy who you just have to admire, but not hero-worship. I can't. I'm baffled at the Tendulkar-devotion. Maybe I didn't live his greatness; after all, when I was starting to really get into cricket, he was struggling with his tennis elbow and run of poor form. So, no. Tendulkar is not god, at least for me.

But last night? I might've thought just that.

However, he was out, and it was upto the Unscarred Generation to get us through. I like Kohli. He has attitude - shit happens is just a few notches below we are performers at a circus for my favourite candid comment from a cricketer - and he has the ability. With experience, he can be a future leader. And Gambhir. With his advances down the pitch like a rampaging anaemic bull with ADD. He was brilliant, but it was upsetting that he threw it all away on 97. More than his century, I raged, he's allowed Sri Lanka a window of opportunity. But then Yuvraj came to join Dhoni, and I sat in my living room with my grandmother - nobody else, just the two of us, sweating because neither of us dared to get up and switch on the fan lest another wicket fell - and we hoped and prayed and watched.

What can I say about Dhoni? For me, one of the sour points of this tournament was that Dhoni'd had a very average tourney with the bat. It nagged me like a particularly persistent insect at the back of my brain. But I told myself he'll come through when it matters. It seemed like a selfish thing to wish for, that Dhoni get in and play big, match-winning innings, that I rarely discussed it with anybody else. But the hope lived on in my heart.

He delivered better than I ever thought he would in the final.

To cope with all those expectations, in anticipation of the massive backlash he'd receive for his selection decisions and strategic moves if he failed, to deal with humidity and noise and chronic back pain - at one point, he looked scarily like he couldn't move another inch - to do all this with the poise and grace that has become uniquely his - no amount of 'ice' and 'cool' metaphors can do justice, sorry - and hit the winning runs with that trademark shot for six (how many times has he finished off a chase with a six for us in his career?)... wow. I salute you, Mahi. It's not like I needed another reason to hero-worship you, but you were brilliant.

Brilliance. That's all I can say. Like a thousand brightly burning suns.

I screamed during the winning moment. Not for long, though. Not even as much as I screamed for our win over Pakistan. After that, I hugged my grandmother and sat down and watched the celebrations and heard the fireworks and grinned and grinned like my face would split open. And the only thought in my head was:

We did it. We did it, this time.

Did you know--

That the English cricket team once used a bowling machine called Merlyn?

What, it's totally relevant. I came across it while researching Arthurian legend, on Wikipedia.

Why Arthurian legend, you ask? Well, knowledge for knowledge's sake, and all that jazz.

Seriously. Don't you have a hobby of link-hopping on Wikipedia? Once, I started off looking up colon cancer, and ended up reading about the Czar lineage in Russia. It's awesome fun. :D

What? There's a World Cup going on? India v Australia Q/F?

BAH.

In the mental crawlspaces of the rich

I watch the IPL. Hell, I enjoy watching the IPL. 'Tis probably a testament to how much time I've spent trawling through the muck that poses as the Internet over the past two years that I actually feel guilty saying that. The IPL is the Root of All Evil, right? Right, sure. I'm not arguing against that, honest. But it's fun, and it gives me something to look forward to every evening for two months of a year. Like the only reality TV show that's worth watching. Plus, it has a team that represents Chennai and a whole host of players I adore and admire, and given how much of my investment in this sport is purely emotional, I find a lot to get behind.

So this time when I heard they were televising the player auction for 2011 (did they do that the first time? I don't remember), I watched it with much anticipation.

Aaand, uh. Okay. I spent most of the first hour with my mandible stuck firmly to the ground. Because, holy shit, it was mindblowing, in the most perverse way possible. After a while, I got into the rhythm of the whole thing. It was easy to forget, after some time, that they were dealing with actual players; it was like watching a gigantic Fantasy-Team game - can you fit in your dream team within your budget before your opponents do? Play and find out! - and I was getting behind the CSK contingent, praying that we managed to buy back the likes of Ashwin, Murali, Dougie and the rest. It may have gotten a little out of hand (my mother informs me I was raving put that paddle down, crazy Kochi lady! at the TV while the bidding war for Muralitharan was going on between CSK and Kochi, but hey) but it was fun, you know? It was only when the second day came about, and even the team owners looked like they were fooling around and treating the whole thing as a game, that I began to feel queasy. To their credit, though, I thought the CSK contingent remained serious throughout, hardly cracked a smile, and mostly left during the so-called "reauction" at the very end, when they were pretty sure that they'd finished what they'd started out to do. (but then again, the owners barely grinned even when we won the trophy last year, so maybe they're just naturally sourpusses).

People think that this is shocking and demeaning to cricket. I mean, sure, okay. I've always thought that the IPL is just more of a flamboyant circus that doesn't hesitate to show its garishly-painted butt while the rest of cricket is a circus that pretends it's not and covers itself in mouldy trappings in the name of heritage.

I was wondering just how surreal it must've been to sit in that auction room, as part of one of the contingents. Or maybe that's just me, and the owners were perfectly grounded even as astronomical sums of money were splashed about on people they couldn't tell from Adam (give me one person from the team that bought him who can even pronounce "Francois du Plessis"). I don't know. My belief is that everybody who signed up for this circus - franchise owners and players both - knew what they were getting into. They knew what lay ahead, what was likely to happen. And apparently, 353 of them were perfectly fine with it.

Is there a sense of wrongness to all of this, especially given the corruption that's rampant in the IPL's short history, and all the malingering and power-plays in the administration? That the IPL as an incentive is skewing the priorities of whole generations of young cricketers? Certainly.

Can I bring myself to care? Not really. My one explanation would be that cricket seems to be perennially caught in crisis; so much so that I think it's the only way the sport survives. Australian cricket is in crisis after being walloped by the English; Mumbai cricket is in crisis after failing to reach the Ranji semis for the first time in a billion years; cricketing administration is in crisis because Australia and England aren't calling the shots anymore the BCCI is throwing its money-bloated, corrupt stinking weight around; the inundation of Twenty20 is bringing out the basest instincts out of a generation of cricketing innocents, and will nobody think of the children?! But to be completely honest, I don't care about this the same way a lot of don't really care about the stuff that's happening in the rest of the world. If we were to judge ourselves hypocrites by watching the IPL, then there is not one person in the whole world who is not a hypocrite, in some walk of life or the other. Mind you, this is not an attempt at justification. I'm just calling it as I see it. A spade a spade - and maybe occasionally, a shovel.

Every generation has its own demons to grapple; the greatest enemy of our generation is our apathy.

You know what's funny?

I missed the anniversary of this blog... again. Not that anyone aside from me cares, but yeah. For more than two years now, this little blog has been festering in its corner of cyberspace.

I've blogged even less this year than the previous one, and I wish I could blame my academic obligations for this, but the truth is that I'm kind of lazy, and I'm sick of ferreting opinion on cricket on the Internet - most of it is acerbic, hypocritical and completely infuriating, anyway. I just want to watch and enjoy the game - I don't give two shits if it's a Test or the IPL that I'm watching. It's all still the same damn circus, just that one form is more pretentious than the other.

So. When you visit the blog, you pretty much know what you're going to get, don't you? I make no pretensions about myself or my writing. This is pure armchair snark and fangirling - the lowest strata of cricket blogging out there, I know, and I'm perfectly happy with that. No heavily-worded tl;dr analysis over here, thank you very much.

But recently I've found that fangirling? A pretty tough thing to do, especially when it comes to cricket, because, quite clearly, it frequently hates its fans.

For one, much of cricket itself is tl;dw - it practically begs tl;dr in response. I think it's one of the things that attracted me to this sport in the first place. There is nothing I love more than rambling and ruminating and debating minutiae - and cricket lends itself rather beautifully to that purpose. There is such a wealth of time - you can dock away a whole day to watch a match and give yourself to the ebbs and flows of the game; much like well-crafted drama, a game that might have been quiescent, coasting smoothly to a seemingly pre-destined result, a single moment of brilliance and/or mediocrity - a flash of genius, a lapse in concentration - is enough to change the scenario drastically. The script's changed, folks, and there're no stage-whispers to help you. Can you improvise? Can you start a brand new story? It appeals to the romantic in me; makes me scream and curse and laugh, because, that? That is drama; that is joy.

And as long as I continue to find that joy, this blog will continue to grow.

Clicking of the cosmic tumblers

It's been a nice few months without cricket - exams, a month-long trip to the USA (where if you mention "cricket" you will be handed a bottle of insect repellent), and a healthy dose of disgusted disinterest pretty much wiped cricket off my agenda. Things have been fairly crazy, India and Sri Lanka are playing each other to the point of hair-rending boredom, the usual cricket is corrupt! (seriously, cricinfo? The IPL Mess? That's very educated and so enlightening. I'm going to imagine you're talking about some communal meals programme that Lalit Modi very kindly started for all the players) cricket is racist! (you nominate a guy even you don't like. Then imagine just how much you loathe the organisation you're nominating him to) nouveau-riche India is holding the cricket world in its filthy, corrupt hands (Hi, rabid anti-BCCI agenda! Also, BCCI =\= India. Seriously.) and all that jazz. However! I'm back, and looking forward to watching some cricket after the self-imposed exile. Before that, of course, a few things need to be pushed off the table:

Oh yeah.

Despite everything, did I ever stop watching the IPL? Nosiree. Anything that has "Chennai" tagged on to it should be the best, and wow, were we ever awesome. Halfway through the tournament, only thick-skinned optimists (such as yours truly) hoped they would reach the semifinals. I ventured a belligerent "they could even win, you know", only to take it back almost immediately with an apologetic grimace.

But CSK, man.

Perhaps one of the most gratifying things about watching the IPL was that, despite the fracas going on in the background, and all the jabbering about Twenty20 as a flashy chip of paint off the strong and proud edifice of cricket (listen to me gag... or not), the players (the ones who mattered anyway) took it seriously. There is some payoff to all the nights I spent up, all the emotion, and all the time I invested, when I see someone like Dhoni literally punch his face in intense emotion after winning that game, after practically pummelling his team into the semifinals from an impossible situation. From seeing someone like Sachin Tendulkar (been there, done that, bought half-a-million T shirts- Sachin Tendulkar) risk worsening his injured hand just so he could play the final for the MI. To hear from both captains what the game meant to them in the post-match ceremony. As long as we can get commitment like that from the dudes that matter, the twenty-two dudes on the field, then I am willing to ignore pretty much everything else. I will remember the IPL for that emotion, and will continue watching it for the same.

Not to mention opening my eyes to the potential of quite a few players - Ashwin (who I was delighted to find lives in the same area of the city that I do, and is a super-smart school-topper-college-graduate), and, of course, Dougie Bollinger, who may be the Awesomest Person that ever Awesomed.

After that, the Twenty20 World Cup. I watched India's league matches, and assured by Raina's Century of Awesomeness against South Africa, I left for the US the night before we officially started our Super Eight campaign. For weeks I had no clue about what was going on in the tournament, as all the US papers were interested in talking about was baseball, some dude called LeBron James who was making some other dudes in Cleveland very angry, with little by-notes informing the presumably disinterested audience about the happenings in the world of tennis. I was finally able to find a paper that was published exclusively for NRIs, and even in that, buried somewhere in the back-pages was an article titled "England win World Twenty20" followed by a grinning Paul Collingwood holding up the trophy.

If you were anywhere in Southwestern Texas at that time in Mid-May, you might have heard my resounding cry of "England won a world title??!!"

(Seriously, people. I'm sorry. I'm still thinking the whole thing is some kind of cheese-induced dream. And USA eats a lot of cheese.)

((... England?... ))

Not that I expected India to win the title, or anything - although I'd hoped they would - but I'd placed even Zimbabwe with a higher chance of getting the trophy than England. Cha, now there's a perfect record permanently marred (Jokes apart, congratulations to the English team, who now suddenly seem to be in the form of their life - although even that is not enough to provide immunity to the Loss to Bangladesh Out Of The Blue Syndrome).

However! I did not see 90% of the tournament, so I have no further opinion on it. But what's a blog without shameless pandering of opinion, right? So let me tell you of what I did see that May.

The U S of A. It was an interesting trip, and I have a few observations:

1. It is huge. And I mean, HUGE. It crosses three different time-zones, which is kind of a bother when you're trying to cover as much as you can in as little time as possible. It is not fun to keep adjusting clock every other day, and oh, the jet lag? Unforgiving. (there is a trememdous amount of flying to be done. I, for instance, took thirteen flights within the US. My spine hasn't forgiven me since.)

2. As huge as it is, there is very, very little in between. Most people live in suburbs that are several kilometres away from the hub of the city, which means taking out the car and going for a long drive just to shop for groceries. Or clothes. Or go to school. This is completely weird, at least to me, because Indian cities like to fold on top of themselves, rather than really spread. I can't walk more than a few metres from my home without hitting several dozen shops catering to your every possible need squeezed together and spilling onto the pavement; a bus terminus and an MRTS terminus a few roads over; a hospital, and no less than three different schools.

3. Speaking of: the cars. There are just so many of them. Even high school kids. Except in a few select areas, public transport seems to be a near non-entity. Which, again, weirded me out, because, hey. For all our faults, we at least have an extensive public transport system.

4. There is a strange kind of beauty to the vastness, too: the climates and the surroundings change from place to place -- you might be in the scorching (well, compared to Chennai, rather pleasant, I thought, and cackled in mad glee that I was conveniently missing the worst of the Chennai summer) heat of the Nevada desert; another day in chill, windy New York; another day driving through Idaho and Wyoming where the land seems to hug the sky in a spectacular union of clouds, mountains, sleet and rain.

5. You really have to admire the American tradition of preserving and promoting their natural heritage. A visit to a National Park there is an exhilarating experience. I visited the Niagara Falls, Yellowstone Park - and it snowed! - and the Grand Canyon, some of the most breath-taking things I've ever seen, or ever will see.

6. They eat. A lot. Practically everything available there is super-sized. I ate the largest slice of pizza I'd ever had in my life (took pictures and everything before I took my first bite, too) and had the pizza guy tell me it was medium-sized. Medium-sized! Coffee, cheese, sugar, chocolate abound. McDonald's. Arby's. Wendy's. Subway. All just a few metres apart, literally, and so cheap; it occurred to me just how easy it would be to lose yourself in the food, how easy it would be to put a welcome sign on yourself to conditions ranging from atherosclerosis to stroke.

7. American Born Desis have the weirdest conceptions about India. First off, an almost Pavlovian reaction of supreme disdain to anything Indian (a muted version of which you can detect in their immigrant parents). Secondly, a habit of ending sentences with, "...oh, do they have that in India yet? Do they allow that in India yet?" (Because we're obviously Timbuktu circa 1845.) Thirdly, some of the weirdest theories. Writing papers about our infamous fairness creams ads, wherein our "obsession with fairness was obviously a consequence of the inferiority complex we still suffer from due to the centuries of subjugation by the British". Pop!Sociology, I have found your messiahs.

8. Faux-politeness. "Good Morning, how are we today?" "Fine, thank you" seems to be the traditional greeting there. Shop attendants. Airport security officials. Random people on the street. Everywhere. They go, "oh, I like your shirt; just where did you get that design?" and I'm sort of dumbstruck, because that's a complete stranger I'm just passing by, and we're just so unused to such manners from all quarters that it's doubly frustrating to come back to India and face people who obviously fell asleep when road rules were being taught; who spit at your feet and give you hostile glares if you so much as make a request for them to move so you can walk past. The politeness is all a facade - on a level, you're aware of that and it's disturbing, but still.

9. ... and that's all she wrote. About the USA, anyway.

Because, cricket? Right, cricket.

I saw some of the Fateful Zimbabwe Tour. Mr. Srikkanth, were you really kidding us? You think you could just slap on India colours to a bunch of IPL successes (Manpreet Gony and Yusuf Pathan ought to have provided sufficient deterrent to that method of selection by now) and they'll be all "look at our youth power! we're totally ready to fill in full time roles in the national team!"? Personally, they played like India A's second reserve team in an off-season. Cha.

I did see the Asia Cup. The India-Pakistan game did restore some of my faith in the game, and 'sides, I had a good time speculating about Obviously-Alternate-Universe-Century-Hitting Shahid Afridi. Our ODI team is just not looking settled: batsmen seem to be okay, apart from Sehwag busting his shoulder every other day, Yuvraj's happily feeding and twittering away, Rohit Sharma is the absolute worst excuse for an international cricketer I have ever seen. Our all-rounders are Yusuf Pathan and Ravindra Jadeja, an unenviable choice. I have no idea what's our bowling attack any more, except that it's Zaheer Khan, et. al.

But what's ZK now? A pretty, pretty princess that keeps falling on some pea practically every other week, missing important series just when she's working herself upto some real bowling form. And of course, he had to go to Jo'burg for rehab. And he even mentioned something about catching the football wc final there! I swear I saw red.

Also, just a word here: Mr. Haigh's rant raised quite a few hackles, but I just laughed and laughed, because as soon as I read it I was reminded of this:

And now? The Test series v Sri Lanka to look forward to, followed by ODI series no. 87678 between India and Lanka (with NZ making a guest appearance. Gawd.)

Will we win? Will Mahendra Singh Dhoni's marriage affect his performance? Will it affect his team's performance? Will it create more fissures in an already cracked team? Will India be able to exorcise the ghosts of 2008? Will Sreesanth ever get to bowl again for India? Will Ishant Sharma ever get a proper haircut?

As Arnab Goswami's dulcet tones discuss these burning issues, I will turn off the TV till July 18, and I will hum, "When I get older, I will be stronger..."

Because I can.

(Also, I dedicate this post to my best friend, A, for nagging, encouraging, and prodding me back to blogging. Love you and hope you like. :D)

We are not entertained.

... except by one teensy little insignificant thing called cricket, but we'll get to that later, shall we?

Look. I haven't watched cricket in a long while, OK? And I've been looking forward to this IPL. So while sitting down to watch the opening ceremony yesterday, I did not expect an absolutely unpalatable hodge-podge of poorly executed amateur gimmicks. Hi, people! 2010! Billions of rupees! Internet! International access to the best around the globe! Creative heads!

You can do better!

So it starts off with.... silence. The ceremony took the longest time to kick off, and meanwhile the camera kept panning over the crowd in the weirdest headgear. Weird headgear only = awesome when they're funny, people. These... were not funny.

I was reduced to watching reruns of Psych I'd already watched twice before when I heard that the ceremony had started. Eagerly I flicked channels. And seriously, Psych was helluva lot more entertaining.

There is this huge... cloth cuboid tent thingamajig that's slowly lifted off the stage in the centre of the ground, revealing... okay, the performers, I guess. The guy in front starts singing, and dude. It's the most boring song ever. Look, I'm as big an Abba fan as anybody, but, really? For this ceremony? For this tournament?

Indian Premier League! I.n.d.i.a.n.

Get a few local artistes, belt out some pop B'wood tracks, get the crowd on their feet, and everybody wins. What is this goshdarned obsession with foreigners? Look, if you're going to get foreigners, you might as well get Lady Gaga or somebody. Not some washed-out band that's decades old (no offence meant). The singers were the ones jumping about on the stage, shaking their made-up manes, trying to infuse some non-existent energy. The crowd? Maybe just slightly bewildered.

Then these people with the white dresses standing around the boundary came filing in.

Whoever came up with that idea, please fire him.

They were... look, I don't know. My brother suggested, "chefs" while my grandmother was pretty insistent they were "hospice nurses" or maybe "nuns". Personally, when some built in lights in their dresses started glowing, I was going for extras from a hybrid of Star Wars and The Omen (don't ask me why).

These lights were of different colours, and a lot of them didn't even work. They were scrambling about, ostensibly trying to get into some kind of formation, but I don't know. They were just going about with confused, embarrassed smiles on their faces. It was like slow torture, having to watch this (until I realised that, you know, I didn't have to watch it).

Then came Deepika Padukone and her ultra-short dance routine, with support dancers who were dressed in costumes so grotesque I can't even snark about them. The song selection started off great (I gotta feeling, by Black Eyed Peas) and quickly devolved into lameassery. And the dance moves? Were not even fit for exhibition on a Filmfare awards show.

When I came back again, they were showing a laser show on the big white tent, a sort of 'nostalgic' recap of the first two IPLs. And people, I was ready to lose it. Hello, you are only two years old! We haven't got short term memory loss, you know! We remember (like you ever let us forget)! Look ahead! Do something new and flamboyant and stop wasting our time!

And then came Lionel Ritchie and some song and some fireworks, but by that time I was tired and pissed off and wishing really hard for some cricket.

The cricket turned out to be actually kind of awesome (KKR def DC! That makes me happy) but it turns out there was one more annoyance lurking in the bushes:

In between balls of an over, the camera would shift to the digital board, which would blare out an ad in full volume.

And, listening to Akshay Kumar's inane, loony laughter while 'advertising' Micromax mobile for the umpteeth time, I really lost it.

I HATE THIS. I REALLY, REALLY DO. SHUT UP, PEOPLE. THIS EXCESS IS PISSING ME OFF SO BAD, I DON'T HAVE THE WORDS.

Either that, or I'm getting cynical in my old age.

EDIT: Oh, it would be amiss of me to not mention the match preview show. Navjot Singh Sidhu is back, with all of his metaphors and gesticulations, a hilarious counterpoint to the anchor's style.

So he's waxing poetic about "music as a language" and Mr. Kocchar decides to take a brave step beyond saying "Indeed" and adds "Music is really bubbly, it gets all the batsmen bubbled up" and somewhere I was dying out of laughter.

Now that's entertainment.