AS Pakistan recovers from one of its worst on-field Test defeats and an even worse on-field loss of credibility, it is time we see the matter from a different perspective. Yes, the tabloids would splash braver editorial expressions than those used earlier – “Pakistan's Darkest Sunday” or “Messy Board Gets Messier” – but can we for a moment introspect on the little-addressed issue here.
Imagine a Mohammad Amir growing up in a non-descript lane of Pakistan: steaming in with a tennis ball in hand and bowling down the stumps with invariable ease, imagine the chant “Hamara Wasim Akram” reverberating every time he knocks down a player's off stump or sends one whizzing past the nose. For a nation that treats cricket with the same devotion as ours, we need to understand the magnitude of frustration expected to creep in -- we are talking of a country endowed with the most prodigious cricketing talent that's there. And I say this with confidence: dig through the annals of cricketing history and name me a better bowler at 18 years than Mr Amir.
But, can you continue to bowl at that fiery pace with a groaning stomach or harbour a cricketing dream in a thatched house. Perhaps yes, but not when players (read bowlers), inferior to you in your neighbouring country (read India) do ads on Amarpali apartments and own plush bungalows with all the state-of-the art facilities. And all those with one-tenth the talent that you have. Grossly unfair, isn't it?
Heard of casting couch? Beautiful girls asked to provide extraneous service, better termed as 'compromise', in order to make it big? Is there a difference between a Mohammad Amir, if proven guilty of match fixing, and a wannabe model who sees a 100 bedrooms with 100 different men before landing a short role onscreen. And why do they – the Amirs, the models and actresses – make the compromise? The tragic reality is: Abundant talent that convinces you that you are destined for greatness, but opportunity, or the lack of it, that evades you till your desperation takes you on the wrong lane.
I have my sympathies for the men in green. And it's not that I condone match-fixing of any kind, because that truly demeans the very spirit of the gentleman's game. But, when you do not have an international match hosted in your country in three years, when you have to depend on the benevolence of an England and Wales Cricket Board to host your 'home' matches, there is not much hope that you are giving the tailormade-for-cricket youngsters.
There can't be a grosser injustice than this: A catch taken by Munaf Patel (and it's almost comical to imagine Munaf as a fielder) in the Indian Premier leage fetches him Rs 1 lakh, but a five wicket-haul taken by Amir and the subsequent man of the match award wins him a poultry Rs 30,000. Cricket in India is not the same as Cricket in Pakistan. Here, a good performance means multi-million dollar endorsements, there a good performance means little in terms of money. Here, cricket pays for your life, there cricket plays with your life, if you decide to depend on your on-field exploits to fund your off-field expenses.
If we eulogised Irfan Pathan when he tamed the ball in the air to trap those LBWs, if we showered commendations on Ishant Sharma when he tailed the ball in and out to show Ricky Ponting the doors in the Perth Test, we could just as well recognise the superaltive talent of the world's best find for a left arm fast bowler. If only our companies had the will and gesture to absorb the talent on that side of the border in their multi-dollar deals, I am sure we would hear little of the kind of darkness we have so naturally come to associate with the men in green.
The world needs Pakistan to keep cricket alive and Pakistan cricket needs the world to keep breathing. Let more Mohammad Amir's take up cricket with an assurance, that if not their own country, a neighbouring country would ensure the returns for their contribution, as Gentlemen, to the Gentlemen's Game.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
I love you Maa, you know na!
I love you Maa, you know na!
It is one of those days when I am sitting before a computer with the sole intent of killing time -- staring more at the clock on the bottom right of the screen than using the internet for any eventful purpose. Yes it is just one of those days!
Sitting in this dingy cyber cafe outside Sri Venkateswara College in South campus (where my sister is writing an exam), I have very little on my mind to scribble about. But then, since when have we started depending on the mind to be our ideation chamber? I have a heart too..equally thoughtful, perhaps more so today considering it is just 'one of those days' when a certain lady in everybody's life is remembered with extra special gratitude and warmth.
The 9th of May is indeed a very special day! Celebrate it with hugs, cheers and kisses...and leave no stone unturned in letting that one angel know what she means to you. I also wish I could do something more special than just making a trunk call to say "I love you maa!" It is 'One of those days' I wish I could barter my limited human capabilities with Superman -- say "Up up and Away" and fly the 2,300-odd kms that separates my mother and I.
How I wish I could hug her and let her aging hands hold me with the same protective spirit I had felt 23 years ago when a doctor separated our umbilical connection and placed me on her palms. Maa I know I have gained a bit in size and form, and so if need be, I am ready to be dwarfed if that lets me fit into your lap -- the only place on earth that feels like heaven.
Just your memories maa have made this cyber cafe look so much more bearable now -- in the last 25 minutes that I have spent penning my thoughts about you, I swear I haven’t looked at the bottom-right (clock) of the screen even once. Just your remembrance maa has made this "one of those days" seem so much better..so much more pleasant.
And as I see the greenery outside (very rare in Delhi!), I miss walking the green fields of Golf Links with you. The 'chicken' and meat shop outside this cafe reminds me of my 14-day tryst with 'Chicken' Pox two years ago, when you broke all rules of quarantine to be by my side when others, for their own good (lol!), had deserted me. I miss you to no ends maa..I realy do!!
It's a strange coincidence then that to further my thoughts on this very special day, I reflect on the work of a man who today celebrates his 150th birth anniversary -- one of India's most prodigious sons, Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore.
If I may be forgiven, I have tailored his eternally inspiring piece 'Where The Mind is Without Fear', to put into perspective just what I feel for my mother.
Where Mankind Is Without Tear
WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where love flows free
Where my world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls
Where your words come out from the depth of truth
Where my craving stretches its arms towards you
Where the scream of treason has not found its way
Into your caring habit
Where your life is led forward by me
Into that ever-widening thought and action
Into that priceless lap, my mother, let my mind awake.
Heartfelt prayers and oodles of wishes for all mothers..Happy Mother's Day!! And finally, I look at the bottom right of the screen again. It is time to rush to office. Much love!
PS: The original piece
Where The Mind is Without Fear
WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Rabindranath Tagore
It is one of those days when I am sitting before a computer with the sole intent of killing time -- staring more at the clock on the bottom right of the screen than using the internet for any eventful purpose. Yes it is just one of those days!
Sitting in this dingy cyber cafe outside Sri Venkateswara College in South campus (where my sister is writing an exam), I have very little on my mind to scribble about. But then, since when have we started depending on the mind to be our ideation chamber? I have a heart too..equally thoughtful, perhaps more so today considering it is just 'one of those days' when a certain lady in everybody's life is remembered with extra special gratitude and warmth.
The 9th of May is indeed a very special day! Celebrate it with hugs, cheers and kisses...and leave no stone unturned in letting that one angel know what she means to you. I also wish I could do something more special than just making a trunk call to say "I love you maa!" It is 'One of those days' I wish I could barter my limited human capabilities with Superman -- say "Up up and Away" and fly the 2,300-odd kms that separates my mother and I.
How I wish I could hug her and let her aging hands hold me with the same protective spirit I had felt 23 years ago when a doctor separated our umbilical connection and placed me on her palms. Maa I know I have gained a bit in size and form, and so if need be, I am ready to be dwarfed if that lets me fit into your lap -- the only place on earth that feels like heaven.
Just your memories maa have made this cyber cafe look so much more bearable now -- in the last 25 minutes that I have spent penning my thoughts about you, I swear I haven’t looked at the bottom-right (clock) of the screen even once. Just your remembrance maa has made this "one of those days" seem so much better..so much more pleasant.
And as I see the greenery outside (very rare in Delhi!), I miss walking the green fields of Golf Links with you. The 'chicken' and meat shop outside this cafe reminds me of my 14-day tryst with 'Chicken' Pox two years ago, when you broke all rules of quarantine to be by my side when others, for their own good (lol!), had deserted me. I miss you to no ends maa..I realy do!!
It's a strange coincidence then that to further my thoughts on this very special day, I reflect on the work of a man who today celebrates his 150th birth anniversary -- one of India's most prodigious sons, Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore.
If I may be forgiven, I have tailored his eternally inspiring piece 'Where The Mind is Without Fear', to put into perspective just what I feel for my mother.
Where Mankind Is Without Tear
WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where love flows free
Where my world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls
Where your words come out from the depth of truth
Where my craving stretches its arms towards you
Where the scream of treason has not found its way
Into your caring habit
Where your life is led forward by me
Into that ever-widening thought and action
Into that priceless lap, my mother, let my mind awake.
Heartfelt prayers and oodles of wishes for all mothers..Happy Mother's Day!! And finally, I look at the bottom right of the screen again. It is time to rush to office. Much love!
PS: The original piece
Where The Mind is Without Fear
WHERE the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Rabindranath Tagore
Thursday, April 1, 2010
To whom it may concern
I vaguely recall the last time I had been ungentlemanly in life. Perhaps, it was six years ago when on a cold winter morning in Shillong, I woke up in the din of a neighbour screaming at my mother. I let my reasoning power take a backseat and jumped out of my bed, dashed for the door and took my high-decibel neighbour head on. I retorted every argument of hers with such passion that I think only a teenager could generate.
But when the dust settled and I sat for breakfast with mom, I soon learnt the fallacy in my behaviour as she began doling out some of the most valuable lessons of life she has ever given me.
“The first trait of being a gentleman,” she said, “is to be polite when you speak to a woman.”
I argued saying, “It was she who picked the fight with me, and I only reacted.”
And while the 17-year-old in me was feeling upbeat about being the man who stood firm for his ill mother, expecting commendations for my actions, she seized the moment: “You should have behaved yourself. Being a gentleman is a good quality,” she said, “but maintaining the poise in adversity makes it a virtue.”
And as I lived on, I gradually learnt that being a gentleman is not only restricted to opening the door when a woman walks in or taking the seat at a coffee house only after she is seated or even better “maam”ing before every sentence to make her feel respected.
I guess all these attributes can be categorised as to what my mother calls as “good quality” traits that can be mimicked and adopted as per choice and convenience. The “virtue” aspect, however, is the more crucial one. And while I thought that maintaining an almost impeccable conduct with ladies over the last half-a-decade made me the heir to being a “virtuous gentleman”, I only learnt this morning that I was as far from truth, as possibly a posthumous child is from his parents.
Yes there was no neighbour today screaming down my ears, nor was there an attack on my mother’s integrity. Today was different! There was sarcasm and there was sharp sarcasm. Yes, it almost cut me into half to hear me being of the “MTV level”, it passed a chill down the spine to hear that “I don’t take rejection too well”; and it also got me fuming to hear that “I am the proof of self obsession”. So much for a morning start!
I don’t intend to be judgmental here, for I needn’t clarify to anybody as to how much of the above commendations define the real me.
What I am disappointed about is that I retorted when I should have parried the verbal volleys! What I am most hurt about is that I got down to making petty remarks against someone calling her “narrow-minded” and having a “villager’s mindset”. True that I was provoked, true that I didn’t know the reason that got her so angry, but none of the obscurities justifies my most “ungentlemanly” behaviour.
And it’s not strange that when I spoke to mother about today’s incident, she reminded me of the same “neighbour’s episode”, to drive home the point that it is in moments of adversity that a man’s character is truly tested. I failed the test miserably today.
And so “To whom it may concern”, I apologise with all my humility in place. I am sorry! Apologies are due for Muttu too for not being the brother she once took pride in, and the same Sorry goes for another lady for reasons any and many.
Before I sign off, I must admit: The 1st of April 2010 has been one of the most painful days I have had in a long long time. I assure not to put myself or anybody through the same trauma ever again!
Hoping to write on a better note next time.
But when the dust settled and I sat for breakfast with mom, I soon learnt the fallacy in my behaviour as she began doling out some of the most valuable lessons of life she has ever given me.
“The first trait of being a gentleman,” she said, “is to be polite when you speak to a woman.”
I argued saying, “It was she who picked the fight with me, and I only reacted.”
And while the 17-year-old in me was feeling upbeat about being the man who stood firm for his ill mother, expecting commendations for my actions, she seized the moment: “You should have behaved yourself. Being a gentleman is a good quality,” she said, “but maintaining the poise in adversity makes it a virtue.”
And as I lived on, I gradually learnt that being a gentleman is not only restricted to opening the door when a woman walks in or taking the seat at a coffee house only after she is seated or even better “maam”ing before every sentence to make her feel respected.
I guess all these attributes can be categorised as to what my mother calls as “good quality” traits that can be mimicked and adopted as per choice and convenience. The “virtue” aspect, however, is the more crucial one. And while I thought that maintaining an almost impeccable conduct with ladies over the last half-a-decade made me the heir to being a “virtuous gentleman”, I only learnt this morning that I was as far from truth, as possibly a posthumous child is from his parents.
Yes there was no neighbour today screaming down my ears, nor was there an attack on my mother’s integrity. Today was different! There was sarcasm and there was sharp sarcasm. Yes, it almost cut me into half to hear me being of the “MTV level”, it passed a chill down the spine to hear that “I don’t take rejection too well”; and it also got me fuming to hear that “I am the proof of self obsession”. So much for a morning start!
I don’t intend to be judgmental here, for I needn’t clarify to anybody as to how much of the above commendations define the real me.
What I am disappointed about is that I retorted when I should have parried the verbal volleys! What I am most hurt about is that I got down to making petty remarks against someone calling her “narrow-minded” and having a “villager’s mindset”. True that I was provoked, true that I didn’t know the reason that got her so angry, but none of the obscurities justifies my most “ungentlemanly” behaviour.
And it’s not strange that when I spoke to mother about today’s incident, she reminded me of the same “neighbour’s episode”, to drive home the point that it is in moments of adversity that a man’s character is truly tested. I failed the test miserably today.
And so “To whom it may concern”, I apologise with all my humility in place. I am sorry! Apologies are due for Muttu too for not being the brother she once took pride in, and the same Sorry goes for another lady for reasons any and many.
Before I sign off, I must admit: The 1st of April 2010 has been one of the most painful days I have had in a long long time. I assure not to put myself or anybody through the same trauma ever again!
Hoping to write on a better note next time.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Bewildered on 'Ton'dulkar Day
As the day folds to a close and silence prevails in the otherwise hustling corner of my office, a 16-year-old somewhere within the 23-year-old me is jostling with a plethora of emotions.
And the emotions are so diverse in nature that I am faced with a quandary as to what should go first.
Let me start with Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar’s spectacular double ton that rechristened him as the greatest ever to have brandished the willow. Every stroke played was reflective of the master’s deftness, every ruthless hit over the boundary made bowlers question if he is the same innocuous loving father of two children, and everytime he ran a breathless single, his 37-year-old body amazed more than what Usian Bolt’s thundering speed would. And yes, when he guided the ball to square point to run what would be the most historic jog down the 22-yards, the nation stood in jubilation as billions absorbed special memories that they could and would recall decades later when they relate bedtime tales of a certain Little Master.
For me however, it is hard to say with conviction if I was truly part of the moment. Yes, I stood before the television and my mind calculated every run he took in his 190’s, yes I remember when he flicked the ball and ran a two, he had broken Saeed Anwar’s (194) record, yes I also knew that 199 + 1 makes 200 and with that run, he had attained the summit. For me, something, infact everything was missing!!
I apologise to the 5’5’’ God of Cricket for not being ‘happy’ at the moment when the 100-odd colleagues around me jumped in jubilation. I was sad, dejected almost broken at a news I so wished turned untrue. And while his celebrations spanned across the contours of India, I had a sad face with frozen tears, recalling every moment the happiest face I had ever seen and at the same time, sinking in the thought of seeing my Donny – the most cheerful friend I have – cry. Cry why? I wouldn’t say it, for I believe that when she decides to read this piece 50 years down the line, and her wrinkled hands navigate the mouse to my blog link — I don’t wish to serve as a reminder of what she had lost on this day. Donny, can I just say I love you very very much and that you have truly taught me the Donny way of life!!
And as you say no “Raula Paana”, let’s shift the mood to some other eventful memories.
The Women Reservation Bill!! As I see it, you all are on a high with 24X7 news channels using, misusing and almost abusing the one news piece they have on their TRP-thirsty hands.
The media-dope aside, I truly think the Bill is a noble idea, but I fear the political compulsions surrounding us will not allow the idea to gain fruition.
The point is we are trying to solve the problem of economic inequality through social reservation. It is almost like hoping to improve the quality of Indian hockey players by improving our grounds and stadiums -- a solution that has more odds stacked against it than for it.
Also, I have serious doubts on the rotation policy the Bill proposes --- both from the view of the elector and the elected. Knowing that I would, in all certainty, not return, to command my constituency in the next term gives me ample reasons to shy away from doing quality work. Also, from the elector’s point of view, if I am impressed with the work quality of a certain Mr X, I would almost feel democratically cheated if the same candidate doesn’t get a chance to contest again.
And while I don’t want to delve into serious discussions (considering the deluge of information available all around), I want to share a line that often constituted my College Debate speeches -- WOMEN stands for Winners Of Mankind Eternally Neglected.
The fact that I oppose the Bill in its current form shouldn’t lead people to believe that I am a male chauvinist. As facts would have it -- I have adored and fallen in love only with women .
And as I almost drown in the endless abyss of this computer monitor, I fear my thoughts say -- TIME OUT.
Before I sign off, for all you friends, critics and unknown followers, I want to confess – “I love you so much that I just can’t breathe” (Movie- Flubber)
And the emotions are so diverse in nature that I am faced with a quandary as to what should go first.
Let me start with Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar’s spectacular double ton that rechristened him as the greatest ever to have brandished the willow. Every stroke played was reflective of the master’s deftness, every ruthless hit over the boundary made bowlers question if he is the same innocuous loving father of two children, and everytime he ran a breathless single, his 37-year-old body amazed more than what Usian Bolt’s thundering speed would. And yes, when he guided the ball to square point to run what would be the most historic jog down the 22-yards, the nation stood in jubilation as billions absorbed special memories that they could and would recall decades later when they relate bedtime tales of a certain Little Master.
For me however, it is hard to say with conviction if I was truly part of the moment. Yes, I stood before the television and my mind calculated every run he took in his 190’s, yes I remember when he flicked the ball and ran a two, he had broken Saeed Anwar’s (194) record, yes I also knew that 199 + 1 makes 200 and with that run, he had attained the summit. For me, something, infact everything was missing!!
I apologise to the 5’5’’ God of Cricket for not being ‘happy’ at the moment when the 100-odd colleagues around me jumped in jubilation. I was sad, dejected almost broken at a news I so wished turned untrue. And while his celebrations spanned across the contours of India, I had a sad face with frozen tears, recalling every moment the happiest face I had ever seen and at the same time, sinking in the thought of seeing my Donny – the most cheerful friend I have – cry. Cry why? I wouldn’t say it, for I believe that when she decides to read this piece 50 years down the line, and her wrinkled hands navigate the mouse to my blog link — I don’t wish to serve as a reminder of what she had lost on this day. Donny, can I just say I love you very very much and that you have truly taught me the Donny way of life!!
And as you say no “Raula Paana”, let’s shift the mood to some other eventful memories.
The Women Reservation Bill!! As I see it, you all are on a high with 24X7 news channels using, misusing and almost abusing the one news piece they have on their TRP-thirsty hands.
The media-dope aside, I truly think the Bill is a noble idea, but I fear the political compulsions surrounding us will not allow the idea to gain fruition.
The point is we are trying to solve the problem of economic inequality through social reservation. It is almost like hoping to improve the quality of Indian hockey players by improving our grounds and stadiums -- a solution that has more odds stacked against it than for it.
Also, I have serious doubts on the rotation policy the Bill proposes --- both from the view of the elector and the elected. Knowing that I would, in all certainty, not return, to command my constituency in the next term gives me ample reasons to shy away from doing quality work. Also, from the elector’s point of view, if I am impressed with the work quality of a certain Mr X, I would almost feel democratically cheated if the same candidate doesn’t get a chance to contest again.
And while I don’t want to delve into serious discussions (considering the deluge of information available all around), I want to share a line that often constituted my College Debate speeches -- WOMEN stands for Winners Of Mankind Eternally Neglected.
The fact that I oppose the Bill in its current form shouldn’t lead people to believe that I am a male chauvinist. As facts would have it -- I have adored and fallen in love only with women .
And as I almost drown in the endless abyss of this computer monitor, I fear my thoughts say -- TIME OUT.
Before I sign off, for all you friends, critics and unknown followers, I want to confess – “I love you so much that I just can’t breathe” (Movie- Flubber)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
I LIKE YOU
It seems A-bhigyaan did manage to generate some bit of readership interest. Thank you guys for donating the precious 200-odd seconds of your lives, they mean a lot to me.
It’s not purely coincidental that this blog is a continuation of Gyaan 3 of the last blog – “Never shy away from saying I like You.”
Over the last one week, I have learnt how most people suffer from acute myopia in their perception of these three seemingly simple words – I LIKE YOU.
On the face of it, while my liking you seems to be a mere acknowledgement of appreciation, some ambitious minds assume the words to mean nothing, but a definitive way of proposing love.
Does it require great rocket science to understand that there already exists a hackneyed phrase (I LOVE YOU) for expressing such an emotion. It is strange how some ‘I Love You-obsessed’ souls fail to see the basic difference between two phrases — one which symbolises appreciation, the other which in most cases symbolises desperation.
On a lighter note, go watch the movie Saudagar...I have faint recollections of Vivek Mushran and Manisha Koirala explaining to people -- “ILU ka matlab I Love You”…Now, that makes for some good B-grade reading!!
It’s but unfortunate that such phrases today determine where you stand in a relationship. I have seen several people bloat their ego when they hear you say ‘I like you’; it’s almost as if on second thought you wonder if you are better off not admitting your appreciation.
I hope I am wrong when I say this: most of us derive a sense of pleasure in holding the upper hand in any relationship, we almost construe that when someone falls for our wit, intelligence and pulchritude, they are bowing a level lower than where we are. It seems we have forgotten the art of taking in appreciation with humility in place.
Strange why several poets have eulogised the ‘I love you’ phrase, but none have accorded enough merit to the power of ‘I like You'. I do not intend to correct them, amend their follies or emend their thought, I only wish to point out that of the people who heard me say ‘I Like You’, only those stayed who saw my meaning and intent through.
I cannot afford to lose people whom I like, coz I like very few. And if you are among those who have at some point in your lives heard me say I like you, know as much and not more.
And for all you friends who fear admitting your appreciation thinking saying ‘I Like You’ would make you a laughing stock among his/ her friends, take a step back; for only the brave have the might and right to say just exactly what they mean.
If I tell you its 4.45 am and I’m still going strong, you may erroneously assume that I’m undertaking a ‘mistimed intellectual discourse’. On the contrary, I’d say this was long pending. Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of being misunderstood.
PS: I LIKE YOU
It’s not purely coincidental that this blog is a continuation of Gyaan 3 of the last blog – “Never shy away from saying I like You.”
Over the last one week, I have learnt how most people suffer from acute myopia in their perception of these three seemingly simple words – I LIKE YOU.
On the face of it, while my liking you seems to be a mere acknowledgement of appreciation, some ambitious minds assume the words to mean nothing, but a definitive way of proposing love.
Does it require great rocket science to understand that there already exists a hackneyed phrase (I LOVE YOU) for expressing such an emotion. It is strange how some ‘I Love You-obsessed’ souls fail to see the basic difference between two phrases — one which symbolises appreciation, the other which in most cases symbolises desperation.
On a lighter note, go watch the movie Saudagar...I have faint recollections of Vivek Mushran and Manisha Koirala explaining to people -- “ILU ka matlab I Love You”…Now, that makes for some good B-grade reading!!
It’s but unfortunate that such phrases today determine where you stand in a relationship. I have seen several people bloat their ego when they hear you say ‘I like you’; it’s almost as if on second thought you wonder if you are better off not admitting your appreciation.
I hope I am wrong when I say this: most of us derive a sense of pleasure in holding the upper hand in any relationship, we almost construe that when someone falls for our wit, intelligence and pulchritude, they are bowing a level lower than where we are. It seems we have forgotten the art of taking in appreciation with humility in place.
Strange why several poets have eulogised the ‘I love you’ phrase, but none have accorded enough merit to the power of ‘I like You'. I do not intend to correct them, amend their follies or emend their thought, I only wish to point out that of the people who heard me say ‘I Like You’, only those stayed who saw my meaning and intent through.
I cannot afford to lose people whom I like, coz I like very few. And if you are among those who have at some point in your lives heard me say I like you, know as much and not more.
And for all you friends who fear admitting your appreciation thinking saying ‘I Like You’ would make you a laughing stock among his/ her friends, take a step back; for only the brave have the might and right to say just exactly what they mean.
If I tell you its 4.45 am and I’m still going strong, you may erroneously assume that I’m undertaking a ‘mistimed intellectual discourse’. On the contrary, I’d say this was long pending. Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of being misunderstood.
PS: I LIKE YOU
Thursday, January 14, 2010
'Three'dom at midnight
Its 2.45 am in New Delhi and I have developed cold feet, literally (the temperature is barely 5 degree Celsius) and philosophically (cold feet considering how rare common sense has become) …
Right so this is an attempt at generalizing some universal gyaan from my week’s personal experience…
GYAAN 1: Never spend the day with teenagers!! Especially when u have turned 23 and have been working night shifts for the last year and a half…seems they assume a day has 48 hours and that running stamina increases with age. But they are fun to be with…They will treat you to ‘Thaggu ke laddu’ and relate the most interesting anecdotes, they will laugh out loud before cracking a ‘joke’ and most often than not when they complete, you will tell yourself ‘What’s funny?’, but to her/ him you’d say..’Great sense of humour’. But there is something more to it…these teenagers make u realize how perspective of life changes in a matter of a few years…how the idealism of the 16’s changes into the realism’s of the 20’s…how the vision of 17 (that puppy lovers will surely translate their bond into the nuptial one) changes into the crazy freakonomics of infidelity and how the emotions of the 19’s, when friendships were based on the Jai-Veeru ‘Sholay’ paradigm, turn into annual ‘catching up’ on birthdays and marriages (that is if you manage a break from office!!) . Glorious days of teenage…fall back on them, u’ll always end up learning (rather revising) a lesson or two about how life could and should be lived…
Gyaan 2: You may be the best of orators, the most gifted with the sense of wit and most impressive at managing conversations.. but there are some moments in life that choke you for words .. I too did recently…A dear friend said..’I hate you’ and I wondered why..I had so much to answer, so much to say and as I kept keying in sentences after sentences (on internet chat) probing her and citing explanations … suddenly I see the message box blink yellow…”My father passed away two weeks ago” …Now, the long sentences cease, you are searching for words, u can think of two instantly “I’m Sorry”…but what beyond..the keyboards stop feeding words for your feeling…what are you to tell her -- don’t cry.. this is life…I’m there for you , you have to move on for your mom, friends …and those never-ending phrases of support that strangely people can think of only when adversity strikes. Why did the orator in me fail when that person wanted me to speak the most, why did my sense of wit fold out when it was most needed to restore a smile on those tearful eyes, why did I – the great conversationist – fall short of ideas to get her to speak, cry and feel better. I realise now…the answer is we are all short of practice…no not the practice of seeing someone die but the practice of supporting those who live on, we are woefully short of time to drop in a word everyday saying “I’m there” and I wish I had done the same atleast once a week…My friend I guess would have hated me less…
Gyaan 3: Always be honest in love and never shy away from telling “I Like You”.. Funny how the best of romances are those that are sparked off by rumours, they hit a crescendo and then die down when misunderstandings are cleared. The rumours get over, but they leave a trail behind… They are baseless speculations but strangely enough they make you think and question and at times do things you wouldn’t normally do. At times I wonder, if it’s not a third person sparking off the affair with his/ her gosspis -- “he likes her and she likes him” -- how many relationships would have just never formed. I know of plenty and I am sure, you guys know of many more. So for all the rumour mongers, Thank You!! You guys are doing a fantastic job!!
That brings us to an end. Do let me know if I make sense to even one of you. Like politicians ask for votes, students ask for notes and Mumbaikars in monsoons ask for boats (cheeks that rhymes!!), I solicit your gyaan on A-vigyaan (non-scientific to mean not from the brain but from the heart)
Right so this is an attempt at generalizing some universal gyaan from my week’s personal experience…
GYAAN 1: Never spend the day with teenagers!! Especially when u have turned 23 and have been working night shifts for the last year and a half…seems they assume a day has 48 hours and that running stamina increases with age. But they are fun to be with…They will treat you to ‘Thaggu ke laddu’ and relate the most interesting anecdotes, they will laugh out loud before cracking a ‘joke’ and most often than not when they complete, you will tell yourself ‘What’s funny?’, but to her/ him you’d say..’Great sense of humour’. But there is something more to it…these teenagers make u realize how perspective of life changes in a matter of a few years…how the idealism of the 16’s changes into the realism’s of the 20’s…how the vision of 17 (that puppy lovers will surely translate their bond into the nuptial one) changes into the crazy freakonomics of infidelity and how the emotions of the 19’s, when friendships were based on the Jai-Veeru ‘Sholay’ paradigm, turn into annual ‘catching up’ on birthdays and marriages (that is if you manage a break from office!!) . Glorious days of teenage…fall back on them, u’ll always end up learning (rather revising) a lesson or two about how life could and should be lived…
Gyaan 2: You may be the best of orators, the most gifted with the sense of wit and most impressive at managing conversations.. but there are some moments in life that choke you for words .. I too did recently…A dear friend said..’I hate you’ and I wondered why..I had so much to answer, so much to say and as I kept keying in sentences after sentences (on internet chat) probing her and citing explanations … suddenly I see the message box blink yellow…”My father passed away two weeks ago” …Now, the long sentences cease, you are searching for words, u can think of two instantly “I’m Sorry”…but what beyond..the keyboards stop feeding words for your feeling…what are you to tell her -- don’t cry.. this is life…I’m there for you , you have to move on for your mom, friends …and those never-ending phrases of support that strangely people can think of only when adversity strikes. Why did the orator in me fail when that person wanted me to speak the most, why did my sense of wit fold out when it was most needed to restore a smile on those tearful eyes, why did I – the great conversationist – fall short of ideas to get her to speak, cry and feel better. I realise now…the answer is we are all short of practice…no not the practice of seeing someone die but the practice of supporting those who live on, we are woefully short of time to drop in a word everyday saying “I’m there” and I wish I had done the same atleast once a week…My friend I guess would have hated me less…
Gyaan 3: Always be honest in love and never shy away from telling “I Like You”.. Funny how the best of romances are those that are sparked off by rumours, they hit a crescendo and then die down when misunderstandings are cleared. The rumours get over, but they leave a trail behind… They are baseless speculations but strangely enough they make you think and question and at times do things you wouldn’t normally do. At times I wonder, if it’s not a third person sparking off the affair with his/ her gosspis -- “he likes her and she likes him” -- how many relationships would have just never formed. I know of plenty and I am sure, you guys know of many more. So for all the rumour mongers, Thank You!! You guys are doing a fantastic job!!
That brings us to an end. Do let me know if I make sense to even one of you. Like politicians ask for votes, students ask for notes and Mumbaikars in monsoons ask for boats (cheeks that rhymes!!), I solicit your gyaan on A-vigyaan (non-scientific to mean not from the brain but from the heart)
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