Tuesday, October 31, 2017

A day in the life of a Rahul Dravid fan

I sat there in awe. I am seeing him for the first time. I narrowly missed him at Cricinfo, but this time I was determined. Woke up at 6, ate breakfast, caught the 7.30 bus from my home to Richmond Road and then an auto to the Hotel Lalit Ashok, 35 kms from my place, just to watch Dravid speak. That, on a Sunday morning.

I reached there 1.5 hours before the session started. I strolled around the hotel, keeping a tab on the venue. They were cleaning it. I wanted a closer seat. In between I went to checkout the Atta Galatta book store. It was empty. The proprietor was prepping up the volunteers. He promised them discounts on books and Pizza for lunch. I thought he would offer some to me too, but none came. I buy Hansda Shekhar's "The Adivasi will not Dance"

By the time I came back, the first few rows were taken. I am waiting for Reji Ravindran, friend for 20 years. I meet a few friends from the Twitter world. I am itching to sit. Reji, where are you ? I call him. I'm at Cubbon, he replies. Finally he strolls in, we are lucky to get a seat, not at the back nor at the front. Then Dravid arrives. I catch a glimpse. The crowd roars, for their beloved Bengaluru Son. The Wall. I'm impatient. Shall we go in the side and stand? I ask Reji. That was what we did to catch another giant, the 10/74 Anil Kumble, the previous day.

We don't. Because the session has started.

Prem Panicker is brilliant. He is one sports journalist I have been following for a very long time. He introduces Dravid as an immovable object who is an irresistible force.

Rajdeep pokes, Dravid leaves outside the off stump. Dravid says the cash is good for cricket. He wants players to be authentic to themselves, which makes sense. He talks about a 48 hour train journey where he goes and picks brains of all the great Karnataka players. He also leg glances the Yo Yo test deftly to the fine leg boundary. All laced with good humour. Man, when did he become such an nice speaker. I can listen to him all day.

Then an important question is asked. Will you ever write your story? The crowd cheers.

I wait, because I want to pre-order the book if his answer is yes.

He says - "I want to write a honest book, and I don't want my family to put through that pain."

My hands join for an ovation without my knowledge. I am disappointed a moment later.

Rajdeep pokes again. Rajdeep is romantic. He is worried about kids. Dravid says, they are all fine, I see them in and out. He quips, "I hear about players being too big. Who made them big, yaar? A lot of other people have become rich by players being rich". Rajdeep smiles, but deep down, I think, for him it feels like a Shoaib Akhtar delivery which has grazed the abdomen guard.

Multiple times in two days Rajdeep is hit out of Hotel Lalit Ashok lawns. First by Kumble, now by the gentleman Dravid, who used to show aggression by defending a fast Allan Donald delivery in front foot.

Later greats join in. Kirmani has a compliment for Dravid. "You talk a lot well and humorous now. And you are doing well with the kids; you are the right choice"

Now. It is all over. I run with my copy of Timeless Steel, a book from Cricinfo, for an autograph. I can see a small crowd following someone. Phones are in air. Taking selfies with the player who once batted like God. I can only push, but not progress. I come back.


I am the 17 year old again.

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

Farewell UDC Kumari :(

It was the summer of 2001. We were studying(that is debatable ;) ) for our final semester exams at college. The college was almost empty. There was no mess to have food, but we boys were always in the Men's Hostel, playing volleyball and cricket, preparing for the exams, doing the long walks to Pallimoola and Viyyur, watching movies and drinking nostalgia. It was at that time Ishtam shooting happened there. I still remember me, Vellingiri,Sijin, Sujo, Reji, TP and few others walking into a room in the then ECE dept. Kalpana sat there as Inspector Saramma. And we chatted with her. Probably seeing only boys in the college she asked if ours was a mixed college. We said yes and I remember Velli adding - "It is study leave and vacation time, that is why there are no girls". Kalpana said - "Ho! What a sad thing for you. (ഹൊ! എന്തൊരു സങ്കടം!!)" And we all laughed. The humour she made of a comment from Velli was so spontaneous. Later we said bye and went. To this day whenever I see Kalpana on TV or movies I remember that day 15 years back. We have all grown old, and yesterday Kalpana - the UDC, the Sakunthala, the Mohini, the Mary - left the world. She might be an actress with amazing talent doing all sorts of roles, but I like her humour roles. Because to make another person laugh is not easy, and I have experienced it from her.

May her soul rest in eternal peace. #Kalpana

Image Credits: Abhilash Narayanan

Sunday, March 02, 2014

When Things Fall Apart

I first heard about Chinua Achebe in Mathrubhumi Illustrated Weekly's My Book column. It is a column in the Malayalam Weekly, published by the Mathrubhumi group, about one's favorite book and it is one of the sources that has introduced me to some great books. That time somebody has written about Things Fall Apart. I didn't read much about the story in the article, but I read about the author and his area of writing. And I told myself, native Africa is something that I haven't read yet. True, I have read J M Coetzee before, but the 2 books of him I have read, never told anything about the native African and his struggle. Chinua Achebe did that. And since then his name was in my mind.

I got my first Chinua Achebe book back in 2012 Bangalore Book Festival, and it was Things Fall Apart. But the reading had to wait. In the maze of unread books I have (currently numbered at 141) I forgot about that book, even though Achebe's death in March 2013 reminded me about it. Finally it was this last month I got onto it..

Things Fall Apart was first published in 1958, and tells the story of the great warrior Okonkwo of the Igbo tribe who lives in the village of Umofia. He is a successful man who believes that manliness lies in the tribal traditions of having more wives, more land, and more titles. And he has achieved them all by himself. His father, Unoka, was lazy and didn't think anything about tomorrow. He was a debtor and owned money to lot of people in the village. Okonkwo has seen his father and had decided not to be like him. With his hard work, he has acquired 3 wives, 2 barns and a few titles. But things starts to go wrong when he takes up the guardianship of Ikemefuna, a boy who was taken by the Okonkwo's village as a peace settlement offer with the neighbouring village. Initially Okonkwo doesn't like him much, but later he realizes that the boy is hardworking and truthful. Ikemefuna also considers Okonkwo as his father and had forgotten about his home. Then disaster strikes in the form of the decision from village elders that the boy should be killed. An old person in the village warns Okonkwo that he should not be doing anything with respect to the the murder of the child as he is father-like figure to the child. But Okonkwo joins the group of men who takes Ikemefuna to the jungle to kill him and at the unfortunate decisive moment , he himself strikes the killing blow, even though the boy is crying to him for protection. After that incident he is guilt ridden. And later during the funeral of a village elder, when his gun accidentally fires and kills a fellow tribesman, he is forced to go into exile for seven years. By the time he is back, he sees his village being partially controlled by the church and white people. He is deeply disturbed that this village men are doing nothing about it. To add insult to the injury, his own son joins the church and follows the new religion. The rest of the story tells us about how he takes on the white men and how it affects him.

The novel's beauty lies in the fact that Achebe has taken a situation, which may be unknown to the readers, and yet he has made an universal impact with it. The village ceremonies, culture, rituals, myths and customs are all existing within the African community that Achebe also is part of. Yet it is so appealing to everyone. Change the character names and some of the rituals, Things Fall Apart could be a novel set in pre-independence India.

Biyi Bandele writes in the novel's introduction that Chinua Achebe's great uncle who brought up his father was a person who had taken 'highest-but-one-title' in the clan, and was considered to be an important figure in his tribe. He gave space for the missionaries to operate, but later he sent them packing. Achebe's father on the other hand joined the missionaries and received education from them. Achebe grew up in a house where they sang hymns and read Bible every night, but he was also interested in his great uncle's compound and would often take part in pagan festivals of rice and stew. Achebe lived at the crossroads of culture, and it is from this he has setup this beautiful novel, which is largely the story about his own tribe.

Things Fall Apart is a novel, that can tear you apart, if you put yourselves in Okonkwo's shoes. It tells you the story of a proud but powerless man who is forced to clash with his own society and foreigners. At the same time it also depicts the clash of two opposite cultures. That makes this novel truly a great one. I am sure about adorning my library with more Achebe novels. You should too.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Delhi Book Club - Indian Keepers of the Literary Light

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According to the survey titled Readers round the world conducted by World Culture Score Index in 2011, India tops the world with 10 hours and 42 minutes of reading per week per person, followed by Thailand (09:42), China (08:00), Russia (07:06), USA (05:42) and the least being Korea (03:06). Now when we live in a country which tops the world in time spent on reading, necessity calls for the rise of Literary Guardians who can ensure that people’s reading-time is spent worthily. Those who can take up the responsibility of steering readers to wonderful works and admirable authors have to step in and help people celebrate the spirit of literature. This is exactly how Delhi Book Club chips in.  

Delhi Book Club, started on 15th January, 2012 is now heading for its second anniversary. ‘A theme based episodic book club’ is what they aptly call themselves. Every month they choose a theme/author for that month’s meet. Now I am bound to mention about the quality of their choices, but the quality’s so sublime that I’ve parked an entire paragraph for it coming later. Though they insist members on reading content related to a particular theme, they value freedom and let them read anything that interests them which is related in any way to that theme.

Aakanksha Kulkarni, a major force behind Delhi Book Club says “When I started, I was afraid of the diversity the group would attract and how it would be so difficult to tame the discussion or get it to one plane to suit and interest everyone. Hence, I decided to make the book club a theme based book club. It was done for 2 reasons: 1. So that under a particular theme, one reads a book according to one’s own level of reading and 2. Members can take back many more flavors to explore with every meet they attend.”  

They meet often in public parks, restaurants, cafes and convention centers, and when I gaze at their pictures I get a feeling that those locations are somehow miraculously set for singing lovely lullabies of literature. By Aakanksha’s description, a Delhi Book Club meeting essentially has a moderator, usually a person who is the most passionate and most well-read on that particular topic or author. H/She moderates the discussion by starting off the discussion vector and holding its steering throughout. Each member speaks about the book he reads and there are no rules or formats on how to articulate as the club believes that a good creative discussion sprouts not from suffocative prescriptions but from ventilative freedom. Each person gets to speak their part and the discussion furthers reaching out to more topics related to the theme: related movies, relevant experiences, etc.; and hence the meet ends up becoming a nutritious and thirst-quenching river of knowledge for the members to drink from.

What distinguishes Delhi Book Club from its peers is the superior quality of their choices of themes and authors. Take for a start the Rushdie Meet; how could I miss that! Victor Hugo, the man (why not call him God?) who wrote Les Miserables.  Somerset Maugham, have you read The Razor’s Edge?  Russian Literature, Oh boy! Leo Tolstoy. Nobel Prize Winners, forget not that Bertrand Russell won Nobel Prize in Literature in 1950. Oscar Wilde! Don’t we want to go all the way to Paris, shake his grave with all our strength and wake him from death only to beg him to start writing again? Edgar Allen Poe, my Favorite. Dear reader, now having read this name, stand up in respect, throw him a salute and say ‘I shall never forget your poems. Nevermore!’

Look at their choices. Brilliant! See their pictures. Splendid! Lie not, be frank.  Don’t you crave to be there with them in Delhi discussing your favorite author? And when you can’t attend the meet, don’t you feel like letting out tears which twinkle in the light of your love for literature?

Retrospect on what Delhi Book Club does. How simple it does seem, yet how noble it indeed is. If I were an atheist, I would say ‘God doesn’t exist, so he can’t do anything for Literature, but I am glad that you people really exist and are doing something for it’. If I were a theist, I would say ‘God bless you folks for all that you are doing for Literature and may His kingdom reserve a place for you after you die.’ But since I am agnostic, I say ‘God be there or not, you guys are doing a great job and none can deny that.

Want to join them? This is where you can find them: https://www.facebook.com/groups/delhibookclub/

-written by Lakshmikanth Koundinya