Cricket in the shortwave era

"Who switched on the lights in the kitchen? Look at this....!It is interfering with the radio signal. How can one listen to the commentary with this kind of background noise?" my father, a Cricket nut to this day, would be thoroughly irritated.
"Can the entire household come to a standstill just because you need to listen to your Cricket? This is ridiculous!" my mother's voice would shoot back from the kitchen.

Those were different days- simpler days. A 600 square feet home in Mumbai- just  basic black and white TV, no telephones, no mobiles, no desktops, no laptops! Our view of the world was through a cassette-cum-radio player perched precariously on a stool in the bedroom. On days such as these, father would huddle around his gadget with his ears glued to the set.
Some of us were still in the process of deciphering the game of Cricket. We would tiptoe into the room- pitch dark, taking care not to stumble against the stool and upset father in the process. As though a voodoo ritual was in progress, the room would be filled with a medley of strange voices and sounds, a symphony from another world.

Listening to Cricket commentary over a shortwave radio broadcast was a stiff challenge. It required an artist's dexterity to manipulate the tuning so that it remained focused at the station. The radio was fickle and had a mind of its own. If the Cricket was desultory, it would automatically drift away to the adjoining station! It was both comical and at times frustrating. "Runs away from us... to bowl to Gavaskar...." The lyrical beauty of the commentary would be brutally cut short and the sentence would end with a gruff, non musical voice... "yeh akashvani.. abhi aap sunenge..." or we would suddenly land in the middle of some mindless Bollywood song!
India always played nail-biting Cricket. By the time we managed to get back to the station, by spinning the tuner a zillion times, a different batsman's name would be heard much to our dismay. We knew that a couple of wickets had tumbled! Those were inopportune times to ask father, "Did anyone get out?" We were sure to get an earful!

If it was the month of July, the clatter of rain filled the late evenings in Mumbai. It formed the backdrop against which the voices of John Arlott, Trevor Bailey, Brian Johnston and Christopher Martin Jenkins rang loud and clear in spurts and muffled and incomprehensible very soon. It all depended on a variety of factors- signal strength, cloud cover, lights turned on at home, the angle of the antenna, the pressure that the fingers applied to hold onto the antenna and finally on the fancies of the instrument! If it was December, Richie Benaud and Alan McGilvray woke us up from Australia. We slept lulled by Tony Cozier's voice in the Caribbean.
Slowly, we learnt to associate a name with each voice. These gentlemen were masters of their trade. Live images from the Oval came floating through their words and we could feel the pulsating action underway just at that moment in England. In a sense, "watching" the action would have robbed us of our imagination. Gavaskar's epic 221 is part of folklore because we didn't "watch" it. Sunny stood out.. more alive through the words of John Arlott- as the lone knight in shining armour, who took on the might of the English bowling for two whole days..  to the threshold of victory, only to eventually falter....! What a heartbreak!

Summer vacation took us to Kumbakonam. Father's cousin stayed at Dabir Street. At dinner time, he would come nattily dressed and peering through his spectacles announce with a note of triumph- "97 for 2 at lunch"! It didn't in the least matter that he was talking about a match played between England and West Indies. Cricket nuts, even in nondescript places felt "connected" to the world through their short wave radios and followed Cricket just for the satisfaction of it!
My father says that he learnt his Cricket from "Jailor mama", "Gondu mama" (who had an upturned nose, we're told) and "Drill Master" at Tiruvidaimarudur.... a remote town in a remote corner of India. It boasts of a temple, a row of houses, a few street dogs and fields stretching till the horizon.
How we wish these simple folks could have reached out to John Arlott and confided that his voice - nasal, rhythmic and poetic all at once- soothed their evenings! Wouldn't he be pleased as punch!?

We are all innocent!

"We are helpless. Nehruvian policies are responsible sir! Had Sardar Patel been the PM, we would have been a developed country by now, much like Singapore. But we are doing our best. It takes time to undo the misdeeds of the last 60 years, get to a clean slate and then show some progress. It is not magic!"
We are not in a position to interview Nehru on what his compulsions were half a century ago. But we have enough and more spokespersons who can read Nehru's mind and speak on his behalf. Talk to them and we are convinced that Nehru himself should be absolved of all blame. The problem was inherited by him.
"India was systematically looted for over three hundred years. The kohinoor diamond.. where do you think it is ?...... In the British Museum! Hence, by the time India became independent, we had to literally start from scratch. It was Panditji's vision that led to the five year plans and the formation of IITs. This IT revolution ... on which you software fellows are riding ....is ultimately Panditji's brainchild! Please give credit where it is due... and don't simply malign our leaders!"
India always seems to have had issues going by the High School History textbooks. As per this history, British inherited an India ravaged by the Mughals. The Mughals made inroads into India because of the divisive nature of India's kings, this fissiparous tendency had its origins in the caste system, the caste system itself is attributed to the Vedas, the Vedas are after all... anaadi (birthless) and authorless! Our investigation clearly hit a dead-end in an effort to find an explanation for the current state of affairs.

Not just India- it is impossible to find a culprit in any field... for any problem. "The buck stops here" is possibly only a paper weight in Obama's office!
"There are so many bugs (defects) in this feature! The project is currently "in red" and management is concerned about the software quality. Why are so many defects showing up just before customer delivery? An urgent post mortem is required!"  the project manager in a top IT firm is indignant.
But the software engineers have a different story. "If we look at these bugs, almost all of them are "baseline" defects. The previous release also had them. It's just that with this new feature, those baseline issues are getting exposed!"
"Baseline" is a peculiar term in software development- a faceless entity on which you can pin all your faults with no questions asked. The previous release had baseline issues, the one before that also had baseline issues and it seems to extend ad infinitum.. even predating the age of computers and software development!

After every major incident in our country, our minister will usually condemn "this most cowardly act" or for a change as "this most dastardly act". A couple of days later, we will hear- "We have some promising leads and we are pursuing them." Soon, a few individuals will be rounded up as "suspects" and paraded (often covered with a hood) in full view of the TV cameras.
Invariably, we've always caught the wrong people!
"They are innocent boys incapable of harming even a fly! We are victimized!" we often hear from their guardians. Sure enough, in some time, when the immensity of the "incident" has been wiped from our memories, these suspects are released. "Our stand is vindicated today! Justice has been delayed, but at least not denied," they announce gleefully, with a victory sign as they emerge from their confines. The perpetrator of the crime is always someone else who is "still at large".

If a suspect initially admits that he is guilty, in some time, he revises the story with the claim that the confession was extracted from him "under duress". No proof is good enough to nail anyone. If there is video footage, it is grainy and hence inconclusive. If the video footage is conclusive, it has been morphed using technology. Otherwise, it is a "sting operation" which cannot be used in a court of law. If the culprit is caught red-handed, the victim has an out-of-court settlement and suggests that the entire episode is "unfortunate" and should be buried. Every suspect is invariably innocent and a victim of a conspiracy hatched by some dark forces or at least a foreign hand. Scams of astronomical proportions abound, but even by mistake, we cannot get to the guilty. The one who is currently booked often reads "spiritual books for solace" in the confines of the cell and looks sick. We feel sorry for him and are relieved when he is finally let out.

We are yet to hear "I am guilty" in an unequivocal, unambiguous voice! I don't think we will ever get to the guilty. No one is guilty. We are all innocent! It is an age of innocence.
At the "Annual Thread Changing Ceremony", (please read my previous post for reference), we chant "Kaamo'kaarsheet, manyura'kaarsheet namo namah" 108 times. The import is, "Lord, I did not commit any sin the entire year! If at all some objectionable acts are ascribed to me, I would say in my defence, that it was the "desire (kaama)" in me or the "anger (manyu)" in me that led me astray. Left to myself, I am as innocent as a lamb! If at all you need to punish, you can go after kaama-devata (desire) and manyuh-devata (anger). But I am truly blameless!"
Thus, Veda itself frees us from all crime and associated guilt.

The truth of the matter is... as the Geeta says... "Nirdosham hi samam brahma". The essential part of each individual, the spirit, "brahma" is "nirdosh".. free from any blame, any defect.. whatsoever.
Whenever someone blames us, we immediately recoil, claim our essential nature and shout aloud- "We are nirdosh, basically divine, intrinsically blameless, truly innocent!"

"Hey, if everyone is innocent, what about these evils all around us?"
"The guilty will answer that question........!"
...
"Hey, how come there is now..total silence!?"

Ganpati bappa morya!

Much as we would like to resist, the pandal is brought down step by step. The tarpaulin sheet rolled up in a bundle, the bamboos stacked up in a corner and the ropes thrown in a heap. The stage is dismantled, the decoration pulled apart- some of it salvaged for the next year. Soon, space- empty and void is all that remains; so removed from the excitement that enthralled one and all. A trail of heavy hearts is left behind as the 10-day Ganpati festival draws to a climactic close at Mumbai. The next day to school or to work is such a drag!

Every city has a culture uniquely its own. Chennai has the month long music festival and Kolkata its navratri puja. For Mumbai, it has to be Ganesh Chaturthi.

Ganpatis come in all shapes, sizes, hues and postures. Some of them acquired a star status of their own. The thespian, Raj Kapoor's Ganpati was awaited with bated breath on the day of "visarjan" (immersion). The float had a standard pattern- idols of Shiva and Parvati alongside Ganesha. Water spouted out of Shiva's matted locks and drenched the expectant crowd on both sides of the road. As per tradition, Raj Kapoor made it a point to advertise his upcoming film on the float - another reason for the huge turnout. There were equal number of people who came to gape at the posters of "Satyam Shivam Sundaram" and "Mera naam joker" as those who were more spiritually inclined! It was all perfectly fine.

Lalbaug cha Raja (King of Lalbaug) and the idol at Ganesh Galli were amongst the biggest and the best- 8 metres tall and majestically propped on a hooded serpent or a gigantic rat! There was another popular Ganpati,  referred in hushed tones as "Smuggler Ganpati"! Even Ganpati has to pay a price for the company he keeps!  After all, He is the  Lord of the good, the bad and even the ugly!
Ganesha stars in many avatars- with a bow and arrow as Lord Rama, perched on Garuda as though he is Vishnu and even armed with a mace like Hanuman. At Dharavi, He appeared as a "Madrasi Ganpati"- with vibhuti on foreheard and a simple curl of the trunk.
Non-madrasi Ganpatis sported a red chandra-bindu on the foreheard and had animated trunks- trunks which jutted out and had a couple of twists before resting on the chest. The North-South divide was as straightforward as that!

There was a new trend to portray Ganesha in modern costumes to sprinkle some humour- dressed up as a soldier and protecting the LOC at Kargil, handing over the World Cup to Kapil Dev and who knows, maybe, even as Anna this time! Ganpati as Anna will be a challenge, even for Ganpati- He will have to hold on to a modak, nice and enticing- without the luxury of putting it into his mouth! Ganesha may object to this makeover!
Some idols were truly divine; the eyes- almond shaped and doe-like, glistening and life-like, with a beatific smile. Rarely though, the idol appeared to have a scowl and seemed displeased with the general scheme of things!

The artisans let their imagination run riot and through their simple creation drove home the concept of "sarva-aatma-bhaava"- The One alone appears as the entire creation and as other Gods we hold dear.

Word of mouth took us to these locations, each dazzled with breathtaking props and amazing artistry. It was just like Disneyland, only the theme-park was as big as the city! There were goodies to be collected at each venue- modaks, sugar candies, an appetizing mix of rice flakes and jaggery; some so delicious that we would come back a second time to complete our meal! Bhajans and bollywood chartbusters vied with each other over loudspeakers, dandiya beats and disco lights formed the backdrop for austere vedic chanting!

It is just this juxtaposition of opposites, so indicative of Mumbai itself, that makes this festival endearing- a time for people to forget their work-a-day world and immerse themselves in a larger than life, community revelry. We need it now more than ever.

Today is the day of visarjan. I'm possibly a 1000 km from Mumbai. Standing outside my balcony, I can visualize the scene in Mumbai unfolding just now..... and let out a full throated cry.. "Ganpati Bappa Morya!"
The countdown has begun...355 sleeps to the next Ganpati!
Pudcha varshi lavkar yaa.....Agle baras tu jaldi aa!!


P.S.
If I have a regret, it's my inability to join the dance during visarjan! Rajesh, Harnish, Prasad, Naresh, elders from a different generation- the dimunitive Mr Palvia, Ashish's dad and even "motaa mummy" (who was really huge)... almost everyone could smear a "gulal tilak" on their forehead and break into a little jig so effortlessly! It didn't bother them in the least whether they were in step with the music or whether they followed any rhythm at all! They just let themselves loose, swung their hands and legs about as they pleased and had a great time!
In contrast, some of us were too shy and self conscious- we used to watch the proceedings with folded hands as mute spectators. At times, someone would pull us into the dance ring; we would protest and cringe and sheepishly shrink into the sidelines again! Dude.....can you be a better sport!? 

A pipe dream!

Some expressions in English are confusing. We've long lost the context in which they were originally used. Take the expression- "It is a pipe dream". Today, it is used to convey an idea which is fantastic, but has absolutely no hope of being realized. There is a feeling of helplessness and a deep anguish associated with the phrase and invariably conjures up grainy, black and white images of perennially pained characters like Guru Dutt! 

How did "pipe dream" originate? Would a budding plumber have started it- with a modified version of Martin Luther King, Jr's speech: "I have a dream....... well, actually... a pipe dream!"? Is "pipe dream" a compound noun or is "pipe" an adjectival usage? Can we "pipe" dreams and use it as a verb?

Moving into a newly constructed home is a pipe dream for many of us. Everything is in place but the running water! We grapple with civic authorities, make several trips and when all else fails, we grease a few palms as well. After all, I am not Anna! The pipes are laid out and the connects greased all right, but when we cup our palm below the tap, not a droplet of water trickles out of the pipe! In exasperation, we throw up our hands and exclaim- it is still a pipe dream!

Mumbai is a city of staggering contrasts. There are some who gift an entire 70 storey building to their wives and others who spend a lifetime in the hollow of a roadside pipe! Above all, we are made to believe that it is a city of dreams- of people who land up from nondescript villages with no money, stay in a pipe and dream big! It surely is a pipe dream.

"Everything I like is either illegal, immoral or fattening!" chuckles an old-timer with a wry sense of humour! "I work hard and earn good money. If I have a vice, it is just this one- to smoke an honest pipe at the club, over a game of cards. Am I not entitled to this simple pleasure? I don't need this pontification from the likes of you- that smoking is injurious to health and I shouldn't smoke in public places! Where else can I indulge in my pipe dream?"

A "Coffee rasika" is finicky with an unreal expectation. The coffee has to be more than perfect!  Only filter coffee please- the decoction just right, the chicory content- correct to the decimal, milk and sugar calibrated with a test tube. Above all, the temperature has to be exact on the tongue scale. Offer him a lukewarm cup of coffee and he shows his disgust- "Can't I dream of a good cup of coffee at least? How many times have I told you that it has to be hot- piping hot!"

"I play the pipe, but there is not much money or interest in it these days", confesses an outspoken musician. "I don't like to blow my own trumpet! I fall in the same lineage as the maestro Rajaratnam Pillai, but my pet peeve is that nadaswaram artistes like me have got relegated to just these marriage halls. All that they want is a group of people to sit in a corner, play the pipe and make some noise! My dream was to make it big- to play the pipe at the Academy during the Music Season. It's going to remain a pipe dream saar!"

English is a funny language all right. "A fiddler on the roof" is actually fiddling with his fiddle and not involved in any objectionable activity. And yes, non-fiddlers too can play a second fiddle to someone. Enough of this play on words!

When am I going to master all these nuances of the language? It is a pipe dream - I need to drum it into my head!!