The Ian Bell Run Out

The English crowd boo the Indian cricketers as they are making their way onto the ground from the dressing room. Not to be outdone by their public, the English media surround the Indian team, and start clicking away photographs salivating at the prospect of 

and many such fancy headlines for their front-page news. They are literally in the face of the Indian cricketers. Nice job guys. The English cricketers though applaud the Indian team, as the team enters the ground. A sarcastic response to the so-called unsportsmanlike behavior of the Indian team, it is assumed.

All this drama happens owing to the fact that the Indians appealed for a LEGITIMATE run out. I agree that the appeal was controversial but it was valid nonetheless. The English cricketers were unhappy, and Ian Bell - the batsman involved - particularly so.

I would have liked Dhoni not appeal for the run out (I take this back. Ian Bell is a scumbag.). But he did. It all happened in the heat of the moment. He was getting frustrated that Bell keeps going on and on. Things like this have happened in the past, and they will still kell keeps going on and on. Things like this have happened in the past, and they will still keep happening.

As the commentators discuss about the ongoing jeering from the crowd, out walks Ian Bell amidst a suddenly roaring crowd. Reason being? The Indian team and the captain withdrew the appeal. I absolutely feel that there was no need for MS to have taken the appeal back. But he just did. MS, you're the man!

And then one of the gentlemen in the commentary box says, "They are cheering for the Indian team, for withdrawing the appeal" Really? You think so. No you don't. You pretty well know that they are cheering for Ian Bell, and Ian Bell only.

So what's left? A bloody embarrassed English crowd and Media. All that booing and intimidation accounts for naught! Go hide your faces in the closet, or even better run your front-pages like this

Photos Courtesy : Yahoo Cricket* * - The photos available on the blog are edited versions of photos from Yahoo Cricket.
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The best I can ever be

I remember playing carom when I was 7 or 8 years old. I always win. I had a natural gift for playing carom, my dad used to say. I was proud of that fact too! I do not know when I stopped playing carom. It might have been because I grew out of it, or simply because winning became boring.

By the age of twelve, I started playing cards, and I was quite good at it too. The better I got the more games he taught me to play. In time, I learnt tricks of my own, and developed a distinct style of play. Today I could challenge anyone to a game of cards, and win it too.

Right from my childhood, I was a competitive person, and never took “No” for an answer. Be it work or play, I wanted to give it my best.

Some time back, my dad was playing a game of cards with my nephews. One of them was playing poorly and was about to give up. My dad insisted that he play, and even suggested that if he plays a particular card that my dad might lose. My little nephew started to scratch his head. He further encouraged him by saying, “Why don’t you try black?” Undecided he dropped a two of spades, and my dad lost the game. My nephew was all smiles, because he won over his grandpa. What an achievement. My dad patted him on his back and said, “Wow, you play good!”

It was then I realized what had happened… I realized being the best is not always, what it seems to be.

I am not good at carom. Hell, I never was. My dad lost to me every single time, because he wanted me to win. He set me up with coins for an easy pocket. He gave me instructions about angles, force and rebound. He gave me second chances so that I would get it right.

I boast that I can play cards, and my style of play – where did it come from? It came from my dad showing me his deck of cards and suggesting me to play a card, and explaining why it is best option to play that hand. Strategy was not something I had inherently it was something my dad taught me.

It hit me, and it hit me hard. In trying to make me the best, my dad was being his best; not in the game, but as a person. He reveled in the success of his kid. Brushed of defeats, and took pride in my conquest. Little did I know that I won a battle, but my dad won a war.

Today, I cannot compare myself to my father. I am neither that modest, nor that willing. Nevertheless, I try. Someday, I hope my father will be proud, not because I have excelled at work or art; but because I have become the best that I can ever be.

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Maa... It’s so boring at your native...

Whenever my mother comes up with the idea of visiting her hometown I lament, “Maa... It’s so boring at your native…” She immediately gives me a death stare, and after that, I do not have an option, do I?

The drawbacks of such quick unplanned visits are that they are unplanned. Not only do I have to come in terms with not having internet access & my laptop, and the dreaded no-shopping weekend, I have to make swift alternative time-pass arrangements.

My usual time-pass stuff includes:

• A 3-year-old transcend mp3 player – Although the thought of getting myself an Apple I-pod sounds spectacular, I am more inclined to getting myself a pair of Fastrack™ watches rather than the I-pod. 
• A Novel (or two) – A quick stop at the roadside vendor’ near the Guindy railway station, and I have a great array of books to choose from. Most probably, I wind up with a Nicholas Sparks Romance title. 
• A pack of playing cards 
•  A notepad and a black Cello MaxWriter

After a tiring twelve hour journey, we reach our Uncle’(Mom’s brother) place. Our uncle is a Sr. Engine Driver in the Southern Railways, and it is not often that he is at home to greet us. Our Aunt makes up for that though. She is a very congenial person. Her remarkable hospitality makes us all feel at home. I love that woman!

“Chennai is a complete waste”, I tell my brother after having a long shower. Barely minutes after I have landed, I start slandering the place where I put up. Chennai, the place I adore. There is something special in those waters; something that makes it hard not to feel an endearment to the place. I love Ramnad.

In a small town, everyone knows everyone else, and nobody needs an invite to drop in. People drop in now and then, and surprise! Everyone seems to know me; hardly do I know a handful of them. “Kevuri(Gowri) magala nee?”, is the phrase of the day. Add to it the, “Kevuri ku ivlo periya ponna iruku?” the cliché is complete.

There is very little to do during the day, other than chatting with neighbors and watching TV. Of late, I have taken a huge aversion to all Tamil Channels (Star Vijay included). Since there is no way that I am going to get to watch Castle or The Amazing Race, I settle down for watching “The Great Migration” on Discovery. Seriously, Discovery channel, how many times are you going to re-telecast it?

Then, there are my cousins, Venkat, Divya, Kausalya and Senthil. The eldest is 21, and the youngest 17. I am the eldest, and they all address me “Akka” It does feel good when all those kids look up to me; except my evil little brother of course (He knows me inside out :|)

We gather on the little terrace, trying to catch up on each others’ lives and small town gossip of course ;) Divya is particularly huge on humor, and is the most endearing of them all. I see a bit of myself in her, with her animated expressions and quick wit. Senthil is my personal favorite though. I love his smile; the huge, unaffected and mischievous smile.

After all the small talk, we either settle down for a game of cards or carom. Venkat is so damn good at carom. There is no way any of us is going to beat him in a fair game of carom. However, who is going to play fair any way? ;)

No visit is complete without our “Ramanathaswamy temple” and “Pamban Bridge” With the smell of the sea, sand and beach even a tiring walk along the Pamban bridge is a pleasant stroll. Add to it the occasional Dhanushkoti visit, there is no place better to be.

When it is time to depart, I realize that I have not touched the novel, mp3 player or the notepad. I pack my stuff, wanting to stay for one more day. I board the train, halfheartedly. Wanting to take in as much as I can, I peek outside through the window. As the train starts to move I see faces; eager faces smiling and waving. I can hear Senthil yell, “Come back soon Akka” I wave back, and mutter, “I will”

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