We are all ‘Gail Wynand’s...
Now you might be wondering who the hell he is... Well, he is a fictional character from the epic novel ‘The fountainhead’ written by Ayn Rand. If you have not read it, just grab a copy today, finish it off in a week and then go and buy ‘ATLAS SHRUGGED’... After reading these 2 books I stopped reading fiction for one year as a tribute to Ayn Rand. It was like I had reached the pinnacle of modern English fiction, nothing else stands. More about Ayn Rand and her books in another post, perhaps. This one is about a specific character from ‘The Fountainhead’.
Just who is this Gail Wynand? Well...
He is you. He is me. He is almost 90% of the human population.
In the novel, he is a powerful newspaper tycoon, who rose from the rags to rule the newspaper industry. He is characterised as a highly “successful” industrialist. He shares a lot of the positive ideals present in Howard Roark, the main protagonist of the novel... But unfortunately the more time he spends in this world the more Wynand gives in and gives up on his ideals one by one, in order to be “successful”... He had the potential to be idealistic, but gave it up under the guise of being realistic.
How does that make you and me to be like him?
Just remember how you felt the day you finished school, the day you scored a double hundred in Math, the day you got admitted in the vocation of your choice (or parent’s choice or society’s choice:)), the day you finished college, the day you got your first job. Head held high, floating in ideals, a spring in your step... As the cliché goes, “the world was your oyster”... "Ye ‘Also-rans’, ye ‘average men’, ye ‘boring bosses’, here cometh I....", you muttered in your breath. You had ideals, big bold ones, determined to make a difference, determined to be the difference, determined to be different...
Few years on... Have you lived up to those ideals? Do you still do things only if you believe in them? Are you the ‘Prime Mover’? The answer my dear friends would be a mighty ‘NO’.... If it had been ‘yes’, that would have given you an outside chance of claiming to be a ‘Howard Roark’ - the perfectionist, the purushottaman(tamil)... But alas the answer is ‘NO’ and that has made you and me and many many many of us just ‘Gail Wynands’... We would like to believe we are all ‘Howard Roarks’, but the harsh, hard-hitting reality is that we are all Gail Wynands, nothing more, nothing less.
Gail Wynand – The Man who could have been...
Note: Those who are familiar with Rand’s works will appreciate this post a lot more. Others please go and read her books and then read this post... “The Fountainhead” and “Atlas Shrugged” are two exhilarating experiences that are not to be missed, two epics that are absolutely relevant to today’s world.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Nagareega Komaaligal - Naangalaa?
Sometime ago I got a forwarded e-mail which had a very beautifully and funnily written Tamil Kavithai. (I have lost it and if I somehow find it,I will post that email also here.) Though beautifully written the logic was all flawed (Porul kutram :))... The author laughed at IT people calling them 'Naagareega Komaaligal' and blamed them for just about everything thats wrong with our Indian society today. I found found that a bit hard to digest and downright illogical at times.
The following is my riposte, a view from the other side...
Naagareega komaali ena kindal seitheer
Nadathai kettavarena pattam alitheer
Kalaachaaram kettalum emmai pizhaitheer – Engal
Kaigal kumbhi povathaaga thiraipadam edutheer...
Pen tholai kaatti pizhaikkum iyakkunar undaam
Panam pidungi vaazhum arasathigaariyum undaam
Thamizh pesa theriyaa Thamizh vaathiyum undaam - Innaattil
Thandamaaga irukkum pala kaavalar undaam
Kadavul peyaril yaemaatrum Paathari undaam
Kadavul illai ena yaemaattrum naathigar undaam
Vanjanaiyudam aatchi seiyyum arasiyal vaathiyum undaam - Innaattil
Verumendru athai paarkkum vaakkaalar undaam
Irunthaalum engalai than –
Naagareega komaali ena kindal seitheer
Nadathai kettavarena pattam alitheer...
Kaniporiyai katrathu thaan engal pizhaiyo – Ungal
Vayitrerichalai kilappi vittathu engal pizhaiyo..
Veettai vittu odipogum kanavanum undu – pirar
Ottai pirithu thirudi pizhaiikum nanjugal undu
Koottai vittu odi pogum kunjinai pola – nam
Naattai vittu odi pogum pinjugal undu...
Manaiviyaiyum vittru pizhaikkum mirunganagal undu
Maaanaviyim vittu vaikkaatha aasiri undu
Kudi bothaiyil mayangi silar oru puram kidakka- pen
Vizhee bothaiyil mayangi thinarum maanavar undu
Irunthaalum engalai than –
Naagareega komaali ena kindal seiveer
Nadathai kettavarena pattam alippeer...
Naangal mattum naagareega komaaligalo – illai
Ivargallelaam Anaagareega Komaaligalaa?
The following is my riposte, a view from the other side...
Naagareega komaali ena kindal seitheer
Nadathai kettavarena pattam alitheer
Kalaachaaram kettalum emmai pizhaitheer – Engal
Kaigal kumbhi povathaaga thiraipadam edutheer...
Pen tholai kaatti pizhaikkum iyakkunar undaam
Panam pidungi vaazhum arasathigaariyum undaam
Thamizh pesa theriyaa Thamizh vaathiyum undaam - Innaattil
Thandamaaga irukkum pala kaavalar undaam
Kadavul peyaril yaemaatrum Paathari undaam
Kadavul illai ena yaemaattrum naathigar undaam
Vanjanaiyudam aatchi seiyyum arasiyal vaathiyum undaam - Innaattil
Verumendru athai paarkkum vaakkaalar undaam
Irunthaalum engalai than –
Naagareega komaali ena kindal seitheer
Nadathai kettavarena pattam alitheer...
Kaniporiyai katrathu thaan engal pizhaiyo – Ungal
Vayitrerichalai kilappi vittathu engal pizhaiyo..
Veettai vittu odipogum kanavanum undu – pirar
Ottai pirithu thirudi pizhaiikum nanjugal undu
Koottai vittu odi pogum kunjinai pola – nam
Naattai vittu odi pogum pinjugal undu...
Manaiviyaiyum vittru pizhaikkum mirunganagal undu
Maaanaviyim vittu vaikkaatha aasiri undu
Kudi bothaiyil mayangi silar oru puram kidakka- pen
Vizhee bothaiyil mayangi thinarum maanavar undu
Irunthaalum engalai than –
Naagareega komaali ena kindal seiveer
Nadathai kettavarena pattam alippeer...
Naangal mattum naagareega komaaligalo – illai
Ivargallelaam Anaagareega Komaaligalaa?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
What’s in a name?
One of my part time interests is knowing about names...whenever I hear a new name I have this compelling urge to find out what it means.. The other day a new girl (or should I say Lady?) joined one of the multitude of IT teams here. Her name was Tamsa*... Now the name-digger in me was aroused enough to google and find out that Tamsa is the name of a river in MadhyaPradesh (a’ la Kaveri or Ganga). Hence the name...
Well, I also have this part-time urge to share interesting trivia with unsuspecting people without even considering the possibility that they might not be interested or as in this case a little too interested for all the wrong reasons. So... As a luncheon discussion topic, I flaunted my knowledge of the name to my colleagues... Quite harmless. Right? The problem was, despite being a guy myself, I for a moment forgot to consider the multi-nefarious ways that a male mind can work and the multiple misinterpretations that any human mind can concoct. It was also very naive of me to not consider the attractive complexion or the appreciable configuration of the female under discussion.
This resulted in M telling V that I had an eye for her; V in turn told B that I had a crush on her; B told D that I liked her coz of her attractive complexion; And D told K that I liked her due to her sweet voice... Now all this did not happen over a week’s or day’s time... Everything happened in 5 minutes as each guy came and sat around the table in the canteen... 5 minutes and an innocent comment is converted into an indication(or indictment?) of insatiable infatuation... Un-freakin-believable!!! Boys will always be Boys... But then some of us (like me :)) choose to grow up into MEN... I tried to put my foot down and make them realise that I was not interested in her. But, do you really think it worked?
Finally S came to the table and informed us that the girl was already married. That’s when the leg-pulling stopped. I was relieved that the charade was over... But NO, it wasn’t. In one moment they changed me from a love-smitten lad into a grieving heart-broken lover...
So here I am supposedly grieving for missing out on a girl (or should I certainly say Lady now?) who I was supposed to be ogling, who is apparently happily married, and in whom I hadn’t the slightest of interest... But my colleagues haven’t till now accepted and would never accept the FACT that I was only remotely interested in the name and the name only...
* - Name changed to protect identity ;-) So please don’t go orkutting in search for her :-)
Well, I also have this part-time urge to share interesting trivia with unsuspecting people without even considering the possibility that they might not be interested or as in this case a little too interested for all the wrong reasons. So... As a luncheon discussion topic, I flaunted my knowledge of the name to my colleagues... Quite harmless. Right? The problem was, despite being a guy myself, I for a moment forgot to consider the multi-nefarious ways that a male mind can work and the multiple misinterpretations that any human mind can concoct. It was also very naive of me to not consider the attractive complexion or the appreciable configuration of the female under discussion.
This resulted in M telling V that I had an eye for her; V in turn told B that I had a crush on her; B told D that I liked her coz of her attractive complexion; And D told K that I liked her due to her sweet voice... Now all this did not happen over a week’s or day’s time... Everything happened in 5 minutes as each guy came and sat around the table in the canteen... 5 minutes and an innocent comment is converted into an indication(or indictment?) of insatiable infatuation... Un-freakin-believable!!! Boys will always be Boys... But then some of us (like me :)) choose to grow up into MEN... I tried to put my foot down and make them realise that I was not interested in her. But, do you really think it worked?
Finally S came to the table and informed us that the girl was already married. That’s when the leg-pulling stopped. I was relieved that the charade was over... But NO, it wasn’t. In one moment they changed me from a love-smitten lad into a grieving heart-broken lover...
So here I am supposedly grieving for missing out on a girl (or should I certainly say Lady now?) who I was supposed to be ogling, who is apparently happily married, and in whom I hadn’t the slightest of interest... But my colleagues haven’t till now accepted and would never accept the FACT that I was only remotely interested in the name and the name only...
* - Name changed to protect identity ;-) So please don’t go orkutting in search for her :-)
Inji Marappaa
Of all the things in the world, never in my wildest imaginations did I ever fathom that nostalgia would be induced by the thought of this tiny sweet and sour candy.. Well I guess it all started when I spotted this "crystalised ginger" while I was grocery shopping at 'Stop&Shop' yesterday.. It reminded me of the wonderful Inji marappa,while sitting in the 'mofussil' bus in Aarapaalayam, waiting for it to start, the old man who would be selling them for 25 paisa each - Roobaikku naalu ( My God! 25 paisa?!?!? We dont even respect 25cents here). As a kid I was never allowed to buy these things. 'Udambukku Keduthal' appa used to say, 'Vayithula poochi mulaichudum' ammaa used to say... So I never tasted the Inji marappa (BTW, it is a sweet and sour candy made of ginger (Tamil:Inji) that tastes not too bad) till I was old enough to go to college.
While in College, once in a month when I used to travel back home I used to have Inji marappa.. Not because I liked its taste. It tasted ok... Infact the first time, I bought it because I took pity on the very old man (He could have been a septuagenarian) and bought 4 injimappaas for Rs1... His hands used to tremble even as he picked them up one by one and placed it in my late-teen palms... All I saw was his old beaten down trembling weak body, but still strong spirit for survival... I am sure with his frail body, he could have made more money as a beggar. But still he didn’t choose that life. I remember sometimes I gave him a Rs2 coin.. He would not even have Rs1 change... ( Naan thaan muthal poni pola)... I would say, 'Parava illa thatha... vaechukonga.' He would not reply... Instead he would put his hand into his bag and pull out 4 more inji marappaas to compensate for the extra money.. In that single moment, I learnt what dignity and self-esteem was all about.
Many people like this... Another Very very old man ( and this was even earlier - when I was in 5th grade or something) used to walk the streets of our area yelling at the top of whatever remained of his voice , " Boli-ye, thengaa maangaa Pattaani Sundallu"... I used to look at him and wonder why he had to work at this age and at times worry how he would make ends meet.. I used ask amma, "Namma thaatha mattum aathula rest eduthundu irukkaala.. antha thaathaa mattum Veiyilla yenma ipdi nadanthu nadanthu work panraar..." Amma used to say something about poverty and punarjanmam I dont recollect properly... Somehow I got a little too much attached to him.. The sight of him in that dhoti and Kathar shirt with a dark green towel that served both to wipe his sweat and also as a buttress against the koodai(basket) on his head. During the Summer of '91 my thatha passed away after being bed-ridden for a long time.. I felt sad... very sad... but didn’t cry... Very surprising for a less than 10-year old.. But a couple of weeks after that something happened... The Boli selling thatha didn’t come.. I stopped hearing the familiar cry... I was worried. I thought he too had passed away.. Then I wondered if he would have had the same sending off like my thatha, or did he faint and was lying in some deserted street corner without care, just like when he was alive.. As these thoughts rushed to my head, and then to my heart, tears filled my eyes...
Even now as I write this I feel desolate... That was the time when I told myself, "when I grow up and become an adult, I would strive to atleast put one elderly person out of such misery.." That was when I was 10 years old. And till today apart from the occasional donation here and there I haven’t done much. 18 years have passed by since then.. The last time I went home, I went to what used to be my room, stood in front of the familiar west-facing window and despite the setting sun threatening to burn my retinas, I waited for the familiar voice of the Boli thaatha.. It was not to be heard. It will never be heard again.. May his soul rest in peace...
After being separated from my thatha for this long, paatti finally left to join him last week. I felt sad, my heart cringed. But suddenly I am left pondering how many more geriatrics like the inji thaathaa and boli thathas are still out there burning in the unrelenting south indian sun, just to make both ends meet... But unfortunately thoughts like these are only fleeting and not frequent. May be because we are all more concerned about the EMIs to pay, the cars to buy, the watches to collect and the matches to watch.For some not very irrelevant reason, I am reminded of Oskar Schindler and the final scene from Schindler's list, where he cries, "Had I sold this car, I could have saved 4 more. Had I sold this watch I could have saved 1 more..."
Thani manithanukku unavillai endraal intha ulagathaiye azhikka vaendum endraan androru maamanithan.
Aanaal indro naam anaivarum thani thani manithargalaaga, namakku naame ulagangalaaga vaazhnthu kondu irukkindrom...
While in College, once in a month when I used to travel back home I used to have Inji marappa.. Not because I liked its taste. It tasted ok... Infact the first time, I bought it because I took pity on the very old man (He could have been a septuagenarian) and bought 4 injimappaas for Rs1... His hands used to tremble even as he picked them up one by one and placed it in my late-teen palms... All I saw was his old beaten down trembling weak body, but still strong spirit for survival... I am sure with his frail body, he could have made more money as a beggar. But still he didn’t choose that life. I remember sometimes I gave him a Rs2 coin.. He would not even have Rs1 change... ( Naan thaan muthal poni pola)... I would say, 'Parava illa thatha... vaechukonga.' He would not reply... Instead he would put his hand into his bag and pull out 4 more inji marappaas to compensate for the extra money.. In that single moment, I learnt what dignity and self-esteem was all about.
Many people like this... Another Very very old man ( and this was even earlier - when I was in 5th grade or something) used to walk the streets of our area yelling at the top of whatever remained of his voice , " Boli-ye, thengaa maangaa Pattaani Sundallu"... I used to look at him and wonder why he had to work at this age and at times worry how he would make ends meet.. I used ask amma, "Namma thaatha mattum aathula rest eduthundu irukkaala.. antha thaathaa mattum Veiyilla yenma ipdi nadanthu nadanthu work panraar..." Amma used to say something about poverty and punarjanmam I dont recollect properly... Somehow I got a little too much attached to him.. The sight of him in that dhoti and Kathar shirt with a dark green towel that served both to wipe his sweat and also as a buttress against the koodai(basket) on his head. During the Summer of '91 my thatha passed away after being bed-ridden for a long time.. I felt sad... very sad... but didn’t cry... Very surprising for a less than 10-year old.. But a couple of weeks after that something happened... The Boli selling thatha didn’t come.. I stopped hearing the familiar cry... I was worried. I thought he too had passed away.. Then I wondered if he would have had the same sending off like my thatha, or did he faint and was lying in some deserted street corner without care, just like when he was alive.. As these thoughts rushed to my head, and then to my heart, tears filled my eyes...
Even now as I write this I feel desolate... That was the time when I told myself, "when I grow up and become an adult, I would strive to atleast put one elderly person out of such misery.." That was when I was 10 years old. And till today apart from the occasional donation here and there I haven’t done much. 18 years have passed by since then.. The last time I went home, I went to what used to be my room, stood in front of the familiar west-facing window and despite the setting sun threatening to burn my retinas, I waited for the familiar voice of the Boli thaatha.. It was not to be heard. It will never be heard again.. May his soul rest in peace...
After being separated from my thatha for this long, paatti finally left to join him last week. I felt sad, my heart cringed. But suddenly I am left pondering how many more geriatrics like the inji thaathaa and boli thathas are still out there burning in the unrelenting south indian sun, just to make both ends meet... But unfortunately thoughts like these are only fleeting and not frequent. May be because we are all more concerned about the EMIs to pay, the cars to buy, the watches to collect and the matches to watch.For some not very irrelevant reason, I am reminded of Oskar Schindler and the final scene from Schindler's list, where he cries, "Had I sold this car, I could have saved 4 more. Had I sold this watch I could have saved 1 more..."
Thani manithanukku unavillai endraal intha ulagathaiye azhikka vaendum endraan androru maamanithan.
Aanaal indro naam anaivarum thani thani manithargalaaga, namakku naame ulagangalaaga vaazhnthu kondu irukkindrom...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wow!!!
1999 - Back Injury, Spasms
2001 - Foot Injury
2002 - Knee Injury
2002 - Ankle Sprain
2002 - Toe Injury (Broken Seasmoid Bone)
2003 - Finger Tendon
2004 - Tennis Elbow
2005 - Tennis Elbow(Again)
2006 - Shoulder Tear and Cyst
2007 - Knee Injury
2008 - Groin Injury
2009 - 20 Years, 29000 Runs and Still Rocking!!!
.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
7 Habits of...
These last few months have been dull, boring, monotonous and lonely... But I have tried my best not to get into a self-patronising mode (wow, now that’s a new jargon... hmmm). I have restarted an old hobby (blogging)... Started reading a couple of books I have wanted to read for like ‘God knows how long’. And I am catching up on some nice movies I may have missed out time and again.. I even made a trip to New York yesterday and got punch drunk due to the vibrancy of the city... (Now what were you thinking when you read punch drunk, mhum?)
Despite all this I am still feeling bored... I guess it’s due to the lack of likeminded Company. There are plenty of colleagues around, but none with whom I relate to (Wavelength suthamaa illa!, REALLY.. I am not too choosy either). I have tried desperately to strike interesting conversations with the new Indian guys I have met here... But I am really NOT that much into enlightening discussions on whether 'Pokkiri' or 'Villu' features the better Vadivelu comedy; Ergo I have resorted keeping to myself for most of my time here.. I am not putting down Tamil movies... I love a lot of them... That’s not the point here... The point is the difference in taste...
I have really come to dread the weekends. Sitting alone in my house, not wanting to visit my colleagues... Not knowing what to do... Life has become restricted to just 7 activities.
Eat, sleep, work, gym, book, blog, movie...
May be you can call them the 7 habits of highly choiceless people...
Oh yes, there is this 8th habit as well..
Listening to music...
I should patent this 7-habits + 8th habit model and write a book (actually 2 books) on it à la Stephen Covey.... Anyway let’s not digress...
At this point my situation is slightly tragic yet acutely amusing – I am able to relate more to faceless pseudonymed online people than I am with actual people I meet daily. Maybe this is what the whole “Life-is-tragedy-in-close-up-but-comedy-in-longshot” thing is all about.
Well... Full stop.... I guess it’s nothing much... I guess it is just the “Sitting-alone-on-a-Sunday” syndrome... And I know there are much bigger problems... I know people are still dying due to AIDS... I know women are still being treated as slaves by men in some places... I know men are being treated as slaves by women in many places... (What did you think? Avlo seekaram aan vargatha vittu kuduthuduvena, enna? :-)) I know poor pandas and polar bears are dying needlessly everyday... I know Sachin Tendulkar is still not getting his due from a thankless nation... I know Sonia Gandhi still pulls the strings... I know Andre Agassi has recently revealed that he wore a wig (Man! For all the money he had he could have had a hair transplant everyday...)
When compared to all of the above my problem of boredom might pale in comparison... So what? This is my blog and I shall make a BIG deal out of my problem here... Period.
Despite all this I am still feeling bored... I guess it’s due to the lack of likeminded Company. There are plenty of colleagues around, but none with whom I relate to (Wavelength suthamaa illa!, REALLY.. I am not too choosy either). I have tried desperately to strike interesting conversations with the new Indian guys I have met here... But I am really NOT that much into enlightening discussions on whether 'Pokkiri' or 'Villu' features the better Vadivelu comedy; Ergo I have resorted keeping to myself for most of my time here.. I am not putting down Tamil movies... I love a lot of them... That’s not the point here... The point is the difference in taste...
I have really come to dread the weekends. Sitting alone in my house, not wanting to visit my colleagues... Not knowing what to do... Life has become restricted to just 7 activities.
Eat, sleep, work, gym, book, blog, movie...
May be you can call them the 7 habits of highly choiceless people...
Oh yes, there is this 8th habit as well..
Listening to music...
I should patent this 7-habits + 8th habit model and write a book (actually 2 books) on it à la Stephen Covey.... Anyway let’s not digress...
At this point my situation is slightly tragic yet acutely amusing – I am able to relate more to faceless pseudonymed online people than I am with actual people I meet daily. Maybe this is what the whole “Life-is-tragedy-in-close-up-but-comedy-in-longshot” thing is all about.
Well... Full stop.... I guess it’s nothing much... I guess it is just the “Sitting-alone-on-a-Sunday” syndrome... And I know there are much bigger problems... I know people are still dying due to AIDS... I know women are still being treated as slaves by men in some places... I know men are being treated as slaves by women in many places... (What did you think? Avlo seekaram aan vargatha vittu kuduthuduvena, enna? :-)) I know poor pandas and polar bears are dying needlessly everyday... I know Sachin Tendulkar is still not getting his due from a thankless nation... I know Sonia Gandhi still pulls the strings... I know Andre Agassi has recently revealed that he wore a wig (Man! For all the money he had he could have had a hair transplant everyday...)
When compared to all of the above my problem of boredom might pale in comparison... So what? This is my blog and I shall make a BIG deal out of my problem here... Period.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Is this what we have become?
A Tribute:
There are two things about being attached to someone or something not in your control. They are pure joy and utter despair. Because how you feel in those circumstances are totally at the mercy of that person or event. Today was one such. Being a passionate and ardent fan of India, Indian Cricket, and the quintessential Indian Hero SRT, I am a prime candidate to experience both the extremes.
Today Sachin gave us pure joy. Exhilaration would be an understatement. By his Epic innings of 175 he almost took us to an improbable victory... Well the "Almost" is the reason for my utter despair... Other than Suresh Raina, no one was there to support him. Yet Sachin single-handedly fought a brave battle only to agonisingly fall in the end. But he fought valiantly and bravely. In each moment of his existence at the cricket pitch, in each of the boundaries that were blasted, in each of those stunning sixes that scorched the stands, I could see a reflection of all the virtues that he has imbibed.
Hats off to you, my Hero. Though India lost, you are a Winner...
“Pottruvor Pottrattum, thooruvaari thootruvor thootrattum
Ever varinum anjaathe, Nillaathe!”
A Thought:
Actually the main purpose of this post is not another ode to yet another of Sachin’s odysseys. Certainly not.
This is about introspection that is badly required for a group of idiots amongst us Indians.
“F*** the 175... We still lost. Sachin is waste”, screamed a loser in the comments section of a website.
“As usual he played selfishly...” announced a self-anointed telepathist on another.
“Tendulkar has once again proved that he is useless. He should retire”, declared another dumbo.
Anyone who knows anything about cricket, and has conscience and common sense will not make such callous, cowardly, contemptible, and cacophonic statements... Is this what we have become? Are we degrading into a nation that lacks appreciation, taste, respect and recognition... I accept that a public figure is bound to be scrutinised. But it is one thing to be abusive after a match where he has failed (Even that is wrong)... But it is quite another, a detestable, rotten, stinking, guttery, irreverent attitude to talk like this after the man has given it his all and single-handedly carried the team like Atlas himself.
You stand nearby, watch him struggle, do nothing, and after he falls, go near him and abuse him... How virulent have people become!
To abuse Sachin after today’s knock, is like telling Mahatma Gandhi that he fasted in order to lose weight. It is like telling a mother that she feeds her just born child to keep its mouth shut...
India has a dirty underbelly... And it is not in Dharavi or on the banks of Coovum.... It is right here amongst us... It is this horde of educated but ignorant, affluent but arrogant and abusive, well-shaven but not well-behaved, taut but tactless and tasteless, polished but prejudiced youngsters. These people belong to 2 sub-categories, the fools and the parasites. The fools are those whose knowledge is squat but genuinely think they know everything. The parasites are those who know that they are worthless, so have this compulsive egoistic need to deride and derogate genuine winners and achievers like Sachin who are the atlases of this world. These 2 clans are India’s dirty underbelly... They are more profligate than philanderers, more poisonous than family politicians, and more repugnant than RTO officers...
"Nenju porukkuthillaiye intha nilai ketta manitharai ninaithu vittaal!!!"
(My heart dithers when I think of these nefarious men...)
There are two things about being attached to someone or something not in your control. They are pure joy and utter despair. Because how you feel in those circumstances are totally at the mercy of that person or event. Today was one such. Being a passionate and ardent fan of India, Indian Cricket, and the quintessential Indian Hero SRT, I am a prime candidate to experience both the extremes.
Today Sachin gave us pure joy. Exhilaration would be an understatement. By his Epic innings of 175 he almost took us to an improbable victory... Well the "Almost" is the reason for my utter despair... Other than Suresh Raina, no one was there to support him. Yet Sachin single-handedly fought a brave battle only to agonisingly fall in the end. But he fought valiantly and bravely. In each moment of his existence at the cricket pitch, in each of the boundaries that were blasted, in each of those stunning sixes that scorched the stands, I could see a reflection of all the virtues that he has imbibed.
Hats off to you, my Hero. Though India lost, you are a Winner...
“Pottruvor Pottrattum, thooruvaari thootruvor thootrattum
Ever varinum anjaathe, Nillaathe!”
A Thought:
Actually the main purpose of this post is not another ode to yet another of Sachin’s odysseys. Certainly not.
This is about introspection that is badly required for a group of idiots amongst us Indians.
“F*** the 175... We still lost. Sachin is waste”, screamed a loser in the comments section of a website.
“As usual he played selfishly...” announced a self-anointed telepathist on another.
“Tendulkar has once again proved that he is useless. He should retire”, declared another dumbo.
Anyone who knows anything about cricket, and has conscience and common sense will not make such callous, cowardly, contemptible, and cacophonic statements... Is this what we have become? Are we degrading into a nation that lacks appreciation, taste, respect and recognition... I accept that a public figure is bound to be scrutinised. But it is one thing to be abusive after a match where he has failed (Even that is wrong)... But it is quite another, a detestable, rotten, stinking, guttery, irreverent attitude to talk like this after the man has given it his all and single-handedly carried the team like Atlas himself.
You stand nearby, watch him struggle, do nothing, and after he falls, go near him and abuse him... How virulent have people become!
To abuse Sachin after today’s knock, is like telling Mahatma Gandhi that he fasted in order to lose weight. It is like telling a mother that she feeds her just born child to keep its mouth shut...
India has a dirty underbelly... And it is not in Dharavi or on the banks of Coovum.... It is right here amongst us... It is this horde of educated but ignorant, affluent but arrogant and abusive, well-shaven but not well-behaved, taut but tactless and tasteless, polished but prejudiced youngsters. These people belong to 2 sub-categories, the fools and the parasites. The fools are those whose knowledge is squat but genuinely think they know everything. The parasites are those who know that they are worthless, so have this compulsive egoistic need to deride and derogate genuine winners and achievers like Sachin who are the atlases of this world. These 2 clans are India’s dirty underbelly... They are more profligate than philanderers, more poisonous than family politicians, and more repugnant than RTO officers...
"Nenju porukkuthillaiye intha nilai ketta manitharai ninaithu vittaal!!!"
(My heart dithers when I think of these nefarious men...)
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