Deepak Sapra's Blog, page 2
March 10, 2018
The indelible stamp on first day covers
Collecting stamps was my favourite hobby as a schoolboy , closely followed by collecting matchboxes and collecting coins , in that order .
A particular aspect of stamp collection was a direct outcome of effort made - the FIRST DAY COVER. The General Post Office at Calcutta had a philatelic bureau that used to have first day covers - ( a first day cover has a stamp on the official envelope, stamped on the day of release)
Attached in the picture are some of my first day covers - they are not just first day covers - behind each is the familiar story of my mother rushing with me and my sister to the GPO ( which closed at 5 PM). For context , school got over at 3.10PM, and we reached home at 3.45 PM. And then, we would make a beeline for the bus to GPO, a one hour journey from home.
No matter what the first day cover - Indira Gandhi, Asian Development Bank, 150th anniversary of the postage stamp, Ho Chi Minh - it not only had the postmark - it had the indelible stamp of my mother's love on it !
A particular aspect of stamp collection was a direct outcome of effort made - the FIRST DAY COVER. The General Post Office at Calcutta had a philatelic bureau that used to have first day covers - ( a first day cover has a stamp on the official envelope, stamped on the day of release)
Attached in the picture are some of my first day covers - they are not just first day covers - behind each is the familiar story of my mother rushing with me and my sister to the GPO ( which closed at 5 PM). For context , school got over at 3.10PM, and we reached home at 3.45 PM. And then, we would make a beeline for the bus to GPO, a one hour journey from home.
No matter what the first day cover - Indira Gandhi, Asian Development Bank, 150th anniversary of the postage stamp, Ho Chi Minh - it not only had the postmark - it had the indelible stamp of my mother's love on it !
March 2, 2018
Life without a TV
15 years
It's been more than 15 years since that day.
15 years.
It was the 15 th of February , 2003. Saturday.
It was our first weekend in Hyderabad. Just shifted to a new city . With a new job.
In another part of the world, at Centurion ( South Africa), the cricket World Cup was on. It was the big weekend game. India vs Australia.
This being the first weekend of moving to a new city , and having just moved into a house from a hotel, we ( my wife Ipsita and me) decided to get the basics of the house going. We started with getting a bed, a mattress , utensils, a sofa set, a table.
The furniture and the kitchen stuff done, we went to an electronics shop - at that time, one of the largest in the city - a shop called JD Electronics , located in the Abids area.
There were two items on the 'to buy' list -
A refrigerator and a TV.
The refrigerator was finalised - LG. while this very important decision was being taken by the wife (as she evaluated various specifications, sizes and colours of the fridge ) , I concentrated on the TVs that were on display at the store. Not for doing a similar evaluation, but for the India vs Australia live telecast. India batted first. Everyone was excited. Anticipation was high.
A Tendulkar century was expected. Ganguly and Tendulkar opened. Brett Lee was fast and accurate. He got Ganguly to nick to Gilchrist . One down. In walks Sehwag. Tendulkar is at the other end. Sehwag hits a four. Tendulkar is striking it well. However, in his very next over, Lee gets Sehwag. Nicked to Gilchrist. In comes Rahul Dravid. He prods around for more than 20 balls for one run. And then he goes, bowled by Gillespie.
My wife says the fridge is final. Let's quickly do the TV.
The eager salesman showed several brands which were in vogue that time . I was keen to take my team at each brand stop.
He first showed BPL. Yuvraj Singh goes for a duck. Plumb to McGrath.
We move on to Samsung. As I was testing the remote control, Mohammed Kaif went . He scored 1 off 16 balls.
We moved to the next brand. The salesman was talking about the excellent picture quality of the LG TV. Tendulkar hits a beautiful four - between cover and extra cover . The voice quality is also very pleasing .
I look at Ipsita asking about the LG tv. She nods. Let's buy it, she tells me. The salesman in the meantime was talking to another person in the shop. I ask him to come for a minute .
He is coming towards us. It's the 28 th over . The salesman is walking towards us. Gillespie is running in to bowl to Tendulkar.
The salesman reaches. Gillespie delivers the ball. The salesman asks me if there is any query regarding any features of the LG TV. Tendulkar is wrapped on the pads. He is in front of middle and leg. Australia appeal. Tendulkar is gone. India are 6 down. The score is just 78. I feel supremely disappointed . Like millions of cricket fans.
We decide not to buy the TV that day. Just the fridge, we tell the salesman.
Then the day goes. And somehow, a couple of weeks more pass by because we could not find the time to go to buy a TV.
The cricket World Cup ends ( India did very well to make it to the finals ; lose in the finals to Australia ) .
The next weekend there is time. We can go and buy a TV today, we feel.
However, I feel if we can live through a cricket World Cup without a TV, there cannot be anything bigger in the world for which a TV might be needed. Ipsita agrees.
We decide to give it a pass.
We Try to experiment a life without a TV.
And from that serendipitous moment when India became 78 for 6, to now ( 2018 March) , it's more than 15 years. And we are living without a TV. Since it just doesn't exist, we don't miss it. I don't even know how to operate it.
Sometimes, this results in embarrassing situations - I was travelling and in a pretty nice hotel. I decide to watch the TV. However, I just couldn't get to the listing of channels because the remote control was so unfamiliar and complicated. I called housekeeping , and when the boy came, I asked him to help me get the TV started. He looked at me and gave me a look. And in a second, got it done.
The only time in these fifteen years I have felt it might have been good to have a TV was on the morning after the Bombay terror attacks, on the 27 th of November 2008.
I was blissfully unaware of the Bombay attacks and had a morning flight from Hyderabad to Bombay around 8 AM. It was an air india flight . Around 6 in the morning , a friend called to say there was a huge terror attack in bombay and I might consider cancelling my trip. I shrugged him off and called the Airline at the Hyderabad airport. It was then that I looked up the internet to get a sense of the enormity of the attack and the magnitude of the disaster that had stuck. I rushed to my neighbours house to see the TV. It was a very tense atmosphere .
Coming back to TV, other than that one incident , it has never been missed.
I am a big sports fan, and there are times I really want to watch some sport. Occasionally, If the craving is too intense, I watch it on the internet.
Our son Jaadoo is a big football fan too. He does not know what it is to have a TV at home. So he too, somehow manages on those few occasions he really feels like, on the internet .
TV, the 15 years without you have been good. Looking forward to the next 15.
It's been more than 15 years since that day.
15 years.
It was the 15 th of February , 2003. Saturday.
It was our first weekend in Hyderabad. Just shifted to a new city . With a new job.
In another part of the world, at Centurion ( South Africa), the cricket World Cup was on. It was the big weekend game. India vs Australia.
This being the first weekend of moving to a new city , and having just moved into a house from a hotel, we ( my wife Ipsita and me) decided to get the basics of the house going. We started with getting a bed, a mattress , utensils, a sofa set, a table.
The furniture and the kitchen stuff done, we went to an electronics shop - at that time, one of the largest in the city - a shop called JD Electronics , located in the Abids area.
There were two items on the 'to buy' list -
A refrigerator and a TV.
The refrigerator was finalised - LG. while this very important decision was being taken by the wife (as she evaluated various specifications, sizes and colours of the fridge ) , I concentrated on the TVs that were on display at the store. Not for doing a similar evaluation, but for the India vs Australia live telecast. India batted first. Everyone was excited. Anticipation was high.
A Tendulkar century was expected. Ganguly and Tendulkar opened. Brett Lee was fast and accurate. He got Ganguly to nick to Gilchrist . One down. In walks Sehwag. Tendulkar is at the other end. Sehwag hits a four. Tendulkar is striking it well. However, in his very next over, Lee gets Sehwag. Nicked to Gilchrist. In comes Rahul Dravid. He prods around for more than 20 balls for one run. And then he goes, bowled by Gillespie.
My wife says the fridge is final. Let's quickly do the TV.
The eager salesman showed several brands which were in vogue that time . I was keen to take my team at each brand stop.
He first showed BPL. Yuvraj Singh goes for a duck. Plumb to McGrath.
We move on to Samsung. As I was testing the remote control, Mohammed Kaif went . He scored 1 off 16 balls.
We moved to the next brand. The salesman was talking about the excellent picture quality of the LG TV. Tendulkar hits a beautiful four - between cover and extra cover . The voice quality is also very pleasing .
I look at Ipsita asking about the LG tv. She nods. Let's buy it, she tells me. The salesman in the meantime was talking to another person in the shop. I ask him to come for a minute .
He is coming towards us. It's the 28 th over . The salesman is walking towards us. Gillespie is running in to bowl to Tendulkar.
The salesman reaches. Gillespie delivers the ball. The salesman asks me if there is any query regarding any features of the LG TV. Tendulkar is wrapped on the pads. He is in front of middle and leg. Australia appeal. Tendulkar is gone. India are 6 down. The score is just 78. I feel supremely disappointed . Like millions of cricket fans.
We decide not to buy the TV that day. Just the fridge, we tell the salesman.
Then the day goes. And somehow, a couple of weeks more pass by because we could not find the time to go to buy a TV.
The cricket World Cup ends ( India did very well to make it to the finals ; lose in the finals to Australia ) .
The next weekend there is time. We can go and buy a TV today, we feel.
However, I feel if we can live through a cricket World Cup without a TV, there cannot be anything bigger in the world for which a TV might be needed. Ipsita agrees.
We decide to give it a pass.
We Try to experiment a life without a TV.
And from that serendipitous moment when India became 78 for 6, to now ( 2018 March) , it's more than 15 years. And we are living without a TV. Since it just doesn't exist, we don't miss it. I don't even know how to operate it.
Sometimes, this results in embarrassing situations - I was travelling and in a pretty nice hotel. I decide to watch the TV. However, I just couldn't get to the listing of channels because the remote control was so unfamiliar and complicated. I called housekeeping , and when the boy came, I asked him to help me get the TV started. He looked at me and gave me a look. And in a second, got it done.
The only time in these fifteen years I have felt it might have been good to have a TV was on the morning after the Bombay terror attacks, on the 27 th of November 2008.
I was blissfully unaware of the Bombay attacks and had a morning flight from Hyderabad to Bombay around 8 AM. It was an air india flight . Around 6 in the morning , a friend called to say there was a huge terror attack in bombay and I might consider cancelling my trip. I shrugged him off and called the Airline at the Hyderabad airport. It was then that I looked up the internet to get a sense of the enormity of the attack and the magnitude of the disaster that had stuck. I rushed to my neighbours house to see the TV. It was a very tense atmosphere .
Coming back to TV, other than that one incident , it has never been missed.
I am a big sports fan, and there are times I really want to watch some sport. Occasionally, If the craving is too intense, I watch it on the internet.
Our son Jaadoo is a big football fan too. He does not know what it is to have a TV at home. So he too, somehow manages on those few occasions he really feels like, on the internet .
TV, the 15 years without you have been good. Looking forward to the next 15.
February 16, 2018
Why Barca can get another treble this time
Neymar's huge move to Paris definetly caused a bit of a stir in the Barcelona dressing room. It was almost certain that this would be one season the players would want to forget after getting crushed by arch rivals Real Madrid twice in the Supercopa de Espana even after signing expensive Ousmane Dembele and Paulinho.
Both the big signings were criticised. Ousmane Dembele was out for three months after only his second start for the team. And Paulinho ? The duo of Messi and Paulinho was too much for many la liga defenders even with Luis Suarez out of form. And when Suarez was back to normal did Barca need to worry about defending ?
Right now, Barcelona have calmed down a bit from their early rampage. Several factors have led to Barca being in good form. 1) Andres Iniesta being ever so stable and controlling the game.2) Ter stegen proving to be brilliant3) Messi, Suarez and Paulinho, ahem.4) Great effort by all team members and of course Ernesto Valverde
Of course the season is still far from being over right now, but Barcelona are very much in contention for their three major titles. But with the coming of Phil Coutinho and Yerry Mina, let's hope they achieve it !
Hardik Sapra
Both the big signings were criticised. Ousmane Dembele was out for three months after only his second start for the team. And Paulinho ? The duo of Messi and Paulinho was too much for many la liga defenders even with Luis Suarez out of form. And when Suarez was back to normal did Barca need to worry about defending ?
Right now, Barcelona have calmed down a bit from their early rampage. Several factors have led to Barca being in good form. 1) Andres Iniesta being ever so stable and controlling the game.2) Ter stegen proving to be brilliant3) Messi, Suarez and Paulinho, ahem.4) Great effort by all team members and of course Ernesto Valverde
Of course the season is still far from being over right now, but Barcelona are very much in contention for their three major titles. But with the coming of Phil Coutinho and Yerry Mina, let's hope they achieve it !
Hardik Sapra
January 8, 2018
If it's tennis, it's got to be LOVE-ALL
From early school and all the way up to college, I was a big tennis fan. It was my second favourite sport.
Not without reason -Numerous exciting things happened in tennis in that period.
There was also a pragmatic reason to it - Tennis was one of the few sports available on direct telecast in India that time. While a lot many more matches are available for viewing these days, I have been living without a TV for the last 15 years, so have lost touch somehow .
In those school and college days , when I did see tennis, it was amazing. It inspired me to take up the sport and go for coaching with my brand new Slazenger racquet.
Coming back to my tennis watching career, some events still give me the goosebumps.
Here is a list of some-
1. A 17 year old school boy named Boris Becker diving all over Wimbledon centre court to stun Kevin Curran in the finals , thereby becoming a hero to millions of adoring schoolboys and a crush for many girls.
2. Martina Navratilova continuing her dominance of women's tennis like no one had done before. Winning title after title and completely dominating Wimbledon for years on end.
3. Pat Cash, the underdog Aussie, with his cheque hairband he always wore because he was a motor racing fan, breaking tradition and jumping over the Wimbledon stands to hug his family after putting it across Ivan Lendl.
4. Ramesh Krishnan , all grace and class, leading India's charge, ( with support from Vijay Amritraj ) to take his country to an improbable victory against Australia in the Davis Cup Semi finals to put India into the finals against Sweden.
5. Steffi Graf putting an end to Martina Navratilova's dominance through sheer grit, lots of power and stupendous will power. Steffi's subsequent rivalry with the flamboyant Argentine Gabriela Sabatini replacing the Martina vs Chris Evert one. Steffi 's golden slam of 1988, when she won the four grand slams and also the Olympic gold medal at the Seoul Olympics.
6. Leander Paes gritting his way through the Olympic men's singles draw to put India on the medal podium at the 1996 Atlanta Games.
7. Aranxta Sanchez adding Vicario ( her mother's surname ) to her name after winning her first grand slam when she beat Steffi Graf in the French Open finals .
8. Monica Seles, all power and precision, shockingly halted in her tracks by a lunatic spectator who stabbed her during a break in a match.
9. A teenaged Michael Chang, unknown and unheralded , running through the French open draw in his second appearance at the tournament ( after being decimated by John McEnroe in his first ) 10. Lindsay Devenport, world number 1 with a great world view, calling her exploits on the tennis court 'just a job like any other'.
11. Jennifer Capriati, in her mid teens when she won her first grand slam and later becoming an unfortunate victim to drugs.
12. Andre Agassi , the rebel, living his fathers dream through tennis . Subsequently, his famed rivalry with the uber cool Pete Sampras. Years later , marrying Steffi Graf to become tennis' first couple .
13. The Leander Paes- Mahesh Bhupathi doubles domination. leander's partnership with Martina Navratilova to win the Mixed doubles at Wimbledon.
All of this was before the era of Fed and Rafa , before the Willams sisters made grand slams family property . Kim Clijsters, the young mother, timing her baby's food and sleep timings , to win a grand slam in between remains my standout tennis moment of the current era.
All the events I mentioned above happened after two of the most talked about matches of all time had been played several years ago - I could not watch them for two simple reasons - the first one happened before I was born, and the second one when I was too young to understand any sport .
In the last 24 hours, though , I saw a movie on each of those matches .
'Borg vs McEnroe' is the name of the first movie, and 'Battle of the Sexes' is the second.
The first one is about the 1980 Wimbledon finals - Bjorn Borg, all of 25 years of age, playing for his fifth consecutive ( yes- consecutive ) title and under tremendous pressure to keep scaling the peaks he had created for himself. John McEnroe- the young , brash, invective spewing artist with the tennis racquet , a worthy challenger.
The Wimbledon final between the two is often touted as the greatest tennis match of all time - Mac won the first set, Borg the next two, Borg had several match points in the fourth which McEnroe saved and managed to take the game to the decisive fifth after one of the longest tie breakers in a Wimbledon final.
During a break in the fourth set, with the game on the edge, Borg notices McEnroe very tensed up. He tells McEnroe that he ( Mac) has been doing great and he should keep playing his normal game.
Borg s ice cool temperament and calmness finally prevails in the fifth set to give him his fifth consecutive crown.
Despite the fierce rivalry, Bjorn reaches out to John and they develop great respect for each other . the entire narrative of a media hype around the rivalry melts into a shared respect and display of sportsmanship when they interact one on one. Person to person. ( subsequently, they became great friends and Borg became the best man at McEnroe 's wedding ).
The second movie is about the 'battle of the sexes'; a tennis match between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. Riggs, once the men's world number 1, all of 55 years old in 1973, challenged the then women's champion , Billie Jean King , to a match saying men were far superior to women in sport. Billie Jean, who had put her career at stake demanding equal prize money for women and men player's, believed she was not just playing for herself and against Riggs, but for equality and against all forms of male chauvinism. In parallel to the tennis, Billie Jean, married for many years , also discovers her own preferences and sexuality; and that becomes one more societal taboo to fight against .
The tennis match is therefore not just a match - it's about one extraordinary person fighting against societal perceptions of gender and against societal prejudices around the LGBT community.
Billie Jean wins.
With these two movies seen, I am glad that I have seen the stories around two of the most extraordinary tennis matches that preceded my tennis watching career.
And they reinforced the joy of sport , in its purest , most entertaining form.
Not without reason -Numerous exciting things happened in tennis in that period.
There was also a pragmatic reason to it - Tennis was one of the few sports available on direct telecast in India that time. While a lot many more matches are available for viewing these days, I have been living without a TV for the last 15 years, so have lost touch somehow .
In those school and college days , when I did see tennis, it was amazing. It inspired me to take up the sport and go for coaching with my brand new Slazenger racquet.
Coming back to my tennis watching career, some events still give me the goosebumps.
Here is a list of some-
1. A 17 year old school boy named Boris Becker diving all over Wimbledon centre court to stun Kevin Curran in the finals , thereby becoming a hero to millions of adoring schoolboys and a crush for many girls.
2. Martina Navratilova continuing her dominance of women's tennis like no one had done before. Winning title after title and completely dominating Wimbledon for years on end.
3. Pat Cash, the underdog Aussie, with his cheque hairband he always wore because he was a motor racing fan, breaking tradition and jumping over the Wimbledon stands to hug his family after putting it across Ivan Lendl.
4. Ramesh Krishnan , all grace and class, leading India's charge, ( with support from Vijay Amritraj ) to take his country to an improbable victory against Australia in the Davis Cup Semi finals to put India into the finals against Sweden.
5. Steffi Graf putting an end to Martina Navratilova's dominance through sheer grit, lots of power and stupendous will power. Steffi's subsequent rivalry with the flamboyant Argentine Gabriela Sabatini replacing the Martina vs Chris Evert one. Steffi 's golden slam of 1988, when she won the four grand slams and also the Olympic gold medal at the Seoul Olympics.
6. Leander Paes gritting his way through the Olympic men's singles draw to put India on the medal podium at the 1996 Atlanta Games.
7. Aranxta Sanchez adding Vicario ( her mother's surname ) to her name after winning her first grand slam when she beat Steffi Graf in the French Open finals .
8. Monica Seles, all power and precision, shockingly halted in her tracks by a lunatic spectator who stabbed her during a break in a match.
9. A teenaged Michael Chang, unknown and unheralded , running through the French open draw in his second appearance at the tournament ( after being decimated by John McEnroe in his first ) 10. Lindsay Devenport, world number 1 with a great world view, calling her exploits on the tennis court 'just a job like any other'.
11. Jennifer Capriati, in her mid teens when she won her first grand slam and later becoming an unfortunate victim to drugs.
12. Andre Agassi , the rebel, living his fathers dream through tennis . Subsequently, his famed rivalry with the uber cool Pete Sampras. Years later , marrying Steffi Graf to become tennis' first couple .
13. The Leander Paes- Mahesh Bhupathi doubles domination. leander's partnership with Martina Navratilova to win the Mixed doubles at Wimbledon.
All of this was before the era of Fed and Rafa , before the Willams sisters made grand slams family property . Kim Clijsters, the young mother, timing her baby's food and sleep timings , to win a grand slam in between remains my standout tennis moment of the current era.
All the events I mentioned above happened after two of the most talked about matches of all time had been played several years ago - I could not watch them for two simple reasons - the first one happened before I was born, and the second one when I was too young to understand any sport .
In the last 24 hours, though , I saw a movie on each of those matches .
'Borg vs McEnroe' is the name of the first movie, and 'Battle of the Sexes' is the second.
The first one is about the 1980 Wimbledon finals - Bjorn Borg, all of 25 years of age, playing for his fifth consecutive ( yes- consecutive ) title and under tremendous pressure to keep scaling the peaks he had created for himself. John McEnroe- the young , brash, invective spewing artist with the tennis racquet , a worthy challenger.
The Wimbledon final between the two is often touted as the greatest tennis match of all time - Mac won the first set, Borg the next two, Borg had several match points in the fourth which McEnroe saved and managed to take the game to the decisive fifth after one of the longest tie breakers in a Wimbledon final.
During a break in the fourth set, with the game on the edge, Borg notices McEnroe very tensed up. He tells McEnroe that he ( Mac) has been doing great and he should keep playing his normal game.
Borg s ice cool temperament and calmness finally prevails in the fifth set to give him his fifth consecutive crown.
Despite the fierce rivalry, Bjorn reaches out to John and they develop great respect for each other . the entire narrative of a media hype around the rivalry melts into a shared respect and display of sportsmanship when they interact one on one. Person to person. ( subsequently, they became great friends and Borg became the best man at McEnroe 's wedding ).
The second movie is about the 'battle of the sexes'; a tennis match between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. Riggs, once the men's world number 1, all of 55 years old in 1973, challenged the then women's champion , Billie Jean King , to a match saying men were far superior to women in sport. Billie Jean, who had put her career at stake demanding equal prize money for women and men player's, believed she was not just playing for herself and against Riggs, but for equality and against all forms of male chauvinism. In parallel to the tennis, Billie Jean, married for many years , also discovers her own preferences and sexuality; and that becomes one more societal taboo to fight against .
The tennis match is therefore not just a match - it's about one extraordinary person fighting against societal perceptions of gender and against societal prejudices around the LGBT community.
Billie Jean wins.
With these two movies seen, I am glad that I have seen the stories around two of the most extraordinary tennis matches that preceded my tennis watching career.
And they reinforced the joy of sport , in its purest , most entertaining form.
If it's tennis, it's got to be LOVE-ALL
From early school and all the way up to college, I was a big tennis fan. It was my second favourite sport.
Not without reason -Numerous exciting things happened in tennis in that period.
There was also a pragmatic reason to it - Tennis was one of the few sports available on direct telecast in India that time. While a lot many more matches are available for viewing these days, I have been living without a TV for the last 15 years, so have lost touch somehow .
In those school and college days , when I did see tennis, it was amazing. It inspired me to take up the sport and go for coaching with my brand new Slazenger racquet.
Coming back to my tennis watching career, some events still give me the goosebumps.
Here is a list of some-
1. A 17 year old school boy named Boris Becker diving all over Wimbledon centre court to stun Kevin Curran in the finals , thereby becoming a hero to millions of adoring schoolboys and a crush for many girls.
2. Martina Navratilova continuing her dominance of women's tennis like no one had done before. Winning title after title and completely dominating Wimbledon for years on end.
3. Pat Cash, the underdog Aussie, with his cheque hairband he always wore because he was a motor racing fan, breaking tradition and jumping over the Wimbledon stands to hug his family after putting it across Ivan Lendl.
4. Ramesh Krishnan , all grace and class, leading India's charge, ( with support from Vijay Amritraj ) to take his country to an improbable victory against Australia in the Davis Cup Semi finals to put India into the finals against Sweden.
5. Steffi Graf putting an end to Martina Navratilova's dominance through sheer grit, lots of power and stupendous will power. Steffi's subsequent rivalry with the flamboyant Argentine Gabriela Sabatini replacing the Martina vs Chris Evert one. Steffi 's golden slam of 1988, when she won the four grand slams and also the Olympic gold medal at the Seoul Olympics.
6. Leander Paes gritting his way through the Olympic men's singles draw to put India on the medal podium at the 1996 Atlanta Games.
7. Aranxta Sanchez adding Vicario ( her mother's surname ) to her name after winning her first grand slam when she beat Steffi Graf in the French Open finals .
8. Monica Seles, all power and precision, shockingly halted in her tracks by a lunatic spectator who stabbed her during a break in a match.
9. A teenaged Michael Chang, unknown and unheralded , running through the French open draw in his second appearance at the tournament ( after being decimated by John McEnroe in his first ) 10. Lindsay Devenport, world number 1 with a great world view, calling her exploits on the tennis court 'just a job like any other'.
11. Jennifer Capriati, in her mid teens when she won her first grand slam and later becoming an unfortunate victim to drugs.
12. Andre Agassi , the rebel, living his fathers dream through tennis . Subsequently, his famed rivalry with the uber cool Pete Sampras. Years later , marrying Steffi Graf to become tennis' first couple .
13. The Leander Paes- Mahesh Bhupathi doubles domination. leander's partnership with Martina Navratilova to win the Mixed doubles at Wimbledon.
All of this was before the era of Fed and Rafa , before the Willams sisters made grand slams family property . Kim Clijsters, the young mother, timing her baby's food and sleep timings , to win a grand slam in between remains my standout tennis moment of the current era.
All the events I mentioned above happened after two of the most talked about matches of all time had been played several years ago - I could not watch them for two simple reasons - the first one happened before I was born, and the second one when I was too young to understand any sport .
In the last 24 hours, though , I saw a movie on each of those matches .
'Borg vs McEnroe' is the name of the first movie, and 'Battle of the Sexes' is the second.
The first one is about the 1980 Wimbledon finals - Bjorn Borg, all of 25 years of age, playing for his fifth consecutive ( yes- consecutive ) title and under tremendous pressure to keep scaling the peaks he had created for himself. John McEnroe- the young , brash, invective spewing artist with the tennis racquet , a worthy challenger.
The Wimbledon final between the two is often touted as the greatest tennis match of all time - Mac won the first set, Borg the next two, Borg had several match points in the fourth which McEnroe saved and managed to take the game to the decisive fifth after one of the longest tie breakers in a Wimbledon final.
During a break in the fourth set, with the game on the edge, Borg notices McEnroe very tensed up. He tells McEnroe that he ( Mac) has been doing great and he should keep playing his normal game.
Borg s ice cool temperament and calmness finally prevails in the fifth set to give him his fifth consecutive crown.
Despite the fierce rivalry, Bjorn reaches out to John and they develop great respect for each other . the entire narrative of a media hype around the rivalry melts into a shared respect and display of sportsmanship when they interact one on one. Person to person. ( subsequently, they became great friends and Borg became the best man at McEnroe 's wedding ).
The second movie is about the 'battle of the sexes'; a tennis match between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. Riggs, once the men's world number 1, all of 55 years old in 1973, challenged the then women's champion , Billie Jean King , to a match saying men were far superior to women in sport. Billie Jean, who had put her career at stake demanding equal prize money for women and men player's, believed she was not just playing for herself and against Riggs, but for equality and against all forms of male chauvinism. In parallel to the tennis, Billie Jean, married for many years , also discovers her own preferences and sexuality; and that becomes one more societal taboo to fight against .
The tennis match is therefore not just a match - it's about one extraordinary person fighting against societal perceptions of gender and against societal prejudices around the LGBT community.
Billie Jean wins.
With these two movies seen, I am glad that I have seen the stories around two of the most extraordinary tennis matches that preceded my tennis watching career.
And they reinforced the joy of sport , in its purest , most entertaining form.
Not without reason -Numerous exciting things happened in tennis in that period.
There was also a pragmatic reason to it - Tennis was one of the few sports available on direct telecast in India that time. While a lot many more matches are available for viewing these days, I have been living without a TV for the last 15 years, so have lost touch somehow .
In those school and college days , when I did see tennis, it was amazing. It inspired me to take up the sport and go for coaching with my brand new Slazenger racquet.
Coming back to my tennis watching career, some events still give me the goosebumps.
Here is a list of some-
1. A 17 year old school boy named Boris Becker diving all over Wimbledon centre court to stun Kevin Curran in the finals , thereby becoming a hero to millions of adoring schoolboys and a crush for many girls.
2. Martina Navratilova continuing her dominance of women's tennis like no one had done before. Winning title after title and completely dominating Wimbledon for years on end.
3. Pat Cash, the underdog Aussie, with his cheque hairband he always wore because he was a motor racing fan, breaking tradition and jumping over the Wimbledon stands to hug his family after putting it across Ivan Lendl.
4. Ramesh Krishnan , all grace and class, leading India's charge, ( with support from Vijay Amritraj ) to take his country to an improbable victory against Australia in the Davis Cup Semi finals to put India into the finals against Sweden.
5. Steffi Graf putting an end to Martina Navratilova's dominance through sheer grit, lots of power and stupendous will power. Steffi's subsequent rivalry with the flamboyant Argentine Gabriela Sabatini replacing the Martina vs Chris Evert one. Steffi 's golden slam of 1988, when she won the four grand slams and also the Olympic gold medal at the Seoul Olympics.
6. Leander Paes gritting his way through the Olympic men's singles draw to put India on the medal podium at the 1996 Atlanta Games.
7. Aranxta Sanchez adding Vicario ( her mother's surname ) to her name after winning her first grand slam when she beat Steffi Graf in the French Open finals .
8. Monica Seles, all power and precision, shockingly halted in her tracks by a lunatic spectator who stabbed her during a break in a match.
9. A teenaged Michael Chang, unknown and unheralded , running through the French open draw in his second appearance at the tournament ( after being decimated by John McEnroe in his first ) 10. Lindsay Devenport, world number 1 with a great world view, calling her exploits on the tennis court 'just a job like any other'.
11. Jennifer Capriati, in her mid teens when she won her first grand slam and later becoming an unfortunate victim to drugs.
12. Andre Agassi , the rebel, living his fathers dream through tennis . Subsequently, his famed rivalry with the uber cool Pete Sampras. Years later , marrying Steffi Graf to become tennis' first couple .
13. The Leander Paes- Mahesh Bhupathi doubles domination. leander's partnership with Martina Navratilova to win the Mixed doubles at Wimbledon.
All of this was before the era of Fed and Rafa , before the Willams sisters made grand slams family property . Kim Clijsters, the young mother, timing her baby's food and sleep timings , to win a grand slam in between remains my standout tennis moment of the current era.
All the events I mentioned above happened after two of the most talked about matches of all time had been played several years ago - I could not watch them for two simple reasons - the first one happened before I was born, and the second one when I was too young to understand any sport .
In the last 24 hours, though , I saw a movie on each of those matches .
'Borg vs McEnroe' is the name of the first movie, and 'Battle of the Sexes' is the second.
The first one is about the 1980 Wimbledon finals - Bjorn Borg, all of 25 years of age, playing for his fifth consecutive ( yes- consecutive ) title and under tremendous pressure to keep scaling the peaks he had created for himself. John McEnroe- the young , brash, invective spewing artist with the tennis racquet , a worthy challenger.
The Wimbledon final between the two is often touted as the greatest tennis match of all time - Mac won the first set, Borg the next two, Borg had several match points in the fourth which McEnroe saved and managed to take the game to the decisive fifth after one of the longest tie breakers in a Wimbledon final.
During a break in the fourth set, with the game on the edge, Borg notices McEnroe very tensed up. He tells McEnroe that he ( Mac) has been doing great and he should keep playing his normal game.
Borg s ice cool temperament and calmness finally prevails in the fifth set to give him his fifth consecutive crown.
Despite the fierce rivalry, Bjorn reaches out to John and they develop great respect for each other . the entire narrative of a media hype around the rivalry melts into a shared respect and display of sportsmanship when they interact one on one. Person to person. ( subsequently, they became great friends and Borg became the best man at McEnroe 's wedding ).
The second movie is about the 'battle of the sexes'; a tennis match between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. Riggs, once the men's world number 1, all of 55 years old in 1973, challenged the then women's champion , Billie Jean King , to a match saying men were far superior to women in sport. Billie Jean, who had put her career at stake demanding equal prize money for women and men player's, believed she was not just playing for herself and against Riggs, but for equality and against all forms of male chauvinism. In parallel to the tennis, Billie Jean, married for many years , also discovers her own preferences and sexuality; and that becomes one more societal taboo to fight against .
The tennis match is therefore not just a match - it's about one extraordinary person fighting against societal perceptions of gender and against societal prejudices around the LGBT community.
Billie Jean wins.
With these two movies seen, I am glad that I have seen the stories around two of the most extraordinary tennis matches that preceded my tennis watching career.
And they reinforced the joy of sport , in its purest , most entertaining form.
December 26, 2017
Yuri Gagarin and Valentina Tereshkova
It was the 27 th of December, 2016. Exactly a year ago.
Jaadoo ( my son) , Ipsita( my wife) and I were at the Hyderabad airport arrivals area.
The flight information monitor in front of us was displaying 'Arrived' as the status for Vistara airlines flight UK-879 from Chandigarh.
Passengers started coming out of the terminal . It was easy to make out who the passengers from Chandigarh were - their attire was a giveaway. Heavy woollens, coats, mufflers, scarfs as protection from weather in a place that was cold, windy and foggy this time of the year.
We started looking at the passengers , trying to search for my mother and father ( Ammji and Papa, as I call them ) amongst the scores of trolley pushing people coming out of the terminal.
Then, suddenly, I heard Jaadoo say - "Look - Valentina Tereshkova and Yuri Gagarin" and he was pointing towards Ammji and Papa, who were just coming out from the baggage claim area and towards the arrivals where we were waiting.
His reference to the Soviet cosmonauts - the first man and the first woman to go into space - was clearly a comment on their dress - their thick jackets and hoods were almost space suit like , and that's what prompted him to give this name.
For comparison, we were in Hyderabad and were dressed in a no-woollen, no-winter attire- I was wearing a light cotton shirt and jeans- and hence, the comparison was even more stark .
We all had a hearty laugh at Jaadoo's impromptu naming of his grandparents and told them when we met - "Welcome Valentina and Yuri". I am writing this blog almost a year later, an year from the time we welcomed Yuri and Valentina.
And we are at the same place. Hyderabad airport arrivals area.
The scene at hyderabad airport is familiar to what it was a year ago - Jaadoo, Ipsita and me are standing at the arrivals area. I am looking at the display screen for the arrival time of the flight from chandigarh . The passengers slowly start streaming out - the attire of the passengers is in contrast to those waiting at hyderabad to receive them.
There is only one difference for me. we are standing waiting for Yuri Gagarin - only Yuri- the thought that Valentina Tereshkova is no more with us comes back again and again .
Which flight did you take Ammji - my Valentina Tereshkova ? Which destination did you go to ? Your departure date was the 18 th of April 2017- What's your return date ?
My dear Valentina - hope I will meet you again as a co-passenger on a journey some day. Or wait for you at an arrivals area . And in that journey, I will be blissful in the fact that I have you , once again, as a co-traveller.
Till we meet again, my Valentina Tereshkova !
And for my Yuri Gagarin- Papa- welcome to Hyderabad . We will make the most of this present journey.
Jaadoo ( my son) , Ipsita( my wife) and I were at the Hyderabad airport arrivals area.
The flight information monitor in front of us was displaying 'Arrived' as the status for Vistara airlines flight UK-879 from Chandigarh.
Passengers started coming out of the terminal . It was easy to make out who the passengers from Chandigarh were - their attire was a giveaway. Heavy woollens, coats, mufflers, scarfs as protection from weather in a place that was cold, windy and foggy this time of the year.
We started looking at the passengers , trying to search for my mother and father ( Ammji and Papa, as I call them ) amongst the scores of trolley pushing people coming out of the terminal.
Then, suddenly, I heard Jaadoo say - "Look - Valentina Tereshkova and Yuri Gagarin" and he was pointing towards Ammji and Papa, who were just coming out from the baggage claim area and towards the arrivals where we were waiting.
His reference to the Soviet cosmonauts - the first man and the first woman to go into space - was clearly a comment on their dress - their thick jackets and hoods were almost space suit like , and that's what prompted him to give this name.
For comparison, we were in Hyderabad and were dressed in a no-woollen, no-winter attire- I was wearing a light cotton shirt and jeans- and hence, the comparison was even more stark .
We all had a hearty laugh at Jaadoo's impromptu naming of his grandparents and told them when we met - "Welcome Valentina and Yuri". I am writing this blog almost a year later, an year from the time we welcomed Yuri and Valentina.
And we are at the same place. Hyderabad airport arrivals area.
The scene at hyderabad airport is familiar to what it was a year ago - Jaadoo, Ipsita and me are standing at the arrivals area. I am looking at the display screen for the arrival time of the flight from chandigarh . The passengers slowly start streaming out - the attire of the passengers is in contrast to those waiting at hyderabad to receive them.
There is only one difference for me. we are standing waiting for Yuri Gagarin - only Yuri- the thought that Valentina Tereshkova is no more with us comes back again and again .
Which flight did you take Ammji - my Valentina Tereshkova ? Which destination did you go to ? Your departure date was the 18 th of April 2017- What's your return date ?
My dear Valentina - hope I will meet you again as a co-passenger on a journey some day. Or wait for you at an arrivals area . And in that journey, I will be blissful in the fact that I have you , once again, as a co-traveller.
Till we meet again, my Valentina Tereshkova !
And for my Yuri Gagarin- Papa- welcome to Hyderabad . We will make the most of this present journey.
December 13, 2017
If it weren't for the last nano second....
It's been many many Decades now. A little short of four since the time I started leaving home every day - to go to Kindergarten , to go to school, to go to college, to go to work, to go to B-school.
This is to share my transportation story through these decades. In short , the story of my journey from base camp - every working day .
Kindergarten -
I started off with the school rickshaw- a semi-cylindrical tin roof mounted on a three wheeled, cycle rickshaw . Children were packed in like sardines in a can , with an iron mesh covering the sides. My mother and sister used to walk with me upto the point on the road where the semi-cylindrical spaceship would call. Most unwillingly, I would get in; I would often cry. The 10 minute journey from home was an ordeal. The way back was much better - the enthusiasm of getting back home provided the energy to not bother about the sub human conditions inside the rickshaw . The 10 minutes that seemed like 100 on the way to school passed away in a flash on the way back. It was truly a strange transport .
When my sister started going to school ( a couple of years after i did ) , the onward journey became much better. She was not just a fresh nursery student , she was also my mother for the journey to school and back.
Grade -1
Things changed. I was five and half years of age . I had to graduate to the big league - to the big school. As I joined Kendriya Vidyalaya, an army truck , which was used as a school bus, was the way to get me to school . Dark, heavy and bulky it was. It had students from Grade 1 to 12 and I was the tiniest, puniest of the lot. I was Often bullied on the way - the truck was a nightmare , and not just for the horrible noise it made and for the diesel smell that characterised it.
Grades 2 to 4 -
Life had turned. We shifted cities, and moved to Calcutta. The school was in the same community ( estate) where we lived. So no more transportation . It was supposed to be a 7 minute walk away from home. More importantly , I was in the afternoon shift - school starting at 11 am and ending at 4 pm. The usual time I woke up for the 11 AM school was at 10.40. Once, I woke up at 10.30 and declared it as a 'world record'. On account of this timely 'awakening', the school that was a seven minute walk away turned changed distance. It became a five minute run away. Lugging a bag full of heavy ICSE textbooks, the run was a fitness trainer's dream.
Grade 4 to 7 -
We continued to live at the same place. However , I and my sister joined another school - another Kendriya Vidyalaya - located in the same compound . The main difference was that school started at 9 Am - how would I ever get up to make it on time at this unearthly hour ? Running skills continued to improve and I was beginning to think of myself as the next Ben Johnson; until the time he was shamed at the Seoul Olympics , two days after having set a world record 9.79s in the 100m finals .
Grade 8 to 12
Two times a Change of residence , and a change of school meant that my sister and I were back to the army bus ( which was an army truck ) to get to school. The nature of my running endeavours changed slightly . Instead of home to school, it became home to truck stop . There was another boy who used to board the same army truck from the location we boarded - every day morning, my mother would wake me up saying - "He is on his way to the truck stop. At least NOW you wake up". That was the clarion call - the next couple of minutes would be a tsunami of activity at home followed by the sprint to the truck stop - my father running along with me and my sister. From a distance we started waving frantically at the truck driver who had already spent a few minutes at our stop . Most of the time, we would make it ! Over time, the driver understood the pattern and started budgeting a few extra minutes for our stop.
Even upto grade XII, Papa or Mama would come to drop me and my sister to the truck stop and make us cross the road , holding their hands . End of school and This was certainly not the greatest preparation for life on the road ...
The Engineering years -
Location changed, a professional course started . But getting up in the nick of time did not change. Out here, it was 7.30; yes 7.30 AM that one needed to be in. I needed the maximum impact my Hero Impact bicycle could make, every single day, to get me there. The terrain prepared me for the Tour de France as I had to achieve the optimal combination of speed and control - speed to make it by 7.29.59 and control to ensure that co-inhabitants of the road ( and that included four legged bovines) were not required to go to hospital. Control was also needed to ensure that my toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream and razor did not fall off the small pouch strapped to the bicycle. Once I got in by 7.30, I would use the inter-class breaks to brush, shave and answer to nature. By the fourth class, I was a different person - not recognisable from the one who pedalled in by 7.29.59. The return journey was a lot less exciting and I used it to practice my skills in one handed cycling, and a few months later- in no-handed cycling. While riding a bicycle with my hands off the handlebar, there was an extreme need to control the machine with the mind - so , just before a turn, I would start talking to my Hero Impact to turn and boy , it never let me down.
Work 1 - Home was again close to work so it was a short walk- the only problem in making it on time for the 8 AM morning meeting was that there was a railway level crossing on the way. I had to be on the other side of the level crossing by 7.58.30, else, there would be a couple of trains that would pass by for which the gate would be closed. The sprint this time was to a nearer flagpole - if I made it before 7.58.30, I would make it at 8.
Work 2- Without a doubt, this was the most challenging phase of my journey to work. The reason - I was going to work in a vehicle - the vehicle had one more passenger - my boss. It would pick up my boss, then me, and then take us to work. It was a 10 minute drive from where i lived and in order to reach by 8, I would not have started a second earlier that 7.49.59. My boss, though , was a thorough planner and liked to factor in all uncertainties . On my day 1, I was surprised to see him in the vehicle, outside my house , at 7.35. Would you believe it, 7.35 ? I was in my pyjamas , taking it easy as it was 15 minutes to go before zero hour. I was in the process of getting off from the bed as I saw him outside the gate - hell froze over and I had to leverage all my learning and experience of two decades to get into the vehicle by 7.41. This was undoubtedly a massive challenge ; the only question was how much could I push my Boss' patience. Over time, 'he' adapted and he would patiently wait for me till 7.48 before he started getting impatient . I had made him appreciate the metamorphosis of a perfectly normal , easy trip into a race against time.
Work-3
This was in the big city, and I was very close to work - about 2 kilometres as the crow flies. The only problem - there was a river between where I lived and where office was. The river would be crossed by ferry, and there was one every 15 minutes . Experience always came in handy to make sure the jump on to the ferry, just as it was pulling out of the pier, was long enough to get on board and not fall into the river ! The ferry was my Ferrari .
Work 4- This was the farthest I had lived from work, and the fastest way to get there was to avoid the road . My strategy to get the fastest, and therefore, sleep the most , was therefore the following - Walk + Metro train + taxi / hitchhike + run. Adrenaline continued to flow right from morning - it was the metro train ride that I loved the most. Getting in was the main issue - once in, I would love the 18 minutes it took on the train . It was cool inside the train, and there was a constant flow of people , I would check the time between stations and the timing of the announcements. All of it made for a very lively setting and made for good preparation by calming the mind to get to the next mode of transport .
B-School
Class was a few hundred yards from the hostel. A massive distance . I used my time at B-school to optimise on my running skills. Fortunately , the classroom had some space behind the last row where I could keep my toothbrush and toothpaste. In the second year, when there was a choice of subjects , I used a simple criteria to choose what I wanted to study - something that would go well with my sleep. Marketing , Finance, Operations , Strategy - these things mattered little - none of these were more important than sleep . And therefore , a random choice of subjects ensued - almost by serendipity , it gave a flavour of a little bit of everything . Regardless of the subjects, I continued to get better and more experienced in the race to the bench .
Work-5: Work was just 2 kms away. That had never been the issue, though. The yellow coloured auto rickshaw was the mode which got me there. My workplace, and my wife's , we're both in the same direction . Our everyday breakfast was in the auto - usually Maggi noodles. The 2 km distance was just enough to complete the Maggi Tiffin box . The last stretch involved a U-turn and an additional journey time of 3 minutes. Often, I would incentivise the auto driver with an additional 10 rupees if he could cover the distance in 2 minutes.
Often, it was not enough. Reading the writing on the clock , I would stop the auto-rickshaw on other side, jump over a high pavement and cross the road by dodging speeding cars in the other direction to make it on time to office.
Work 6- The morning routine was to drive and drop my wife ( who was carrying that time ) to her workplace and then go to mine. She would sit on the navigator seat in the car and keep putting breakfast in my mouth as i navigated some seriously notorious traffic.
Then, a few years later, I would first drop my son to school and then go to my workplace. I found it strange that He just did not enjoy the adrenaline rush I provided to him every morning . It was the generosity of the school that kept him from being barred as there wasn't a day when we were not running in at the stroke of the school bell.
Work 7-
The madness of traffic made a serious dent on my sleep. So I decided to ditch driving . Thank God that Uber had been invented. In no time , I became a Platinum category customer for Uber. Some habits did not die - I would time the Uber to make sure arrival time was the nano-second prior to start of work - sometimes, things would not go as per plan. Then I would optimise the route by constantly running data analytics on the map - I would run the google map, run the apple map, and keep pestering the poor driver for constant improvisation based on whichever map was shaving a minute off the journey time .
Work 8- It was what I did yesterday that prompted me to write this travelogue on my everyday journeys . The metro train got inaugurated in Hyderabad , where I now live. I decided to go back to my favourite mode of transport to work. It was bliss . The kind of bliss that homecoming provides. I was free of the constraints of the road . And the map. I would love to write more, especially about my experience of catching long distance trains, buses, flights, cable cars.But for now , the train announcement is for the approaching next station.
Mine.
So the story of catching long distance modes is for another day.
for now, it's Sayonara.
My parting comment to all ye who reach early - your life choices are denying you from appreciating the worth of that last split nano-second.
Cross over . It's an exciting world out here !
This is to share my transportation story through these decades. In short , the story of my journey from base camp - every working day .
Kindergarten -
I started off with the school rickshaw- a semi-cylindrical tin roof mounted on a three wheeled, cycle rickshaw . Children were packed in like sardines in a can , with an iron mesh covering the sides. My mother and sister used to walk with me upto the point on the road where the semi-cylindrical spaceship would call. Most unwillingly, I would get in; I would often cry. The 10 minute journey from home was an ordeal. The way back was much better - the enthusiasm of getting back home provided the energy to not bother about the sub human conditions inside the rickshaw . The 10 minutes that seemed like 100 on the way to school passed away in a flash on the way back. It was truly a strange transport .
When my sister started going to school ( a couple of years after i did ) , the onward journey became much better. She was not just a fresh nursery student , she was also my mother for the journey to school and back.
Grade -1
Things changed. I was five and half years of age . I had to graduate to the big league - to the big school. As I joined Kendriya Vidyalaya, an army truck , which was used as a school bus, was the way to get me to school . Dark, heavy and bulky it was. It had students from Grade 1 to 12 and I was the tiniest, puniest of the lot. I was Often bullied on the way - the truck was a nightmare , and not just for the horrible noise it made and for the diesel smell that characterised it.
Grades 2 to 4 -
Life had turned. We shifted cities, and moved to Calcutta. The school was in the same community ( estate) where we lived. So no more transportation . It was supposed to be a 7 minute walk away from home. More importantly , I was in the afternoon shift - school starting at 11 am and ending at 4 pm. The usual time I woke up for the 11 AM school was at 10.40. Once, I woke up at 10.30 and declared it as a 'world record'. On account of this timely 'awakening', the school that was a seven minute walk away turned changed distance. It became a five minute run away. Lugging a bag full of heavy ICSE textbooks, the run was a fitness trainer's dream.
Grade 4 to 7 -
We continued to live at the same place. However , I and my sister joined another school - another Kendriya Vidyalaya - located in the same compound . The main difference was that school started at 9 Am - how would I ever get up to make it on time at this unearthly hour ? Running skills continued to improve and I was beginning to think of myself as the next Ben Johnson; until the time he was shamed at the Seoul Olympics , two days after having set a world record 9.79s in the 100m finals .
Grade 8 to 12
Two times a Change of residence , and a change of school meant that my sister and I were back to the army bus ( which was an army truck ) to get to school. The nature of my running endeavours changed slightly . Instead of home to school, it became home to truck stop . There was another boy who used to board the same army truck from the location we boarded - every day morning, my mother would wake me up saying - "He is on his way to the truck stop. At least NOW you wake up". That was the clarion call - the next couple of minutes would be a tsunami of activity at home followed by the sprint to the truck stop - my father running along with me and my sister. From a distance we started waving frantically at the truck driver who had already spent a few minutes at our stop . Most of the time, we would make it ! Over time, the driver understood the pattern and started budgeting a few extra minutes for our stop.
Even upto grade XII, Papa or Mama would come to drop me and my sister to the truck stop and make us cross the road , holding their hands . End of school and This was certainly not the greatest preparation for life on the road ...
The Engineering years -
Location changed, a professional course started . But getting up in the nick of time did not change. Out here, it was 7.30; yes 7.30 AM that one needed to be in. I needed the maximum impact my Hero Impact bicycle could make, every single day, to get me there. The terrain prepared me for the Tour de France as I had to achieve the optimal combination of speed and control - speed to make it by 7.29.59 and control to ensure that co-inhabitants of the road ( and that included four legged bovines) were not required to go to hospital. Control was also needed to ensure that my toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream and razor did not fall off the small pouch strapped to the bicycle. Once I got in by 7.30, I would use the inter-class breaks to brush, shave and answer to nature. By the fourth class, I was a different person - not recognisable from the one who pedalled in by 7.29.59. The return journey was a lot less exciting and I used it to practice my skills in one handed cycling, and a few months later- in no-handed cycling. While riding a bicycle with my hands off the handlebar, there was an extreme need to control the machine with the mind - so , just before a turn, I would start talking to my Hero Impact to turn and boy , it never let me down.
Work 1 - Home was again close to work so it was a short walk- the only problem in making it on time for the 8 AM morning meeting was that there was a railway level crossing on the way. I had to be on the other side of the level crossing by 7.58.30, else, there would be a couple of trains that would pass by for which the gate would be closed. The sprint this time was to a nearer flagpole - if I made it before 7.58.30, I would make it at 8.
Work 2- Without a doubt, this was the most challenging phase of my journey to work. The reason - I was going to work in a vehicle - the vehicle had one more passenger - my boss. It would pick up my boss, then me, and then take us to work. It was a 10 minute drive from where i lived and in order to reach by 8, I would not have started a second earlier that 7.49.59. My boss, though , was a thorough planner and liked to factor in all uncertainties . On my day 1, I was surprised to see him in the vehicle, outside my house , at 7.35. Would you believe it, 7.35 ? I was in my pyjamas , taking it easy as it was 15 minutes to go before zero hour. I was in the process of getting off from the bed as I saw him outside the gate - hell froze over and I had to leverage all my learning and experience of two decades to get into the vehicle by 7.41. This was undoubtedly a massive challenge ; the only question was how much could I push my Boss' patience. Over time, 'he' adapted and he would patiently wait for me till 7.48 before he started getting impatient . I had made him appreciate the metamorphosis of a perfectly normal , easy trip into a race against time.
Work-3
This was in the big city, and I was very close to work - about 2 kilometres as the crow flies. The only problem - there was a river between where I lived and where office was. The river would be crossed by ferry, and there was one every 15 minutes . Experience always came in handy to make sure the jump on to the ferry, just as it was pulling out of the pier, was long enough to get on board and not fall into the river ! The ferry was my Ferrari .
Work 4- This was the farthest I had lived from work, and the fastest way to get there was to avoid the road . My strategy to get the fastest, and therefore, sleep the most , was therefore the following - Walk + Metro train + taxi / hitchhike + run. Adrenaline continued to flow right from morning - it was the metro train ride that I loved the most. Getting in was the main issue - once in, I would love the 18 minutes it took on the train . It was cool inside the train, and there was a constant flow of people , I would check the time between stations and the timing of the announcements. All of it made for a very lively setting and made for good preparation by calming the mind to get to the next mode of transport .
B-School
Class was a few hundred yards from the hostel. A massive distance . I used my time at B-school to optimise on my running skills. Fortunately , the classroom had some space behind the last row where I could keep my toothbrush and toothpaste. In the second year, when there was a choice of subjects , I used a simple criteria to choose what I wanted to study - something that would go well with my sleep. Marketing , Finance, Operations , Strategy - these things mattered little - none of these were more important than sleep . And therefore , a random choice of subjects ensued - almost by serendipity , it gave a flavour of a little bit of everything . Regardless of the subjects, I continued to get better and more experienced in the race to the bench .
Work-5: Work was just 2 kms away. That had never been the issue, though. The yellow coloured auto rickshaw was the mode which got me there. My workplace, and my wife's , we're both in the same direction . Our everyday breakfast was in the auto - usually Maggi noodles. The 2 km distance was just enough to complete the Maggi Tiffin box . The last stretch involved a U-turn and an additional journey time of 3 minutes. Often, I would incentivise the auto driver with an additional 10 rupees if he could cover the distance in 2 minutes.
Often, it was not enough. Reading the writing on the clock , I would stop the auto-rickshaw on other side, jump over a high pavement and cross the road by dodging speeding cars in the other direction to make it on time to office.
Work 6- The morning routine was to drive and drop my wife ( who was carrying that time ) to her workplace and then go to mine. She would sit on the navigator seat in the car and keep putting breakfast in my mouth as i navigated some seriously notorious traffic.
Then, a few years later, I would first drop my son to school and then go to my workplace. I found it strange that He just did not enjoy the adrenaline rush I provided to him every morning . It was the generosity of the school that kept him from being barred as there wasn't a day when we were not running in at the stroke of the school bell.
Work 7-
The madness of traffic made a serious dent on my sleep. So I decided to ditch driving . Thank God that Uber had been invented. In no time , I became a Platinum category customer for Uber. Some habits did not die - I would time the Uber to make sure arrival time was the nano-second prior to start of work - sometimes, things would not go as per plan. Then I would optimise the route by constantly running data analytics on the map - I would run the google map, run the apple map, and keep pestering the poor driver for constant improvisation based on whichever map was shaving a minute off the journey time .
Work 8- It was what I did yesterday that prompted me to write this travelogue on my everyday journeys . The metro train got inaugurated in Hyderabad , where I now live. I decided to go back to my favourite mode of transport to work. It was bliss . The kind of bliss that homecoming provides. I was free of the constraints of the road . And the map. I would love to write more, especially about my experience of catching long distance trains, buses, flights, cable cars.But for now , the train announcement is for the approaching next station.
Mine.
So the story of catching long distance modes is for another day.
for now, it's Sayonara.
My parting comment to all ye who reach early - your life choices are denying you from appreciating the worth of that last split nano-second.
Cross over . It's an exciting world out here !
November 30, 2017
Coming of age trip
Coming of Age trip
Day (-20) :
My son - Teacher told me that there is a school trip for seven days. We have to go to a place in Tamil Nadu by train and stay in an organisation there which does farming. In the train, we have to travel by sleeper class. It's a 23 hour journey one way . There are no phones allowed , no information taking from accompanying teachers allowed .
Me- Don't go.
Day (-10): Me- Do you want to go ? My son - Not sure. It's 51:49. Me- 51 is what ?My son - Go
Day (-5)Me- Do you want to go ? My son - Not sure. It's 55:45Me- 55 is what ?My son - Go
Day (-4)Me- Let's take a flight to Madurai and I will then drop you at the place My son - No
Day (-3)Me- Are you sure you want to goMy son - Yes
Day (-2)Me- Now that you are going , be the best traveller . Go, explore. be with your friends and be a team. Be cool, and have a sense of humour. If someone makes fun of you, laugh along with them. Don't take things very seriously .
My son - ok, whatever that means.
Day (-1)
Me- Let's go the station , and get on to an empty train
My son - Why
Me- to practice how to make the middle berth in sleeper class, how to up and down the two kinds of Windows , how to use the Toilets
Day 0- Backpack and front pack on, our man is ready
It's Kacheguda station , platform 4
It could very well have been King's cross station, platform 9 (3/4). Instead of his school, it could very well have been Hogwart's. Instead of his friends, it could very well have been Ron, Harry and Hermione.
My son's father and my son's mother are both amongst the anxious parents on the platform .
I scan the reservation chart outside the coach . It's full of 12 year olds. My sons entire class.
Chaos. Last minute instructions. Goodbyes. Running along the train as it started to move. Excited shrieks from the children.
It's emptiness. For the first time after our son was born , he is going to be without either parent and with no way to communicate . For a full week. No communication at all. No news is to be construed as good news. Strict instructions from school - no calling any teacher accompanying the children . If there's something required, they will call you .
Day (+1)
He's gone . No idea what he would be dong .
The rationalist in me says- he will be fine . He will learn. He will be with his buddies. He will stumble. He will fall. He will get up.
The parents whatsapp group is sharing their thoughts . Philosophers are quoted by some parents. Some of us become philosophers.
I keep hoping he stays safe. He doesn't fall off the bed . He doesn't get off the train at an intermediate station. He doesn't get insects in the toilet.
No news from the school or teachers.
Day (+3):
Am I not holding my son back by my thoughts ? I need to let go- with belief and hope.
No news from the school .... Is good news
Day (+5)I also hope my son is confident in the belief that there is always a home to get back to ; a place where he is always loved and where he can always be himself .
Day 7- I track the train movement on the rail enquiry site. Timing, platform, next station - for many of the stations in the 23 hour journey .
With the train one hour away from arriving at Kacheguda station , i reflect on the last seven days.
It's not just a school trip for my 12 year old son. It's a first lesson in the chapter of 'let go' with regards to children. It's an experience through various stages of the process of let go..
From saying don't go to trying hard not to let him go to enabling him to go well to believing that all will be fine ....
It's a coming of age trip.
For me....
Day (-20) :
My son - Teacher told me that there is a school trip for seven days. We have to go to a place in Tamil Nadu by train and stay in an organisation there which does farming. In the train, we have to travel by sleeper class. It's a 23 hour journey one way . There are no phones allowed , no information taking from accompanying teachers allowed .
Me- Don't go.
Day (-10): Me- Do you want to go ? My son - Not sure. It's 51:49. Me- 51 is what ?My son - Go
Day (-5)Me- Do you want to go ? My son - Not sure. It's 55:45Me- 55 is what ?My son - Go
Day (-4)Me- Let's take a flight to Madurai and I will then drop you at the place My son - No
Day (-3)Me- Are you sure you want to goMy son - Yes
Day (-2)Me- Now that you are going , be the best traveller . Go, explore. be with your friends and be a team. Be cool, and have a sense of humour. If someone makes fun of you, laugh along with them. Don't take things very seriously .
My son - ok, whatever that means.
Day (-1)
Me- Let's go the station , and get on to an empty train
My son - Why
Me- to practice how to make the middle berth in sleeper class, how to up and down the two kinds of Windows , how to use the Toilets
Day 0- Backpack and front pack on, our man is ready
It's Kacheguda station , platform 4
It could very well have been King's cross station, platform 9 (3/4). Instead of his school, it could very well have been Hogwart's. Instead of his friends, it could very well have been Ron, Harry and Hermione.
My son's father and my son's mother are both amongst the anxious parents on the platform .
I scan the reservation chart outside the coach . It's full of 12 year olds. My sons entire class.
Chaos. Last minute instructions. Goodbyes. Running along the train as it started to move. Excited shrieks from the children.
It's emptiness. For the first time after our son was born , he is going to be without either parent and with no way to communicate . For a full week. No communication at all. No news is to be construed as good news. Strict instructions from school - no calling any teacher accompanying the children . If there's something required, they will call you .
Day (+1)
He's gone . No idea what he would be dong .
The rationalist in me says- he will be fine . He will learn. He will be with his buddies. He will stumble. He will fall. He will get up.
The parents whatsapp group is sharing their thoughts . Philosophers are quoted by some parents. Some of us become philosophers.
I keep hoping he stays safe. He doesn't fall off the bed . He doesn't get off the train at an intermediate station. He doesn't get insects in the toilet.
No news from the school or teachers.
Day (+3):
Am I not holding my son back by my thoughts ? I need to let go- with belief and hope.
No news from the school .... Is good news
Day (+5)I also hope my son is confident in the belief that there is always a home to get back to ; a place where he is always loved and where he can always be himself .
Day 7- I track the train movement on the rail enquiry site. Timing, platform, next station - for many of the stations in the 23 hour journey .
With the train one hour away from arriving at Kacheguda station , i reflect on the last seven days.
It's not just a school trip for my 12 year old son. It's a first lesson in the chapter of 'let go' with regards to children. It's an experience through various stages of the process of let go..
From saying don't go to trying hard not to let him go to enabling him to go well to believing that all will be fine ....
It's a coming of age trip.
For me....
October 9, 2017
A mother's love, and India's goal
When Konthoujam Deben Singh suffered a stroke in 2015, he had to leave his job. His wife then had to venture out of home to keep things going in the poor family by selling vegetables at the Khwairamband Bazar in Imphal (Manipur),25km from her home.
That never detered the mother from encouraging her son, who had but one passion in life.
Football.
Today, their son, who left home at the age of 11 to a place more than 2000 kms away, became India's first, and so far only, scorer of a goal in a FIFA world cup.
Jeakson Singh Thaunaojam - this goal against Colombia in the Under -17 soccer world cup match belongs to your mother, much more than it does to you, much more than it does to everyone else.
When Jeakson headed the ball into the Colombian goal, I shouted in joy, and I cried.
It's an achievement that fills me, and I am sure many of us with pride and hope - and reincforces the belief that there is nothing in this world greater than a mother.
That never detered the mother from encouraging her son, who had but one passion in life.
Football.
Today, their son, who left home at the age of 11 to a place more than 2000 kms away, became India's first, and so far only, scorer of a goal in a FIFA world cup.
Jeakson Singh Thaunaojam - this goal against Colombia in the Under -17 soccer world cup match belongs to your mother, much more than it does to you, much more than it does to everyone else.
When Jeakson headed the ball into the Colombian goal, I shouted in joy, and I cried.
It's an achievement that fills me, and I am sure many of us with pride and hope - and reincforces the belief that there is nothing in this world greater than a mother.
August 13, 2017
In Pakistan: on the other side of the Radcliffe
In the week that the nations of India and Pakistan turn 70, I want to share the story of a week in my life. That week was about 13 years ago, when I made my first trip to Pakistan.
A most unexpected and incredible time, a time I look back upon with affection, fondness and hope.
I invite you to read a description of that week, written from Pakistan and sent in an email to my friends back home in India, on the 26thof March, 2004.
---------------------------------
Dear Friends,
I am writing this from Lahore, where I have been for the last few days.
I am here with my wife, Ipsita. We are two of about 2000 Indians who have come to Pakistan for the one-day cricket matches between India and Pakistan in March 2004.
Tomorrow morning, we head back to India. At the moment, its about 11 PM here in Lahore and I am sitting in the study room of a friend who we have met in Lahore, writing about the events of the last week. The friend just came in with a cup of tea, and has asked me to wake him up in case I need more tea or coffee.
It all started with the Pakistan Cricket Board opening up the sale of a limited number of tickets for the India-Pakistan cricket series.
The moment I saw that news report, I knew i had to do this. This was not just an opportunity to witness one of sport’s greatest rivalries, it was a chance to go to Pakistan – the place we as Indians talk so much about, read so much about, and often, despise so much about. Tickets were promptly purchased on the internet, and visa forms filled up. There is no Pakistan consulate in Hyderabad, so we made a trip to Delhi and stood at 4 AM in the queue of hopefuls outside the Pakistan High Commission in Chanakyapuri. There were some like us, standing for a visa for the cricket match. Most others, and that number was in several hundreds, were people who had relatives in Pakistan and had been trying for many many months to get a visa, most of the time, unsuccessfully.
“Aap apna passport deposit kar dein, visa lagne par itila di jayegi”, said the helpful man at the counter, which I reached after about five hours in the queue. Translated, it meant – Deposit your passport, we will inform you when your visa is granted.
We returned to Hyderabad and a week later, got the information that the visa had come through. I have had many visas on my passport – tourist visa, business visa, visit visa. This one is unique – it says, ‘Cricket Visa’. It also specifies – Lahore only, as my match tickets were only for the Lahore matches and the visa forbade me from going any place else. Importantly, it also says- ‘Exempt from police reporting’, which is otherwise a daily requirement for Indians visiting Pakistan.
Next step was hospitalityclub.org , one of my favourite internet sites which provides a platform for members to homestay as a guest at someone's home. I had hosted and been a host at many places around the world, but Pakistan, God, this was someplace else, at least in the mind. Was it too risky, to search for random people in Lahore and ask them for a place to stay ? I took a leap of faith and narrowed the search string on the website down to Lahore and wrote to the top host in Lahore telling him of my trip and asking whether we could stay with him for the week. Promptly, my inbox had a response – ‘you are welcome’, was the message.
The Delhi-Lahore bus leaves from the Ambedkar Terminal in Delhi. The bus departure time is 6 AM. We are there at 3.30 AM and notice a large queue of people already present. There are a large number of people also there to see them off, easily in a 3:1 ratio. They are not allowed in, and are outside the large, iron gates to the entrance.
The passengers are a mix of Indians, Pakistanis and others. There are about twenty odd cricket fans (mostly from Delhi, a few from Panipat and the two of us from Hyderabad), a woman and her four kids from Karachi, a man from Lahore returning from Jaipur after getting the 'Jaipur foot' fitted, a mother-daughter duo from Islamabad, a Dutch lady traveling from India to Pakistan, two armed security escorts and a liaison officer from Pakistan Tourism Development Corporation.
The security checks are more stringent than any I have experienced anywhere in the world.
The people from Pakistan say their good-byes to relatives who are waving from outside the iron gates of the terminus. The bus starts off at 6 AM Indian time.
There are two Police vans with armed guards and lathis (sticks) escorting the bus. One in the front of the bus, the other in the rear. They are blaring their horns and clearing all traffic for the bus to pass off uninterrupted.
The bus has three halts on the way in the Indian territory - for breakfast, tea and lunch respectively. These halts offer a good opportunity for the passengers to mix together and get to know each other. There is a pervading spirit of bonhomie, which grows with time and halts.
Kartarpur is the last halt before the border. Out there is a signboard showing an Indian and a Pakistani hugging each other in the backdrop of the Lahore bus. Delhi is written on one side of the signboard and Lahore on the other, and there is a line written below – it says "Dil ka darwaza khol ke aana, par wapis jakar humein bhool na jana" (While coming, open the doors of your heart, but don't forget us when you get back) Around 1400 hrs, we are nearing the border at Attari and suddenly, mobile phone signals are blocked. There are a number of Indians crossing over by foot from Amritsar. From their looks, it seems most of them are headed for the cricket match. A few entrepreneurs have put up a well stocked shop selling India t-shirts, Indian flags and banners. Their USP – this is the last place where you can buy this stuff. Beyond this, it’s a different world. Prices are moderate, and an Indian shirt with No. 10 and Tendulkar written on it can be bought for 200 (Indian) Rupees.
Next is the Customs check-post at Attari (India). Amidst a lot of confusion and a sea of blue shirt wearing Coolies (porters), our passports are collected by a couple of stern looking officials. We fill in our forms and in about two hours, we are checked out of India.
Pakistan is clearly visible a few meters in front, but we have to wait for our luggage to be loaded back on to the bus (which, necessarily, is done by the Coolies because the authorities don't allow you to carry your own luggage). After a few photos with the Indian flag in front of the bus, and a cold coffee, we are back in the bus.
The next leg of the journey is a few meters of physical distance, many light years of perceived distance.
After all, this is Pakistan !
The six-and-half foot tall, well built, BSF (Border Security Force) guard is standing in front of a huge gate just ahead of our bus. It has ‘INDIA’ written on it in big, bold letters. The BSF jawan opens the gate, and the bus slowly rolls on to the other side. Inside the bus, there is huge applause from the passengers.
For many on board, it’s an emotional moment. I am one of those.
Being on the others side of the Wagah border meant I am nearing the place where my parents were born, where they learnt to walk and take their first steps, where our family used to stay and a lot lot more.
In a few minutes, the bus stops again. This time on the Pakistan side of the border for the formalities to be completed. Systems here are relatively more streamlined than at Attari, and the queue moves faster. Formalities done, we have to get our luggage checked once again. A huge amount of confusion here too, before it finally gets done.
My mobile phone starts working again. Surprisingly, it is the Airtel Punjab (India) network that is the strongest, so I make calls to my parents in India, from Pakistan, on an Indian network.
Just outside the café, some of the porters are asking passengers if they want to exchange currency. I give them currency notes with Gandhi’s picture and get back those with Jinnah’s. The Qaid-e-Azam is in his trademark cap.
The bus passengers are asked to head towards the PTDC (Pakistan tourism development corporation) cafe, for a complementary tea. The manager of the PTDC cafe takes control of the operations to meet this sudden spurt of Indians, and is endeavouring to increase the turnaround time of the cheese sandwiches.
As we await our sandwich, a framed photo of Md Ali Jinnah adorns the wall right in front of us. To the side are a few Pakistan Tourism posters, all of which have the words ‘Visit Pakistan’ firmly written in bold font.
We get back to the bus and it starts again. The first thing I see thereafter, is another entrepreneur, selling Pakistan cricket team t-shirts, caps and Pakistan flags.
The landscape turns to green, and boys in Pathani suits are seen playing cricket.As the bus moves on, there are hundreds of people on the way who are eager to catch a glimpse of our bus. They are on the roads, in shops, in houses. I wave incessantly and most people wave back, with a huge smile as a bonus. That makes my day.
There is a railway level crossing in front of us, and the gates are closed. The escort of our bus walks up to the railway cabin, gets the aspect of the signal changed and gets the gates opened. Our bus passes through. A goods train is seen waiting a few meters away. This was amazing. A train was stopped to let a bus pass by.
We head into Lahore in about half an hour, and the roads are dominated by the Daewoo city buses, some double deckers, Mehran Suzuki cars (the exact equivalent of India's Maruti Suzuki 800), the three wheelers (called Rickshaws), Tongas, Chaand gaadi (a six seater vehicle), and dozens of motorbikes.
We cross Atchison college (where Imran Khan studied, informs the liaison officer), the Pearl Continental Hotel (where the cricket teams are put up) and a number of buildings from the British era.
In some time, we are at Falleti's hotel, another hotel from the British times, and the bus' final destination.
As we get down, there are people from the (local Urdu) press clicking photographs. They ask us (who are in Lahore for the cricket match) to pose with the Indian flag, which we happily do.
We get down, and in a few minutes are able to locate the hospitalityclub.org friend. His name is Naseem. I call him Naseem saab. He takes us home after driving us through the Mall Road, the High Court, the Post Master general's office and the Secretariat. While driving, he makes dozens of phone calls to neighbours and relatives and invites them to his place for the evening.
At Naseem saab’s place, there are scores of people who want to meet us, talk to us, and express the fact they are extremely happy at our being here.
Naseem then takes us to another friend’s place, where I mention that my parents were born in Lahore. The friend whose house he had taken us to had come from Saharanpur, way back in 1947. The person is thrilled to bits on seeing us, and he takes off the watch he is wearing and puts it on my wrist. He takes off the pen in his pocket and gives it to Ipsita.
We are overwhelmed.
The next day, I managed to track down the respective houses where my father and mother were born. It’s a very special moment for me. The houses where KL Sapra (on Gurmukh Street, Dev Samaj Road) and Neerja Sapra (nee Mehta)( 15F, Nisbet Road, near Dyal Singh Library) were born might be nondescript today amongst the sea of houses in Lahore, for me they represented places where my parents would have taken their first steps, played, fallen, walked, talked and learnt to get their first bearings of the world. These would also be the places where they would have to undergo, as kids of five and two respectively, the horrific trauma of partition in 1947, leaving their house and getting away in the lap of parents with fear and frenzy all around.
On the 21st of March, we are at the Gaddafi stadium. I am in my Indian-team blue T-shirt. Outside the stadium, there are a large number of Pakistani fans as well. We wave and smile at each other. Many many people come up to us, ask us basic questions about India and exchange pleasantries.
The Police gets us inside the stadium through a special queue (for Indian visitors). Inside the stadium, though, its all common enclosures.
There's a college girl who is wearing a t-shirt saying 'Nothing feels better than kicking Indians'.Ipsita walks up to her and tells her- “We have come from far to be here in Pakistan, I am sure you don’t mean what’s written on your shirt”.The girl turns extremely apologetic. In a few minutes, she’s good friends with her. In some time, we pose for pictures with our flags.
The cricket match has started. In the stands, though, there is a lot of fun in the crowd going on.... thousands of flags, banners, musical instruments. Mexican waves going around the stadium. Flags of USA, Bahrain and the UK are visible as well. Sikhs in tri-color turbans. A man with a Ronaldo t-shirt. A guy in Pakistani green jersey gets us two glasses of Pepsi. An elderly person offers us paan.Indian ads are all over the stadium. When the screen on the ground shows the Information Minister of Pakistan, the crowd shouts 'LOTA LOTA' (meaning double sided and turncoat, commonly used for politicians in Pakistan – could be used anywhere, I feel).
The crowd does the ‘Lota’ chant for every politician who is shown on the screen. The Pakistani crowd is good at inveting slogans. The most common slogan is "Match tusi le lo, Aishwarya saanu de do" (take the match, give us Aishwarya (Rai)).
When the screen shows Indian actors Sunil Shetty and Mandira Bedi, the crowd cheers like mad.
There is a Pakistani guy who everyone calls BABA, dressed in all green, waving the flag, who goes everywhere the Pakistan team plays. He too is cheered whenever the big screen shows him. He is in the Imran Khan enclosure, adjacent to the Javed Miandad enclosure where we are. During the innings break, the public address system plays popular songs. Many of these are Bollywood. Many in the crowd are dancing and swaying to the beats. After a while, the song turns to ‘Dil Dil Pakistan’, a popular pop song ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dil_Dil_Pakistan ). This one makes the crowd go crazy. There is frenzied dancing and waving of flags.
After the innings break, the cricket continues. Good shots are cheered for both sides. The Pakistan team flattered to deceive and India won convincingly.
http://www.espncricinfo.com/series/15060/scorecard/64884/Pakistan-vs-India-4th-ODI-India-in-Pakistan-ODI-Series
The crowd is disappointed, but genuinely happy for us.
People walk up to us and say 'congratulations' and well played. A person walks up to me and offers his Pakistan flag in exchange for my Indian one. We pose for a photo. Similarly, another person asks for my blue coloured Indian cap as a souvenir.
I give my address and cards to scores of people. A few of our fellow spectators take our autographs as well. People are desperate for Indian souvenirs. I end up giving away all the Indian currency notes that I had in my pocket – with an autograph on it as well.
I parted with my cap, my money, and finally, even my t-shirt. In return, what I got was a massive amount of love and affection. It felt just out of the world.
The next few days after the first match was spent going around Lahore - the Badshahi mosque, the Minar-e-pakistan, the Ravi river, Mall Road, Govt College Lahore, the Punjab University, Kim's gun and Kim's bookshop.
We shopped around Anarkali and went to Lahore Railway station. My favourite place in any city. It’s train station. Like many large stations in India, this one also has a loco outside, with the star and crescent being prominently displayed in front.
We met a number of Coolies (porters), who were very happy to have a 'mehmaan' from India visit the railway station.
There is a 'Meeting Point' at the station, quite similar to the ones in many other parts of the world. A big clock is on top of the meeting point. I buy a platform ticket, which costs Rupees 5 (Pakistani). The platform is maintained by a private party, and is quite clean.
Two big photos – one of Md Ali Jinnah, and another of Md Iqbal (creator of the song, Saare Jahan Se Achcha, Hindustan hamara and pioneer for the demand of a separate state) adorn the entrance to the platform area.
Samjhauta Express, the train to India, leaves from the far end of Platform No. 1. This platform also has a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut outlet. There are bookstalls on every platform, mostly selling Urdu books. English magazines in the bookstall are very costly, and range from about Rs 70 to Rs 100. English language newspapers are costly as well, approximately Rs 10-12.
As I went to other platforms, we could see the Khyber Mail. It goes from Peshawar to Karachi and was on Platform No. 5. We went inside , and saw the AC, Economy AC and non-AC coaches. On the platform, the scene was quite similar - vendors selling all kind of stuff; the only problem for me, a lover of railway platform food, was that vegetarian food was hard to find !
The Karrakoram Express, which is a fully AC train , is the most prestigious train from Lahore. Quite similar to the Rajdhani Express in India. This train makes Lahore-Karachi an overnight journey travel, giving the benefit of a working day at both ends.
After the station, I make a second visit to Nisbet Road and Dev Samaj Road, to the house where my parents were born. There is a lavish spread for us at both places and the current occupants of the house are over the moon seeing us. I had heard from my mother that she had fallen close to the staircase of the house and had a fracture when she was one year old. She said didn’t remember any of it (which child would remember something that happened to her at the age of 1), but the constant story telling about the incident from her elder siblings was what she had narrated. I tell this story, of my mother’s fracture, to the current occupants. They say it’s happened to some other children in their family as well. Things didn’t change in more than 50 years. Children still fall and get injured at the same spot. We all laughed.
This was one more of the hundreds of times during the week that I felt connected to a set of unknown people in an inexplicable sort of way.
Tonight is our last night here in Lahore. In the evening, we (all our recently acquired friends, and it totals up to around 20) had gone to the Food Street on Gawal Mandi, in a kind of a farewell dinner. Although finding vegetarian food wasn't very easy, people's willingness to do just about anything for their 'Mehmaan' made it a song.
That’s been the feature of the trip- wherever we have gone, people are warm and friendly, eager to meet, say Aslaam Walaiyekum, shake hands and extend hospitality. Most people haven’t accepted money for food, saying it is their privilege that they have been able to offer food to their guests.
Every time in the last few days, people have felt very happy to meet someone from India. They have gone out of their way to extend hospitality.
Many conversations have happened as well. This includes conversations on contentious issues like Kashmir. Views range from moderate to extreme. None of these views, no matter how extreme they are, have come in the way of people taking extraordinary care of their guests and bestowing upon us the most incredible hospitality that anyone could.
The overwhelming opinion is that Kashmir aside, WE must increase people-to-people interaction, free restrictions on Visas, allow trade, allow communication, allow each other to just be.
People say these steps should be taken urgently, and are really happy that things are looking up between the two countries. Many credit the Indian Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee for being a visionary statesman who can bring peace and friendly ties between us.
Many people have relatives in India, and India is very much on the top of people's agenda. Indian soap operas are extremely popular, and shape a number of perceptions about India. The only time we noticed disappointment was when people realised that Indians don’t sleep in kanjivaram sarees, as some Saas-Bahu soaps seemed to suggest.
In all, the last few days have been an overwhelming, out-of-this-world experience. It has helped that we were up-front with everyone about the fact that we come from India and were polite and courteous.
Finally, I would recommend to all Indians – please visit Pakistan, meet people, talk to them, interact and get to know this place better. We carry a lot of myths about Pakistan, and it is only when we interact more, talk more at the people level that we can have a brighter, less bitter, and more friendly future. The people level interactions are totally separate from the politics of it all, and has no resemblance whatsoever to what we read in the papers or watch on TV. There is a huge gap that exists between perception and reality, on both sides of the Radcliffe line, an artificial divide.
My visa prohibits me from going out of Lahore, but I hope there will be a time when I can experience other cities and historical sites as well. Mohenjodaro, Harappa, Karokoram highway…For now, I feel fortunate that I have been to Lahore, and as they say in Lahore, I have been born (Jine Lahore nahin takeya, o jameya nahin = the person who hasn’t seen Lahore, hasn’t been born)
I hope to be back here soon.
With best wishes, Deepak
A most unexpected and incredible time, a time I look back upon with affection, fondness and hope.
I invite you to read a description of that week, written from Pakistan and sent in an email to my friends back home in India, on the 26thof March, 2004.
---------------------------------
Dear Friends,
I am writing this from Lahore, where I have been for the last few days.
I am here with my wife, Ipsita. We are two of about 2000 Indians who have come to Pakistan for the one-day cricket matches between India and Pakistan in March 2004.
Tomorrow morning, we head back to India. At the moment, its about 11 PM here in Lahore and I am sitting in the study room of a friend who we have met in Lahore, writing about the events of the last week. The friend just came in with a cup of tea, and has asked me to wake him up in case I need more tea or coffee.
It all started with the Pakistan Cricket Board opening up the sale of a limited number of tickets for the India-Pakistan cricket series.
The moment I saw that news report, I knew i had to do this. This was not just an opportunity to witness one of sport’s greatest rivalries, it was a chance to go to Pakistan – the place we as Indians talk so much about, read so much about, and often, despise so much about. Tickets were promptly purchased on the internet, and visa forms filled up. There is no Pakistan consulate in Hyderabad, so we made a trip to Delhi and stood at 4 AM in the queue of hopefuls outside the Pakistan High Commission in Chanakyapuri. There were some like us, standing for a visa for the cricket match. Most others, and that number was in several hundreds, were people who had relatives in Pakistan and had been trying for many many months to get a visa, most of the time, unsuccessfully.
“Aap apna passport deposit kar dein, visa lagne par itila di jayegi”, said the helpful man at the counter, which I reached after about five hours in the queue. Translated, it meant – Deposit your passport, we will inform you when your visa is granted.
We returned to Hyderabad and a week later, got the information that the visa had come through. I have had many visas on my passport – tourist visa, business visa, visit visa. This one is unique – it says, ‘Cricket Visa’. It also specifies – Lahore only, as my match tickets were only for the Lahore matches and the visa forbade me from going any place else. Importantly, it also says- ‘Exempt from police reporting’, which is otherwise a daily requirement for Indians visiting Pakistan.
Next step was hospitalityclub.org , one of my favourite internet sites which provides a platform for members to homestay as a guest at someone's home. I had hosted and been a host at many places around the world, but Pakistan, God, this was someplace else, at least in the mind. Was it too risky, to search for random people in Lahore and ask them for a place to stay ? I took a leap of faith and narrowed the search string on the website down to Lahore and wrote to the top host in Lahore telling him of my trip and asking whether we could stay with him for the week. Promptly, my inbox had a response – ‘you are welcome’, was the message.
The Delhi-Lahore bus leaves from the Ambedkar Terminal in Delhi. The bus departure time is 6 AM. We are there at 3.30 AM and notice a large queue of people already present. There are a large number of people also there to see them off, easily in a 3:1 ratio. They are not allowed in, and are outside the large, iron gates to the entrance.
The passengers are a mix of Indians, Pakistanis and others. There are about twenty odd cricket fans (mostly from Delhi, a few from Panipat and the two of us from Hyderabad), a woman and her four kids from Karachi, a man from Lahore returning from Jaipur after getting the 'Jaipur foot' fitted, a mother-daughter duo from Islamabad, a Dutch lady traveling from India to Pakistan, two armed security escorts and a liaison officer from Pakistan Tourism Development Corporation.
The security checks are more stringent than any I have experienced anywhere in the world.
The people from Pakistan say their good-byes to relatives who are waving from outside the iron gates of the terminus. The bus starts off at 6 AM Indian time.
There are two Police vans with armed guards and lathis (sticks) escorting the bus. One in the front of the bus, the other in the rear. They are blaring their horns and clearing all traffic for the bus to pass off uninterrupted.
The bus has three halts on the way in the Indian territory - for breakfast, tea and lunch respectively. These halts offer a good opportunity for the passengers to mix together and get to know each other. There is a pervading spirit of bonhomie, which grows with time and halts.
Kartarpur is the last halt before the border. Out there is a signboard showing an Indian and a Pakistani hugging each other in the backdrop of the Lahore bus. Delhi is written on one side of the signboard and Lahore on the other, and there is a line written below – it says "Dil ka darwaza khol ke aana, par wapis jakar humein bhool na jana" (While coming, open the doors of your heart, but don't forget us when you get back) Around 1400 hrs, we are nearing the border at Attari and suddenly, mobile phone signals are blocked. There are a number of Indians crossing over by foot from Amritsar. From their looks, it seems most of them are headed for the cricket match. A few entrepreneurs have put up a well stocked shop selling India t-shirts, Indian flags and banners. Their USP – this is the last place where you can buy this stuff. Beyond this, it’s a different world. Prices are moderate, and an Indian shirt with No. 10 and Tendulkar written on it can be bought for 200 (Indian) Rupees.
Next is the Customs check-post at Attari (India). Amidst a lot of confusion and a sea of blue shirt wearing Coolies (porters), our passports are collected by a couple of stern looking officials. We fill in our forms and in about two hours, we are checked out of India.
Pakistan is clearly visible a few meters in front, but we have to wait for our luggage to be loaded back on to the bus (which, necessarily, is done by the Coolies because the authorities don't allow you to carry your own luggage). After a few photos with the Indian flag in front of the bus, and a cold coffee, we are back in the bus.
The next leg of the journey is a few meters of physical distance, many light years of perceived distance.
After all, this is Pakistan !
The six-and-half foot tall, well built, BSF (Border Security Force) guard is standing in front of a huge gate just ahead of our bus. It has ‘INDIA’ written on it in big, bold letters. The BSF jawan opens the gate, and the bus slowly rolls on to the other side. Inside the bus, there is huge applause from the passengers.
For many on board, it’s an emotional moment. I am one of those.
Being on the others side of the Wagah border meant I am nearing the place where my parents were born, where they learnt to walk and take their first steps, where our family used to stay and a lot lot more.
In a few minutes, the bus stops again. This time on the Pakistan side of the border for the formalities to be completed. Systems here are relatively more streamlined than at Attari, and the queue moves faster. Formalities done, we have to get our luggage checked once again. A huge amount of confusion here too, before it finally gets done.
My mobile phone starts working again. Surprisingly, it is the Airtel Punjab (India) network that is the strongest, so I make calls to my parents in India, from Pakistan, on an Indian network.
Just outside the café, some of the porters are asking passengers if they want to exchange currency. I give them currency notes with Gandhi’s picture and get back those with Jinnah’s. The Qaid-e-Azam is in his trademark cap.
The bus passengers are asked to head towards the PTDC (Pakistan tourism development corporation) cafe, for a complementary tea. The manager of the PTDC cafe takes control of the operations to meet this sudden spurt of Indians, and is endeavouring to increase the turnaround time of the cheese sandwiches.
As we await our sandwich, a framed photo of Md Ali Jinnah adorns the wall right in front of us. To the side are a few Pakistan Tourism posters, all of which have the words ‘Visit Pakistan’ firmly written in bold font.
We get back to the bus and it starts again. The first thing I see thereafter, is another entrepreneur, selling Pakistan cricket team t-shirts, caps and Pakistan flags.
The landscape turns to green, and boys in Pathani suits are seen playing cricket.As the bus moves on, there are hundreds of people on the way who are eager to catch a glimpse of our bus. They are on the roads, in shops, in houses. I wave incessantly and most people wave back, with a huge smile as a bonus. That makes my day.
There is a railway level crossing in front of us, and the gates are closed. The escort of our bus walks up to the railway cabin, gets the aspect of the signal changed and gets the gates opened. Our bus passes through. A goods train is seen waiting a few meters away. This was amazing. A train was stopped to let a bus pass by.
We head into Lahore in about half an hour, and the roads are dominated by the Daewoo city buses, some double deckers, Mehran Suzuki cars (the exact equivalent of India's Maruti Suzuki 800), the three wheelers (called Rickshaws), Tongas, Chaand gaadi (a six seater vehicle), and dozens of motorbikes.
We cross Atchison college (where Imran Khan studied, informs the liaison officer), the Pearl Continental Hotel (where the cricket teams are put up) and a number of buildings from the British era.
In some time, we are at Falleti's hotel, another hotel from the British times, and the bus' final destination.
As we get down, there are people from the (local Urdu) press clicking photographs. They ask us (who are in Lahore for the cricket match) to pose with the Indian flag, which we happily do.
We get down, and in a few minutes are able to locate the hospitalityclub.org friend. His name is Naseem. I call him Naseem saab. He takes us home after driving us through the Mall Road, the High Court, the Post Master general's office and the Secretariat. While driving, he makes dozens of phone calls to neighbours and relatives and invites them to his place for the evening.
At Naseem saab’s place, there are scores of people who want to meet us, talk to us, and express the fact they are extremely happy at our being here.
Naseem then takes us to another friend’s place, where I mention that my parents were born in Lahore. The friend whose house he had taken us to had come from Saharanpur, way back in 1947. The person is thrilled to bits on seeing us, and he takes off the watch he is wearing and puts it on my wrist. He takes off the pen in his pocket and gives it to Ipsita.
We are overwhelmed.
The next day, I managed to track down the respective houses where my father and mother were born. It’s a very special moment for me. The houses where KL Sapra (on Gurmukh Street, Dev Samaj Road) and Neerja Sapra (nee Mehta)( 15F, Nisbet Road, near Dyal Singh Library) were born might be nondescript today amongst the sea of houses in Lahore, for me they represented places where my parents would have taken their first steps, played, fallen, walked, talked and learnt to get their first bearings of the world. These would also be the places where they would have to undergo, as kids of five and two respectively, the horrific trauma of partition in 1947, leaving their house and getting away in the lap of parents with fear and frenzy all around.
On the 21st of March, we are at the Gaddafi stadium. I am in my Indian-team blue T-shirt. Outside the stadium, there are a large number of Pakistani fans as well. We wave and smile at each other. Many many people come up to us, ask us basic questions about India and exchange pleasantries.
The Police gets us inside the stadium through a special queue (for Indian visitors). Inside the stadium, though, its all common enclosures.
There's a college girl who is wearing a t-shirt saying 'Nothing feels better than kicking Indians'.Ipsita walks up to her and tells her- “We have come from far to be here in Pakistan, I am sure you don’t mean what’s written on your shirt”.The girl turns extremely apologetic. In a few minutes, she’s good friends with her. In some time, we pose for pictures with our flags.
The cricket match has started. In the stands, though, there is a lot of fun in the crowd going on.... thousands of flags, banners, musical instruments. Mexican waves going around the stadium. Flags of USA, Bahrain and the UK are visible as well. Sikhs in tri-color turbans. A man with a Ronaldo t-shirt. A guy in Pakistani green jersey gets us two glasses of Pepsi. An elderly person offers us paan.Indian ads are all over the stadium. When the screen on the ground shows the Information Minister of Pakistan, the crowd shouts 'LOTA LOTA' (meaning double sided and turncoat, commonly used for politicians in Pakistan – could be used anywhere, I feel).
The crowd does the ‘Lota’ chant for every politician who is shown on the screen. The Pakistani crowd is good at inveting slogans. The most common slogan is "Match tusi le lo, Aishwarya saanu de do" (take the match, give us Aishwarya (Rai)).
When the screen shows Indian actors Sunil Shetty and Mandira Bedi, the crowd cheers like mad.
There is a Pakistani guy who everyone calls BABA, dressed in all green, waving the flag, who goes everywhere the Pakistan team plays. He too is cheered whenever the big screen shows him. He is in the Imran Khan enclosure, adjacent to the Javed Miandad enclosure where we are. During the innings break, the public address system plays popular songs. Many of these are Bollywood. Many in the crowd are dancing and swaying to the beats. After a while, the song turns to ‘Dil Dil Pakistan’, a popular pop song ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dil_Dil_Pakistan ). This one makes the crowd go crazy. There is frenzied dancing and waving of flags.
After the innings break, the cricket continues. Good shots are cheered for both sides. The Pakistan team flattered to deceive and India won convincingly.
http://www.espncricinfo.com/series/15060/scorecard/64884/Pakistan-vs-India-4th-ODI-India-in-Pakistan-ODI-Series
The crowd is disappointed, but genuinely happy for us.
People walk up to us and say 'congratulations' and well played. A person walks up to me and offers his Pakistan flag in exchange for my Indian one. We pose for a photo. Similarly, another person asks for my blue coloured Indian cap as a souvenir.
I give my address and cards to scores of people. A few of our fellow spectators take our autographs as well. People are desperate for Indian souvenirs. I end up giving away all the Indian currency notes that I had in my pocket – with an autograph on it as well.
I parted with my cap, my money, and finally, even my t-shirt. In return, what I got was a massive amount of love and affection. It felt just out of the world.
The next few days after the first match was spent going around Lahore - the Badshahi mosque, the Minar-e-pakistan, the Ravi river, Mall Road, Govt College Lahore, the Punjab University, Kim's gun and Kim's bookshop.
We shopped around Anarkali and went to Lahore Railway station. My favourite place in any city. It’s train station. Like many large stations in India, this one also has a loco outside, with the star and crescent being prominently displayed in front.
We met a number of Coolies (porters), who were very happy to have a 'mehmaan' from India visit the railway station.
There is a 'Meeting Point' at the station, quite similar to the ones in many other parts of the world. A big clock is on top of the meeting point. I buy a platform ticket, which costs Rupees 5 (Pakistani). The platform is maintained by a private party, and is quite clean.
Two big photos – one of Md Ali Jinnah, and another of Md Iqbal (creator of the song, Saare Jahan Se Achcha, Hindustan hamara and pioneer for the demand of a separate state) adorn the entrance to the platform area.
Samjhauta Express, the train to India, leaves from the far end of Platform No. 1. This platform also has a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut outlet. There are bookstalls on every platform, mostly selling Urdu books. English magazines in the bookstall are very costly, and range from about Rs 70 to Rs 100. English language newspapers are costly as well, approximately Rs 10-12.
As I went to other platforms, we could see the Khyber Mail. It goes from Peshawar to Karachi and was on Platform No. 5. We went inside , and saw the AC, Economy AC and non-AC coaches. On the platform, the scene was quite similar - vendors selling all kind of stuff; the only problem for me, a lover of railway platform food, was that vegetarian food was hard to find !
The Karrakoram Express, which is a fully AC train , is the most prestigious train from Lahore. Quite similar to the Rajdhani Express in India. This train makes Lahore-Karachi an overnight journey travel, giving the benefit of a working day at both ends.
After the station, I make a second visit to Nisbet Road and Dev Samaj Road, to the house where my parents were born. There is a lavish spread for us at both places and the current occupants of the house are over the moon seeing us. I had heard from my mother that she had fallen close to the staircase of the house and had a fracture when she was one year old. She said didn’t remember any of it (which child would remember something that happened to her at the age of 1), but the constant story telling about the incident from her elder siblings was what she had narrated. I tell this story, of my mother’s fracture, to the current occupants. They say it’s happened to some other children in their family as well. Things didn’t change in more than 50 years. Children still fall and get injured at the same spot. We all laughed.
This was one more of the hundreds of times during the week that I felt connected to a set of unknown people in an inexplicable sort of way.
Tonight is our last night here in Lahore. In the evening, we (all our recently acquired friends, and it totals up to around 20) had gone to the Food Street on Gawal Mandi, in a kind of a farewell dinner. Although finding vegetarian food wasn't very easy, people's willingness to do just about anything for their 'Mehmaan' made it a song.
That’s been the feature of the trip- wherever we have gone, people are warm and friendly, eager to meet, say Aslaam Walaiyekum, shake hands and extend hospitality. Most people haven’t accepted money for food, saying it is their privilege that they have been able to offer food to their guests.
Every time in the last few days, people have felt very happy to meet someone from India. They have gone out of their way to extend hospitality.
Many conversations have happened as well. This includes conversations on contentious issues like Kashmir. Views range from moderate to extreme. None of these views, no matter how extreme they are, have come in the way of people taking extraordinary care of their guests and bestowing upon us the most incredible hospitality that anyone could.
The overwhelming opinion is that Kashmir aside, WE must increase people-to-people interaction, free restrictions on Visas, allow trade, allow communication, allow each other to just be.
People say these steps should be taken urgently, and are really happy that things are looking up between the two countries. Many credit the Indian Prime Minister Atal Behari Vajpayee for being a visionary statesman who can bring peace and friendly ties between us.
Many people have relatives in India, and India is very much on the top of people's agenda. Indian soap operas are extremely popular, and shape a number of perceptions about India. The only time we noticed disappointment was when people realised that Indians don’t sleep in kanjivaram sarees, as some Saas-Bahu soaps seemed to suggest.
In all, the last few days have been an overwhelming, out-of-this-world experience. It has helped that we were up-front with everyone about the fact that we come from India and were polite and courteous.
Finally, I would recommend to all Indians – please visit Pakistan, meet people, talk to them, interact and get to know this place better. We carry a lot of myths about Pakistan, and it is only when we interact more, talk more at the people level that we can have a brighter, less bitter, and more friendly future. The people level interactions are totally separate from the politics of it all, and has no resemblance whatsoever to what we read in the papers or watch on TV. There is a huge gap that exists between perception and reality, on both sides of the Radcliffe line, an artificial divide.
My visa prohibits me from going out of Lahore, but I hope there will be a time when I can experience other cities and historical sites as well. Mohenjodaro, Harappa, Karokoram highway…For now, I feel fortunate that I have been to Lahore, and as they say in Lahore, I have been born (Jine Lahore nahin takeya, o jameya nahin = the person who hasn’t seen Lahore, hasn’t been born)
I hope to be back here soon.
With best wishes, Deepak
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