MindSpeaks

पानगळ

2011-11-04T18:08:00.000-07:00

निसर्गाचा अनिवार्य नियम, जुने जाऊन नवे येणार. नव्याचे पुन्हा जुन्यात रुपांतर, आणि पुन्हा तेच चक्र.
रोज डोळ्यासमोर असलेली झाडं, हिरवीगर्द, बहरलेली, दाट पालवीने नटलेली....आज पाहिलं तर उरले होते फक्त फांद्यांचे सापळे. कालपर्यंत पानांनी झाकलेल्या फांद्याच्या आरपार आता आकाश दिसू लागलंय. हिरवी पिवळी पानं गेली कि मागे उरतं त्या अपरिहार्य सत्याचा प्रतीक.
पण त्या भकास दिसणाऱ्या झाडांनी, त्या ओझरत्या क्षणामध्ये, एक हळुवार जाणीव करून दिली. त्यातल्या प्रत्येक पानाचा झडतानाचा रंग आठवला. हिरव्यातून उमललेल्या अनेक मोहक सुंदर छटा डोळ्यापुढे आल्या. जाता जाता त्या एक एक पानाने भुरळ पाडणारं सौंदर्य धारण केलं होतं. दिलखुलास रंगांची उधळण केली होती. कित्येक दिवस सगळा परिसर सूर्यकिरणांनी न्हाऊन निघत प्रत्येक नजरेला सुखावत होता. इतकं सुरेख चित्र की कोणालाही त्या पडत्या पानाचं वाईट वाटण्याऐवजी प्रत्येक पाहणाऱ्याच आयुष्य रंगीत झाला होतं. त्या स्मृतीतच एक अलगद जाणीव होती. येणे जाणे तर अटळ आहे, कोणाला चुकले नाहीये. पण जाताना कोणी इतरांना इतका सुखावून जाऊ शकतो की त्याचा विरह वाटण्यापेक्षा त्याच्या अस्तित्वाचा अभिमान वाटावा. कोणी गेलंय म्हणून शोक करण्याऐवजी कोणी कधी आसपास होतं म्हणून उर प्रेमानं, स्फूर्तीने भरून यावा. असं आपल्याला सुद्धा जाता येईल का? राज कपूरच्या एका गाण्याचा शेवट आठवला:
"मरके भी किसीको याद आयेंगे, किसीकी आसुओमे मुस्कुराएगे"
कहेगा फूल हर कली से बार बार, जीना इसिका नाम है"
जाणारी पाने पुन्हा येतील, पुन्हा हिरवळ, पुन्हा रंग. पण प्रत्येक पडणाऱ्या पानाच्या रंगात जीवनाला दिलेलं एक वचन आहे. उद्याचा पालवीला एक प्रेरणा, बहराची उमेद, जगण्याचा ध्यास आणि येणाऱ्या ऋतूला सामोरं जाऊन पुन्हा फुलण्याचा विश्वास. पानगळीत सुद्धा हिरवळीचे बीज सामावले आहे!

"Mai Khelega" - The Birth of Cricket's God

2010-12-19T23:42:00.000-08:00

(my account of what Sachin's first test would have felt like)

The battle between two arch rivals was on. History had proven that these two countries took everything between them to the hilt, even the gentleman's game was never an exception. World's most fierce bowling attack was roaring, pouncing and trying every bit to terrify a solid batting line-up. The stage was set for a battle of nerves, a test of will against will. On that stage, on a seemingly usual morning of 1989 stood a 15 year old. Indians are no stranger to the story of Abhimanyu, a child in the midst of a fearsome army of skilled, lethal warriors. It was no different on that pitch. With Pakistan's spearhead Waqar staring down his run-up at the boy - who he was about to terrify into submission; or so he wished.
The plan was not to get his wicket, what was the fun in that. What Waqar had in mind was more sinister, like a brutal animal who likes to play with his prey till the hunted wishes to end the suffering. The first ball he bowled was a scathing bouncer that hit straight on the nose of that boy. The first blood was drawn, pain inflicted, fear created. The victory should have been complete. It should have been. If at all Waqar Younis and anybody watching that game thought for a while that this boy was done for his life from cricket, they were never more wrong. Like it always happens at the darkest hour, just the way a beaten samson rises to pack a final punch, an avatar is born to salvage all that is good, the God of Cricket was rising again.
With unnerving courage and unfathomable will power, the boy straightened himself. His short stature belied the mighty strength that had built up in his body. His innocent eyes flashed with resolve that was inspiring and humbling at the same time. Probably as a reminder of the resounding message Lord Krishna gave Arjuna on Kurukshetra or as a a reminisce of the war cries of our brave warriors of the yore, the little boy said "Mai Khelega". When asked if he wanted to quit, that fifteen year old chose to fight on. The world perhaps thought they saw a crazy teenager trying to perform some heroics. What the world was about to see was far more colossal than that. What every cricket fan on the globe was going to witness next would change the course of a game, at once turning a child into God, a game into religion and to say the least, a billion fans into ardent worshippers.
The next ball meanwhile, was being bowled to take a wicket and end a seeming misery. Waqar fired one straight yorker. The reply was a resounding straight drive down the ground for a boundary. It wasn't just four runs on the board. It was a slap, on the face of world's fiercest of attacks. An arrow straight into the heart of the devil, a sling that brought down the Goliath of haughty cricketers. This Abhimanyu had destroyed the chakravyuha. What remained was a sorry mess of doubters who thought no good can come from a small boy. Stories of Avatars in India are always on the same lines. God creating a form to show His Supremacy at the darkest hour. This unflagging young boy of 15, amidst a stunned crowd of spectators was no different. God had spoken, ever so soft in His tone yet so firm in execution. The blessing and punishment rendered to the deserving. Cricket's avatar was revealed. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar had just announced Himself!!

Random Thoughts

2010-11-25T19:43:00.001-08:00

** Have you ever thought that maybe the reason I don't come to meet you is because I won't be able to handle the goodbye!

The Chosen One

2010-11-15T16:08:00.000-08:00

(for people who think it is pointless rambling - it probably is, don't bother)

Time and again, your situation makes you realize the same gut wrenching fact: you are not "the chosen one". You are nice, and you are good - not good enough. You can try harder and try more but cannot change the fact. The choice does not involve you. It hurts, makes you feel doubtful of yourself but still it remains the fact. Unfortunate, but true. You are not the one.
It's like the feeling Legolas (Orlando Bloom) must have had in Return of the King. He was good, but Aragon was the king. What if he wanted to be the king? Maybe Legolas would have been a better king - maybe worse, we can never know. It was the fork in the road that was never taken. It's the same in life. You could have done better or worse - but you still wanted to be there, be the one.
All said and done, you are left on the sidelines, wondering what it would be like to be chosen. Or be happy for the one who was or would be chosen. It's like the others who tried before King Arthur pulled Excalibur out of the stone. It was his destiny, and that of the others who failed. Sometimes, it is your destiny to sit on the shore and watch the ship sail away happily - and sing good luck songs for the ship. Destiny however leaves a caveat. Like a wise man once said, A man does what he can until his destiny is revealed to him. So you can try, try more and perhaps fail. Confirm the failure but continue to try. If sitting on the shore is your destiny, might as well take a few plunges and live with the satisfaction that you tried. Atleast it saves you from the pain of thinking 'what could have been...'
One thing is for sure though - you will be told at some point or the other - that it's not worth it!! That your trying is in vain and you deserve better. People who tell you that are either being too nice or just don't know you well enough. It's a dream, something you have decided to live by, committed to follow and cherish in your heart like a part of your soul. It's a passion you cannot express but can only smile about and say "that is how it is". How can anything not be worth it? While you are being told you deserve better - you begin the whole process in your mind again coming to the same crushing conclusion - am happy that I had this dream, this passion and I am not sad to be sidelined. There is nothing I hold against those who reject. In fact, one of the happiest thoughts I will take with me is that I tried!! I did something I wanted to do and it was worth every bit. There is just one tryst I have with my destiny - afterall I am not The Chosen One

(people egged on to bear this torture by my pointless rambling teaser - sorry, I told you it would be!!)

Sachin - The God of Cricket

2010-02-24T22:38:00.000-08:00

He is on 186 and runs for a double like he is just getting off the mark!! that hunger...he goes outside the offstump, after two dot balls, and hits stein over squareleg!! that talent....he goes down the track and throws VDM over long on and extra cover like he is playing a gully cricketer!! that ruthlessness...and he looks to the sky when he completes his double ton and thanks god!! that modesty...you cannot help but stop and think if cricket even exists beyond this man...if ever a quasi religion of a billion people could find a greater god or is this the nirvana...to watch Sachin unleash one magic after another...where else, pray, can God be, if not here?
One the day the master hit a double ton - first ever in ODI history, the day 24th Feb 2010 goes down in the holy scripts of cricket as a chapter on solemn bliss!

फूल की चाह

2010-02-11T15:09:00.000-08:00

चाह नहीं मै सुरबाला के गहनों में गुंथा जाऊ

चाह नहीं प्रेमी माला में बन्ध प्यारी को ललचाऊ

चाह नहीं सम्राटोंके शव पर हे हारी डाला जाऊ

चाह नहीं देवोंके सर चढूं, भाग्य पर इतराऊ

मुझे तोड़ लेना वनमाली, उस पथपर देना तुम फ़ेंक

मातृभूमिपर शीश चढाने जिसपथ जावे वीर अनेक

बचपन में पढ़ी हुई कविता, आज बहोत सालों बाद फिर पढने का अवसर आया. जब भी पढता हु, मन विचलित हो जाता है | किसी समय देश और समाज के लिए कुछ करने की इच्छा थी, आज शायद भाग-दौड़ में वो कही खो सी गयी है | क्या पता कभी फिर वापस मिले, या नहीं!

स्वल्पविराम

2009-04-27T21:03:00.001-07:00

ठेउन ओळ गेली माझ्या वहीत ती

झाला उशीर थोडा वाचायला मला ||

उशीराच पाहीला तो पानाचा दुमडलेला कोपरा

अजुनही त्या पानाला मात्र, मोगरयाचा गंध होता ||

अंधुक होती काही अक्षरे, शाई पुसटशी होती

इथेच बहुदा तिच्या डोळ्यातला, मोती ओघळला होता ||

वाटले मिळाली सर्व उत्तरे, क्षणाचा होता भ्रम तोही

कारण प्रत्येक उत्तरामागे, एक नवा प्रश्न होता ||

वाट वेगळी झाली तरीही कुठेतरी भेटू आपण

दुनिया गोल आहे, इतकातरी शास्त्रावर विश्वास होता ||

शेवटी पुन्हा तेच सारं, अखंड प्रवास असीम शांतता

कधी न संपणार्या कवितेचा, हा फक्त स्वल्पविराम होता ||

Thanks Mandar for writing the first two lines of this poem.

Truth - as I see it

2009-04-05T23:18:00.000-07:00

You know what the greatest truth of life is?

it's this: that life is unpredictable and that is where it's beauty lies. If you knew how everything is going to be, there would be no fun left.

Some questions have to be unanswered, some conquests incomplete and some mistakes to turn back and laugh at...some wounds to count at the end...the last moment when you find the final answer :-)

Not before and never after.....that's the joy called life.

Dream (?)

2009-04-05T23:11:00.001-07:00

I saw it last night. Not sure if it was a dream. I was running. There were woods around, and it was dark.

Dense woods that gave away no clue of what was coming next. There were people around me. I could see their

faces but not make out who they were. There was a feeling I knew them and they knew me. But there was no

cognizance. Everyone was seemingly unstoppable. All were being driven by an unknown force. I, too, was

running at a mind numbing pace. Peering in the dark for clues of what lies ahead. I am sure so was everyone

else. There was just a cool, dark night ahead. A moonless sky staring down at us, challenging us to leave its

domain and break free. I remember the hope I felt. A promise that the horizon had something we all wanted.

It was running farter from us. Every step I knew someone around me was falling, his place taken by a new

person. My legs hurt, throat was dry. I knew it was the case with everyone. Still no one wanted to stop. I tried

to talk. To scream, to cry just to know if I was still human! My cries were muffled by the noise of the

footsteps. I wanted to stop, yes I did. But an unknown force kept me going. Like it would be a sin to stop. A

felony or blasphemy to wait while others go ahead. I heard a strange sound. From the depths of the woods,

the sound emerged, coaxing, guiding even forcing us on. The pace quickened, like the night was a slack period

and the real work was about to being. I wasn't sure if it was a dream. The drain of energy, the sweat and the fear all seemed so real. Maybe it was real!! All hope was lost. All knowledge of smell, taste, color, happiness, relationships was gone. All that was left were thumping feet, pounding chests and faceless people with nameless desire to reach somewhere.

I tried to muster my courage and talk to the closest person.

Who are you?

.....

Why are we running?

we have to

where are we going?

ahead

to what end?

.....

suddenly, as though an unknown whip was cast on all of us, we jumped and started going faster. I felt the chill deep inside, something was rising inside me. The noise was getting sharper, clearer, louder...and like the escaping of a silent scream, I was thrown from the darkness, dizzy and confused towards the noise.

I woke with a start at the noise. It was the morning alarm....

A Vanquished Sport

2008-01-07T06:06:00.000-08:00

" A hideous world record that stands on the poignant corpse of a defaced game"
They say the best thing you can get from sports is the spirit of struggle and the ability to withstand defeats. Perhaps it was some wise man from the old school who had never known the gross ineptitude of his fellow humans towards the notion of honor and spirit.
We all were taught to look at the sporting spirit while watching or playing a game and we were proud to follow it. Our idea of a good game is one where the rules are obeyed and fairness This should explain why Indians all over the world could not contain their shock while their beloved game of cricket was being devastated, its spirit throttled and its honor tarnished by a bunch of "spirited (read arrogant)" "quasi-ethical (read foul)" descendants of British criminals (Yes. In that land, Aborigines do not play cricket and those who do were taught their NOBLE ways by their ancestors who had done a lot of 'unpleasant' acts in the English regime).
Oh and by the way, suddenly a member of a community which has been historically at the receiving end of racism is accused of making racial remarks about "you know who". Ridiculous!! Ironically, even the judges listened to the same bunch of "you know what" kind of people to decide the fate of our poor hero. It is perhaps fitting that a movie channel was playing the film "Ghatak" which added new color to the whole affair. So for each wicket going down in the second innings, Sunny paji shouts on the other channel "So gaya hai kanoon!!"...fate it seems has a strange sense of humor.
Indians have a strange way of reacting to such situations. The media as usual went to the streets (sometimes i wonder if they keep walking on the street asking silly question to people - who knows which question strikes gold and when) asking people what they felt. Outrage was everywhere, as much as the smoke out of burning effigies. The question was if India should come back from Australia immediately. What an idea! A remnant of the Great Indian truth trick called the satyagraha. No way gentlemen, said BCCI, we stay (somebody was fast enough to calculate the dollars lost. Public memory is short and swiss accounts are long term).
It will be a collective defeat of the game and of the players if this issue goes unnoticed. Challenging the decision is not going to suffice. We must use our clout in the ICC to bring home the point that no one is greater than the game. (right now they say "no one is greater than the aussie game" - small change needed). A team that 'specializes' in racism, sledging, cheating and dishonesty should be kept away from the game for a while, to let them cool off their heads against the many world records that they have snatched. A ban or atleast a public apology for the behavior on and off the field is the least of penalties the team deserves for their honorable contribution to the game.
The first line of this blog gave a vent to my emotions. Rest of it is just bits and pieces. The aim was not to comprehend the breadth and depth of the issue, it was just to put in some thoughts.
After all

Ye australia ka cricket hai bhidu
ponting bole to out bhidu
bhajji bole to shout bhidu
umpire to ghar ke hai
match refree bhi jeb me hai
duniya chillaye to parva kise hai
apne najar me to record bhidu
ye australia ka cricket hai....bhidu

@Caution:
This blog is sponsored by the Ponting Cricket Association (the holding company of ICC) and requires every reader to comment that this is the best blog ever written. Otherwise next time you watch cricket, a kangaroo will appear and kill your dog and accuse you of the murder!!

माझ्या किवता

2007-08-27T07:02:00.000-07:00

तू येतेसच मुळी वेळ परतण्याची सोबत घेऊन
काळालाही असते मग सरण्याची घाई |
अन् बावरलेल्या मनाला म्ह्णतेस जाताना
इतका लळा आमचा तर स्वारी थांबवत का नाही ||

मुसळधार पावसाच्या साक्षीने तुझा माझा चालायचा खेळ
तुझ्या वेळेचा नी माझा कधी जमला नाही मेळ |
येताना सावकाश येतेस आणी जाताना नेहमीच वेळेवर
भोळ्या मनाची कसरत तुझ्या घड्याळाच्या काट्यावर ||

कधी ऊन कोवळे कधी पावसाची सर |
धरणीशी खेळे जसा श्रावणाचा मेघ ||
तशी रूसतेस कधी, कधी हसतेस लाजून |
खेळतो मनाशी तुझा लटका राग ||

रिकामी कविता

2007-08-22T07:49:00.000-07:00

चाहू तो तुम्हारी आवाज को दील मे समालू |
चाहू तो तुम्हारे चहरे को आंखो मे छुपालू ||
मगर चाह कर भी इस वक्त को कैसे कैद करू |
जो पल पल तुम्हे मुझसे दूर ले जा रहा है ||

हे बराय!! आधी मील्लेल त्या कागदावर कविता लिहायचो, आता गूगल च्या कृपेने मिलेल त्या वेळी ब्लॉग वर कविता टाकता येतिल।

The Alma Mater

2007-04-27T06:14:00.000-07:00

It was supposed to be a simple in and out trip. Trip when you go visit something or someone on your way to something more important. This is just to be content with the feeling that you touched base with something that was significant to you some day. It was not going to happen with me that day though!
On my routine trips around the town, with small errands to run, I saw the old building and the big iron gates of my school. The place i spent twelve years of my learning little things here and there. I just fancied a walk around in the grounds and a look at the building long archived in the memory.
The hot wind blowing from those big grounds welcomes anyone entering through the big gate. The usual prefect at the gate duty and his whistle were not there...just a gate opening to the empty grounds. No one to say "you are late ", no fear of a whip although it did begin to seem i was late. The cycle stand was empty, no one to fight over parking space for their beloved bicycles. I stood there looking into a distance...distance that spanned years!
I saw students running, hurrying to catch up with the prayer queue before the dreaded whistle blew and the ground fell silent. The loud thanking to the God and the national anthem. The girls i watched through the corner of my eye. The long queues where no one walked a step without creating some sort of nuisance, all ending in the cool cozy classrooms where each one had a marked place, a corner of his own. God help those who had no corner to themselves, those were the ones supposed to learn all that was being taught. For others, it was either tic tac toe, hangman or simple inter-compassbox fight. As the years passed, these passtimes were replaced by stolen glances across the class.
The breaks used to be less of eating and more of "rappa-dhappi" (this word means a lot more than just a game of throwball). The tree on whose roots we sat eating the tiffins. It was sharing tiffins actually. No one asked or allowed, a friend's tiffin is a fundamental right!! The roots still stand there, god knows if someone still sits on them chatting and playing some childish pranks. The benches are all lined up, who rules the last row now is just a matter of changing times. The most favourite class used to be the Games class. It was the rivalry between the girls and boys during langdi or the more boyish kabaddi and stuff that all of us looked forward to. Cricket and football came later, it was the time of a simple dodgeball and the mockery of losers that follwed.
The building is now more colorful, new name, new room, new furniture. My eyes still tried to find that old wooden bench, the broken glass windows and the paintless walls with names written all over. I remembered the familiar tiled path to the toilets, the only solace we had from a boring lecture. The board with thoughts written on it, the tally of house points and the big brass bell that sounded the end of our day in those precincts. It was the people related to the building who still remain a significant part of all that we still remember.
Those familiar "baai"s who took care of us through kindergarten to secondary. Those rebukes for making the class dirty or not parking the cycle properly. They are still there, standing along with the high walls and gates as if pegging all our school days around them. To let us see those old times when we see them, talk to them. The teachers, most of them have moved on to better places (as if i would believe there are better places when i was back there). Those who still are there have now seen too many students pass from under their vigil to remember each face and name. Its all vague with them, you remember all about them, the small mischiefs and the most secret of names you gave them. They just remember the outlines of your years in school, some results and some awards. You try desperately to make them remember..as if it is going to give you something you have lost long ago. "I was the one who borke the window, i was the one who called you a parrot, i let out those taps in the toilet, i threw chalk sticks all around the class" Yes! pretty good idea to scold me for all that now...but please just say once that you remember me...just once.
You have by now been pulled back to the familiar days in school. You want to start playing kabaddi, just that there is no whistle to signal a start. You want to throw water on you friends and run away before getting wet yourself, only the friends are now far away. You want to ask more difficulties, more questions to those teachers, they are now busy with the new students. Your time has passed, as it had come, lucid and silent all the way, it has given way to new days and new feelings. What now remains of the old day is just the engram, some in the mind and a lot more on the heart. There is a child inside you which still wants to jump out and ride the rusty bicycle and race it to the school reaching before all to the coveted parking spot. The lad yearns to show a report card and ask for a new cricket bat this summer. He begs aloud for a small pack of cup cakes to be shared with the bunch of cronies like all other small stuff from marbles to radiums to stickers to trump cards. He is locked up somewhere, and you know you will not be able to get out of this magical world if he is let to have his way.
What was supposed to be a in and out visit, is now a long walk down to the golden times and as with all gold, you are reluctant to leave. The express way of your new world, your priorities is all tugging at you to start the run again, after all this is just a memory lane, you have to speed to your future. Why is it that you leave something behind as you move on? And more so, why does it keep beckoning you back to itslef, to relive the moments long gone by. You shake the memories away, you have to leave. Its a moving world after all, you have to move on.
So back to your bike you go still wanting to have one last race with friends the way you had after getting the latest model - better than all your friends. Its time and you turn to leave. Suddenly, as if from a long long way, through the distance of time rather than space, come those familiar words... " Roll number 13" .
A hand goes up, almost involuntarily, and you hear yourself speak "Present Maam !! "

Set your Sail

2006-07-05T03:28:00.000-07:00

Two ships sailed.....in the same sea....in opposite directions!
Its not the sea that decides where they go. Its the sail that the ships set. The higher the sail, more is the wind and longer the ship goes.
Happened to read this comment somewhere yesterday. A beautiful testimony to the different conditions of lives that begin at almost the same point. We all start at the same point, almost all of us. Looking back, we find ourselvs taking different paths and travelling, long for some - short for the others. Where does this difference come from?
The way our parents bring us up? To a small extent, yes. But in the larger picture, the shade of our own conditioning appears prominent than the family background.
The scholastic education? Again a modicum of difference in the larger picture ( other wise, how does one explain the progress some people make without completing formal education! )
The real reason lies in the attitude of the individual itself. Falling back on the anecdote we started with, even a small ship with a high sail and will to face the waves would go far beyond a freighter with no intention of making headways in the wild wind.
This reminds me of a beautiful quote i once read:
" Its not just physical abilities and average intelligence that makes you successfull".
Its about an unflagging will power and an insatiable apetite to success that textures the war and woof of the fabric called Human destiny.

Greater the Difficulty - Sweeter the Victory
This is what I learnt from the anecdote. Ultimately, where you end up depends not on where you began but on how you travelled. Set your sails and see how far you reach.

Hrushikesh

Varyavarachi Varat

2006-06-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

So it all began today, shifting the place to a new one. Happens when you are far from that comfort called Home - Sweet Home.
Need to keep moving from place to place, each time getting attached to the atmo and then detaching yourself again. Today was one of the days!!! Had to shift alongwith my friends to a new place. But then I told myself, This is how life goes on....change is the only constant of life!!!!!!
(Wow)
Before I left though, my previous place gave me a walkthrough of the memory lane, all the precious moments that i experienced between those walls. The moods and mischiefs, the love and losses, all the goods and bads of a life called Bachelor.
The Journey still gos on, just that the road has turned and we are into a new way. This will go on, every turn teaching something new, and even if it stops somewhere it will always be indelible in the mind. Starting all over again with the same people and same feelings -------
Deja Vu

Jindagi ek paheli bhi hai, Sukh Dukh ki saheli bhi hai.....
Jindagi ek vachan bhi to hai, Jise sabko Nibhana padega !!!!!!!

Life is a mystery, also a friend in times good or bad
Life is also a promise, which has to be kept.