भागीरथी

Its time to try my hand at a hindi poem. Its based on the story of King Bhagirath (an ancestor of Lord Ram) and how he brought Holy Ganga to earth. I have been awesomely influences by रश्मिरथी. I am planning to write this two stanzas at a time. Why two stanzas, because it takes a lot of time. Writing just these first two stanzas has been really tough for me but hopefully I will have the motivation to finish it off. A caveat is that I will ofcourse take the artistic liberty to mould this tale to my will.

भागीरथी

भाग १

सूरज की पहली किरण देख महाराज सगर का मन मचला
सोचा मेरे इस राज में है राज्य मेरा फूला और फला
यह दृष्टि जहाँ तक जाती है साम्राज्य मेरा ही पाती है
पर सूर्य कहाँ यह उदय हुआ और अस्त कहाँ पर यह होगा
दृष्टि के पार जो सृष्टि है कब नाम वहां उज्जवल होगा

कब सूर्यवंश का शौर्य गीत  धरती से गगन तक छाएगा
हिम से लेकर के सागर तक कब विजय ध्वज लहराएगा
कब कुछ ऐसा कर जाऊंगा, की इन्द्र सिंहासन पाउँगा!!
फिर सूर्य की गरिमा से प्रेरित सम्राट ने रण का प्रण  लिया
और अश्वमेघ के अश्व से नियति को अपनी बांध दिया

Sun sun sun!!

Warmth of suns rays

vaporises the grief away

But I sit inside these concrete walls

Amidst these lifeless silicon stalls

Gloom and dark contaminate this whole bay

I wish someone would turn the sun my way

Moods

Friends ask me what have I written of late

Did I pour out my feelings more intimate?

Another ode to Sachin, More paens for Fed?

Maybe a tricky Puzzle, review of a book read?

All I can do is shrug them off with a smile

Spin a new excuse to hold them for a while

Honestly Its not them I want to delude

But I am just waiting for the right mood

A few days back my heart leapt with joy

Tides of troubles were behind me, land ahoy

Spring was in my step, my face shone bright

The wind had finally taken a turn to the right

In that mood, the singer in me crooned

My fingers were flowing, the keyboard tuned

I began a story and then a song I tried

But nothing worked, my muse had dried

Today my heart is blue and tears I fight

A storm runs through this dark night

My wrecked ship has sunk very deep

My head is heavy for lack of sleep

In such a mood, the poet in me yearns

my fingers are ice but the keyboard burns

I begin a verse and then a Ghazal I try

But nothing works, stream of my thoughts is dry

So all I can do is shrug you off with a smile

This poem is my latest excuse, is this vile?

And now leave me alone while I brood

As I am still waiting for the right mood

Genius of Tendulkar

"This was written before the Melbourne test (Dec 03) I think."

Every genius has a dark side. A realization of what they are, their tremendous potential, an overpowering urge to explode, to destroy, to stamp their authority on other mere mortals. This is what they derive their power from but this can be their heaviest burden. Brian Lara has seen both sides of the coin. At various times he has seemed  unstoppable, then tired, in complete control and then willing to give up. Now it seems he has come to peace with his powers and learned to harness them better than anybody else. On the other hand Shane Warne has been overwhelmed, intoxicated, drugged by them. He has basked in their glory and they have led to his downfall. But soon he will be back and sure as hell he wont have changed his ways at all for he doesnt drive his dark side but is driven by it. He relishes in its excesses. Unfortunately for us Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar has decided to curb those powers and to carry the burden gracefully. He wont be weighed down by them but he also wont let them flower in all their splendour. Under intense public scrutiny all the time he has decided to give to us what we wanted, he has become what we expect from him: A man of enormous talent who wont let it get to his head, who would be polite, respectful, a man with typical middle class ethos. Instead of being a firebrand he chose to be a senior statesman in the team, he chose to be a gentle zephyr when he could have been a hurricane. He tries to play the test cricket the way it should be played. Instead of taking the bowler by the scruff of his neck and thrashin him out of the park, he tries to play each ball on its merit while the only real merit that exists resides within him and his willow. What he should realise is that he is not meant to tread the chosen path nor to hum the oft repeated tune. He is born to blaze his path through the annals of cricketing history and so he should do if he wants to be faithful to himself. Whenever he has chosen to put his foot down the result has been nothing short of miracle: opration desert storm, warne's nightmare, paki massacre. Here is hoping that for once he would let the forces that be overwhelm him and drive him back to form putting the fear of god in the hearts of lee and company. 

241 Not Out

"This one was written after Tendulkar score 241 not out at sydney in Jan 2004, on e of his most uncharacteristic innings."

Youth however beautiful has to decay. Now for almost 15 years Sachin  Tendulkar has resolutely kept old age at bay. That in itself is an  achievement. Few others have been at peak of their powers for so long. And  he may continue to do so for another couple of years. But sooner or later  sporting night will come calling at his door and then he will have to go.  As he walks into the night, all the luxuries of his youth, wrongly assumed  to be his faithful allies, will fall by his side one by one. Physical  strength would be the first to dwindle and soon thereafter his silken  touch would wrinkle. And then no spring would ever rejuvenate these. But  while all this would be happening, Sachin would be a content man at peace  with himself. For he would be looking back at yesterdays innings. This  innings would stay with him for rest of his life and be a constant source  of inspiration and hope. This was the day when he refused to be a slave to  his powers, when he resisted all temptations to drink at the fountain of  youth, when he just wouldnt let go. "Come what may, I am not getting out"  he said to himself and thus he did. Aussies fed him where he loves it the  most, wide and short outside the off stump. Years of savage cutting and  effortless driving urged him to launch into them, but he has turned deaf  to all voices from inside except for the one that said "I will not get  out". Yes he had realised that the hand that feeds him kills him. Laxman  murdering the bowling with ease at the other end would have compunded his  dilemma and might have hurt his ego and a lesser man would have fallen  prey to it. But his was an innings of sheer bloody mindedness and utter  discipline. These two would be his aides when old age beckons and will  keep him going long after his best years are behind him. Even towards the  fag end oh the day, he did not touch anything wide. What made it even more  amazing was that this was tendulkar doing it. To Rahul Dravids of this  world this comes naturally and has been honed by years of exercising  restraint. But fir tendulkar this was going against all that he believes  in. Like a shark made to swim like a dolphin, yet it swam and swam with  amazing grace that belied its savagery. Not his greatest innings, but the  most significant, It showed that a tendulkar bereft of his skills would  make runs, lots of runs. It augurs well for the future. To rephrase Dylan  Thomas "Tendulkar will not go gentle into the dying night."

Appreciation of Rahul Dravid

"Written in Mar 04 when Dravid was the best indian batsman"

If Sachin Tendulkar has mastered the art of playing the ball, Rahul Dravid has mastered the art of not playing the ball, which is equally important in the longer version of the game. Rahul Dravid bats time and awfully long time at that. Looked in isolation the value of that is not obvious but once you illuminate it with the light of three abroad wins in past couple of years there is not much left to explain. Yes there is no doubting the fact that Dravid is currently not only the best Indian batsmen but also the best all over. For my criteria for best is elementary, ability to win important matches. No one else has done that more often than Dravid in contemporary times.  No other batsman plays the ball purely on its merit as much as He does. Memories of past and dreams of what future holds do not faze the concentration of Rahul as he takes strike. If he is beaten on a ball, that is tucked in some remote corner of his brain to be analysed later, a deficiency to be eliminated but not something to bother him now. He lives in the moment and that’s why he seizes the important ones. This above all is his greatest virtue. What is not mentioned often is that Dravid in flow is also a beautiful batsman to watch unlike say Kirsten who played a similar role. But we must also realise that a reason Dravid has prospered is that he has exciting strokeplayers all around him to enable the team manage a healthy run rate inspite of his reticence. And Dravid would be the first to admit that.

Just Bat

"Written when Sachin Tendulkar was about to come back after tennis elbow surgery"

He was ten years old and was scourge of the bowlers from this end of the gulli to that. They would all wake up at 5:00 in the morning, hastily put on the chaddis and jump down the stairs to the empty road below. He was always the first to be down there, would arrange couple of bricks to mark the bowlers end and his cycle at the other end with the front wheel as the make-do wickets. By this time others would have come and captains designate for the day would have split up the teams. He was always the first one to be picked and the other captain got to pick three players and first batting chance in exchange for him. He had argued against this system a couple of times as he didn’t take too much time to knock off the runs batting second. But everyone else liked it this way. He would make up for it by staying back with a couple of buddies, who didn’t mind the punishment too much, after others had gone home to get ready for the school. Of course he had to buy them a couple of candies on the way to school. School passed in a haze, except on days when there was a “Sports” period. As soon as the final bell would ring, he would run to the cycle stand, pick up his cycle, ride home, drop his bag, grab a couple of biscuits and his bat and down he would be. As in the morning, he was the first one to be there. They would play till their moms would start shouting from the windows announcing that it was dinner time. But he would stay on alone, knocking around the ball against the wall, throwing it high in the air and then catching it. His mom would then come down and had to drag him up by his ears.

All this flashed through his mind as he lay in his hospital bed. The surgery had been successful. But now the long painful period of healing would begin. Doctors had said it might take anything from 4 weeks to 4 months and even then there was no guarantee that his elbow would recover its former strength. With a weakened elbow, he knew, he wouldn’t be half the batsman he is capable of being. For last couple of years the thought of life after retirement had come like a recurring nightmare. He had managed to push it off, an eventuality to be handled in future. But this was present. Suddenly retirement seemed perilously close. Now there was no time and no space to push things off. Decisions had to be taken, sacrifices made. And he had decided to go under the knife, to sacrifice next 4 months for perhaps 4 more years.

No guarantee. How easy for a doctor to say, but those two words were breaking him now. Ever since those hours playing gulli cricket, he had been sure of one thing. He had to bat. Not because he wanted to bat or because he could bat extremely well. But because batting was part of who he was, part of his existence. He had to bat just like a bird had to fly. But now the surgeon’s voice echoed again and again in his mind. That night he couldn’t sleep.

He was riding his cycle real fast. That evening they had a really important match against the kids from the neighboring mohalla. He had been thinking about this since morning. They had all practiced an extra half an hour in the morning. It was a strong team they were up against and all the hopes were on him. He didn’t see the large stone lying on the road. When he woke up he couldn’t move his left leg and it felt a bit heavier. He realized that this was not his bed and not his room. He was discharged a couple of days later, but the plaster wouldn’t come off for another month. That night he had cried.

He wasn’t even allowed to lift a bat for some time. Even the smallest of movements in his arm would cause extreme pain. He tried to while away time by watching reruns of his old recordings. He also saw some of India’s live matches on TV . But all this only gave him more pain. Pain more severe than the pain in his arm. Therefore he started spending more and more time with his family and detached himself from the game as much as he could. But he waited patiently for the day when he would be able to feel that familiar sensation once again. The shock of cricket ball hitting the bat, which would move through his arm, up through this same elbow to pulsate his brain. That shock wave and the beautiful sound made as the bat made contact with the ball. He waited for that. And as he waited his mind again went back to that incident in his childhood. So far away in past yet now it seemed just like yesterday.

For initial few days he used to sit on the sidewalk and watch his buddies play. He would cheer every big hit and boo every dropped catch. But everyone knew this was just a façade. Sitting on that sidewalk only caused him anguish. Over and over again he would imagine himself in the place of the batsman. To every ball bowled, he would imagine at least a couple of ways of dispatching it to the boundary. And then to his horror would see the batsman play the completely wrong shot. Every shot would pierce his heart, every run would wet his eyes. So he stopped sitting there. He would still talk to his buddies and ask them all the details about the game that day. But he never again sat on that sidewalk.

The night before he was to face his first international ball in 6 months, he wasn’t sure whether he is ready. He has played a couple of domestic matches, has practiced hard in the nets. But he was worried. He didn’t know how to approach the game . In last couple of years his batting style has changed completely. He has become more defensive, mellow, tried to be more responsible. Yet he knows he has missed something. Now tomorrow, all the eyes will be on him. In fact for past few days, all the talk has been about his comeback, rather than the teams performance. He doesn’t like it that way, but cant help it. Should he try to play cautiously, feel his way back, or should he throw caution to the wind? Thinking of all this he fell asleep. And then he dreamt.

He was ten years old. The plaster was off. As usual he was the first to be down on the road. In fact he had woken up at 4:30 and was down much earlier. So he had to wait impatiently for the others. He had cajoled them into letting him bat first just for this day. Soon everything was set up. The bowler started his run up. He thumped his bat on the road, then on his shoe and then on the road again. He was ready. As soon as the ball was out of the bowlers hand he realized that it was going to be over pitched. He just moved ahead a bit and knocked it straight for a six. Next one was short and he hit it for a four. Third ball was again short and this time he hit it straight into the windows of an apartment. He was out because such were the rules of the gully cricket. But he didn’t care. He didn’t even care about how many runs he had scored. He was just happy to be out there. Glad to have hit a couple of jhakas shots. His world was back to normal, the flight was resumed. He was just ecstatic to have batted once again. That’s all he had wanted to do for past one month. Just Bat.

As he woke up in the morning, he realized that all the anxiety of last night had disappeared. He felt calm, like he had not felt in last six months. As he put on his pads, he knew exactly what he had to do out there. He knew that as each ball was bowled, he would know precisely what to do with the ball. He knew that he had to go out there and Just Bat.