Hair and there

After Darrell Hair penalized Pakistan for ball tampering, one could be forgiven for losing the plot amidst the ensuing fracas- the accusations, the denials, the conspiracy theories and the racist rhetoric. Today, even a week after the controversy, a new twist is being added to the story everyday, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to go back to that pivotal moment that set off all these events to ask ourselves why Darrell Hair did what he did.

I believe this question has no easy answer- I do not think that Hair is much more or much less of a racist than any current international umpire, white or black, Asian or Australian. I also do not think that he acted out of concern for the spirit and well-being of cricket. Some may say that he wanted to attract attention to himself- after all, nothing sells like a good controversy. This may well be the case, but I would be surprised if there isn't more to it than a badly executed publicity gimmick. What is more, at a deeper, more subconscious level, I do not think that even Hair knows the answer to the question.

If we step back a bit and analyze the event itself in a more global context, we will find similar instances all round us. In India, Tehelka and a number of other 'undercover' operations target specific institutions or individuals. The invasion of Iraq is ostensibly aimed at 'restoring democracy' and equipping the Iraqis with the ability to 'govern themselves' . Some countries are allowed to build nuclear stockpiles, while some others are threatened with sanctions for even developing nuclear programs. 'Suspicious' individuals are subjected to phone-taps (without any concrete justification) and random searches at airports. The CBI brings charges against certain popular celebrities for tax-evasion. Some music swappers in the US are docked with huge fines for violating copyright laws, while others, who are protected by the laws of their respective countries are allowed to escape similar punishment.

The common denominator in each of these cases is guilt. The individual or organization involved is most certainly culpable of some crime, albeit of varying gravities.

Should they then penalized? Is punishing them a way of setting an example for others ? Is this one of the ways of ensuring that others do not commit these offenses?

Unfortunately the answer to each of these questions is a vehement no.

The reason is simple. In every one of such cases, the motives behind the punitive correction, meted out to a small proportion of the guilty are purely selfish, and the the benefits are enjoyed by a very small self serving minority, as opposed to a society, or more generally, a people . Consequently, it cannot act as a deterrent to the remaining majority. This majority can continue to violate the same laws, with impunity if they wish, fully confident in the knowledge that they are well beyond their reach. Some ministers will continue to take bribes because Tehelka will never install hidden cameras in their homes, some countries will continue to amass weapons because the UN will never stop them and some bowlers will continue to tamper with the ball because they will always be above scrutiny.

Picture this. You know that the same cop is always present at an intersection you pass through on your way to work everyday- but you also know that he only pulls over Hondas. And you drive a Toyota Camry. You have a meeting at 10:00 AM and the time is 9:59 AM. Will you or won't you speed?

Therein lies the malaise of subjective justice.

What's with the bloody English?

Let me make a few things sparkling clear at the very 'freaking' beginning- I don't resent British for their colonial history. I love their accent - especially when the speaker is Liz Hurley. I love Geoffrey Boycott. I don't mind Kate Winslet one bit. D.H. Lawrence and Ian McEwan (both British) are among my favorite authors.

But...I just hate the bloody England cricket team. And I hate their bloody football team.

Anyone who has been following cricket in the past year, however superficially, will agree that the behavior of the English cricketers has been obnoxious. And, so has the way they have played. Ever since they won the Ashes they have been strutting around with an air of imperiousness, their heads in the clouds, not deigning to honor us ordinary mortals with as much as a glance.

Well, there's nothing wrong in feeling proud about what you have achieved. And England achieved something remarkable last summer. And they did it by playing enthralling cricket of the highest pedigree. But what do they have to show for themselves since- a couple of drawn test series, injuries to most of their players and a shambolic one day team that even the Austin Weekend Warriors( that's our now disbanded cricketing venture) would fancy their chances against.

And the excuses have been flying thick and fast, encouraged in no little measure by columnists, ex-cricketers and an adoring British public. Frankly, it is an insult to the spectators and fans if England 'does not take one day cricket seriously'. It’s like finding out midway through a concert that the artist is actually miming. And as for injuries to their players, keeping fit is a significant responsibility of any sportsman. If you breakdown for 10 months after playing in two games, you don't deserve to be in an international side. It seems to me like the entire English cricketing world is indulging in an operation of self deception, conning themselves into believing that they are good, when they actually suck.

As for the football team, the results are there for everyone to see. England is a vastly overrated team - thanks again to a sycophantic media. Their captain scores once every three years and probably doesn’t have a single goal to his name that did not come from a set piece. One of their star strikers hasn't scored in 20 odd games and another was stretchered off, sans a foul from the opposition. They have good midfielders but so do 15 other teams in the world cup. They play the hopeful longball in 9 out of 10 attacking moves. And to cap it all their coach claims they 'aren't there to entertain'.

Well, its time someone asked the British, "Just who the fuck do you think you are?"

Spielen sie fussball?

Despite the inconvenient match times here in the US, I find myself inextricably caught up in the football fever. Apart from the genuine quality on display, an element of mystique always surrounds the event. Rather like an exotic medieval market, where traders from around the world display their wares, attempting desperately to outwit their fellow hawkers, trying passionately to convince the passersby of the value of their goods. While some simply nod at the overzealous peddlers, the eyes of some others light up in delight. Some smile in amusement at their enthusiasm, while some shake their heads in lament. Though the traders are the players in this unsophisticated game, pitted against each other in a bid to usurp the spoils of the day, they will do well not to lose track of their equally formidable adversary- the restless minded, fickle passerby meandering through the market with coins clinking around in his pockets, looking to unburden himself off the onerous responsibility of choice.

Well, since I am this smitten, I might as well go out on a limb and make a few predictions on who I think will qualify for the knockout stages from each group. However, I must admit, Germany 2006 thus far has been largely devoid of any major surprises, with form closely correlating with reputation. Hardly the same can be said of the last WC, where to paraphrase one columnist, a South Korea v. Turkey final loomed as a distinct possibility.

Group A: Germany and Ecuador

Group B:England and Sweden
England is extremely overrated. I guess this is because most of their players represent (or have represented in the past) high profile clubs in the Premiership, greatly enhancing their visibility. However the absence of a really strong second team means they will finish at the top of group B.

Group C: Argentina, Netherlands
The group of death, or, as one columnist put it, the group of life. Some of the most attractive football on display thus far has come from the teams in this group.

I'm rooting for Ivory Coast to pip Netherlands for the second spot.

Group D:Portugal, Mexico
A fairly nondescript group, thanks to Mexico’s inflated FIFA world ranking. The Portuguese play attractive football though.

Group E:Italy, Czech Republic
Again, a very tough group. I’m surprised this group did not receive much media attention from the labelers le fatale.

I hope Ghana edge out the Czechs.

Group F:Brazil, Australia
A pretty competitive group. Samba and Kangaroos don’t really belong in the same sentence, but in this case, we can make the exception.

Group G:Switzerland, South Korea
With France stuttering like a 2 year old with a speech defect, this group seems wide open.

Group H:Spain, Saudi Arabia
A ridiculously easy draw for Spain means that they should steamroll their way into the last 16.

Untitled

The dust has hardly settled from yesterday's dust storm, 'loo' they call it in these parts. The leaves of the trees are covered in fine brown powder, the ones that haven't withered from the heat. It feels like an oven, a crematorium, an incinerator. My mind is muddled, from the heat, or from the dust, I cannot tell. It has been this way for months, so I conclude it is because of neither. I am on my way to the reservations center, even the one closest to my home is a hundred miles away. I have been been walking for two days, no buses or trains go to the reservations center.

My mind is clear, clear with the clarity of purpose. My feet hardly ache, I think it is because of superior quality footwear. I have hardly felt the ground beneath me during my walk. But now my feet, like the leaves are covered in dust. It's good, it stops the bleeding.

I seem to be going around in circles, the circumeference of the circle increases every hour. I think I have walked 2000 miles since yesterday, but the reservations office is still elusive. The map says it should be right where I am standing now, I should be staring at a grey building with pink windows and bright green doors. I should be able to see soldiers in white uniforms, sheparding the crowds towards the big blue main door. The map says so, the reservations office is located at the 54th radius of the 48th circumeference.

I am worried now. If I pass this circle, I may never be able to to trace my way back. I have to fight for my son's reservation. He has been wronged and only the white men in black coats at the reservations office can do anything about it. If I pass this circle, I have to go back empty handed. I have to meet the men in the whit coats and ask them to help my son.

Current events

"I have been silent for too long. I must speak up. Let my voice be heard over the optical fibers. The stench is overwhelming. I must strive to stem the rot. It is ghastly - what is happening around me. I can't bear it anymore. My mouth twitches in search of the right invective to hurl at the participants in this horrendous charade. "

Whew!!! I hope the above outburst of self-righteousness has the desired salutary effect and steers me away from the disgusting sentiment.


The Tamil Nadu Elections

The results of this year's electoral exercise disappointed me. Not because I am a Jayalalitha supporter- I think there is little to choose between MK and her. However, the lack of even a semblance of consistency in the TN electorate left me disillusioned. We seem to have developed the disturbing habit of judging the performance of our leaders by their low-points, of ‘reacting’ myopically and immaturely. The AIDMK government made some bold decisions, they handled the Tsunami and the water shortage crises very effectively. It was there for all to see that they were making an honest effort.

And now they are out of power.

For change to be effective, continuity is necessary. A trigger happy change in governments means that more time is spent in 'undoing' than 'doing'. The next time we have the gun in our hands, let's pause for moment to take aim, lest we shoot ourselves in the foot - again.

Lok Paritran

I rarely say 'I told you so'. But this time I can't resist. I had always maintained that Lok Paritran was a bullshit publicity stunt. Contesting in any elections is no joke. It takes a lot of groundwork, preparation and strategy. What Lok Paritan tried to do was like a commerce student trying to crack into IIT with a week's preparation.

True, there is no harm in trying, but these people weren't able to keep their flock together for even a week after the results were declared. Nobody expected them to win even a single seat in this year's election. But if they truly believed in their ideology, one would have expected them to hunker down and work hard toward laying the necessary foundation for a better showing in 2011.

They way I see it, they took the media and their supporters for a ride. And the worst part- we let them do it. The media hoopla that surrounded this party was unbelievable. They were projected as heroes sacrificing their bright futures to clean up Indian politics. This was the political revolution India had been waiting for.

Well, I guess when you are looking for heroes, anything goes.

Still to come - Reservations, Da Vinci Code (The movie), War in Iraq, Budhia, BCCI.

The premium on virginity

"Are you a virgin?", mumbles he.

"What?”, exclaims she, unsure if she has heard correctly.

"Sex, have you had sex before?", clarifies he, braving her indignation.

"That's none of your business. What if I have? What if I haven't? Why should that change anything? ", queries she, flustered, defensive and mildly disgusted.

"Well, I haven't and I would prefer if you haven't either", asserts he, emphasizing 'prefer'.

"Prefer???", drawls she, not really drawling.

"Well, expect", whispers he, not really whispering.

" Well you can go fuck yourself.", shouts she, quietly, not really shouting.

"Don't say such.....I'm sorry......", apologizes he, the man she has known for three months, liked for two months and loved for a month.

"I'm sorry, I cannot marry you", declares she, the woman whose picture he looks at while masturbating these days.

"Suit yourself. I'll find another picture", smirks he.

"What?....Whatever......", sighs she, not comprehending, beyond caring.

"So its goodbye", chant they.

"Yes", agrees she, ruefully, for the process must begin again.

"I can keep the photo?? You know, till something else comes up........." asks (states) he.

"Whatever........ ", sighs she, ruefully, for the process must begin again.

geeky

Zany Quotes (in conversation with a friend):

The algorithm works for a few cases and these are presented in the paper.

Genetic Algorithms are useless: except in genetics.

Untitled

It is amazing how impressionable we are in our late teens to early twenties. The books we read, the people we idolize, the movies we see: they chisel away at our personalities, almost unknown to ourselves, surreptitiously playing the role of a sculptor who is close to finishing his piece. The core is frozen by then, tempered by the more substantive: the way we have been brought up, the friends we have kept, our homes, fate and luck. And then a third into our lives (assuming equal male and female life expectancies of 70 years), the sculpture is finally finished. And we get to look at it in the mirror.

What if we don't like what we see? What if we want to see something that our creator, the sculptor hasn't thought fit or necessary to endow us with? What if we want a longer nose or smaller eyes? Can we change our own sculpture? Can we bargain with time and our own minds, the agents masquerading as our sculptor, agents that have cruelly denied us what we wanted to see in ourselves, to 'redesign' us?

Just a tiny correction.......

At what cost??

Atonement : Ian McEwan

This winter I set myself the task of rekindling the appetite for moderately serious reading. It's not that I have totally fallen out with books, but in the past couple of years, I have rarely preferred the reading activity to something less challenging, like watching television or listening to music.

I discovered three great writers in the past fortnight: Coetzee, Marquez and McEwan. The third, I now idlolize. Consequently, this is not as much a review as an exhortation to read his book, Atonement (I have discovered that I write execrabe reviews anyway: I seem hardly able to venture beyond the clichés). I have read two of his earlier novels, the booker winning Amsterdam and Enduring Love. Amsterdam was somewhat disappointing but Enduring Love was a gem. I presumed, foolishly, I might add, that McEwan had set a standard that would be difficult to surpass, if not at least emulate.

Atonment proved me wrong. At its center is Brionny, a 13 year old girl who, in her girlish immaturity, commits a horrible wrong on her elder sister Cecelia and their neighbour Robbie. Though, her intentions at that time are hardly malicious, she is torn with guilt her entire life and seeks absolution for her impassioned sin. Is she granted the atonement she so desperately seeks?

McEwan has addressed the nebulous theme of forgiveness in this novel. Can we hope to be forgiven for our past mistakes? Whose forgiveness do we ultimately seek? And who has the right or moral authority to grant anyone absolute pardon?

When I finished reading the last page, I sat almost immobile for five minutes. Then I reread the last chapter: I just couldn't bring myself to finish the book. Twelve hours later, my mind still echoes with the voices of Brionny, Cecelia and Robbie and their faces swim before me when I close my eyes.

Identity crisis

My blog seems to be suffering from a severe identity crisis. What description fits it best? Humor or invective or pathos or nihilism?

Well, fuck descriptions. They suck.

A non-veggie speaks

From J.M Coetzee's Disgrace:

To his own surpirse, he is trying to comfort her. 'Perhaps he has already been through it. Born with foreknowledge, so to speak. This is South Africa, after all. There have been goats here since the beginning of time. They don't have to be told what steel is for, and fire. They know how death comes to a goat. They are born prepared.'

This passage remained with me long after I put the book down. Have goats and other animals that humans regularly and systematically slaughter, developed an evolutionary awareness of their impending predestination? Do they live their lives, realizing at some deeply sub-conscious level, that one day they will meet an unnatural and horrible end?

As a non-vegetarian struggling with a moral conundrum, I would like to believe so. Then I can justifiably renounce the immoral act with a degree of haughty self-righteousness. Unfortunately, the cold practicality of science dictates that it cannot be true. Animals are not gifted with the ability to reason. Thus, realizing, and what is more, accepting one's fate is beyond even the most precocious animal.

This philosophical deliberation seemed like the right preamble to the more practical debate concerning vegetarianism vs. non-vegetarianism . Vegetarians often make the point that eating animals is morally wrong because of the pain and suffering they are made to go through. To this, I reply that, if humans stopped eating meat this instant, we would face a severe food crisis in the world.

This statement at the very least, reeks of the insolence of occupying the top of the food chain. We have bestowed upon ourselves, the divine right to choose what to eat and what not to. I realize the feebleness of the argument myself: the instinct of self preservation, so vulgar in us humans yet so beautiful in animals, will demand that more grain and vegetables be cultivated. A few millions will perish in the interim, regions hitherto populated will become uninhabitable, but we would have renounced a throne that we have unjustly occupied since we came into existence.

Even if we accept that animals are not aware of their fate and do not have the intelligence to perceive what is going to happen to them, we should not for one minute let it obscure the fact that they are put through unspeakable agony before they are slaughtered. This is especially true in developing countries like India, the repungnant attitude of most people being, 'are janwar hi to hai' or 'vaise bhi marne vale hai'.

It seems like, as someone who enjoys meat, I have dug myself into a hole. I eat non-vegetarian food because it tastes good. This does not mean that I do not care for animals, I love them very much. Then how can I still eat them? A sense of detachment from what walked the earth once, alive and hearty, protects me from myself. And this self-deceiving apathy allows me to consume with relish what is placed before me on a plate. I offer no excuse for my excesses. I can only hope that, one day, my conscience can no longer bear the darkness of the the hole I find myself in. I can only hope that one day the baying souls of all the animals that have been slaughtered at my behest, will force me to crawl back out, never to venture in again.