I don't know how but I landed on this wikipedia page today about an American rap singer called Snoop Dogg. I remembered having had some discussion about this 'artist' and his history with Khatri bhai a few days back so I got reminded of him instantly. I really admired the way the singer had mispronounced his name as 'Dogg' instead of 'Dog' because lets face it, proper pronunciation is overrated and hollow personalities lacking ioatas of characters all around the world find it difficult to express their empty and worthless ideas without the constant gnawing fear of getting exposed as shallow without riding on the crutches of a mauled and bleeding language (...not a generalization). I came to know that this guy had been charged with many crimes including murder and I really felt bad for all that he had gone through. I felt so sympathetic at one point of time, that I almost forgave him for all the shootings and muggings and killings that he might have done and that I was almost ready to forget about all those years this social evil spent driving his limo and living in his palatial home when he should have been rotting in a maximum security prison in some corner of the US and I almost was ready to turn a blind eye towards his blatant lack of musical talent because I know that in a world pestered with singers of the caliber of Paris Hilton and Himesh Reshammiya, there is only so far I can go pointing fingers at individuals before realizing that its more a trait of the society in general than segregated ineptitude.

Nevertheless, that's not even the point. My point is this: Rap is not music. Period. Wherever I go, I see people wearing extreme t-shirts, the size of their father's, tilted caps, shorts precariously hanging from points way below where they were meant to be, speaking god knows what language, their hands constantly moving in gestures which ought to ooze the word COOL but only managing to reinforce what I already know about them: STUPID. These are specifically the kind of people who listen to RAP sung by people with names like Snoop Dogg. It doesn't take Einstein then to figure out the minimum intellectual requirements required to realize the overwhelming stupidity of such kind of music. Even when Baba Sehgal during the 90s was pouring hot metal into the unsuspecting ears of Indian public in the form of the crime against humanity that were his voice and talent, I, probably a 15 year old, could tell that this could not be music. I am inclined to say that that probably was the golden age of RAP (and Eminem) and it has only gone down since then (if it was possible).

There are atleast two requirements for a good song:
1. Good music
2. Good vocals
In the absence of one, the other should more than make up for it. Like instrumental music (especially classical) or Rock. Nevertheless, the problem with RAP is that it does not have any good vocals on one hand and on the other, their proponents are just not talented enough to produce good music even. They try to make up for this lack of talent and quality in the form of raunchiness of the video and a general potrayal of hipness and coolness. Open minded people would like to give RAP the benefit of doubt but since I am not one I would just say that its crap and anyone who likes it enough to follow it closely should evaluate his life right now. Its the sound monkeys make while fighting for the last crumb of bread. Its the sound you hear when someone scratches his nails on the blackboard or screeches a rusted iron piece on a concrete floor. Things like RAP, gothism, drug culture etc. should have been boycotted long before and the only reason they survive is because of the need of some sections of the society to potray themselves as depressed and rebellious while they forget that life is a struggle for most but while most people have chosen to put up a brave face, they have chosen to take recourse to aesthetics by labeling themselves as oppressed and sidelined.

Its one of the series of homages to those eternal comic strips which punctuated an average day in the life of an average Indian kid about 10 years back. That was the time when kids had better things to do than getting their brains liquefied by the idot box watching mindless soaps and even more moronic movies. This post concerns that great character : Chacha Chaudhary. Nostalgia is a great deluder. Irrespective of how mindless those comics seem in hindsight, they were a joy to reckon with in the bygone era and my perspective is coloured both by a pining love for the dying genre and a humourous take on their sheer artistic ineptitude which by the way did not seem to matter then:

The Protagonists:

Pictured above is the main protagonist, an octagenarian with very matter of fact look as if he is just done saying "I told you so". He differs from all other superheroes in the sense that he does not have to wear his underwear over his pants in order to indulge in rampant ass kickery. His main weapons are his sharp mind and huge coincidences which the writer tries to pass off as somehow resulting from his ingenuity. His mind purportedly works faster than a computer although with the computers of that age slothing away at a few megahertz, I would hardly take that as a complement. Mr. Chaudhary supposedly never locks his home but then only a suicidal psychopath would dare break into your home also when you have a wife like:

When Bhaagwan is not busy preparing truckloads of food for her family, she is basically known to pass her time beating the hell out of Chacha. One of her main weapons is a belan (which in more civilized homes is used for preparing rotis) and this is one of the few times in her life when she was photographed without one.

The image says it all. Sabu is from Jupiter... ... ... I will let it sink in... ... ... So then, Sabu is from Jupiter and Jupiter being n times larger than Earth, it is inconceivable that its residents are of the same size or lesser than those of Earth. But there is something we did not know about their sizes before Cartoonist Pran decided that humanity was mature enough to face the truth. Jupiter residents change sizes as you can see below:

Sabu eats 108 rotis, 12 kilos of Halwa and drinks about 20 litres of Lassi in one meal (Source:Wikipedia) and when he gets angry there is a volcanic explosion on Jupiter which all makes sense because he is from Jupiter and a volcano erupting on Mars would be too ridiculous to believe. As if the notion of volcanic activity on his homeplanet wasn't corny enough, Cartoonist Pran goes ahead and draws a small volcano on the side whenever Sabu gets angry. Now how are we supposed to believe that its the same volcano and not one of the millions which would have been spewing fire had Jupiter NOT BEEN A GASEOUS PLANET ? "Nevermind Logic: Corn is up for Grabs". Meanwhile Chacha also has a dog named Rocket. And oh by the way, he is vegetarian... whatever that means in a canine context.

The Antagonists:

No its not Gabbar Singh, its Gobar singh which effectively translates into "Dung Singh". Its like his mother left him no chance. I can almost picture his parents at the time of his christening. Hmmm... what should we name this filthy, hairy sack of flesh and bones... Hmmm... how about kachra (garbage)... no not degrading enough... how about Gobar !!!... and they rejoiced at screwing up their child's life. Whats more astonishing is the fact the Mr. Dung went on to opt for Dacoity as his career. New rule: anyone named Gobar isn't allowed to be a dacoit. How are people supposed to take him seriously. No wonder that his only achievement in life is being famous for getting his ass repeatedly kicked by an 80 year old. His accomplices include Dhamaka singh and Palita Singh. As unfortunate as the name Palita is even for a real Palita (what does it mean anyways), its almost a crime against humanity when used to denote a person. Its one of those words which do not mean anything and if you think about them long enough you will realize how inhumanely funny they are. Its like Tinda or Albuquerque . Now whoever came up with that one.

Pictured above is one of the most devilish characters ever to adorn a cartoon strip in India. Make way Mr. Chumba, move aside Mr. Kirgi, here comes Raka. Everything about Raka is NO JOKE. He likes to ruin people's days for no reason at all. One moment you see him walking on the road minding his own business, another, he picks up a car and munches it up with all the ingredients inside. That is how badass he is. No wonder he remains one of the few characters which gave me sleepless nights during my childhood. The other being that lady from Ramayana who gets up from the ocean and tries to eat Hanumaan. That was way too scary.

This was too much fun. I should probably review specific comics from Chacha.

Even now, when the days are lenient enough and the nights are warm enough to provide room for nostalgia, I sometimes remember the innocence of childhood. I still like to drug away the pointlesness and cynicism of youth by the LSD of those old memories. Even if for just a few moments, the relief is both palpable and welcome. Things did not make much sense then. There wasn't much motives to my actions and much regret at their results. The joy of doing something was neither clouded by the apprehension of failure, nor the expectation of success. Victory was only as sweet as failure was bitter. None of them managed to tax the tongue too much. Just left a barely discernible taste of abnormalcy.

That is why I like Calvin and Hobbes so much. The comic strip is a glowing testimony to those good old times. Calvin, with his tantrums and hyper-imagination and wierd philosophies (well, not so wierd really) and pointless activities. Hobbes with his warm friendliness and innocuous cynicism and maturity and immaturity. And between these two, a cosy little world which bred the most daring of imaginations, the most astounding of inventions, the most maddening of antics and yes, the most piercing of insights into the real world.

"The problem with people is that they don't look at the big picture. Eventually, we're each going to die, our species will go extinct, the sun will explode, and the universe will collapse. Existence isn't only temporary, it's pointless! We're all doomed, and worse, nothing matters!", said Calvin, and seldom have I heard someone else hit the nail on its head harder. To even think that our presence has a higher motive seems so self concieted at best, especially when you look at the tiny speck that our (humanity's) existence occupies in the grandest scheme of things. Human motivation, if driven by a distant goal of achieving immorality, will fall over its head. Rather, it should just be driven either by passion or a question of survival. Both of them are illogical and hence apt for a life which itself is illogical.

Throughout the strip, we can see a pessimism that is so necessary for leading a fulfilling life. Unless the realization that everything that we indulge in will come to a naught doesn't dawn upon us, we would always be crying at every failure and prolonging the celebrations at every small success. Unless we come to see the truth behind the phrase "Keep climbing", we probably will keep on screwing up our lives trying to climb the imaginary ladder where our position is decided in the eyes of the beholder. That is why I like it when Calvin says "I hate to think that all my current experiences will someday become stories with no point." or "The secret to happiness is short-term, stupid self-interest!" or "Reality continues to ruin my life.".

There is a subtle but a very important commentary on our misplaced priorities as adults in the whole strip. Phrases like "It seems like once people grow up, they have no idea what's cool." or "Childhood is for spoiling adulthood." seem so much more relevant when you are in one of those blue moods (The only time, I think, when your thoughts are not clouded by unnecessary trifles). The strip is replete with strong social commentary throughout like "You know how people are. They only recognize greatness when some authority confirms it." or "Happiness is being famous for your financial ability to indulge in every kind of excess.". Its a reflection of Bill Watterson's mind, one of the few persons I really admire for his integrity and his love for his craft. In a world infested with people who are all too ready to sell their principles and morals at the slightest possible pretext, Bill Watterson chose to stand for the integrity of his first love. And it shows in the quality of the strip.

Well this is the first time and I am so proud of my performance.

I was coming back after watching the friday night movie from the college, you know, minding my own business, driving the kickass machine that is my motorcycle, clocking well above the speed limit, breaking stop signs left right and center when this cop started flashing his lights indicating me to stop. Normally I do not really care for flashing lights but I just had to stop when the cop took out his loudspeaker and started blaring into the dead of the night. I steered to the side and stopped. He, looking like an agreeable man, came up to me with a notebook in his hands, noted my license plate number and called it out into his wireless. A lady on the other side confirmed that the bike in question belonged to a Mr. Ankit Srivastava. Now I am not one who gets flipped out easily but the thought of all those grim scenes from Shawshank Redemption sent a chill down my spine. My fears were not entirely unfounded as you will learn later. Here is the conversation that took place between me and the cop:

Cop: Please put your bike on the sidestand, sit in the driver's position and keep your hands in front of you.
Cop: Now Mr. do you know why have I stopped you ?
Me (nervously): Well I broke a Stop sign...
Cop: ...and ?
Me: (Vigorously trying to figure out what more did I do wrong) I am not sure...
Cop: Please put some more effort
Me: (in one breath) and overspeeding
Cop: Thankyou... now do you know that you were way above the speed limit and I had to press my gas upto 100 just to catch you ?
Me: (Thinking : can you please stop lying ? I wasn't above 50) I am sorry
Cop: I also drive bikes and I know how easy it is to reach 60 mph. How fast can you go from 0-60?
Me: (Is it a trick question? Anyways...) 4-5 seconds (conservatively).
Cop: Can I see your license ?
I hand him my car license afraid that since I just have a temporary motorcycle license, the cop would know that I am not allowed to drive in nights and I might have to spend my night in a maximum security prison festooned with smelly, bulky criminals. I congratulated myself for this brilliant plan.
Cop: Can I see your registration ?
Me: I don't have it with me.
Cop: Hmmm... Can I see your insurance ?
Me: I have the temporary one but not the permanent. Its at my home.
Cop: Hmmm... So lets summarize here:
1. You were overspeeding
2. You broke a stop sign
3. You do not have your registration
4. You do not have your permanent proof of insurance
I can easily hit you up for something upwards of 500$ but it won't teach you anything will it ?
Me: (thinking: is this a trick question. If I say yes then you would slap the fine and if I say no, you will hit me with something harder. So I did something that any intelligent doctoral student would have done: kept mum).
Cop: Now I am going to run this license of yours and if I find no violations I would perhaps let you go but if I find any previous violations, I would fine you.
Me: OK (at this point I was really happy since I knew that I did not have any previous violations. The cop goes back to his car and I am almost ready to put the keys back to my ignition so that the ordeal could finally end. The cop comes back looking grim.)
Cop: We have a slight problem here Mr. I hope you know that for driving a motorcycle in California, you need to have a motorcycle license.
Me: (Shit!!!) But I do have it. ( I take it out and hand it over)
(He looks at me increduluously and says the next time a cop catches you on a motorcycle SHOW HIM THE MOTORCYCLE LICENSE !!! )
Cop: This is a temporary driving license. Are you allowed to drive at nights ?
Me: No... but... ahem... I was working late in the lab and it got dark... and... well... its once in a full moon situation.
Cop:
5. Not allowed to drive at night.
Me: (Quiet)
Cop: I am what you call a good cop so I will let you go with a warning. Next time you are caught with so many violations, you will atleast get a ticket for about 800 and your bike will be towed away and your license will come under jeopardy.
Me: (Not able to believe my ears. What did he say ? He will let me go ! After I have had 5 violations, 3 of which pretty grim !!!) Thank you so much officer.

So that was it. My first pullover by a cop and it was nothing less than a miracle that I came unhurt.

Okay, so here is a brilliant plan. Now that Hollywood is so out of ideas that it has started giving screentime to actresses like Paris Hilton and Bollywood keeps harping upon those lachrymose scripts expecting people to cry buckets at every tear that drops down king Khan's eyes, I have decided to make a blueprint for the greatest movie that will ever be made if the directors out there have any grey matter left somewhere in those small skulls after years of dishing out substandard scripts. So here it goes, a movie that will kick so much ass that I have decided to name it:

CAST:
Main actor - A gigantic lizard with menacing red eyes and a husky voice.
Main actress: Aishwarya Rai
Supporting actor in a comic role: Shahrukh Khan
Supporting actress in a comic role: Smriti Irani (of Tulsi fame)
Others: Ram, Shyam, Gopu, Dayaram, John Doe, Jane Doe, Michael, Ivaturi Surya Satya Subramaniam Shyam Sundar Sandeep.

I haven't exactly decided what the flow of the movie will be but I have some basic ideas. The movie starts when the lizard is roaming around happily when it happens to step upon Aishwarya Rai who is busy trying to dish out another one of her performances in a movie where she tries to fool the audiences into believing that she has an iota of acting talent. There - thats her only scene in the movie. This scene will be so intense that the Academy will have to go to Aish for the award titled 'Best Actress in a dying scene under the feet of a fire spewing reptilian monster'. Nevertheless, the lizard gets a taste of human flesh here and turns into a maneater not necessarily because it liked what it had but out of spite because Aish gives him a stomach ache. Its here that the ass kickery really starts. He starts gulping down generic people. The movie will showcase, in gory detail, every bite that he takes, every munch that he enjoys, every bit of fodder that he eats. US marines, meanwhile will bring all the tanks and the ammunition enough to blow up a small city and use it on the lizard only to find out that his skin is made up of extra-durable scales and their weapons are of no use whatsoever (how convenient). John Doe, the US president, meanwhile, will ruminate over the possibility of nuking the monster. As intense as the debate would be regarding the potential loss of civilian life, the overzealous generals of US army will come to the realization that all this is happening in Tehran and being American fighters, they don't necessarily have to care about the lives of of those who dwell in that uncivilized part of the world as it isn't quite the same. They nuke the monster only to find that the ensuing radioactivity has made it deadlier by giving it the ability of breathing out life threatening carcinogenic gamma rays. So here we have a monster, spewing a heady mixture of gamma burts and fire. Such a malicious concoction turn entire populations into flesh eating zombies, you know the ones with strange expressions on their faces, hilariously disfigured bodies, burns everywhere, walking at .2 cm/year, wide open eyes like these:

There -the reptile has an army of its own - Lizard - 1, United States of America - 0. For comic relief, Shahrukh Khan, Karan Johar and Ekta Kapoor will be shown crying, running and basically getting their stuff ruined by the lizard and the zombies. This will be shown in all its magnificient detail. SRK and co. being chased in supermarket. SRK and co. being run down in streets and alleys and roads and water and air. SRK and co. being followed up the stairs, down the stairs. SRK and co. trampled over, thrown down a building, shot at etc. How utopian !!!.

Thats how it will end. I am not really one for happy endings but this will have one. A crying SRK and a dilapidated KJ and EK will give audiences hope and happiness. They will feel contented while walking back to their homes holding the hands of their loved ones, for a change relieved that there is justice in the world and although too late, there is atleast one storywriter who truly understands how to write a good and just story. Hence, I would rule all over the place.

At the cost of inviting incredulous gasps from my much learned friends, let me admit today that I have never read Godfather nor have I seen the movie ever. Infact, I have not read the book thrice and have actually not seen the movie atleast 4 times.

The first time I did not read the book, I was in my 11th class when my friend gave it to me and he just wouldn't stop praising Mario Puzo and almost forced my head into the preface. I was not really a fan of fictional thrillers back then (I am not even now but there was a phase) and my repertoire primarily consisted of the canon of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (4 times complete). Sitting in the back seat of those monotonous and frankly quite pointless science classes, I usually tried to while away the time sifting through the hallowed pages of the book. There was something about it that always made me stop at about the 20th page. The 2nd and 3rd time I did not read the book was when I had all the leisure in the world while I was in the 3rd year of my undergraduate course. I started with the best of intents and managed to reach the all time high figure of 43 but gave up there. While shifting through some old stationary, I happened to come across the old book which has stood against me like my own personal Holy Grail, my own Shangrila to discover. I turned the pages and all the forgotten memories came rushing back. I could see the scribbles of Physics equations up-till page 20 and the dog eared parchament up-till page 43. The paper had turned a bit yellow and the binding a bit loose. I looked at it, thought for a second, chuckled, closed and placed it from where I had picked it up.

This brings me to the point of this post. There is a wierd sense of achievement in not doing something. While happiness and satisfaction are the residues of monumental achievements, there is this queer sense of pleasure in not succumbing to a particular temptation, especially when that course of action has been largely followed and highly advised by the world. There is no dearth of mountain climbers or dancers or snowboarders. People have pushed the limits of x-games and life threatening activities. But here I am, snugly cosying in my warm blanket admiring them but never wanting to be them. We often do not admire the resolve of the non-snowboarder. We choose to overlook the sacrifice of the bloke who chose to spend his life testing banking softwares in a cubicle when he could much rather have become a shark catcher. It is not easy to not fall down to the temptation of living the life of motoGP racer but then who is going to listen to the wail of the customer who has been wrongly charged 122$ on his credit card ?

My case is similar. I could have read the book and seen the movie. I could have felt exhilarated at the panache with which Mr. Corleone plugged the lead in another skull or thrilled at the awesome command exhumed by Mr. Brando. I could have been a better person, more wiser in life, much more aware of life's possibilities, another book wiser, a film more experienced among other things but why ? Why should I ruin my perfectly clean slate ? I know the book and the movie are brilliant to say the least but I have my virginity (for lack of a better word) to defend. Its the same reason I do not drink. Earlier I had made myself believe that there has to be some higher/nobler reason as to why I do not drink but its a lie. I just never happened to drink and now I do not want to tarnish my perfect record by succumbing to 2 drops of temptation. There are so many people who drink and I have absolutely no problem with them but now I have become far too stubborn to join the ranks. Its a quirk of human nature which forces people to behave irrationally in this fashion and everyone has them. It can be annoying and frustrating at times but such idiosyncracies surely add differentiating tinges to an otherwise monochromatic facade of individual character.

P.S: Trying to play Moolight Sonata (Beethoven). You can listen to this beautiful composition here:
Moonlight Sonata

Here are some things which have so often in the past, perplexed me and forced me to ruminate over the nature of life and reality and what not:

1. Donkey : Whats that expression on a donkey's face ? Its like, he is perpetually trying to solve an immensely difficult problem, his eyes fixated on the ground below, his jaws constantly chewing upon the last bit of garbage he ate and his posture unperturbed by the inconsistencies of weather. He doesn't care whether you stand there watching his medidative self. He doesn't give a damn about the dog that is shouting himself hoarse. The only thing he really seems to care about is that immediate problem at hand. And he thinks and thinks and thinks. I am not sure if he is ever able to solve it but after much meditation, you see him walking away, contended, satisfied and visibly happy.

2. Why do adults use illogical language in the presence of babies ? You see a perfectly normal couple who would otherwise easily make it into the list of homo sapiens but give them a baby and my god, all hell breaks loose. The lady will start with "oomchhs" and "aaafs" and the man will start making monkey faces. I just dont get that how is a baby, who is inept at understanding normal language, expected to understand a language which even fully grown adults cannot ? How can distorted, ghastly faces make him feel happy ? It happened to me once. I was in presence of a 1 year old baby and I, like a perfectly well mannered gentleman, shook his hand and asked him how he was and everyone started laughing. Wierd.

3. "Every rule has an exception" is a paradox. Does this rule have one ?

4. Snails : Where are they going seriously ? No, seriously. You see ants moving and you know that they are going to their home and they will most probably reach it. You see snakes move and you think maybe its a prey. But where are the snails going ? You see a big open ground which has nothing but harsh concrete for meters and meters and you see a snail in the middle of it all and it is moving in one of the generic directions at .03 mm/hour and you wonder, WHERE THE HELL ? There should be a new rule which will prohibit movement if you move less than 1 mm/s because of the humungous futility of it all.

5. In a disaster flick, how come its always the case that all those who survive at the end also happened to be the main characters and had the bulk of the screentime ? Why don't you ever see that generic cabdriver survive ? How come its always the minnows who die ? If ever I get a chance to make a movie, I will make one which will primarily consist of a giant lizard eating up main characters. Just when the audience would be forming their theories about who of all the heroes and heroines should live, my lizard will come kicking asses everywhere and finishing up all the important stuff in one gulp. Rest of the movie will comprise of generic looking people running here and there with the lizard munching away with fun and frolic and in the end I will show 10 people who had nothing to do with the movie previously, killing the beast and celebrating. Yes, thats how it will end. It will be the victory of the average joe over celebrity worship, nepotism, favouritism and partiality. Man, the movie would rule all over the place.

Enough for now. I think about many more things. Saving them for later.

After so many days, I feel like writing something beautiful. Since my writing does not permit me to venture beyond my own limitations, I shall try to compensate my shortcomings by writing about something beautiful.

Deep down, I somehow feel that beauty does not differentiate between the agent through which it is expressed. In its purest form you cannot compartmentalize its domains. Neither can you objectively analyze its effects nor can you explain human susceptibleness to it. It stands there on its own, totally unaware of the thousand entranced gazes probing it, entirely ignorant of the million senses soaking it. Pure beauty has a sense of timelesness to it. An infinity constrained in the limitations of the border of a photograph if you will. It refuses to die of age and it haunts and enchants at the same time.

The beauty I am talking about does not concern an intricate piece of art or an elaborately ornate model. Its simpler. Much simpler. Its the allure of the smell of wet earth after the first monsoon rains. Its the enchantment of hearing Vande Mataram on a lazy morning. Its the seductiveness of a pair of especially beautiful eyes brimming with innocence and helplesness. It breathes in the magnetism of a foggy evening walk along the Mall road of a hillstation or a beautiful piece of music or even a breathtaking display of nearly superhuman atheletic ability. It reaches to you from the bichromic depths of a black and white photograph depicting an old dilapidated house and cries for your embrace in the hollow expressions of a mother whose child is dying of malnutrition. Its the nostalgia you feel when you walk on the familiar campus of the school you went to 8 years ago. Its the pain which the searing heat of a summer afternoon on the deserted roads of a sleepy town brings. Its the satisfaction which a starry, full moon night provides when you sleep out in the deafening silence of the rustic embrace of your village. Its in the myriad colours of a dew drop and the pointlesness and innocence of the stolen glances with you loved one. Its in the tones of a familiar tune, in the crescendo of a brilliant opera, in the consummation of love, in the commencement of estrangement, in the glory of nature, in the infinite human creativity, in the small details which we miss often, in the celebration we call life and the final parting of death.

So India lost against Bangladesh and was kicked out of the world cup in the first round itself. Agreed that it was worse than pathetic watching the team surrender meekly to Sri Lanka without ever looking as if they could give them a fight. Conceded that the players have let down a nationful of emotionally charged affocionados and accepted that in the pale shadow of an illustrious past, the senior players mirror the agonising death of a beautiful dream. But stop, please stop.

I have been diligently following the stories that have been building up after the world cup debacle and I was confused as to who is really to blame. Was it the coach or the senior players ? Greg Chappell, or Dravid or Tendulkar ? On one hand, Chappell was voicing his reservations about the attitude of the senior players, on the other, effigies of Tendulkar and co. were being burnt in Gujarat. On one hand, Sharad Pawar was giving hints about an impending fundamental change in the team, on the other, newspapers were dissecting the last shreds out of the team's performance. At this point of time, I was thoroughly convinced that the defeat had among other reasons, the attitude of the senior players. All of this changed this morning when Tendulkar hit out against Chappell for his comments. This is all I need really. Tendulkar saying it.

I am ready to believe that Tendulkar is far from what he used to be. I am also ready to concede that he might never attain all that he promised as a youngster but I shall be eternally damned if I ever question his commitment towards the team and the nation. The problem with the country today is that far too many teens have a much more vociferous and credited opinion than they deserve. They comprise a generation that has not woken up in nights to watch Tendulkar score a century only to find India losing by 15 runs because everyone else in the team was just a spectator. They comprise an age that has not been heartbroken at watching Tendulkar struggle to score a century on the day next to his father's death. They haven't felt the rush of blood while Tendulkar alone braved the fearsome Aussi attack in the midst of a desert storm. They haven't been witness to the neutering ceremony of greats like Warne and Qadir at Tendulkar's hands. Neither have they lived those 10 years when this man alone carried the burden of expectations of a billion without ever seeming to be high and mighty and conceited and proud.

This generation belittles Tendulkar and praises Dhoni. It incriminates Sachin and celebrates Sehwag. I just want them to open their mouths when Dhoni makes a century at Perth against bowlers of the caliber of Mcgrath. I just want them to shut the hell up till Dhoni is even able to make a doosra from a top spin out of Muralitharan's hands or till Sehwag hits 1900 runs in one calendar year. I just want them to keep their wretched mouths closed till the time people like Dhoni stop whoring themselves out to media and start to really think about their country and the game.

So if you say that Tendulkar probably hasn't done as much as he should have or that he hasn't won enough matches for India or that his best years are past him, I will listen with a clenched fist and subdued voice of dissent. But if you ever question his commitment and motives, leave me your address so that I could come and beat the hell out of you. If you have never seen Tendulkar struggling with cramps against Pakistan to bring India close to victory (within 15 runs), you frankly have no right to bitch. As for Greg Chappell, I am thoroughly convinced that he is an _______ (yes, that's right, that's the word).

Look at the third paragraph of this article :

http://in.rediff.com/money/2007/mar/29speed.htm

For the convenience of the reader, I am replicating the lines here:

"While Haryana and Rajasthan have fixed a limit of 90 km on highways for cars, the UP government has not specified any limit."

So, now that all those of you who have had the misfortune of taking birth in any other state than Uttar Pradesh are thinking, what to make of this sentence, let me drive the point home with all the force it deserves:

"U.P. roads kick ass !!!"

Huh... speed limit is for wimps. UP does'nt even have a speed limit on its roads. UP is like Germany and its roads are like the famed autobahn. The only thing that controls the speeds of the vehicles in UP is the cold fear that the possibility of a sudden death brings while you are going at 20 km/hr maneuvering around strategically placed potholes and stray dogs and cows and negotiaing drunk drivers and looking out for men sticking their heads out of their Marutis to shout at the rickshaw with a flat tire in front, cyclists trying to slither into that 23 inches you forgot to fill in between your vehicle and the one in front, ladies driving their lunas and scooties in manners which makes you believe that god is almighty and luck all powerful, aunties fighting with the autodrivers for the last rupee he tried to charge them more, half naked kids trying to sell you everything from flowers to corn to peanuts. I can safely say that there is no other state in India which presents so many challenges to a driver and places such high demands on the performances of the vehicles. Lest you disbelievers jump upon my ass and try to kick it, I am presenting some hardboiled facts to support my view:

Seriously speaking, there is only one state which presents any sort of challenge to UP in this field and that is Bihar. States like Maharashtra, M.P, southern states, Punjab, Haryana have far too docile roads and the bottom line is that they just do not kick the requisite amount of ass. For ages, the residents of these states have been using the euphemism of defining their roads good. Let me just clear the slate now. ACCEPT THAT YOUR ROADS ARE BORING and YOUR PEOPLE, WIMPS WHO CANNOT DRIVE ON REAL MACHO ROADS. NE states have pretty 'good' roads too and the only tension you have there is not related to stray dogs and cats but stray bullets and frankly speaking that should not be a worry since you just cannot outmaneuver those. Same is the case with J&K but you can add the small dangers of landmines too there. Orissa would have been a worthy candidate but then I don't think people of that state are wealthy enough to buy vehicles. Now that everyone is walking on foot, how challenging can that be ? So now we come to Bihar. Bihar would really have kicked all the available asses if there was not this one problem : BIHAR DOES NOT HAVE ANY ROADS !!!. Even if you are extremely generous and are ready to grant the status of roads to intermittent asphalt patches which seem to be lying here and there between two major cities (does Bihar have cities ?), I am not ready to grant the status of vehicle to bullock carts.

So I win. UP roads are the best of all. A fine blend of transportability and adventure. I say, what are the giant auto-manufactures doing. Don't they see what I see ? Why are they wasting their millions building elaborate testing facilities for their latest car models. Come to U.P and if you car can survive the roads there, it can survive anything that the world has to offer. Hell, U.P. even gives great possibilities for crash testing your vehicles. Too good to be true, huh ?