"Strange, but true"... is far too simple!

In this moment of joyous, yet melancholic solitude, I recollect one of the stories I had heard from an elderly soul during my childhood, and this is about the great enlightened personality, Swami Vivekananda. I cannot reproduce the exact few words but only a gist of it, for which I shall be pardoned.

It seems, when he had been to the United States of America during the late nineteenth century (on account of the Chicago conference where he would deliver one of the most touching speeches) he was to go to bed and sleep overnight (yes, he was a normal mortal!). For some reason he could not, and he opened one of the windows and started to gaze outwards. When asked about this, it seems he replied, 'I look out this window and I see the East. The Eastern world comprising of my motherland India, where many people find it hard to grab a minute of sleep because they do not even have one of the basic necessities in life: shelter. They have to fend all the evils posed by the calamitous weather, be it the sun or the wind or the rain or the cold, and yet adapt themselves to it. When such is the plight of my fellow countrymen, how can I, being so far away from India, sleep? How can I?' What a man! What a great personality! If there's not a dry eye in this world hearing this message of the revered Vivekananda, then that person is not a human being.

Alright. I won't beat around the bush. I made a mention of this story because, he was a spiritual person. Only spiritual people can view things objectively (I am being brutally subjective here, but I'm not overly spiritual anyway). Spiritualism is considered a property of India (obviously by Indian 'nationalists') but not many people have adopted it. Remarkable, yet pathetic. Religious practices are overtly and blindly followed and not much is cared about the outcome. If asked about the purpose of those practices, they look at you with disdain and might even consider you provocative, in a way that you have "offended the Gods (plural form is important) and despised the rich culture". Loads of money is lashed out to perform certain ceremonies, which, if used to help the poor and the needy will serve more purpose. Religion has lost its meaning, but the religious practices... hell yes, they still prevail. We desperately need a Swami Vivekananda.

And, for all the people who think India will become a superpower very soon... yeah, just keep dreaming. The rich have become richer and the poor have plunged into something that transcends poverty.

Dream on!
Did I hear an echo? You bet!

Dear big spender...

When a bunch of people struggle to earn even one meal a day, there are multi-thousand-rupee parties thrown at will. Yes, you ought to celebrate success, but not by wasting that much money. It has to be accepted that not everyone can be and will be idealistic. But, just a small passing thought about the deprived, the depraved and the downtrodden and will spur you on to become a little philanthropic.

Please, before you spend money lavishly, just give it a thought.

Back with a bang? Not really

I am back! Yes, I am back from the self-infested hibernation. And boy, have I got news for you! No. Actually, I haven't.

Not strangely enough, as if it were to meet my expectation, I haven't had the brightest day, well, for that matter, I cannot exactly remember when I had last seen one, quite literally. The sun (or zon, here) has been playing hide and seek with us.

Much to others' disapproval, I would rather we have this sort of a weather all through the year -- at least if not in my country of birth, India -- in the Netherlands. I have seen enough of sunlight all these twenty five bleeding years. Just imagine... summer has begun and the sun weren't to be seen -- how obliquely delightful (at least for me) it would be! Just the daylight is enough, but not the sun please!

Actually, people here have begun to take offence whenever I try to express my happiness looking at the pale and wonderfully dull skies. They, in fact, told this straight on my face recently: "Mister, stop ruining our summer with your wishful thinking. Gods (or whoever is in charge of weather) have been too kind to you. You will repent." Though they say this in a humourous way, actually, I have begun to repent already! You know why? This weekend I return to my "Holy Motherland" (maybe for good, and mostly for the worse) and monsoons are just waiting to welcome me back... into misery, I would like to think. Then I would begin to wonder, 'God (or whoever is in charge of weather), why did I wish for the disappearance of the sun?'. Misery. That would not be the exact word; in fact, that would be a grave understatement. Monsoons are just a part of the package. It is just my perspective. And, you are allowed to differ! For Christ's sake, courtesy of democracy we live in a free country back home (do we, really?). Yes, a free world with only a few societal norms that need to be followed steadfastly. There won't be any major consequences of that -- it is just that it will ruin the life (in this case, mine). Not a high price to pay, you think!

I wish myself the best of luck.

Journey to Bayern - September 2007

Thursday, September 20, 2007.


‘Dank je wel... doei!’, I say to the chauffeur and get down from the bus.

My body is fuelled by a minimum of five cups of coffee, of course, apart from the usual gulp-it-up breakfast. So, I have a great idea: why not go to the supermarket Albert Heijn and buy a Frieshe Vlag Mango & Milk -- a milkshake, really. I take a little too much time to decide on whether to buy a Chocolade Croissant along with it, and finally decide against it.

After all, it took only a minute to make that decision. Just one minute, that’s all!

‘Hallo... een euro en viertig cent, alstublieft.’

I pay the exact amount.

‘Bedankt!’

‘Graag gedaan, prettige avond!’

I don't know whether she heard those words at all, because I was already darting towards Spoor-5. I don't use the escalator -- it takes ages to reach the platform; what more, I can't even get off it because there will be people infront and behind -- it is a trap for a trout!

The time is 7:33 pm, or 19:33, as they would call it here. Really wonder how things that I studied in elementary school come to mind all of a sudden. Unlike in my country of birth, India, people in western countries are just mad about punctuality. Time is money for them; I can hear those words in the back of my mind. As if to prove it, I come at 19:33, and the scheduled train departure was at 19:32.

No. Not even a trace of it. It takes approximately one hour to reach Utrecht Centraal from Eindhoven. The next train leaves at 19:47 and I wait impatiently. The pessimist in me wakes up and starts talking. The CityNight Line train leaves at 21:02 from Utrecht. What if I can't make it?

But then, I assure myself. I will have ample time for, perhaps, even a coffee break. The obsession with that dreaded beverage never seems to end. Whoever invented that! The other day, I was reading a Paulo Coelho novel, where he talks about the significance of Eleven Minutes. Now, I really begin to contemplate writing my own book with the title Fifteen minutes to the Next Train.

The wait never seems to end. I have even managed to finish the whole 500ml of the milk shake. I have also checked four times whether or not I possess the right tickets. Too much apprehension to cope with! I always feel like I am bordering on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. In fact, I have several times ‘self-diagnosed’ myself of suffering from OCD. Additionally, this is the first time I am going on a lonesome and long journey into another country, in a train. Once I am across the border, there will be few people who would understand and speak English. I decide, probably, for the thousandth time that I need to go to Goethe Institute upon my return to India and learn the language of the ‘Fatherland, über alles’. Anyway, the train has arrived to put an end to my misery.

I fill one of the many vacant seats in the carriage, and put my backpack on the seat next to mine. I have the final two sips the milk shake and just about start gulping the fruit bread that has remained from the unfinished lunch. And then it occurs to me. I am actually going to travel for nearly twelve hours to reach Bavaria.

‘Goeie avond, meneer’ suddenly brings me back to the present.

Perhaps my lack of reaction (or perhaps because of my skin colour?!) I hear a repetition, ‘Good evening, Sir. Can I see your ticket please?’

‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Indeed, here they are.’

‘So you are going to München! Fantastisch. I assume you have your passport with you.’

‘Yes, I do. Here it is.’

‘No. I won't need them. Thank you. The border authorities might check it when you are near Neuss, maybe. By the way, what is the occasion, Sir?’

‘Well, I am hoping to meet a friend of mine who is coming over from Budapest. We are planning to watch the opening ceremony of Oktoberfest.’

‘Oh! I am sure you will, Sir. I hope you have a good time at the Oktoberfest! Wish you a pleasant evening.’

‘Thank you.’

It is twilight and I see the last few rays of sun on the flat lush-green meadows outside. The cows don’t seem to bother as they have their heads down as if to show their indomitable determination in grazing all the grass off the meadow before dawn. I think they are inspirational characters even though they bring a good reward to their country in terms of the quality of the dairy products.

‘Dames en heren. Volgende station is Utrecht Centraal. U kunt uitstappen hier voor treinen naar Amsterdam Centraal, Amersfoort en de internationale treinen naar Duitsland en België. Dit is station Utrecht Centraal.’

I’m interrupted by the announcement, thankfully avoiding me from developing an interest towards dairy farming! I have to get change trains here.

I check my watch and also the clocks in the railway station; it’s almost 21:00. And, in a minute the CityNightLine (aptly “CNL”) arrives bang on cue. I get in. And we depart at 21:02 sharp.

I have travelled in night trains in India quite a lot, but this is something else. She is a beauty. All the coaches have been painted dark blue as if to hide from the dark. I have no difficulty in finding my compartment. I make myself comfortable in the 6-bed sleeper. My seat is on the lower berth, right next to a curtained window. My word, but for the covering on the seat, it is a real bed! There are pillows and a blanket to make myself even more comfortable! There are personal reading lamps just above each berth. There is a ‘night lamp’ and there is a door that has an impressive lock. I waste no time in locking myself up into solitude. I really want to get down on the bed and sleep almost immediately, but I can’t do that just yet. I just can’t stop admiring this comfortable environment inside. I can’t hear the sound of the wheels, nor can I hear anybody speak (even though the other compartments are crowded!). Only I have been blessed with a compartment in which I am the only person travelling, at least for now. I pull aside the window curtain and look out the window. After a few minutes, I see the train station of Arnhem. Then, we arrive at a place called Emmerich. Some people get down to get some fresh air. I follow them and I’m astonished at what I see: they are changing engines! I thought electric trains did not need to do that! However, let us not forget that the train left Utrecht after having started from Amsterdam Centraal on the Dutch Railway Network. Apparently, Emmerich is the first German town on the line and they need to switch from the Dutch engine to a German one that conforms to Germany’s train speed limits. Dutch trains are traditionally slower than German trains and, hence are powered by less powerful engines. Ladies and Gentlemen – we are now officially in Germany!

The train departs from Emmerich without wasting too much time for the engine switch. I believe it hardly took about five minutes for the whole stuff.

My eyes are a bit tired and I think of taking a nap and do so almost immediately. I open my eyes and the train seems to have stopped. We are now in Düsseldorf. Yawn! It starts moving again and within a couple of minutes I hear knock on the door of my compartment. I open it without delay thinking that I have a fellow passenger about to get in. But I’m wrong. It is actually the ticket collector.

‘Guten abend. Ihre Fahrkarte bitte.’

‘Good evening. Here is my ticket.’

‘Thank you, sir. We will arrive in München at 07:16. Oh, by the way, there are some more passengers getting in your compartment in Köln. Please keep the door locked. I will come and knock when we are in Köln. Good night!’

‘Danke schön.’

‘Gerne geschehen!’

As soon as she leaves, I lock the door and waste no time in getting back to sleep.

It only felt like two minutes and I hear a knock on the door. I wake up and look out the window but can’t see the place name yet. Well, I need to open the door anyway. The ticket collector lady smiles at me again and three elderly ladies (must be in their sixties) barge in (not really, but because of my sleepiness I imagine they did). I get back to bed after succeeding to bring a sheepish sleepy smile on my face so as to acknowledge theirs.

My God! I can’t sleep. These ladies, I think they are hyperactive. They have been talking for the last ten minutes continuously. Come on, please let me sleep!

I am still cursing them and with great agitation in my mind, I uncover my face by sliding away the blanket. Silence! And the train isn’t moving either. I look outside: “Ulm”. What does that mean now, in the name of God? Maybe I should check my ticket. Yes, there I see: Ulm – Augsburg – München. Good heavens! I had slept so well that I couldn’t notice that the ladies had already left the train! And, there were at least six train stations that I missed in my sleep. Never mind all that. Anyway, it feels so good to be alone in the compartment again.

I want to have a bit more sleep before we arrive in Augsburg. This time I have no difficulty in getting back to sleep. I hear a voice buzzing above my head. It was irritating. It is very hard to decipher, then I begin to recognise some of the words: ‘Good… arriving… Munich… late… nice day!’ I looked at my watch instantaneously: 07:15! Mein Gott! I’m almost there in Munich. What happened? I can’t believe that I missed Augsburg in my sleep. Anyway, thankfully the train has to end at Munich. However, it is still running. I pick up my backpack and get ready to leave. Surprisingly the train is still moving quite fast, so I believe that there is some more time before we arrive in Munich. As a habit, I check my mobile phone for any missed calls but I find two text messages:

‘Dude, I just crossed Vienna. Austrian border police stepped in to check my passport and visa. No worries. See you soon.’ – received at 01:22

‘Mate, I’m in Munich. I can’t find your train. When are you arriving?’ – received at 06:15

That was Bala. I had asked him to send me messages as soon as he entered Schengen territory and also as soon as he arrived in Munich. Actually, he was quite anxious about his journey to Munich as he does not like German border polizei. Poor guy. He had applied for a German tourist Visa starting for a week, but they had given him a Visa that was valid from 00:00 hrs Friday to 00:00 hrs Monday. They just looked at his hotel booking and then decided 'logically' that he didn't need more than those 72 hours! Typical Germans.

That said, my train enters a big arch that has a text ‘Grundig’ embossed on it. I also see a big H&M poster of Daria Werbowy. Anyone who has seen one hour of FTV in his life would know her name; she is a supermodel from Canada (although she was born in Poland and grew up partly in Ukraine). And, she endorses a ladies' fashionwear from the big Swedish company Hennes & Mauritz (H&M). Anyway the train now slows down and I finally see the name I was looking for: München Hauptbahnhof. Perhaps, I’m the happiest person in the world for a moment. Get ready for me, Munich, here I come!

I realise that we are five minutes late! Five minutes? I must admit I don’t really care about the train being late. I am just glad that I have arrived, finally, in München. I get down from the train and anxiously start walking in a direction where everybody seems to be going. I see that there are quite a lot of people. I think it’s better to give him a phone call and start searching for his number on my mobile. I hear a pat on my back. It sends me a shiver down my spine, and slowly turn my head fearing that, finally, the German Bundespolizei had caught me for my innocent looks. Nope. It's not them. I see a familiar face adorned by a gentle smile, beaming an air of contentment, and a surprising flat cap – Balachandra Rao. He greets me with a warm handshake and a bear hug (although I don’t like the latter). I am amazed to find him dressed like an Englishman from the 1930s!

‘Giri, what a wonderful feeling to see you here in Bavaria. The last time I saw you was in Bangalore.’

‘Likewise, Bala. It’s nice to see you to see you nice (I like this signature line of Bruce Forsythe’s). The world is round – I was pretty optimistic that we would meet up again. It’s just phenomenal to catch up here, in Bavaria, in Munich, the adopted place of Herr Führer.’

‘Mate, I wouldn’t like to hear your impressions on Adolf Hitler. Germans would rather forget about him and so would I.’

‘Yeah, so be it. Nevertheless, have you heard of Brezel? And, can it be consumed for breakfast. I’m rather hungry. Let's get going, shall we?’

McLaren and FIA: The collaboration and the conviction

"Ferrarigate Scandal" has reached a verdict and how fair has it been? In my opinion, even though McLaren have been fined $100m and docked all the constructors championship points, they may have only been half-punished. McLaren team have been punished, yes, and the same team gave its drivers cars using which they scored umpteen points and what more: they lead the drivers championship too. How is it that the drivers weren't at an advantage using cars built by a team found guilty of spying? How is it that the drivers who had allegedly exchanged e-mails related to the aspects falling under the espionage saga had not used such vital information to their advantage? All in the name of increase in viewership and popularity FIA have made a very biased decision. Other people might think that the sport would have gone berserk if the so-called 'good competition' in this year's drivers championship was meddled with. People so easily forget how dramatic, eventful and closely fought last season's drivers championship was.

The FIA have found that the McLaren drivers have had e-mail exchanges with Coughlan on vital technical information and hence directly involved in the scam. There is little to be surprised about the McLaren drivers not being punished. After all, a British entrepreneur rules the sport and a British rookie leads the championship. Need I say more?

Absolutely disgusting.

Herr Gregory Allen Chappell... auf wiedersehen!

Being an Indian, I would have liked to have seen Greg Chappell continue as the Indian cricket coach for another couple of years, but that doesn't seem to be a practical option now, especially when there has been an air of dislike towards him after India's world cup exit.

I feel gutted when somebody says John Wright was a better coach than Greg Chappell. Agree that John Wright helped India to the cup final in 2003 and that the team achieved many important victories under him – due credit to him. One does, however, tend to forget a few things such as, a majority of the senior players then were at the prime of their career, when Dravid was voted player of the year, when Ganguly was managing a good balance between his batting and captaincy, and Tendulkar was amongst the runs. Not to mention, Laxman was having the batting form of his life. That John Wright was influential in India's success is undeniable. I could say Wright was in the right place at the right time.

After having read the recent comments made by a few of the Indian team and the staff, I really wonder how many people might have cooperated with Greg during his tenure. In fact, I find it very hard to hazard a guess as to ‘how many teams there could have been within the Indian cricket team’ – was there a mutiny? It cannot be a one-man show, nor can a single person be expected to turn things around without the cooperation of all the team players. A utopian like Greg Chappell who is forthright and believes in his principles, and more importantly, practises them will be missed dearly by cricket aficionados in India who understand cricket better without succumbing to sheer passion.

I vehemently hope, rather against hope, that sanity will take precedence in the decisions made by the Indian cricket board, by not buying into public outcry and all the speculative remarks made by the media.

Renaissance till now, Reformation... when?

Minus the veteran players -- Tendulkar, Dravid, Ganguly and Kumble -- the Indian team, albeit talented, the chances of a revival is seemingly impossible for at least another two years. So, instead of concentrating on the results in the forthcoming international tournaments, the domestic cricket scene should be the target for improvement. Unless there is a strong bench strength there won't be a fight for the place in the national team. Not all talented cricketers in the national team who arrive from domestic cricket have the mind maturity to play for the country because they are bred on the stereotypical belters.

A cricket team cannot become strong by merely possessing the so-called 'best batting lineup on paper'. There is no denial that Indian cricket has been dominated by great batsmen like Tendulkar, Dravid, etc., and that all prospective players idolise them. The question is who will bowl India to victory? Who is(are) the 'strike' bowler(s) in the current Indian team? If any, they are good only in patches. More emphasis in domestic cricket should be lain on the aspect of bowling. People should be encouraged to emulate former greats like Akram, Younis, Srinath, Donald, Warne, etc. The cricket academies should throw more light on the art of bowling. What we need is a team that looks good not only on paper but also -- more importantly -- on the field.
The Indian cricket fans need to put up with all sorts of results, however distasteful they might be, and give more time for the team to revive itself and stabilise. Not to forget, even if they turn out victorious in the early stages, people should not get carried away with it and expect them to win every single time.

Rome was not built in a day.

Relax, mate... It's just a game!

Cricket has surpassed all possible limitations in the subcontinent. Every person wants his/her national team to win, which is perfectly alright. But then again, not always can a team that plays badly on a particular can get away with it as Pakistan and India showcased last week. The best team ON THAT DAY wins the match -- that is the beauty of a SPORT, in general. Unfortunately, there always will be a few dastardly people who just cannot absorb any distasteful result; they cry out loud and cause mayhem.
I wonder what would have happened if a subcontinent team had lost a game after having amassed 430-odd runs like Australia did against South Africa last year.

Unless every 'real' cricket fan realises the folly of bringing passion and pandemonium together we are in grave danger of killing the sport.

But the question is who will swallow such a bitter pill even though it is only for the well being of the game?

White white white!

February 8th, 2007 A.D.E.
7.25am: Alarm!!!
"Ruby Ruby Ruby..." by Kaiser Chiefs.
I wake up with the FM radio on to my disgust... What a way to start the day!

First thing, have a look out the window. No, it's still dark. 'Why doesn't the sun come out in this cursed place?'. Then, I console myself, 'Mate, this is still winter and you're in the north-western part of Europe'.

Nevertheless, I finish my daily routine and manage to leave the flat at 8.38am (pretty early, for a change!). Oh no... 'Phileas' just passes by, and the time is still 8.43am! Understandably, I get absolutely annoyed, as usual, 'The driver doesn't have time sense. The bus was supposed to come to Piazza at 8.44am'. Anyway, I have to wait for another flaming fifteen minutes. With ample time in hand, I take a stroll to the Station NS. I look up, watch the 'temperatuur display' on the Rabobank. Blimey! Can't believe my eyes... it is freezing -2 degrees celsius. Well, that is a surprise. (little did I know that another surprise was on the cards!)

There is another Phileas, slightly 'meowing' (believe it or not, it makes such a feline noise). I say 'Hallo' (see, I have learnt the Dutch way of expressing interjections!) to the bushy-moustached driver and he acknowledges with a broad smile; just another 'nice and polite Dutch bloke'. 8.57am and the Phileas starts meowing and moving. Yet another uneventful journey to bear with, and the bus slows down on the 'Luchthavenweg' (Lucht+haven+weg = air+port+way) and finally stops alongside the board bearing the name "Eindhoven Airport". Alas, I am not going to travel any further, at least not for the moment.

No sooner did I get down from the bus than something out of the ordinary happened. Heavens! I mean, the heavens have opened! My wait for over two months is over. No 'Snow White and the seven dwarfs', but it is for real... As the Met office later announced, 5 centimetres of Sneeuw, as it is known in Dutch! Prachtig!

The Legend of the Black Beard

An artist's imagination of one of the greatest pirates that ever lived, Captain Edward Teach, more popular as the "Black Beard". He ruled the seas on the coasts of the Carribean during the early part of the eighteenth century. He was a man of very high dignity. More than wealth, he wanted his name to be inscribed in the annals of history. He wanted to be remembered forever as a great adventurer that once threatened the British colonies along the south-eastern part of north America. And so did it happen.
Inspired by a television programme on BBC One.