Wise thinks, wiser acts.
This is what a friend told me few months ago and now the time has really come to act. After passing through another phase of prolonged procrastination and realizing that I have again been wasting my time by literally doing nothing I feel an immediate need to work. I sometimes fear that this laziness which has always been my dominant characteristic is intruding all spheres of my life. I fear that if I don't work now, I would actually lose the desire to work at all. Thus, I would now curb my natural instincts and would do things that I have been hitherto avoiding out of indolence. The real push came today morning when I got a call from my thesis supervisor asking me about how much progress have I made in writing thesis. I have asked him for two more days to finish writing the problem statement and the algorithm. Once I am done with that, I would then proceed to literature survey to provide the context and importance of my work. And this time for a change, there won't be any procrastination. This is a promise that I have made to myself.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
A Cycle Trip
There are two images from the cycle trip which I took from my campus to the Ganga ghat at Bithoor which stand out among the rest. The first is of a narrow road which took off from the road on which we were cycling, for a place which I can only imagine. It was one of the few roads which shot off from this road. The two sides of that road were both lined by the trees. After a short distance that road turned right and got lost in the trees. It was the kind of road that gives you an impression of a village in a country side. Not the regular Indian villages with water on streets, open sewers and broken homes. But the ones with homes located at distance from each other on large sloppy grassy fields with some cattle grazing at some distances and dark woods up on the slopes. Did it remind you of the landscapes that you used to draw when you were a child ? The only thing that is missing from the scene is the river which passes passes through the village.
The second image is that of a home that I saw on my way. There was nothing particularly remarkable about this home. On a normal day I might have passed without even noticing it. But in the quietness of that cool early summer morning I did notice it. It was a modest house with an elevated facade, without a porch with windows opening directly on the road. From the door which was open I could see the interior of the house. There probably weren't any air conditioners or coolers but the home looked cozy enough. The shelves were open and there might have been a bed in the living room. There was something about the house that gave a very homely feeling. Its not possible for me to say what was it that evoked such feelings but I think we all have certain aesthetic notions and the things which are close to these notions appeal to us.
View of Ganga from a temple on the ghat
On a whole the 33 km trip was entirely worth the efforts that it took. Most part of our route passed through quiet and green neighborhood of Mandhana. Any change from the chaos of the city life is always welcome and refreshing. We will probably make another such trip. And this time I definitely intend to see where does that road go.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Another Disastrous Campaign
It was another day of mediocre and gutless cricket by the Indian team which has left its fans disappointed and has thrown it on the verge of exit from the T20 world cup which is being held at West Indies. The performance of the team is reminiscent of the last T20 world cup which was held in England ten months back. While the setting has changed the actors and their performances remain the same. It seems that the Indian team has learned nothing from its past mistakes. Players have again been caught off guard against the short pitched deliveries. The team which boasts of one of the most vibrant and explosive batting line up on paper has again failed to meet the standards of international cricket.
While the players are definitely to be blamed for this dismal lackluster performance of the team, the BCCI is equally to be blamed with biggest culprit being the IPL. Many people have argued that IPL has actually helped in the development of cricket in India. While the privy purses that it has to offer has certainly helped certain individuals, on the whole it has just given India more number of second-rate players who have been handy in the minor skirmishes that IPL has to offer but have failed to fight the battles of the international cricket. One can only feel anguish by looking at the performances of Murli Vijay and Ravindra Jadeja who were very successful in the different versions of the IPL but have looked thoroughly incompetent in the world cup. The one and a half month of continuous cricket has also left players like Sehwag injured. The same was the case last year when India was not able to play with its full bench strength.
While flat batsmen friendly pitches and short boundaries have helped produce some very high scoring matches and have helped sell the brand IPL, they have left the batsmen unprepared for the higher levels of cricket. Also these wicket provide almost no assistance to the bowlers and have pushed them on the back foot. There are no incentives for the bowlers to bend their backs and generate pace. They are rather forced to cut the pace and to rely on variations like slow back-of-the-hand deliveries. Over the years many fast bowlers who had initially emerged as a good prospect ended up cutting their pace.
Though India would be playing the 2011 World Cup matches at home grounds to its advantage, there is still a necessity to produce more bowler conducive pitches for the domestic level cricket to help players develop their game in the long run. Lets hope that BCCI makes the necessary changes in the future because it would be emotionally tormenting to see Indian team perform in a similar manner in the future tournaments.
While the players are definitely to be blamed for this dismal lackluster performance of the team, the BCCI is equally to be blamed with biggest culprit being the IPL. Many people have argued that IPL has actually helped in the development of cricket in India. While the privy purses that it has to offer has certainly helped certain individuals, on the whole it has just given India more number of second-rate players who have been handy in the minor skirmishes that IPL has to offer but have failed to fight the battles of the international cricket. One can only feel anguish by looking at the performances of Murli Vijay and Ravindra Jadeja who were very successful in the different versions of the IPL but have looked thoroughly incompetent in the world cup. The one and a half month of continuous cricket has also left players like Sehwag injured. The same was the case last year when India was not able to play with its full bench strength.
While flat batsmen friendly pitches and short boundaries have helped produce some very high scoring matches and have helped sell the brand IPL, they have left the batsmen unprepared for the higher levels of cricket. Also these wicket provide almost no assistance to the bowlers and have pushed them on the back foot. There are no incentives for the bowlers to bend their backs and generate pace. They are rather forced to cut the pace and to rely on variations like slow back-of-the-hand deliveries. Over the years many fast bowlers who had initially emerged as a good prospect ended up cutting their pace.
Though India would be playing the 2011 World Cup matches at home grounds to its advantage, there is still a necessity to produce more bowler conducive pitches for the domestic level cricket to help players develop their game in the long run. Lets hope that BCCI makes the necessary changes in the future because it would be emotionally tormenting to see Indian team perform in a similar manner in the future tournaments.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
A lonely moment
No matter how engaging the hostel life is with all the friends to chat with, internet to waste time on, books to read and occasional work to be done, there are times when I dearly miss my mother. Times like this when I am writing this post. I just so want to talk to her now but she must have gone to sleep by this time.
I sometimes miss those school days when she used to scold me for not studying. I miss her timely satires and sarcasms. I wish she could be around me to scold me when I am idling around. I wish she could be around pecking me when I am wasting myself. I wish she could be around me so that I could sleep with my head on her laps.
I sometimes miss those school days when she used to scold me for not studying. I miss her timely satires and sarcasms. I wish she could be around me to scold me when I am idling around. I wish she could be around pecking me when I am wasting myself. I wish she could be around me so that I could sleep with my head on her laps.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Hundred Rupee Note
The only luxury that he had ever had in his short life was a pair of sneakers that he had found abandoned near a garbage dump. And even that didn’t come by so easily. Of all the people who were passing by from there at that time, street dogs barked at him and chased him. Even they had a sense of whom to pick. His indigence and vulnerability were equally apparent to animals as to human beings.
Mind at birth is a blank slate. What becomes of a man is the outcome of what is written on that slate in the formative years by people known and unknown and what is etched on the slate by the incidents to which voluntarily or involuntarily he becomes a party. Fortunately for the boy, the writings on his slate were honourable. He had remained unknown to deceit and deception. He wanted to make an honest living. But earning a livelihood in that small town was not all that easy. Many of the men like his father were forced to go to the city leaving their family behind. Sometimes months passed by without family hearing any news from their boys and men.
From the center of the town passed a highway. Some shops had sprung up along it. Most of them catered to the travellers which passed by in buses, jeeps and trucks. This had actually become an economy in itself. Not far from these shops was the village Mandi. The vegetables and fruits which were brought from nearby villages or towns were sold there.
Few months ago, the boy got a job in one of the shops. His task was to sell water bottles to the passengers in the buses which stopped there. The more bottles he sold, the more commission he would get. Other shopkeepers had also employed boys of his age. Whenever a bus would stop, all the boys would start hovering around it, shouting at the top of their voices, looking into the eyes of the people sitting inside.
There were all kinds of people to deal with. Some of them would just ask for the price. Some other would even try to negotiate it. Some did it out of habit while others did it for fun. Some people would return the bottle saying it wasn’t cold while some other would still purchase it while cursing him. Sometimes the driver would start the bus before he received a payment and then he would run along with the bus to get it. Once a man acted like paying him but ditched him at the end seeing that he would not be able to catch the bus. One other time, the person just dropped the money out of the window.
But in all these months he never entered a bus. On his first day he had seen a boy being shouted at by the driver. That event had set uneasiness in him which he was not able to overcome. All other boys would enter the bus but he would not.
One evening when a bus stopped and while he was busy shouting, he saw something dropped from the bag of a man who was entering the bus. He picked it up and found that it was a purse. Immediately, as though driven by an impulse, he entered the bus for the first time looking for the man. He reached out to him and returned him his purse. He was given a hundred rupee note by the person as a reward for his honesty. But what the boy remembered most was the reaction of the people inside the bus as he returned the purse. That made him happy. That evening another incident was scribbled on his slate.
The boy had never possessed that much money in his life and that is why he was very careful to guard his newfound treasure. He kept that note with him all the time. In his free time, he made plans on how to spend that money. He once thought to give it to his mother but was soon overcome by his own desires. For once in his life, he wanted to pamper himself.
He had always thought about watching the movie in the only theatre that their town had. But he didn’t like the idea of paying all that money for a movie. After all he could watch them sometimes on the TV in the shop. He had always had a desire to taste a chocolate. He felt that it would give him a new taste, something different from any other taste that he had had or would possibly have. He thought of deciding what to do with the rest of the money after eating a chocolate.
So he went to the shop and asked his master for a chocolate. Before his master could say anything he put forward his note eagerly. The master knew that there was no way the boy could have got that much money. He thought that the boy had stolen that money from his shop. So he snatched the note from the boy and slapped him. Indifferent to the wailings and explanations, he scolded him, hurled abuses at him and told him never to come back.
The boy stood there for some time crying silently all the while. He found other boys looking at him. So he went back to his home to his mother. Another incident was scribbled on his slate.
Mind at birth is a blank slate. What becomes of a man is the outcome of what is written on that slate in the formative years by people known and unknown and what is etched on the slate by the incidents to which voluntarily or involuntarily he becomes a party. Fortunately for the boy, the writings on his slate were honourable. He had remained unknown to deceit and deception. He wanted to make an honest living. But earning a livelihood in that small town was not all that easy. Many of the men like his father were forced to go to the city leaving their family behind. Sometimes months passed by without family hearing any news from their boys and men.
From the center of the town passed a highway. Some shops had sprung up along it. Most of them catered to the travellers which passed by in buses, jeeps and trucks. This had actually become an economy in itself. Not far from these shops was the village Mandi. The vegetables and fruits which were brought from nearby villages or towns were sold there.
Few months ago, the boy got a job in one of the shops. His task was to sell water bottles to the passengers in the buses which stopped there. The more bottles he sold, the more commission he would get. Other shopkeepers had also employed boys of his age. Whenever a bus would stop, all the boys would start hovering around it, shouting at the top of their voices, looking into the eyes of the people sitting inside.
There were all kinds of people to deal with. Some of them would just ask for the price. Some other would even try to negotiate it. Some did it out of habit while others did it for fun. Some people would return the bottle saying it wasn’t cold while some other would still purchase it while cursing him. Sometimes the driver would start the bus before he received a payment and then he would run along with the bus to get it. Once a man acted like paying him but ditched him at the end seeing that he would not be able to catch the bus. One other time, the person just dropped the money out of the window.
But in all these months he never entered a bus. On his first day he had seen a boy being shouted at by the driver. That event had set uneasiness in him which he was not able to overcome. All other boys would enter the bus but he would not.
One evening when a bus stopped and while he was busy shouting, he saw something dropped from the bag of a man who was entering the bus. He picked it up and found that it was a purse. Immediately, as though driven by an impulse, he entered the bus for the first time looking for the man. He reached out to him and returned him his purse. He was given a hundred rupee note by the person as a reward for his honesty. But what the boy remembered most was the reaction of the people inside the bus as he returned the purse. That made him happy. That evening another incident was scribbled on his slate.
The boy had never possessed that much money in his life and that is why he was very careful to guard his newfound treasure. He kept that note with him all the time. In his free time, he made plans on how to spend that money. He once thought to give it to his mother but was soon overcome by his own desires. For once in his life, he wanted to pamper himself.
He had always thought about watching the movie in the only theatre that their town had. But he didn’t like the idea of paying all that money for a movie. After all he could watch them sometimes on the TV in the shop. He had always had a desire to taste a chocolate. He felt that it would give him a new taste, something different from any other taste that he had had or would possibly have. He thought of deciding what to do with the rest of the money after eating a chocolate.
So he went to the shop and asked his master for a chocolate. Before his master could say anything he put forward his note eagerly. The master knew that there was no way the boy could have got that much money. He thought that the boy had stolen that money from his shop. So he snatched the note from the boy and slapped him. Indifferent to the wailings and explanations, he scolded him, hurled abuses at him and told him never to come back.
The boy stood there for some time crying silently all the while. He found other boys looking at him. So he went back to his home to his mother. Another incident was scribbled on his slate.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Old Storyteller
Every time the bus hit a pit, he could sense every nut and bolt vibrating. The whole structure just looked so fragile as if it could come down crumbling at any moment. All those years of journeying on the road had really taken a toll on the machine which had embraced it from its birth. Time and again, there would form a cloud of dust through which it would come out triumphant.
Inside, he sat restlessly counting every second. The smoke, sweat and dust had concocted to give a stifling ambiance. Every now and then, he kept licking his lips. The water in his bottle was hot and just couldn't quench his thirst. There was not even a single bird or animal to be seen outside. All that could be seen were some shrubs by the road side. And then there were these milestones.
"These summers can sometimes get onto your nerves. Drink some water."
He shifted his gaze from the window to look at the old man sitting beside him who had just offered him some water. The first thing he noticed about the man were his hard yellow nails. Had it not been for the water droplets which were sticking tenaciously to the surface of the container, he might have humbly denied the offer. He didn't like to familiarize with the strangers. But .the thirst got the better of him. As he drank he could feel every gulp of water going down his throat.
His thanks was greeted by a smile. A smile so genuine that it overshadowed the redness of tobacco and the cracked lips through which it emerged. The white hair, wrinkled skin and the eyes delivered a kind and gentle visage. It was his eyes that had beguiled him. The eyes of an old man.The eyes that had aged with him. Even his eyelids could not hide the world that those eyes had seen.
The happiness that he was exuding belied his appearance. He was not a man of great wealth but he looked as satisfied as the wealthiest. The summer heat had not had any effect on him. He was a man of this desert.
As they travelled he told him about the terrain. And about the anecdotes peculiar to the desert. In his rustic vernacular he told him about the tree with the strings tied to its every branch. And about the temple with the orange flag on a distant hill, about the well which never dries. Even the time had stopped to hear him speak, reminiscing the past to which it was witness.
It was remarkable how that seemingly common man had etched his existence in his memory. After sometime his stop came and he stepped down. And ahead he went towards his destination to meet some more strangers, to build another memory.
Inside, he sat restlessly counting every second. The smoke, sweat and dust had concocted to give a stifling ambiance. Every now and then, he kept licking his lips. The water in his bottle was hot and just couldn't quench his thirst. There was not even a single bird or animal to be seen outside. All that could be seen were some shrubs by the road side. And then there were these milestones.
"These summers can sometimes get onto your nerves. Drink some water."
He shifted his gaze from the window to look at the old man sitting beside him who had just offered him some water. The first thing he noticed about the man were his hard yellow nails. Had it not been for the water droplets which were sticking tenaciously to the surface of the container, he might have humbly denied the offer. He didn't like to familiarize with the strangers. But .the thirst got the better of him. As he drank he could feel every gulp of water going down his throat.
His thanks was greeted by a smile. A smile so genuine that it overshadowed the redness of tobacco and the cracked lips through which it emerged. The white hair, wrinkled skin and the eyes delivered a kind and gentle visage. It was his eyes that had beguiled him. The eyes of an old man.The eyes that had aged with him. Even his eyelids could not hide the world that those eyes had seen.
The happiness that he was exuding belied his appearance. He was not a man of great wealth but he looked as satisfied as the wealthiest. The summer heat had not had any effect on him. He was a man of this desert.
As they travelled he told him about the terrain. And about the anecdotes peculiar to the desert. In his rustic vernacular he told him about the tree with the strings tied to its every branch. And about the temple with the orange flag on a distant hill, about the well which never dries. Even the time had stopped to hear him speak, reminiscing the past to which it was witness.
It was remarkable how that seemingly common man had etched his existence in his memory. After sometime his stop came and he stepped down. And ahead he went towards his destination to meet some more strangers, to build another memory.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Hockey World Cup
Thanks to all the advertising by Hero Honda, there has been a surge in hockey watchers in India, both inside and outside the stadium. For a change, people could be seen talking about hockey. But after 3 consecutive defeats for the Indian team, the enthusiasm plunged. People had build very high expectations from the team after the hosts defeated Pakistan in their first game.
Considering the fact that team India is ranked 10th in the hockey, I really found their performance good. Their defense against Australia and Spain was sluggish which costed them huge defeats. But except for that, the team performed reasonably well. For a team which has historically depended on dribbling than on pace, the team adapted well to the newer ways. And I personally feel that Indian fans should rejoice the performance of the team. The team is learning and improving quickly. The coach Jose Brasa has done some really good work but it would take some time before standards of team can match those of nations like Holland, Germany and Australia. After all years of neglect and mis-management of the sport can't be undone overnight.
After all these months of cricket, it was quite a refreshing change to watch a new sport. I do occasionally watch lawn tennis and sometimes football, but after watching the recent matches, I liked hockey better. After all its our sport though shadowed by the influence of cricket in subcontinent. But I believe that if promoted well, hockey has the potential to grab attention of the people. The game is fast and with 70 minutes playing time and 90 minutes running time, it can fit well into the prime time zone. Lets hope that even after the world cup, the game continues to retain the attention that it has lately got.
Considering the fact that team India is ranked 10th in the hockey, I really found their performance good. Their defense against Australia and Spain was sluggish which costed them huge defeats. But except for that, the team performed reasonably well. For a team which has historically depended on dribbling than on pace, the team adapted well to the newer ways. And I personally feel that Indian fans should rejoice the performance of the team. The team is learning and improving quickly. The coach Jose Brasa has done some really good work but it would take some time before standards of team can match those of nations like Holland, Germany and Australia. After all years of neglect and mis-management of the sport can't be undone overnight.
After all these months of cricket, it was quite a refreshing change to watch a new sport. I do occasionally watch lawn tennis and sometimes football, but after watching the recent matches, I liked hockey better. After all its our sport though shadowed by the influence of cricket in subcontinent. But I believe that if promoted well, hockey has the potential to grab attention of the people. The game is fast and with 70 minutes playing time and 90 minutes running time, it can fit well into the prime time zone. Lets hope that even after the world cup, the game continues to retain the attention that it has lately got.
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