"Dad, I'm just calling to let you know that I'm a millionaire."

 Most 18 year olds dream of becoming millionaires over their lifetimes. Yashasvi Jaiswal is not your regular 18 year old. 

When the coronavirus was just a whisper in the corridors of power, young Yashasvi was busy accumulating runs on his way to a Player of the Series trophy in the acclaimed Under-19 Cricket World Cup held in South Africa, over the months of January and February 2020. This is the same tournament that has paved the way for cricketing stalwarts like Prithvi Shaw, Yuvraj Singh and even our current Indian captain, Virat Kohli. His presence amongst such august company is a testament to his unflappable focus and tremendous determination in the face of adversity. 

As a young cricketer blessed with some natural talent, the road to success usually takes a detour to the city of dreams, Mumbai. And so begins the story of this particular cricketer. Born in the town of Suriyawan, Uttar Pradesh, 10 year old Yashaswi convinced his father to take him to Mumbai to hone his skills on the maidans that have produced innumerable sons of the game that have gone on to make the country proud. He was put up in a room above a bakery, working on the premises part-time in order to pay the rent. But numerous time consuming practice sessions threw a spanner in the works, and Yashasvi was relegated to the curb. 

The mean streets of Mumbai bring even the hardiest men to their knees, but Yashaswi put his head down and soldiered on. He decided to lodge with the groundsmen of the renowned Azad Maidan in canvas tents, giving him easy access to the cricket pitch. People say that man can sleep hungry, only if his heart is full, and this holds true in the case of Yashaswi. Forced to sell pani-puri by the roadside to make ends meet, he did not let his hand to mouth existence deter him from giving his all on the cricket pitch. On the maidans that see seasoned veterans struggling to put bat on ball, Yashaswi played with a fluency that astonished those that watched him play. Fortunately for the young batsman, amongst the audience was Jwala Singh, the coach and founder of the Mumbai Cricket Club. He spotted the raw talent in this strapping lad, and saw in him the potential to play at the highest level. He took Yashaswi under his wing, adding tools to his arsenal to help elevate his standard of play. 

He was catapulted into the limelight in 2014, and the Limca Record Books, for his marathon knock of 319 runs and breathtaking figures of 13/99 in the same match at the Giles Shields Cup, at the age of 12. Since then, there has been no looking back. This innings paved the way for his selection into the squad for the Under-19 Youth Asia Cup where he top scored with 318 runs in the tournament. Yashasvi continued to break records with reckless abandon, becoming the youngest List A cricketer in the world to score a double century, achieving the feat in the Vijay Hazare trophy, in 2019. The national selectors sat up and took notice of this youngster taking the cricket scene by storm, picking him for the Under-19 World Cup, where the rest, as they say, is history. 

But Yashaswi’s story doesn’t end there. He was included in the pool of players for the IPL auction in 2020, and was signed by the Rajasthan Royals for a whopping 2.4 crore Rupees, culminating a bidding war that included IPL powerhouses Kolkata Knight Riders and Kings XI Punjab. In a country where rags ever so rarely become riches, a roadside pani-puri vendor surpassed his wildest dreams and became royalty. 

Beggin'

 Reality is a horror story

Scored with a haunting melody

Life is cruel, people claim

A dog eat dog world!

The law of the jungle!

A jungle, yes, of concrete monoliths 

Peopled by cold, unfeeling machines

A man is on the street 

Hunched under the relentless rain 

Hand outstretched, pride dead in his acidic stomach

It's his fault, of course, rustle the Chinese whispers

Why can't he stand on his own feet, as I do, they declare

Riding past on the backs of their ancestors, 

A cocoon of privilege, wrapped like a kashmere scarf

A woman is on the street 

Draped in the colours of the world

Hand outstretched, a prayer on her lips

It's his choice, of course, the sheep bleat

Why can't he be like the rest of us, normal, they wonder 

Putting on their blinkers of prejudice,

A mask of conformity, designed by the factories of intolerance

A child is on the street

Armed with an infection smile

Hand outstretched, eyes blind to the cold world

It's his luck, of course, the sound echoes 

Why isn't he in school like the rest of us, happy, they question 

Stepping over the gates on their high horse,

A wall of entitlement, separating us and them 

Humanity is on the street, 

Trampled by our indifference

Hand outstretched, begging for our attention

It's not my problem, of course, mankind implores

Why can't you look away like the rest of us, selfish, they grumble

Making their way into their ivory towers, 

A nail in the coffin, man, woman and child buried under six feet of apathy. 

Choose.

Life sputtered into existence

Crawled out of an evolutionary cesspool 
Or draped itself on Michaelangelo's canvas
A miracle akin water to wine
Choose.

Life fused into existence
Love's culmination, seeds of joy
Blooming, growing, fighting
XX or X Why
Choose.

Life laughed into existence
Disdain for convention, apparent
Music, for the soul
Doctor, without a begging bowl
Choose.

Life rose into existence
Summits, a child's play
Woman. Entrepreneur. CEO?
But what will people say?
Choose.

Life plummeted into existentialism
Knocking on death's door
Weeping, questioning
Do we choose to live,
Or live to
Choose?

X and why?

A soul, driven to endure
Cards of irretrievable fate dealt
Weaving molecular connections
Of infinite curiosity

Princesses, in castles, not
Taught of Prince Harming
Who stalked women, as deer
Prey hunted, lacking fear

With trodden maturity
Age, a hidden Whisper
Volume, hair synonymous
As opinions, unheard

Romance was futility
Bliss, ignorant
Flowers bloomed to wither
Men, born to lie

A pedestal for love
Broken by passion
Women and sex?
Utterly Fucking Ostentatious

Columns written, unafraid
Feminist pen capped
Thought crime was Orwellian
1984, averted

Finally,
The wait was over.
The future,
Arrived.

10 Reasons Why An Appendectomy Is The Perfect Vacation You Never Thought Of

Disclaimer : This comprehensive list may leave you in literal (and/or; proverbial) stitches. Please consult your nearest medical student before reading.

While the title of this clickbait-esque piece promises actionable results, you will notice that the effort required to achieve them is conspicuously absent (as such things usually go). This is where you are in luck, as the only effort an appendectomy requires of you is the patience of dealing with doing nothing all day. Also, mind-numbing pain with every breath, cough and sneeze. But let's focus on the positives.

Now that it has been established that I have lost my marbles (appendix, actually), bear with me as I chronicle why this might be the perfect vacation you have never thought of.

1. Surprise!

    What transports you from enjoying a quiet post-exam/conference weekend to a writhing mass of uncontrolled pain and anguish in a matter of minutes? Suicide Squad. Appendicitis comes a close second. The unpredictable element of this disease was demonstrated remarkably in my case. One moment I was dancing to the tunes of DJ Wala Babu in our college basement (no h8 plox), and 48 hours later, I'm in a hospital bed using flowery language to "converse" with the nursing staff. This also goes to prove that there is a correlation between terrible Hindi music and life-threatening health conditions.

2. Don't hate the player, hate the game.

   You'll be happy to know that you can do absolutely nothing to prevent the onset of appendicitis. While this is generally not something to be pleased about, in the context of the shitstorm of blame that will inevitably follow, you're entirely free of liability. Your boss/principal has to find another outlet for all that frustration building up from the bevy of atrocious DC offerings. Please remember that this is coming from a sleep deprived 2nd year medical student, so my word is go'spiel'.
 
3. Emergency life-saver

   An appendectomy is an emergency life-saving procedure. Is that quarterly review taking too long or will that Professor just never shut up or do you want to leave in the middle of Suicide Squad without seeming like a DC hater?! Keeling over holding your belly screaming 'Oh, my appendix', will probably smoothly extricate you from these situations without any fuss. Easy as spelling Laparoscopic Appendectomy.

4. VLCC, who?

  Prior and post an appendectomy, you are required to maintain NBM (nil by mouth), which is basically medical slang to prevent you from shoving absolutely anything down your throat. It also happens to be fantastic life advice for some people. No, I'm not insinuating anything, orally or otherwise. Back to the meat of this point, I was starved for nearly 3 days, losing all that puppy fat I hadn't accumulated over the years.When everyone who comes to visit just wants to fatten you up, you know you've achieved that beach body you've (I've) wanted since you were 13. Moreover, they're removing a part of your intestine. Lose-lose.

5. Wet Dreams

  You read that right. Putting it as indelicately as possible, you're not allowed to get your stitches wet, so enter sponge baths. The hot nurse that induced law-suit inviting thoughts in your head has to rub you down, from head to toe, with soapy warm water.... Or you could get as lucky as I was and land yourself a middle aged mustachioed man who will make you wish that the anesthesia had never worn off. But remember children, man lives to hope. For sponge baths. From hot nurses. Always.

6. The one with the morphine

  "All the world's in pain, and all the men and women have morphine". - Snoop Lion Samhita

 The weekend has arrived, all your dealers are in jail, and you really want to give Mary Jane some company. Fear not, an appendectomy is the one stop shop for all your higher priorities. Get yourself some of that really good stuff, on demand. For everybody who thinks Mary Jane is/was Spiderman's girlfriend, that's exactly what I meant.

7. 1 month your slave(s)

  You are not allowed to lift, bend, push, pull, run, cough, sneeze, breathe etc etc for atleast 2 weeks post surgery. Any indication of work being delegated to you can be met with a hand to your stitches, a wince of agony and a soft "It's okay, I'll work through the pain", and watch how everyone scurries about trying to put you out of your misery. Work it well, and you can milk it for a solid 4 weeks. Who thought that the answer to an overbearing boss, nagging spouse and lazy colleagues is a bandaged abdomen and theatrical ability.

8. Free Lunch

"Mujhe appendix do, main tumhe medical certificate doonga." - Dr. Tilak, Azaadi Hospital

There is something called a free lunch, despite what Jessica Pearson says. The insurance pays your hospital bills, you get paid leave from work. If you discount the fact that you might not actually be able to eat lunch for a while, you have yourself a technically sound freebie. Not so often that life throws you one of those, and all you have to give up is your appendix. Let it go.

9. Bragging Rights

Who wouldn't want a chance to say Joker's iconic dialogue "Do you wanna know how I got these scars?" and mean it? Bill Weasley had them on his face. Al Pacino was called Scarface. Scars are cool. And also nearly invisible in the case of most appendectomy procedures. So if you have a prominent scar after your appendectomy, please go to the doctor. It's infected. And potentially life threatening. Do not use this as a pick up line. All you will be picking up is the hospital bill.

10. LOL.

 Lots of love, duh. Your laughs out loud will be limited to the virtual realm till your stitches are removed, unless you want to spill your guts everywhere. Every colleague/friend that you may/ may not know exist and their sister will use you as an excuse to get out of dates, engagements, watching Suicide Squad etc. You'll never want for company and everyone leaves when it starts getting awkward. It's the perfect party scene that you'll never have.

While these 10 reasons might seem highly convincing arguments to embark on this journey, I don't recommend googling the symptoms and definitely do not advise faking them at your convenience. Anybody who does wish to employ such methods must keep in mind that this is a single use excuse and hence, must contemplate it's effectiveness before execution.

Well, what are you waiting for? The change that you've been waiting for, conveniently, comes from within.

So fake it till they take it.












 

When life gives you lemons...

When life gives you lemons...

I googled this phrase the other day, wondering how it actually ended, and as quite often with the internet, I wasn't disappointed. If you have a citrus fetish, or feeling a little thirsty, you're better off drinking a glass of lemonade than reading this article. Maybe not. 

Yahoo, which has deigned itself to be my default search engine by some mystical alignment of the stars (there is a joke about love hiding in this sentence somewhere) and a measure of laziness, declared some possible endings to this phrase, which have no roots in literary fact, but are nonetheless absolutely profound. I shall list some of my favourites below, along with the philosophical significance they don't hold in my (your) life. 

1. When life gives you lemons, make grape juice. 

       

      On first glance, you'll probably dismiss this as a waste of a stranger's time and grey matter (and your own), but pause just a moment and you'll realise that grape juice might just bring all the boys to the yard, after all. But from a philosophical stand point, and this is what this piece is all about, anon #1 is encouraging you to not just think out of the box, but to rid yourself of the box entirely, which is not bad advice entirely. Refer to Schrodinger's cat for reasoning. Also, if you succeeded in making grape juice from lemons, then congratulations, you just made Prof, McGonagall a very happy person. You have received an 'O' in your OWL. 

 2. When life gives you lemons, start a lemon orchard and then use all of your lemon money to buy a lime orchard, beginning your citrus monopoly.

    Quite straightforward financial advice. From an anonymous source. On the internet. Nothing can go wrong. Nothing. But if your mind is set on potential financial suicide, then go on, I'll prepare a convincing noose. What anon #2 has concealed so very well in mundane finance, is a motivational speech, which touches on exploring your potential as a citrus magnate, which fits right in with every child's dream of infinite lemonade. If the words touch and child in the same sentence made you feel uncomfortable, you might want to see a psychiatrist. Immediately.

All citrus fruit investments are subject to market risk. Please do not read anything on this article before investing.

3. When life gives you melons, you have dyslexia.

   You might have read that right, which means there's something wrong with you. Or you might have read that wrong, which means you might have dyslexia. Confused? Me too. But I'm writing this piece. Anon #3 is quite the social activist, what with slipping dyslexia awareness into a joke. Or he/she has quite a sick sense of humor, because how makes fun of dyslexics? Oops.

That concludes our brief (but profitable?) foray into the realm of citrus philosophy. Thank you for spending, what Word Counter says should take you two minutes to read. Not accounting for dyslexia. Oops.



... you might want to thank your dealer, because that was some quality stuff. Wink.

Ajab Internet Ki Ghazab Kahani

  We, Indians, are an amusing lot. If you've noticed, whenever a discussion about foreign presence in a country comes up, you can bank on an Indian proudly saying, "Eh, you know, India has never invaded any country, like ever.", while casually engaging in sexism, misogyny, communal unrest and female infanticide in the same breath. We, Indians, are an amusing lot. We are a country that gives directions based on time and movable landmarks. I can imagine an Indian giving directions to go to Mars, "Haan, go straight up for around 3 minutes, you'll see a big ball of fire on your right, no no, don't go there, take the free left and keep going for 300 days."

But the thing that gets me everytime is the way we categorize our internet. As a college student of all of 10 months, and as an NRI enjoying infamous speeds back home, the thing that breaks us first, if diarrheoa doesn't do it, is the agonizingly slow college wifi. It is not uncommon to find a student ensconed in a cupboard or perched on a shelf, because '3 bars bro'. As getting a separate internet connection in a hostel is a laughable fantasy, we avail the concept of an internet dongle. Facing dire straits, I found myself in the office of a local internet service provider, you know, because the internet is too slow for "Skype".

The following is a real life, albeit slightly exaggerated, incident. (Names have been withheld due to fear for life after recent Vyapam Scam incidents.)

"Sir, you are a college student?", to which the answer unfailingly is yes. Smiling as a Muslim smiles at a goat on Bakri Eid, he reached for a box on the shelf.
"Sir, this is the best offer for college students, 20 GB unlimited internet, one month validity, 9.8 MBps speed, just for Rs.999". I was dumbfounded. Unlimited internet for a month at that speed for a 1000 bucks? Surely, there was a catch. But, of course.
"So, I get unlimited internet for a month for Rs.999?".
"No Sir, 20 GB unlimited internet." Trying to wrap my head around having '20 GB' and 'unlimited' in the same sentence, I put forth the following reasonable conclusion.
"So, you're saying this offer is for 20 GB for one month at Rs.999."
"Yes, Sir, 10 GB unlimited morning, 10 GB unlimited night." Now, he was just playing with his food. I wondered what sheer confusion tasted like.
"But you said 20 GB?"
"Yes, Sir, this offer is for 20 GB unlimited internet, one month validity, 9.8 MBps speed, 10 GB morning, 10 GB night, just for Rs.999." At that point, Inception seemed to make more sense, so I just gave up, and called a friendly senior ( Yes, they do exist), who assured me that it was what I indeed wanted. I purchased said internet package and bolted before further assaults could be made on my intelligence.
And scene.

For my readers, who might be wondering if I didn't belong in a mental instituion, let me translate what just happened, with experience gained in hindsight. What, our dear friend, the internet salesman, meant was that the internet package would avail me to 20 GB of data at a speed of 9.8 MBps for a month, after which the speed would be regulated to certain pre-determined, much slower, limits. I still haven't figured out the 10 GB morning-night deal, but let me assure you it does not come with a complimentary breakfast.

What is now an amusing anecdote, is a prevalent scene across India. Seeing huge billboards advertising the very same 'Limited data, unlimited internet' is not uncommon. Fellow NRIs and other unsuspecting Indians, this is what it means. You are welcome.

It also provides us with an answer to the quintessential Indian question.
"Kitna deti hai?"
"20 GB unlimited internet, one month validity, 9.8 MBps speed, 10 GB morning, 10 GB night, Sir!"

Jaago, Grahak, Jaago!

AIPMT – The Entrance Exam Extravaganza

May 4^th marked an important (read : career deciding, life ruining etc etc) day for medical aspirants (me too!) nationwide. While being Star Wars day, it also played host to the All India Pre-Medical Test, an exam which enables one to get into premier (or so they say) Govt. and private medical institutions (or institutes) across the country.  

It was quite the festival for smart people; I was sharing my exam centre with around five to six THOUSAND students, most fresh out of school and raring to go forth to decide their lives. No amount of man power is enough to successfully discipline so many young adults, and quite surely, mayhem ensued even prior to our entry into the exam hall. The girls outnumbered the guys three to one; I really don’t see where the problem with the sex ratio is.  

What is a day in India without a strike or a dharna called? Incomplete. But not the 4^th of May. Mid-way through our exam, our ears were met with the sounds of loud hollering and general chaos. The purpose of the demonstration is something only Morgan Freeman knows, but the vociferous chanting soon fizzled out and died, akin to the rains in B’lore, leaving us to write our exams in relative peace.

An entrance exam in India is a family affair, extending to joint families even, with grandpas tottering around with walking sticks a fairly uncommon sight. Some turned it into a family outing, with my uncle alleging that he definitely saw some picnic mats and elaborate luncheons. Groceries and local eateries, in and around the centre, probably had the best business day of the year. The auto-drivers had a field day as well, charging outrageous amounts to anxious parents pleading with the gods of the traffic jams and such for safe passage.

An entrance exam affords one an opportunity to observe at close quarters the various kinds of students that comprise your competition and your peer group through college life.  The following forms a comprehensive list as to the type of students I found at the AIPMT, and which I believe applies to most other exams :

       

      1. The Freaks and the Geeks aka Sherlock and the Rainman : 

      The former lot are like Sherlock, freaks of nature capable of solving most problems with no apparent effort,    their brain cells making impossible connections to arrive at the answer. The latter like the Rainman, have prodigious memories and/or are hard workers, committing vast amounts of information to their cranial data banks. These students are the ones, who walk in and out the exam hall, with smiles on their faces, knowing fully well that it’s their names that are going to be in the newspaper.

          2. The Starks of Entrancehell :

This is where the junta (me too!) resides. The students with above-average intellect and moderate preparation who fervently hope that what they haven’t studied won’t be tested. They can be found tucked away in quiet places, notes in hands, feverishly invoking the old gods and the new. While some of the Starks might survive, most of them will perish at the Red Wedding.

       3.The Rahul Gandhis :

Why are they writing the entrance exams? Because Mummy(or Daddy) said so. These are students who want to do journalism or arts, but whose parents want them to do a basic degree first. They are characterized by their sullen expressions, and a singular response to most questions, which may or may not be ‘Women Empowerment’.

      4. The John Watsons :

These students have already been accepted into universities abroad or at home, but are writing the exams because their friends are doing it. Moderately intelligent and loyal to a fault, they’ll be the ones with confused expressions on their faces, as they watch their friends (who may be Sherlocks) discuss theories they’ve never heard of.

All in all, writing an entrance exam in India is an unforgettable experience, one that you’ll cherish or curse to doom’s day. It’s also the place to be, if you’re looking to meet smart young adults your own age (wink wink). I’d better get back to studying (read : watching  TV shows) for my next entrance now , lest I turn into the unfortunate Rob Stark. I wish my fellow aspirants the very best of luck, and pray that they score less than I do. Just kidding. Maybe.

Take heed and bear witness - Ishwar Pandey

I seem to have underestimated the reach of my blog, because Captain Cool MSD seems to have taken heed of my fair warning and replaced Nehra straight away, leading to a mammoth 94 run win. The fact that Dwayne Bravo sustained an injury might have helped along the decision making process, but let us not lose the big picture among the details.

Humour aside, three words made the win look so easy today : Quality Pace Bowling. Taking quick wickets up front is vital in the smallest format of the game, and Ishwar Pandey, inexperienced as he might seem, delivered to perfection. It might have been beginners' luck or the DD batsmen were in the mood for a bout of catching practice (and thank god we held on to them), but only time and few more outings for the CSK will reveal the depth of his talent.

With Dwayne Bravo out of the picture, Ben Hilfenhaus was handed the baton, and I felt he was right to play second fiddle to Pandey, keeping the pressure on the batsmen and swinging the ball both ways. An economy of 4.50 in an IPL match is most definitely one to be proud of, and with a more or less guaranteed place in the side, we can expect consistent performances from the strapping Aussie.

The testimony to the rise in the class of pace bowling is the fact that MSD didn't feel the need to hand the ball to the spinners until late into the innings. The spinners just bowled 4 and half overs among them, though picking up four wickets in the process, which bucked the CSKian trend of spin spearheading the attack, as I mentioned in my previous post. This certainly bodes well for the Chennai Super Kings, who can now depend on their strike bowlers to deliver the early breakthroughs.

Ravichandran Ashwin is always a delight to watch, with his arsenal of variations and deceptions. It was quite a lovely delivery that bowled Dinesh Karthik over, which just goes to show the constancy with which Ashwin delivers. There are no words for a man who is announced to the crease as SIR Ravindra Jadeja, but that this man has delivered time and again, for both CSK and India, with both bat and ball, and there can be no replacing him.

Lastly and most importantly, this match gave us a chance to fully understand the depth of our batting line up. As my favorite commentator, Danny Morrison said,"It's all quite well for a bowler to get McCullum and Smith out, but with the likes of Raina, Faf and MSD to come in, he's got his work quite cut out." Truer words have never been spoken. When five of your batsmen have strike rates nudging 200, I think it's safe to say that batting is the least of your concerns.

This CSK win was a complete all-round victory for the side and there is only one way to go from here and that is up. Watch out for the exciting new talent that is Ishwar Pandey and some bigger wins from the Men in Yellow. Until next time, #WhistlePodu!

11 + Nehra : CSK's IPL Conundrum

The Indian Premier League (IPL) has returned to much scepticism as to whether cricket's Superbowl will retain it's massive fan following after having it's dirty laundry aired in public. Let all such doubts perish because after three matches, it has become certain that cricket's prodigal son is back with a bang. Being a ardent fan of a team that has reached the knockout stages in every single edition of the IPL, not to mention has won the coveted trophy twice, is a matter of great pride. But post today's loss to the Kings XI Punjab, who played brilliantly, a certain doubt that arose in my mind after the IPL auction was confirmed. 

CSK’s bowling has taken a hit and the initial prognosis doesn’t look good.

(Backstory rant : CSK shocked it’s fan base when it brought in ageing fast bowler Ashish Nehra, which raised questions about the mental sanctity of the bidders. The justification for this move was the bags of international experience (GHANTA!) Nehra brings with him, which includes bowling full tosses to a well set batsman in the final over of the innings (That worked once against Pakistan, mate). CSK’s official website describes Nehra as a “fast bowler with pace, accuracy and the ability to enforce subtle variations in line and length” which couldn’t be further from the truth. On a good day, Nehra clocks 135 km/hr and leaks runs at around 8 an over. Hardly a T20 stalwart. Nehra is absolute rubbish with the bat and we witnessed a fine example of his fielding prowess with that spectacular dropped catch off Maxwell.)

                                                CSK’s *ahem* acclaimed *ahem* bowling unit

Ian Bishop made a comment during today’s match which hit squarely home, “CSK’s bowling attack is headed by the likes of Ashwin and Jadeja, backed up by Nehra and Sharma.” When your spinners are touted to be spearheading your bowling attack, Houston, we have a problem. Observing the above picture, you might wonder, why doesn’t CSK simply replace Nehra with Hilfenhaus? Seems an easy enough thing to do.

Compounding CSK’s bowling woes is IPL’s four overseas player cap, which in today’s case, was utilised to field McCullum, Smith, Bravo and Faf. Now, you see Chennai’s conundrum. With their fine display of explosive hitting, replacing McCullum and Smith at the top of the order is out of question. Bravo has proven himself to be adept at accelerating at ease as well as chipping in with some handy pace bowling. The question that now remains is whether to risk replacing Faf, and break the successful CSKian trend of batting deep, or placing your trust in the likes of Nehra and Sharma to be able to successfully defend par totals. (NOT!)

If their struggle to defend a massive total of 205, is anything to go by, the latter option seems to fly out the proverbial window. But knowing Dhoni, and his extremes of conservatism and faith in struggling players (aka Yuvraj), CSK might just be heading for a first round exit, courtesy Nehra.

Well, man lives to hope, and an injured lion is your worst enemy. Let us hope that Nehra can reproduce his dream run of 2003, where full tosses were rewarded with catches and Kenya reached the Semi-finals. (LOL). Until then, #whistlepodu!

A 'Zara-hatke' Love Story.

He was devastated. She was but a few feet away, hanging precariously from a ledge, while he could do nothing about it. Or so he thought..

Their family had always been there for him. Right from the very beginning. Cleaning up after him, wiping away his tears, so on and so forth. He couldn’t have asked for much more. As he grew older, they became a shoulder to cry on, a companion in his loneliness and a source of warmth in the cold.

But this ‘family’, if you’d call them that, seemed to age differently, a lot faster than human years, and he lost many close companions, before he’d even turned five! Having any emotional attachment to them was folly, but they were so close to him all through the years, that this was nigh impossible.

Then ‘SHE’ came. ‘SHE’ was different. A ray of sunlight at the end of a long winter, heat in the midst of freezing cold. As soon as he had set his eyes on her, there had been a connection. A deep seated attachment, which would soon become much more. Always decked in blue with red polka dots, ‘SHE’ became an intergral part of his life, someone to share his joys and sorrows.

He knew that getting attached was a mistake. ‘SHE’ would soon be gone. But well, the forbidden nature of this romance, was the spark to his fire. All had gone well, until… he moved house. This had been very recent, and SHE’D obviously come with him, but the move had driven them apart. ‘SHE’ had become distant, an outsider. Thus began the problems, which brings us to the present…

He was scantily clad, down to his boxers, hot water dripping from his body. They were in a relatively dark room, a single bulb providing illumination. He looked up to see her swaying gently in a light breeze. ‘SHE’ was on the verge of slipping over the edge, and if she did, that would mean definite end. Separating them, was a three foot expanse of cold, slippery, TREACHEROUS terrain.

He stood at the threshold, a single foot dangling in the air.. Bringing it down with a sense of finality, he braced himself for the cold. It surged through him like a current, arching his back. He almost turned back to the warmth, but the thought of her drove him on. He took  step after step, shivering his teeth away in the process, while she continued to sway precariously. His arms outstretched, he could almost feel her in his arms.

Just when he thought it was all over, ‘SHE’ began to fall. Gracefully, almost floating to the ground. In a mad rush, he slipped and slid over the last foot of the ice cold ground, as she fell and fell quickly. It was an almost certain end. With a burst of speed that could only have been a lovers’, he caught her, just an inch above the ground. *WHEW* He clutched her close to his chest, feeling the warmth spread through him. A joyous reunion, and she would have cried if she could. Holding her close around him, he opened the door to a gust of wind, thankful for her warmth. He smiled and stepped out..

15 minutes later.

He lay on his bed, fully clothed and warm, his blue and red ‘TOWEL’ lying next to him. He made a mental note to ask the carpenter to install a rack closer to his bathtub. It had been so much better in the old house, a rung closeby, ‘TOWEL’ within reach. These everyday shenanigans in the cold were going to kill him. And oh most importantly, as he crinkled his nose, he realized his favourite ‘TOWEL’ needed a wash.

Planned to success.

21:30 PM

The protagonist stood, his head bowed, his feet beating a steady rhythm to the tune thumping in his ears. The cord of his iPod snaked down into his back pocket, his face emotionless as a million things  raged through his mind. His thoughts turned to previous failed missions, as butterflies fluttered incessantly in his stomach. The Boss wouldn’t be so forgiving this time around, well, sometimes the Boss made the slender-man seem like a homely guy. The Boss was definitely not someone to cross. This time was different, he would redeem himself, because today he had a plan.

 Standing amidst a throng of non-descript, bordering on boring, people, he felt the strong common purpose, underlying in their emotions. He stood under a cavernous roof, the air-conditioning insufficient as droves of people continued to pour down the narrow staircases. If front of him lay an enormous blackness, stretching infinitely to both sides, as far his vision allowed. The air was thick with worry, as people anxiously looked at their watches.  Our teen protagonist could do nothing but bide his time….

21:35 PM

And then suddenly, the air was electric with excitement. He could feel it right down to his bones. This was it. The time had come. He heard a distant voice replaying a message, but his mind was busy going through his plan. A plan which could mean the end of a hundred careers, friendships and in some cases, even lives. But he was desperate, he had go through with this. His life hung in the balance. His face was still a mask, betraying not a hint of emotion, as his feet beat a faster rhythm in anticipation of what was to be.

21:40 PM

The tunnel in front of him burst into light, as a deep grating sound was heard, and a sleek monster of a machine came into view. People glanced at each other with smiles of sheer happiness, as the deadline was upon them. As the magnificent beast screeched to a halt in front of them, the crowd moved as one towards it, crushing all those unwary. But our protagonist, with the practiced ease of a pro, was already moving toward one of the many openings running along the side of the machine. He surged on relentlessly, knowing that the slightest delay could prove fatal. Knocking over a veteran, clearly worn out by some infinite such missions, he paused just enough to give her an apologetic smile, she was unfortunately, one of the many casualties in this mission.

As the end seemed near, a huge shape filled his view. He deftly sidestepped, preventing himself from being run-over by an enormous woman with a pram. Her large pram blocked his only means of passage, and well the flashing, warning orange lights, only compounded his problems. Vaulting over small babies was definitely, not part of his job description. But desperate times called for desperate measures. As the woman’s eyes widened with unmitigated surprise, he sailed over the small blond child, landing with a thump on his brand new Converse.  He turned around, bending down to give the child, the sweetest of smiles. Brushing down his shirt, he squeezed in through the narrowing gap between the closing doors.

21:43 PM

He sat back on the blue and white upholstery, glancing around at his fellow victors. The protagonist was surprised to see the old woman, aka the veteran, smiling at him from the corner, well, experience does count. As his watch ticked away the seconds, he looked down to see the time was only 21:45 PM. The Boss was going to be pleased. Now his mom was definitely not going to kill him for coming late. His plan had been a success. As he rested his head on the darkened window of the Dubai Metro, he watched as the city flashed by, bringing him closer to home.

The Ultimate Prize

There he sat, with twenty others just like him, waiting… Waiting to begin what would be his first and hopefully last quest for the ultimate prize. Squatting on his haunches, he checked whether the Object of Requirement was secure in his pocket of his extremely uncomfortable attire. This was essential to his attaining his goal. He kept his breathing measured knowing not to allow the gravity of the situation overwhelm him. And he waited… Oblivious to all else about him. Waiting… for the signal.

And then in the distance could be heard the shrill toll of the signal. This was it. Like Olympic athletes, they burst out of the blocks as one, dashing out into the wide space. Our protagonist was fortunately the ones out front or else he would have been crushed to smithereens. He knew he had to be quick, for the ones that had escaped weren’t far behind. He quickly looked around, weighing his options, as he spotted the only and quickest way out. For out there was the prize. The ultimate glory.

He raced through the roofed corridor, for corridor it had now become.  He squeezed into the narrow opening as from the corner of his eyes, he saw challengers fall, many his dear friends. But now was not the time to mourn losses.  For he had now arrived at or should I say ran headlong into the first obstacle: The Stairs.

Now rushing madly down the stairs is never a very good idea and here he had done just that. He mentally kicked himself for not counting in so trivial, yet so crucial, a matter. He struggled to maintain his balance on the steep slopes of … not death … probably serious and life crippling injury, thankful for all the training he had received.  A sideways glance revealed the fact that his competitors were not lagging far behind but just far enough. This was turning out to be too easy.

All this was obviously before he encountered the second speed breaker, bigger than most, but it, rather she, did the job. He had just come face to face with the Enforcer. There she stood with her usual long, thin, razor sharp sword. He tried put on the brakes but his forward momentum took him just a tad too close. Not one for mercy, she lunged at him with the deadly weapon… just as he danced out of her reach. Giving up wasn’t an option now nor was going back. And the only forward was through her. He looked past her to see the sunshine glinting against the tiles, beckoning him and something clicked in his mind. And he did the unthinkable, he jumped back into the fray.

Ducking and weaving through the flurry of attacks, like a ballet dancer cum samurai warrior, he avoided most of the blows. The ones that did hit him were glancing but they did sting badly. He saw off most of her advances but he soon ran out of luck. The sword zoomed out of nowhere and our protagonist, reflexes a little slow after all the battering, wasn’t fast enough to dodge it. He caught a blow straight to his face, turning it all red as if he were blushing. Holding his face in agony, he saw the weapon bear down on him for its final blow. He deftly sidestepped causing her just to lose balance momentarily. That was all he needed. Vaulting over her bent back, he dodged a desperate swing and … he was through.

He landed out into the open on both feet, like a cat, dusting off his clothes as he stood up. Shading his eyes against the harsh sun he saw that his destination wasn’t far off.  He ran with an easy loping pace, looking around to see that none of his pals had got past her yet. He savoured the moment as the lovely feeling of victory washed over him. 

Slowing down as he reached his approached his goal , he beheld a sight for sore eyes, the ultimate prize!! He slipped his hand into his pocket marvelling at the fact that the Object of Requirement hadn’t fallen out through all those adventures. He stared greedily at the mouth-watering treasure. Looking at aproned man ,standing behind the counter, in the eye, he took out the one dirham coin. Sliding it across the counter with a sense of relief, the student said,” Uncle, please can I have a samosa?”