Castle of Indolence

Marcus Berkmann in Rain men: madness of cricket explains the lure of cricket far better than I ever will:

A four-year-old walked in and asked me what I was doing. I was watching the cricket, I explained.
'Why?'
'Because I like it.'
'Why?'

Precocious little bastard. A moment later my then girlfriend walked in. 'Yes, why do you like cricket?' she said, scenting blood. 'I think its boring,' said the repellant infant. 'So do I,' said my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. I was cornered. Why? why? why?

It's a question that rises time and again. Non-believers cannot allow themselves to fall under the spell of a mere game, an intrinsically silly one at that. Their sneers and contempt, not to mention their endless satirical use of the phrase "bowling a maiden over", can undermine the most robust of personalities. What they don't understand is that we know it's stupid, but England are 82 for 4, for Christ's sake. Which, needless to say, answers all their questions in full.

If really pushed for a response, I talk of cricket's grace, its physical bravery, its psychological and intellectual dimensions, its emotional resonances, of the confrontation between batsman and bowler, the endless possibilities, the unpredictable flux. After four hours' detailed advocacy, sometimes with the use of audio-visual aids and always with a complete description of the various grips a leg-spinner might use, I tiptoe out of the room before my unwitting audience wakes up.

Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that arch, --as distinct too, yet as intimately blended. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How is it that from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? --from the covenant of peace a simile of sorrow? But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been.

From "Berenice", by Edgar Allan Poe.

One of the most repeated phrases regarding stock market prediction is that "nobody knows nothing".And as the World Cup widely predicted to be the 'most open ever' turned into the most lopsided one ever, the quote clearly applies to crystal-gazing in cricket as well. I'm placing the blame for these mismathces squarely on the shoulders of the Kiwis and England. The only way the rest of the world had a chance of beating the Aussies was through a combination of Aussie complacency and that wonderful concept "the law of averages". By beating the Kangaroos five times in a row in inconsequential tournaments, they were virtually handing the WC to the Aussies. If there's one thing more formidable than an Aussie team, it'a an Aussie team with a point to prove.

I think it's staggering that in 4 world Cups (nearly 40 matches), McGrath has needed to face only 5 balls. That's some serious domination we are talking about.

Btw, did the dark stripe along the sides of Australian uniform remind anyone else of Uma Thurman's Kill Bill outfit?

For me, the highlight of the world Cup was Ranjit Fernando's by-now-legendary commentary during the Eng-SL match. The situation: 4 runs to win, 1 ball to go. Dilhara bowling to Ravi Bopara. And dear Ranjit comes up with this "and he's in...oh it's gone for four! Bopara! (long pause) Oh he's bowled, he's bowled. (sound of Hussain laughing in background) I thought it got the bat and went for four. What a finish this has been. "

I only subject you to this post as Adi, in a fit of ignorance, tagged me to write about 5 restaurants I like. Firstly, let me say that gastronomically, I ceased growing at the age of 5. I still prefer Bournvita to coffee ( the new 5-star Bournvita is revolting). And while George Orwell may expound on the joys of bitter,black tea, I prefer my chai to have large helpings of both milk and sugar. Sugar, in fact, makes up a large part of my diet. Idlis with sugar? Bring it on, I say. If I haven't fallen far enough in your estimation, let me add that I'm also an annoying holier-than-thou reformed vegetarian.

Having conclusively denied any claims to being the next Curnonsky, I shall now hold forth on the restaurant I despise the most. Despite Delhi offering an incomprehensible array of cuisines, ranging from the Antarctic to the sub-Saharan (seemingly), my parents favourite eat-out in Delhi remains that bastion of Tamil pride: Saravana Bhavan. Usually getting into an SB in Delhi would mean an interminable wait. Once in, this is a typical conversation between me and my parents:

Me (after perfunctory perusal of menu): I think I'll have (Item A)
Mom directs a reproachful glare at me.
Me (befuddled): What?
Mom: I can make far better (Item A) at home than is available here.
Me (rolling my eyes): Ok fine, I'll have (Item B) then.
Mom , who has never uttered any rebuke regarding my lengthy spell of unemployment, repeats reproachful glare. And goes on to wonder how, despite her excellent parenting, I've turned out like this. I then start frantically looking for an item of the menu which would appease my mom. The cycle usually continues till both my patience and appetite have vanished.

"Football is not a matter of life and death, it's much more important than that" - Bill Shankly.

Now that Woolmer's demise has disproved that famous statement (sort of), you'd think the media and the experts would be a little wary of casual allusions to death. But the two phrases most bandied about in the Indian media have been 'Do or Die' (prior to the SL game) and 'Perform or Perish' (as in 'Will Greg Chappell become a victim of his "perform or perish" mantra?'). Next up, Imran Khan pushed the insensitivity limits with his "I'm dying to know the reults of the Woolmer investigation" quote to BBC.

But, considering that Woolmer's death was caused by strangulation, the award for 'Most inappropriate figure of speech' has to go to John Wright. During the Bangladesh-Bermuda match, Bermuda were batting with a few down for next to nothing when John offers " Bangladesh really need to be ruthless here. They must not take their foots of the Bermudan throats".

Marc Ostrofsky has been an idol of mine ever since he managed to convince someone to pay him $ 7.5 million in exchange for the 'business.com' domain name. While my hunt for a similar smartalec-y way to avoid the rat race has been fruitless, the closest thing to him I've seen in India is this chap who was renting out snow boots in Shimla.
It costs 50 bucks to hire a pair of boots from him for about a couple of hours. The bus I was travelling in had about 20 passengers in it and assuming a couple more tourist buses patronised him, he would have pocketed a cool three grand in a single day. Tax-free, minimal investment, virtually no work, high returns - is this a dream job or what? Of course, business wouldn't exactly be flourishing in the summer (perhaps he uses the summer to catch up on his reading).

Having said that, I better get me a job in the very, very immediate future as the parents have started very unsubtly asking me read articles titled 'How to be your own life coach' and suchlike.

One of the main reasons I haven't quit smoking yet (besides an absolute lack of willpower) is the Rolling Stones. If Keith Richards (impossible to think of him without a ciggy dangling from his lips) is capable of undertaking gruelling concert tours in his mid-sixties, I figure I shouldn't be worrying myself silly about lung cancer. Besides, despite being a decade older than my teetotalling, diet watching ,prefer-stairs-to-the-elevator dad, the Glimmer Twins are clearly in a far better shape than him.

I also think the Stones should stop churning out rubbish albums which no one listens to and reinvent themselves as legal aides to Big Tobbaco companies.In the normal course of events, when a nincompoop sues Big Tobacco because he (or she) didnt realise smoking two packs a day for thirty years would adversely affect his (or her) health, they get embroiled in a protacted legal wrangle and subsequently pay out millions to the nincompoop. Instead, at the next trial, they should present the Stones as (the hallowed) 'Exhibit 1A' and provide a brief history of the Stones' long dalliance with nicotine,alcohol and substance abuse and also show a video of their recent concert performances (to prove their robust state of health).I'm fairly certain that besides handing out a favourable verdict for Big Tobacco , the judge will also admonish the nincompoop for wasting the court's time with this frivolous case.

P.S: Check out Keith Richards at the Death Calculator.

Everyone knows the importance of an Oscar. Once you win, you'll be introduced in all your future movies (irrespective of how brain dead and formulaic it is) in reverential tones as 'Oscar winner...'. And studios and actors indulge in an immense amount of jockeying to ensure victory. Heck, even Aamir 'I don't believe in awards' Khan and his boys spent a lot of effort lobbying for 'Lagaan'.

One of the most annoying parts of the Oscar ceremony (or any of the other nobody-cares-about award shows) is the ludicrous 'Gracious Loser Smile' which is pasted across the face of the losing nominees when their award is announced.For eg, Will Smith has been known to thrown tantrums over trivial matters, such as when regular water (as opposed to mineral water) is used while shooting rain scenes. Yet, when he turns out to be one of the also-rans at this weekend Academy awards, he'll be modesty personified and magnanimously letting the world know how the better actor won.


Which is why watching Faith Hill in this clip at the country Music awards was gratifying.

" I am bored with my work very often now. Everything routine that comes in I pass along to someone else. This makes my boredom worse. It's a real problem to decide whether it's boring to do something boring than to pass along everything boring that comes in to somebody else and then have nothing to do at all. "
-- Bob Slocum in 'Something Happened' by Joseph Heller (which I procured for the princely sum of twenty rupees at Daryaganj. I love the cover of this edition which has a humungous, unflappable exclamation mark staring out at us.)

Joseph Heller's second novel is a completely different from its famous predecessor and deals with the fears (paranoia?) of a corporate executive, Bob Slocum, who is unhappy despite 'having it all' (attractive wife, three kids, big house, fat salary, as many mistresses as he wants). The absurd black humour of Catch 22 is replaced by the torturous stream-of-consciousness commentary of the misanthropic Slocum. The book's tone is reminiscent of the movie 'American Beauty' and also the blog Anonymous Lawyer. (I know I know ..comparing 'literature' to a mere blog is sacrilegious. Nonetheless). Though I loved the book, it's not for everyone. It's pretty lengthy (around 600 pages) and the merciless (and persistent) cynicism of Slocum and the generally depressing atmosphere of the book isn't easy to stomach.

The book's blurb actually sums it up best : In Catch 22 he (Heller) satirized the horrors of war: In Something Happened he has attempted something more ambitious and difficult- satirizing the horrors of prosperity and peace.

In case anyone is wondering what a certain Jerry Seinfeld is upto these days. Don't get too excited. It only releases in november 2007.