tribute to a Chelsea fan!

at least get the ball right!

Me: Are you a football fan?
He: Yes.
Me: Which club do you follow?
He: Chelsea.
Me: Why?
He: They have so many stars and moreover, they won the premiership title for two consecutive years.
Me: Who is your favorite Chelsea player?
He: Frank Lampard. He was the runner up at some competition. The journalists voted him the second best and some South American guy won the trophy. I bet he cheated.
Me: You mean Ronaldinho.
He: I am not sure. All their names start with ‘R’ right?
Me: What do you think of John Terry?
He: Is he the new striker we(Chelsea) bought?
Me: Mighty close. He is the central defender who also happens to be Chelsea’s captain.
He: Oh, we buy so many players these days that I can’t remember all the names. He plays for England right?
Me: No, for Sudan you dope-head. Yes, of course. And what a coincidence, he is also the England captain.
He: But, isn’t Sven the England captain.
Me: He was the England coach before McLaren took over. Coach is different, captain is different.
He: Whatever!
Me: So, do you think Chelsea will the treble this season?
He: When does it start?
Me: Treble is not a competition. It is a term used to collectively represent the FA cup, the premiership and the Champion’s League.
He: Alright. I am not very good at remembering all these names you know. I just love Chelsea and that is all I care about.
Me: What do you think about the new signings?
He: Did the new owner, that American guy sell Chelsea? What is with the signings? I don’t remember hearing anything on it on last night’s sports center.
Me: It is a Russian guy, Abrahomovic by name. and he sure would love to sell Chelsea with such supporters. Anywayz, I was taking about the new players you guys bought.
He: Oh…Bullock and Shiva.
Me: Yeah, Ballack and Sheva.
He: Yeah, whatever. I think they are good. They played at the world cup right? They should be good. All Chelsea players are bound to be good. One of my friends said that Frank Lampard is the best player to have ever played in England.
Me: Did your friend ever mention the existence of a man called George Best?
He: No. Nice nickname though. Best. Was he that Good?
Me: Pele considered him the best player to have ever walked the earth.
He: Pele??? I bet every member on the Pele committee was bribed. Blink.
Me: Is there any other club you follow?
He: Chelsea won the trophy the last two years. Why should I follow any other club? If they lose, I may think of switching. I hate Manchester United though.
Me: May I ask why?
He: They beat us last season and they are also our rivals and…all my fellow Chelsea fans hate them. I think they suck.
Me: Is that so?
He: They have always, in the last two years, finished behind us. They have won a few I should say. I don’t think they even have the kind of heritage Chelsea has. The blues rule.
Me: Manchester United has more silverware in their cabinet than your Chelsea Owner can hoard in his mansion. And as far as history is concerned, I don’t think they have much to be proud about than being the third most successful club in the history of European Football.
He: That is all in the past.
Me: That’s what we call history in the rest of the world? What is it called in your part of the world?
He: But whatever, Ferguson is a sucker when compared to Chelsea captain or coach or whatever. Look at what he has achieved and what Ferguson has.
Me: Yeah. Sigh. How can you compare the two premiership titles Mourinho has achieved with Chelsea to the 8 titles, 5 FA cups, 1 Champions League trophy, a treble, and yes .. a knighthood for his invaluable contribution to English Football that Sir Alex has achieved.
He: And moreover, we have a rich history of players too. Jimmy Floyd err something and all.
Me: Zola? Vialli? Petrescu?
He: I can’t remember any of the famous Manchester United players though. Probably they did not have any.
Me: Charlton, Best, Law, Hughes, Robson, Cantona, etc. Yes. We did not have many famous players. We had a few legends though. Or maybe it is because you are too young to remember them or even better…the names were too European to remember.
He: Anyways, catch you later. I am in a hurry.
Me: Hang on, the match is not on until Sunday.
He: What match? I don’t see matches. They are too lengthy. I am going to watch sports center.
That’s where I get all my knowledge from.
Me: So long buddy. Sigh. So much for a Cheslki fan.

A 10-year-old glint!

the glint...

He sat on the bench and looked around. It was only 9.00 am but there were still a few people walking. He opened his school bag and felt the inside pocket. Through the lining the rustling sound of the crisp notes made him want to take it out and count it one more time. Just then a dog ran towards him wagging its tail. He wondered if he should feed it a biscuit from his snack box. But he had a long wait ahead. So he merely patted its head.

Mummy said he always came to Cubbon Park for a walk. It was a routine of many years. A walk and then a morning coffee at Koshy's. He raised his water bottle to his mouth and drank deeply. What if this was the one day he decided to stay at home? He wondered.

Rahul had not seen his father since he was one. He was still crying on his mom’s shoulders when she walked out on his father. He couldn’t quite remember his father’s face. 10 years was a long time indeed. But somehow, that glint in the eye, that shone even brighter as it welled up, was etched deeply in the one-year-old’s head. After all, that is one thing his growing eyes had been searching for all this while – the only memory of his dad. Today, he was going to see that glint again.

When his mother remarried a year after the divorce, she thought that she’d filled the vacuum in her son’s life. She had succeeded in bringing a man into her son’s life – a man for him to look up to. But would she be ever able to replace a relationship, she’d probably never know.

His granny used to tell him that he looked exactly like his father – the green eyes, the broad forehead… Every time she told him a tale about his father, he’d feel jealous. He wanted to meet his dad. With age, the urge had also grown within. Every time his friends talked about their dads, his little heart would pound away in excitement. It was filled with a lot of things - a lot of things about his dad. He would open his mouth and then it would strike him. The realization that he had nothing, but a 10-year-old-glint and a few silent tears tucked away in the corner of his heart, to talk about.

It was on Rahul’s 11th birthday that his mother finally granted him the wish. She had given him all that money could buy. She had kept him the happiest son on earth. She had never imagined that what her son would ask her this time was something that couldn’t be bartered for anything in the world. “I want to see dad, mummy,” he’d asked. For the first time in her life, she did not have an answer. She could only manage a moment of speechlessness before walking out of his room. When she returned to a half-asleep Rahul at night, she had decided. “When do you want to meet your father”, she whispered into his ear. Those were the sweetest words he had heard his entire life.

The sun was shining in its full glory. The crowd had started to diminish. Yet, there was no sign of him. The dog had found a cozy spot under his bench, and looked all set to take a nap. Unlike Rahul, he had no one to wait for. He slowly opened his pack of biscuits, took one out, and threw it to the dog. He opened one his eyes, glanced at the biscuit indifferently, and went back to his nap.
The summer in Bangalore had changed a lot. The cool shades had given way to mirages. This was not the Bangalore he had known. However, whether it was the anxiety that was making him sweat, or the sun, he did not know.

It must have been hours before he lifted his stare off the green grass. “Tak.Tak.Tak.” “What’s that noise,” he said to himself. There was nobody in sight. Must be a woodpecker, he thought. His stare returned in search of green. “Tak. Tak.” There it was again. Leaving his bag on the bench, Rahul got up. A man was slowly entering through the gates. He was too far away to for Rahul to get a clear glimpse, but he could clearly see that the man was limping. The tapping noise was produced by the cudgel he was carrying which aided him at every second step he took. As he sat staring at the man, he felt some sudden movement near his feet. The dog had woken up. It must have been the familiar sound. He rushed to the man at the gate. The familiarity stamped the fact that the man was a regular at the park. Would he be able to tell me something about my father, he wondered.

He looked at his watch. It was almost 12. His hunger was slowly overpowering his patience. The tapping noise grew louder. The man and the dog were approaching him slowly. Suddenly, the thing dawned upon him. The man was blind. His cudgel was not making up for a physically challenged leg, but his vision. His acquaintance with the place had disguised the fact for some time. But now that he was quite close, it was clear. As the man neared him, the sun reflected directly into Rahul’s eyes off his glasses. He turned away. He looked at the gate and around the park. The man and the dog were the only living beings around the park apart from him. He picked up his bag and slowly got up. “This was not to be the day,” he thought. As he walked towards the gate, he turned back one final time. The man was walking away slowly towards the other end of the park - with the dog at his heels and the glint neatly hidden behind his dark goggles.

The lady with the lamp!

the sweetest thing!

If I say that my life has changed dramatically over the last six months, I wouldn't be lying - because it has. I had been drinking and I had been doping,I had been whoring, I had a huge loan to pay off, I had a few habits to get rid of, I had more than a debt to see off... and I had a huge hollow to fill up. It was not that I loved being in such a dilemma. It had become a part of my life or rather, it had become my life itself. I had taken it for granted that there was no escape. This is what was meant to be. I am going to lose the battle. I did not have the guts to fight it alone, because every time I tried to fight, I was losing it. I felt that I was destined to lose. I had given up the attitude to win or maybe I had become too used to taking failure that I was too lazy to try and win. I did not enjoy the phase, but I did not hate it either. I was running away from the challenges that life was throwing at me. Every time I stood up to face a task, I would be taken down. I was driven to the brink. All the fake smiles could not wipe the tears nor heal the wounds those were running deep down inside.I had almost given up.

And then...I met her.

Almost Famous

the destiny is ours!

A small write-up I did for a community I believe in with a lot of passion and conviction. Though the community failed to do its purpose of uniting a cult of dreamers, I think it brought out the best piece of writing that my keyboard has produced. I probably am a little biased about this - because I had nothing else but my heart to put down in words as I sat down to write this one.

"Everyone on this planet is destined to be famous, but only the dreamer grabs the destiny by its throat and chokes the best out of it. Each member of this brotherhood is a dreamer and the only destination the journey called life will lead us to, is fame. We haven't missed the train to the land of fame, we are just on the waiting list. We might not have the tickets, but we do have a moral pass.' We will get on board and no one shall stop us. God might come on the way as a ticket checker, and we will give him a bribe he won't be able to refuse - our dreams. We will get there sooner or later, and fate shall tremble and get out of the way. We have almost conquered destiny. We have almost forced god into a compromise. We are almost there. We are almost famous."

A tough lesson in parking!

it is not a walk in the park...

As population rises faster than mercury on a summer afternoon, there are few things that tag along. The need for food, the need for shelter, and not to be left behind, the need for more parking spaces.

Like everything else that is proportionally growing with population, parking spaces have their own methods of influencing day-to-day life. For instance, take my case. I have a long and winded waking-up procedure. It is quite sophisticated. It involves several scientific stages. Let me begin with the previous night’s exploits. The time I wake up is very much dependent on the amount of alcohol consumed the previous night. The more I dunk, the more I bunk. Step two involves a little help from technology. Even while in the last stages of consciousness, I have a 98.214% accuracy rate with my alarm timings. It has been 7a.m. with 6 out of my 9 jobs. On occasions I can barely remember, and that very much being the reason, I have mixed more than just drinks. I have mixed PMs with AMs and hence woken up half a day late. On all other days, I wake up at the second of those obnoxious alarm tinkles. Then comes a quick assessment of the time required to perform my Morning Raga before setting off for work. In this case, on all occasions, I manage to fit it within the time left if I were to sleep an hour more. I am excellent at time management during these early somnomaniacal spells – and only then. I reset the alarm at least thrice before I finally decide to part with my bunker. During the space of these adjustments, I have considerably shortened my agenda for the pre-job stage. Breakfast is mercilessly bludgeoned, and bath is truncated depending on the availability of a deodorant.

Leaving my getting-ready-to-office aside, let us come back to the point. How does it influence one’s life? I wake up promptly, get dressed, erase nothing from my agenda, and I speed all the way to work. I am a prompt employee. From satan to a saint in 60 seconds; a dedicated worker from a lazy-bone - No Freaking Way! If I do not do the aforesaid, I stand a sore loser as I reach the parking lot, that’s why. The spaces are taken and I will have to park my bike elsewhere and walk the grueling distance. But knowingly or unknowingly, the lack of parking space has converted me into a better person, an opportunist, a philosopher, a cynic, a fast driver, an early-riser, a punctual employee, an efficient time and space manager, my boss’ darling, and hence a higher pay package earner, a richer boyfriend, a richer friend and so on… Do you want more proof of how It has drastically changed my social life?

The parking space at Origami has also made me a manipulator and a story-teller. It is a tiny 6x20 right in front of our office. A puny little man with an evil heart manages the lot. Let me call him the vulture. He sits there and awaits his prey. He does not feed on the fully healthy and loaded machines that fit into the parking space comfortably. He waits. He waits for the weaker ones that are separated from the pack. He waits for them to stray. And then he pounces. He pounces with deadly accuracy. The pray struggles, unable to move its neck due to an invention known as a handle lock. The cold-blooded shows no mercy as he drags the helpless machine across and away from the lot. The writhe of pain is brutally ignored. He is the servant to the mightier ones. As the tortured lay next to slain, the mighty ones move away. Within a minute the tormentor turns a loyal servant. He drags the prey back and pushes the little bike into the space vacated by its predecessor. The hapless might lose a limb or break an indicator. The vulture doesn’t care. He moves back and eyes all of them. He goes back to his perching point, awaiting the arrival of the weakest links. If any of the weaklings try to rebel, he punctures the tire with the pinpoint accuracy mentioned earlier, and plays the innocent bird. I take special care not to victimize my bike and hence drive away right under his greedy eyes.

A little away from the vulture’s lair is another parking spot. A gentle stretch of road alongside homes that are neatly tucked either side of the road. Unlike most parking-space-seekers who ignore the ‘no parking in front of the gate’ signs, I pay extra attention. That is when the manipulator in me takes over. The supposedly intelligent house owners have arranged rocks to mar the boundary called – ‘that is right where you are not supposed to park you bastard.’ Some of these boundaries are more controversial than the Kashmir border. If there is space for manipulation, I look around, do a quick geometric visualization of how my bike would fit in the gap- that-is-yet-to-be-created, and move the rock. They are heavy, trust me. One more thing the parking thing does to me – it gives me something that I lack the most – exercise. After a brief session of sweating, I stand a proud and panting man – mission accomplished.

The summary of this piece is – Parking has a major influence on your social life – it changes your outlook and instills qualities in you that you did not know even existed. Early to bed and early to rise will get you ample parking space. If any of the parking lot managers eye your bike with greed, avoid them and renew your insurance in case of future situations you can’t avoid. If you are strong enough to displace little boulders – you can ignore the whole article and say – Why the fuck did I waste my time on this bull-crap!