As 2007 draws to a close, I thought of spotlighting some incidents happening across the world which I thought were Highs and Lows of the year. These are incidents that touched me in more ways than one in my continual education on the ways of life. Here goes…..
THE HIGHS
Special Olympics at Shanghai: “The Children of a Lesser God” - people with all kinds of physical disabilities and IQ lesser than 70, participated in an Olympics like Games. Even a small footage of the event would melt the hardest person of steel, so touching is it to see the unadulterated joy of these disabled people. Moments such as these make you view life in an entirely different perspective, telling us healthy ones how lucky we are to live life normally and well. It is also a victory of the indomitable spirit of human beings to live life amidst all possible adversity.
Iraq crowned champions of the Asian Cup Soccer Championship: Against all odds, Iraq’s victory was stuff of fairytales. A team assembled disjointedly by Shias, Sunnis and Kurds under a Brazilian coach who was just 2 months in the job stunned the whole world by capping a dream win. No one, not even the die hard Iraqi gave them a whiff of victory but the team defeated firm favourites Australia, Saudi Arabia et al to win the championship. For sportspersons of a country ravaged by war, who often do not return and seek sports asylum when they manage to leave the Iraqi shores for an international sports event, this was monumental.
Dadagiri of the Royal Bengal Tiger: “Attitude determines Altitude” is NOT a Platitude. This is something that I strongly believe in. It is that human trait that overrides talent, ability, aptitude and everything else. It is all about mind games that makes a person strong in life and override all obstacles. Sourav Ganguly epitomised it better than anyone that I can think of in the last year. Dumped, chided, jested on, written off (wrongly or otherwise), there was nothing worse that an individual can countenance in his profession sphere and it surely rubs off slowly in one’s personal life too. It can completely break brittle people but then people like Sourav epitomise mental strength through their attitude. Twice dropped from the team in a long international career spanning 15 years and running, he showed that when the chips are truly down, you need attitude, determination, spunk and self belief to prove all your critics wrong and take back the position that you rightly deserve in your sphere of life.
Narendra Modi is also lucky third time: Amidst the Congress party’s political gaffe of positioning him as the “Maut ka Saudagar”, Modi turned out to be the “Vote ka Saudagar” when he was elected the CM of Gujarat for the 3rd time in succession, possibly exorcising and burying the ghosts of Godhra eternally. Well that is something that billions of Indians will get to know over time, but right now for the much maligned (and much adored at the same time) Modi, it is crowning glory.
The Song remains the Same: Led Zeppelin, one if not THE most celebrated and worshipped acts of rock music history made a glorious comeback on the 10th of December at the O2 arena in London. The 3 surviving members Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones teamed with the son of late drummer John “Bonzo” Bonham, Jason to recreate magic and take audiences back in time. It was a phenomenal musical success leading to speculation that the band might stage a world tour shortly. Whether that happens in reality is something that music enthusiasts can only hope and cross fingers on, but the song will always remain the same as far as Led Zepp goes even if it’s been a Long and Lonely time without them.
Pablo Fajardo: The lawyer whose passion for his native Ecuador was borne by his historic lawsuit against Chevron Texaco’s toxic legacy in the Northern Ecuadorian region of the Amazon rainforest was recently awarded as a CNN Hero. The lawsuit for this case has turned into the largest environmental class action lawsuit in history not only for Pablo’s lifelong effort to force one of the world's largest oil corporations to pay more than $6 billion to clean up toxic waste in the Amazon rain forest but also like Alfred Gore his unflinching pursuit for something that was noble and came from his heart. That he only became a lawyer in 2004, after first working as a manual laborer in the oil fields of his hometown of Lago Agrio, while completing a correspondence law degree only adds mystic to his wonderful journey. Ecuador has amazing natural entities like the Rain forest, the Andes and the Galápagos islands and these are all feared to go extinct reeling under the dual effects of toxic waste and global warming.
Green Revolutionary Al Gore: A few months back, I had written in my column that Al Gore was out to green the world with a vengeance and even if it had political undertones, it was an effort truly superhuman in nature. With the malaise of global warming looming large on the world and human race if you will, it is the drive and zeal of such people that will restore sanity on us humans who ourselves are the progeny of all sorts of reasons the world is heating up (pun intended). That the Nobel Peace Prize was bestowed on him vindicates his genuine passion for the cause. Al Gore shared the noble with the UN’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, whose Indian top honcho, Rajendra K. Pachauri, said that science had won out over skepticism. In a fantastic 2007, besides the Noble, Gore also won an Oscar, an Emmy and championed the Live Earth movement, again a series of worldwide concerts held on 7 July 2007 that initiated a three-year campaign to combat climate change.
Ricardo Kaka: The baby face is not a baby anymore. He has quite deservedly taken the mantle of the best player in the world from the likes of the Ronaldinhos, Ronaldos and Messis. The ballplayer and scorer rolled into one has lit up a dismal season for Milan by spurring them to the UEFA Champions League and the World Club championship victories. While at it he continuously professed his love for God and proudly flaunted that he was a virgin when he got married sweetheart Caroline at the age of 23.
Sexual Equity: The All England Club announced equal prize money for both the men and women’s winners at the 2007 Wimbledon ending a long period of cries for the WTA on the matter. Thus men’s champ Fedex and the women’s champ Venus pocketed equal cheques of a whopping 700,000 British Pounds. Significantly, it so figured, that half of Britain’s millionaires were female. Did someone say “women’s lib”?
Sunita Williams: The PIO who is a United States Naval officer and a NASA astronaut was the 2nd woman of Indian heritage after Kalpana Chawla to be selected by NASA for a space mission. She holds three records for female space travellers: longest spaceflight (195 days), number of space walks (4), and total time spent on spacewalks (29 hrs 17 min). She became the first person to run a marathon in orbit, when she ran the Boston Marathon from the space station on April 16, 2007. Interestingly Williams' sister, Dina Pandya ran the marathon on Earth, and Sunita received updates on their progress from Mission Control. Not only did she complete Chawla’s unfinished dream but became a huge inspiration and a role model for women all Indian women.
MAN OF THE YEAR: Without a shadow of doubt, Alfred Gore was my man of the year for his passionate drive to rid the earth of global warming and making it greener and a better place for the generations to come.
WOMAN OF THE YEAR: Sunita Williams was my woman of the year for not only creating world records for female astronauts but showing India and the supposed 3rd world that all it takes is inspiration, doggedness and spunk to reach the summit.
THE LOWS
Terrorism & its many architects: The term that runs shivers down the spine of mankind, Terrorism unfortunately simply cannot be curbed. Whether in the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East, Europe or US, terrorism continues to show its ugly head and the head is getting uglier and bigger every passing year. And while absolute world peace and total terror eradication is an utopia and can possibly never be achieved, due to ulterior motives of powers to be not to mention the abuse of religion as a critical factor for such terrorism, it is high time that sanity prevailed across global leaders & community crusaders so that this evil can be mitigated and millions of harmless civilians do not lose their lives in war savaged terrains, not to mention dynamic leaders like Benazir Bhutto.
The Taming of the Shrewd: It pains me to term Marion Jones such, for I was one of the billions fascinated by her grace and talent on the sporting field, but like many others, I feel that implicating her albeit belatedly, for using drugs to cheat in sport, is justice of sorts and in a funny sort of way can help her become clean in the larger perspective of becoming a better individual in life.
Formula1 Espionage: If the 2007 F1 season was the best in recent years, it was not only due the scintillating win of Kimi Raikkonen in the very last circuit at Interlagos, Brazil but also due to the “Spygate”. Team Mclaren Mercedes was fined a whopping 100 million USD for an espionage imbroglio when they spied on technical information from rivals Ferrari. Later on Renault were also charged with the same offence, but strangely and luckily escaped any fine, monetary or otherwise.
The Holy Trinity that was immortalized: Luciano Pavarotti, Ingmar Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni all died natural deaths to leave the world of art bereft of their irrefutable genius.
Pavarotti, the Italian tenor in opera music, who crossed into popular music and became one of the most beloved vocal performers, died from cancer in September at his hometown in Modena. Popular stardom came amongst others at the 1990 World Cup in Italy. The 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin saw him performing for the last time. Pavarotti sang Nessun dorma, with the crowd as its Chorus, and got a thunderous standing ovation. Pavarotti was also noted for his charity work benefiting refugees, the Red Cross and other causes.
Bergman was a Swedish film, stage, and opera director recognized as one of the greatest and most influential filmmakers of modern cinema. Some of his works like The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light, Fanny and Alexander, Persona, Summer Interlude are some of the genius’ masterpieces which have not only stood the test of time but shows the man in an entirely different light – arcane, abstruse and iconoclastic. His death is a huge loss to world cinema.
Michelangelo Antonioni was an Italian modernist film director whose films are widely considered as some of the most influential in film aesthetics. His films mostly Italian are aesthetically complex - critically stimulating though elusive in meaning. They are ambiguous works that pose difficult questions and resist simple conclusions. Classical narrative causalities are dissolved in favour of expressive abstraction. He also made 3 English films, one of which Zabriskie Point (1970), was Antonioni's first set in America. It was not successful even though its soundtrack incorporated popular artists such as Pink Floyd (who wrote new music specifically for the film), the Grateful Dead, and the Rolling Stones. It depicted the counterculture movement, but was heavily criticized for the blank performances of its stars, neither of whom had acted before.
Nature hits again: Over 3,000 people were believed to have died and many thousands injured after Cyclone Cider hits Bangladesh in November. It demolished everything near the seashore affecting thousands of houses, buildings, structures, trees and whatever was standing. Almost reminiscent of the Asian Tsunami that hid South Asia in late 2004, the cyclone left thousands of people with nothing in hand. No house, no food, no clothes and nothing at all. Nature is venting its ire on human kind like never before and we hope for better times in the years to come.
Mockery in the Beautiful Game: David Beckham, one of the sporting icons of our times has long traded his soccer boots for endorsements and moolah. Dropped by both club and country, a half fit Becks made a lucrative contract of 250 million USD in the guise of evangelising soccer in the US of A. He hardly played a game or three and could not further his new club, LA Galaxy to the next rounds in the MLS. On the other hand, artist extraordinaire, Juan Roman Riquelme, deemed by many as the best player on the planet, does not find a soccer club as he is deemed to centric to the game for his club Villareal who recently loaned him to Boca Juniors. Ironically, one of the best national teams, Argentina cannot think of a building a team without him and models their soccer strategy around Juan. Strange are the ways of the world.
Nandigram & Singur: CPM messed up big time in these 2 separate incidents as hundreds of acres of farmland they wanted to acquire under the guise of industrialisation, backfired on them like never before. Not only were innocent lives massacred, total chaos reigned, as the ruling party often had their feet in their mouths with conflicting statements issued. Political parties like the Trinamool tried to leverage the scenario to their benefit but all it could muster was some “bandhs” that threw the state into total disarray. They did not show any genuine inclination to sort out their misgivings through discussions with the State Government. Overall it was a terrible black spot on the state already reeling under pressure from all quarters on the issue of corporate investments.
Bob Woolmer: The original laptop coach was “killed” / died in mysterious circumstances in Jamaica during the cricket World Cup. This was the night after Pakistan, a cricketing powerhouse were dumped out of the WC by minnows Ireland in a shock encounter. Woolmer’s autopsy, which had to be done twice, was mired in utter confusion and conspiracy theorists were having a field day. The most plausible explanation was that Bob had got abreast of the betting syndicate which was huge in the sub-continent running into billions of dollars and was about to publish it in his forthcoming book. With Pakistan so meekly bowing out, it was reasoned that many Paki stars had thrown away the game for money and this had supposedly enraged Bob. Though his team-mates including the vitriolic Shoaib Akhtar, with whom Bob had had an open spat, all sided by his passion for the game and love & betterment of Pakistan cricket, the case has not been proven yet and the guilty are yet to be booked. Whatever the case may be, though, this surely was one of the darkest days of cricket and world sport at large.
Taslima Nasreen: The controversial authoress was attacked by fundamentalists in Hyderabad. WB Govt perforce asked Taslima to leave Kolkata after Muslim fanatics protested her presence in the state leading to chaos and clashes in Kolkata. Ironically, as it to project a new façade, Narendra Modi offered her asylum in Gujrat.
The Unholy Trinity: Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears are a trio who rake up airtime for all the wrong reasons. While it is lewd videos, knickerless postures or bingeing sprees, these celebrities who are spending jail time today were ironically once lauded for special talent like singing or acting. It goes to show that success, if it goes to the head and not nurtured well, can make devils out of normal and even good people.
VILLAIN OF THE YEAR: Marion Jones for deceitfully charting a path for fame and glory and then finally falling flat on her face in shame when exposed 6 long years after she shot into stardom.
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For me, the year 2007 was special too and can be termed as the “Year of Travel”. I travelled to seven different countries and haunted exotic locales from Monte Carlo to Venice. Professionally, it was a great year of success and personally I made many friends both nationally and internationally, some as eclectic as budding artists from the Lee Strasberg Film Institute in New York to co-workers in Greece.
I played serious soccer after many years and that too in the home of the world champions. It has now become a part of my weekly routine as I “ply trades” with other soccer enthusiasts (Italians, Spanish, Latinos alike) in the green turf of Italy and self-actualise a personal passion. Being fondly dubbed by my soccer mates as the first Indian to score a goal in Italy was the icing on that delicious cake.
I also met a wonderful person who showed me life and love in an entirely different hue. Unfortunately, the person “passed away” but hopefully will come back to me in another form and shape in future. But C (as I would fondly call the person) made a large part of 2007 very special to me, filling me with hope, unbridled joy and positive energy. Thanks C for being with me even if for a short period in my life.
My mother got a new lease of life and legs as she had a successful total knee replacement surgery and will now able to walk painlessly and normally again after many years. Medical science does not cease to amaze me, the way medicine and technology are leveraged to restore normalcy in people.
Incidents like these and many others will egg me on positively for a better and more successful 2008, I believe. Hope it is a great year for all of you too and may you realise all your ambitions and dreams and even some fantasies. Cheers and Good Luck!!!
Monday, December 31, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Memoirs of a Nerazzuri from the San Siro
Azzuri, as the entire soccer world knows, refers to the Italian national soccer team. It comes from the word azure meaning a light shade of blue - the color of the soccer jersey. For a soccer mad nation, such terms of endearment are not only obvious but also show passion in a different light.
So it’s but natural that such monikers would percolate to other soccer entities too, and clubs would get fond names in the bargain. The passionate soccer fans of Milan have thus branded their teams as well, again based on colours of the jersey. The red and black of AC Milan lead to their fans calling them Rossoneri (rosso = red and nero = black) while the city rivals Inter Milan are called Neroazzuri for their black and blue.
Even since I have been watching European soccer, I have been a massive fan of AC Milan but having come to Milan, I have been amazed at the support that Inter Milan rakes up. Most of my office colleagues are Inter fans and when trying to analyze the choice of teams, it was theorised that in early 1900s, the Milanese were the usual hoi polloi while the Inter fans were more from the affluent strata of society. Derby matches are often based on such passionate divides lending credence to the history of Yorkshire & Lancashire (Leeds and Man United in soccer) in the War of the Roses in England, Catalonia (Barca) & Madrid (Real) in Spain and even East Bengal and Mohun Bagan closer home. So once I decided that I was going to visit the San Siro with my colleagues, it was a foregone conclusion that it would have to be the Nerazzuri that I would see perform, especially with a particular co-worker Davide passionately egging me on to appreciate the Inter tradition.
Thus, last Wednesday, along with Davide, Tito and a few others, I was at the San Siro, to watch Inter play Lazio in Serie A. Inter Milan and Lazio Roma are some sort of soccer sisters per Italian soccer folklore. I, surely, was decked up as a strange Nerazzuri with my fond Barcelona scarf round my neck, eliciting a few strange stares. But it dissipated once I was in the Inter stands amidst 40,000 soccer crazed Inter fans singing, jumping and making merry. They transcended age, race, colour or creed and were simply there to see their favorite sons perform against a depleted Lazio of Rome. There was the usual male bastion but what was amazing was to see the beautiful ladies, all prettily decked up in Inter gear joining voices with their mates. There were many senior citizens as well, like a 70 something couple, clapping and cheering all the way and even jumping when the goals happened. It left me wondering whether spectator behavior is something that goes a long way in deciding the success of a sport (like consumer behavior does for a product) and why our country fails consistently in this game, most-played on the face of the earth. That, however, is a separate topic for hours of discussion and cannot only be reasoned due to spectator following, as sports administration, management, sponsorship, politics and sports culture will far override any jingoism (or lack thereof) that football supporters in India can show.
The present Lazio team is a far cry for the late 90s squad that hosted Mihajlovic, Nesta, Salas, Nedved, Boksic, Vieri to name a few under the able tutelage of manager Sven-Göran Eriksson. It languishes in the middle of the league and is nowadays considered easy prey to the big guys. Inter, on the other hand, are the current Serie A champions for the last 2 seasons running and have an embarrassment of riches in its squad. FC Internazionale, true to its name is a team littered with international players having, believe it or not, only 4 Italian players in its squad of 27 for the season in which only a fit Marco Materazzi, gets to play in the first eleven. Captain Javier Zanetti, superstars Zlatan Ibrahimović, Júlio César, Maicon, Luis Figo, Esteban Cambiasso form the core of the team which boasts of 7 Argentines, 5 Brazilians, 2 Frenchmen, 2 Colombians, 1 Serbian, 2 Portuguese, 1 Romanian, 1 Chilean, 1 Swede and even a Honduran besides the 4 Italians. A truly international outfit though it raises and also answers the question as to why Massimo Moratti (the club owner) does not spend on more home grown Italians especially when one of its favourite sons, Roberto Mancini is the head coach.
So on paper, it was a forgone conclusion, that the heavyweights would smother their Roman rivals but in the beautiful game there is no room for complacency. The stands were abuzz and suddenly the music system blared a familiar tune that had all the fans jumping and singing. It was the official song of Inter Milan, Pazza Inter. If I had got mesmerized by Liverpool’s immortal “You’ll never walk alone”, this was equally mesmerizing. And “watching” it live added a different dimension as the combined voices of the 40,000 odd rendered it decibel levels that could only be matched by the screeching tyres of a speeding Formula one car. It was enough to give a normal person gooseflesh let alone soccer loonies like me. A version of Pazza Inter, sung by the players themselves is shared here for the aural pleasure of readers:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8z74zP3W-fI
As the song and crowd rejoice reached fever pitch, the teams took the pitch amidst shouts of Ibra, Zanetti, Cambiasso and even Pele!!! Surprised? Not the original master but a young 20 yr old Portuguese midfielder signed by Inter only this summer and who made his first start this game, due to the depleted midfield (Patrick Vieira, Dejan Stankovic, Luis Figo and Olivier Dacourt were all holding injuries). And then the game started. The initial exchanges actually went Lazio’s way with Inter seemingly sleeping. The crowd was hardly perturbed though, as they knew that the tide would turn soon. Slowly the home team got into groove and a penalty ensued which was duly converted by the Swede “rockstar” Zlatan. Minutes later, Brazilian Maicon latched on to a defending error to make it 2-0 and within 30 minutes, victory was a forgone conclusion.
The human side of the Inter fans was amply portrayed when a huge banner appeared embossed with the words “Giustizia per Gabriele” (Justice for Gabriele). Gabriele Sandri, the Lazio DJ who was “accidentally” shot by a policeman a month back, incidentally when this match was originally scheduled to be played. The Inter fans had also prepared a improvised song for the late Gabriele and sung it during the game evoking a very sentimental response from the small but die hard Lazio contingent on the other part of the pitch, some of who were even seen in tears. Soccer in Italy is a religion and it was aptly evident that even in the madness, humanity was not at a loss.
There was a real funny incident when I saw all the fans jumping on their seats. Before I could fathom what happened, Davide shouted to me to jump along. And so I did without any clue what triggered such an action. It seemed that the derby rivalry had reached such comical proportions that the Inter faithful chanted along “chi non salta rossonero e’” which meant that anyone not jumping is a Rossoneri.
The hype and hoopla continued in the second half when Honduran David Suazo, another Inter recruit this season from Cagliari, scored the insurance 3rd goal. It was time for some changes and in came Hernan Crespo and then finally Matrix - that is how his teammates fondly call Marco Materazzi. The fans started chanting “Tutti pazzi per Materazzi” which translated means “All crazy about Materazzi”. The Matrix did not have much to do in the few remaining minutes of the game and Inter had duly won the battle 3-0.
Amidst shirt exchanges, Pazza Inter again played on the loudspeaker as the satiated crowd having fed to some heart warming soccer by a 2nd string squad, started leaving the stadium. It was a wonderful experience for me and I am looking forward to the day when the Neroazzuri meet the Rossoneri . It would be a tough call as I would have to weigh the newly made loyalty towards Inter and the age old romance about Milan, but what the heck, seeing the Milan derby am sure will be an experience of a lifetime whichever team I support that day.
Till then, it would be reliving the moments from the victory against Lazio and let my imagination run overtime into analyses and theories as to how (and if) ever could India reach such an exalted soccer stratosphere.
CIAO!!!
So it’s but natural that such monikers would percolate to other soccer entities too, and clubs would get fond names in the bargain. The passionate soccer fans of Milan have thus branded their teams as well, again based on colours of the jersey. The red and black of AC Milan lead to their fans calling them Rossoneri (rosso = red and nero = black) while the city rivals Inter Milan are called Neroazzuri for their black and blue.
Even since I have been watching European soccer, I have been a massive fan of AC Milan but having come to Milan, I have been amazed at the support that Inter Milan rakes up. Most of my office colleagues are Inter fans and when trying to analyze the choice of teams, it was theorised that in early 1900s, the Milanese were the usual hoi polloi while the Inter fans were more from the affluent strata of society. Derby matches are often based on such passionate divides lending credence to the history of Yorkshire & Lancashire (Leeds and Man United in soccer) in the War of the Roses in England, Catalonia (Barca) & Madrid (Real) in Spain and even East Bengal and Mohun Bagan closer home. So once I decided that I was going to visit the San Siro with my colleagues, it was a foregone conclusion that it would have to be the Nerazzuri that I would see perform, especially with a particular co-worker Davide passionately egging me on to appreciate the Inter tradition.
Thus, last Wednesday, along with Davide, Tito and a few others, I was at the San Siro, to watch Inter play Lazio in Serie A. Inter Milan and Lazio Roma are some sort of soccer sisters per Italian soccer folklore. I, surely, was decked up as a strange Nerazzuri with my fond Barcelona scarf round my neck, eliciting a few strange stares. But it dissipated once I was in the Inter stands amidst 40,000 soccer crazed Inter fans singing, jumping and making merry. They transcended age, race, colour or creed and were simply there to see their favorite sons perform against a depleted Lazio of Rome. There was the usual male bastion but what was amazing was to see the beautiful ladies, all prettily decked up in Inter gear joining voices with their mates. There were many senior citizens as well, like a 70 something couple, clapping and cheering all the way and even jumping when the goals happened. It left me wondering whether spectator behavior is something that goes a long way in deciding the success of a sport (like consumer behavior does for a product) and why our country fails consistently in this game, most-played on the face of the earth. That, however, is a separate topic for hours of discussion and cannot only be reasoned due to spectator following, as sports administration, management, sponsorship, politics and sports culture will far override any jingoism (or lack thereof) that football supporters in India can show.
The present Lazio team is a far cry for the late 90s squad that hosted Mihajlovic, Nesta, Salas, Nedved, Boksic, Vieri to name a few under the able tutelage of manager Sven-Göran Eriksson. It languishes in the middle of the league and is nowadays considered easy prey to the big guys. Inter, on the other hand, are the current Serie A champions for the last 2 seasons running and have an embarrassment of riches in its squad. FC Internazionale, true to its name is a team littered with international players having, believe it or not, only 4 Italian players in its squad of 27 for the season in which only a fit Marco Materazzi, gets to play in the first eleven. Captain Javier Zanetti, superstars Zlatan Ibrahimović, Júlio César, Maicon, Luis Figo, Esteban Cambiasso form the core of the team which boasts of 7 Argentines, 5 Brazilians, 2 Frenchmen, 2 Colombians, 1 Serbian, 2 Portuguese, 1 Romanian, 1 Chilean, 1 Swede and even a Honduran besides the 4 Italians. A truly international outfit though it raises and also answers the question as to why Massimo Moratti (the club owner) does not spend on more home grown Italians especially when one of its favourite sons, Roberto Mancini is the head coach.
So on paper, it was a forgone conclusion, that the heavyweights would smother their Roman rivals but in the beautiful game there is no room for complacency. The stands were abuzz and suddenly the music system blared a familiar tune that had all the fans jumping and singing. It was the official song of Inter Milan, Pazza Inter. If I had got mesmerized by Liverpool’s immortal “You’ll never walk alone”, this was equally mesmerizing. And “watching” it live added a different dimension as the combined voices of the 40,000 odd rendered it decibel levels that could only be matched by the screeching tyres of a speeding Formula one car. It was enough to give a normal person gooseflesh let alone soccer loonies like me. A version of Pazza Inter, sung by the players themselves is shared here for the aural pleasure of readers:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8z74zP3W-fI
As the song and crowd rejoice reached fever pitch, the teams took the pitch amidst shouts of Ibra, Zanetti, Cambiasso and even Pele!!! Surprised? Not the original master but a young 20 yr old Portuguese midfielder signed by Inter only this summer and who made his first start this game, due to the depleted midfield (Patrick Vieira, Dejan Stankovic, Luis Figo and Olivier Dacourt were all holding injuries). And then the game started. The initial exchanges actually went Lazio’s way with Inter seemingly sleeping. The crowd was hardly perturbed though, as they knew that the tide would turn soon. Slowly the home team got into groove and a penalty ensued which was duly converted by the Swede “rockstar” Zlatan. Minutes later, Brazilian Maicon latched on to a defending error to make it 2-0 and within 30 minutes, victory was a forgone conclusion.
The human side of the Inter fans was amply portrayed when a huge banner appeared embossed with the words “Giustizia per Gabriele” (Justice for Gabriele). Gabriele Sandri, the Lazio DJ who was “accidentally” shot by a policeman a month back, incidentally when this match was originally scheduled to be played. The Inter fans had also prepared a improvised song for the late Gabriele and sung it during the game evoking a very sentimental response from the small but die hard Lazio contingent on the other part of the pitch, some of who were even seen in tears. Soccer in Italy is a religion and it was aptly evident that even in the madness, humanity was not at a loss.
There was a real funny incident when I saw all the fans jumping on their seats. Before I could fathom what happened, Davide shouted to me to jump along. And so I did without any clue what triggered such an action. It seemed that the derby rivalry had reached such comical proportions that the Inter faithful chanted along “chi non salta rossonero e’” which meant that anyone not jumping is a Rossoneri.
The hype and hoopla continued in the second half when Honduran David Suazo, another Inter recruit this season from Cagliari, scored the insurance 3rd goal. It was time for some changes and in came Hernan Crespo and then finally Matrix - that is how his teammates fondly call Marco Materazzi. The fans started chanting “Tutti pazzi per Materazzi” which translated means “All crazy about Materazzi”. The Matrix did not have much to do in the few remaining minutes of the game and Inter had duly won the battle 3-0.
Amidst shirt exchanges, Pazza Inter again played on the loudspeaker as the satiated crowd having fed to some heart warming soccer by a 2nd string squad, started leaving the stadium. It was a wonderful experience for me and I am looking forward to the day when the Neroazzuri meet the Rossoneri . It would be a tough call as I would have to weigh the newly made loyalty towards Inter and the age old romance about Milan, but what the heck, seeing the Milan derby am sure will be an experience of a lifetime whichever team I support that day.
Till then, it would be reliving the moments from the victory against Lazio and let my imagination run overtime into analyses and theories as to how (and if) ever could India reach such an exalted soccer stratosphere.
CIAO!!!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Tale of 2 Athletes and the Olympic Movement
Ever since I was a kid and taken a fancy to sport at large, the Olympics, the greatest show on earth captivated my imagination. Whether it was Dr. Pierre de Coubertin’s passion for the Olympics or Father Henri Dideon’s now immortal Citius Altius Fortius (the Olympic motto), it was the summer games that always blew me over - for obvious reasons the winter games would not garner such attention what with me totally oblivious of the nuances of a Bobsleigh or a giant slalom.
The original athlete or should I say the “Most Valuable One” was Jim Thorpe, who undoubtedly is part of Olympic folklore. Thorpie was one of the most versatile athletes in modern sport; he won Olympic gold medals in the pentathlon and decathlon, played American football collegiately and professionally as also professional baseball and basketball. However, he was in the scheme of things long back, well before the 1st world war and thus, the one name in that similar league that was much closer to present times was Alfred Oerter. Big Al was a genial hulk who created Olympic history by being the 1st athlete to win a single discipline 4 Olympics in succession (the discus for the uninitiated), much in the same mode the good fanny did. Now, before you jump into ideas, we are of course talking of the flying Dutch, Fanny Blankers Koen, the first female athlete to win 4 medals in 1 single Olympic. If what Fanny did was well ahead of her times, Al’s achievement can be considered superhuman, if only in concept and not achievement. People those days were not known to retain Olympic medals of any hue, let alone strike gold for 4 consecutive games. Boy! Till we saw Carl Lewis do it much later, close to the 3rd millennium did we realize that it was possibly do-able but by athletes way above the hoi polloi in competence and capability. Al Oerter once said that he never was a favorite to win any of his 4 golds – in Melbourne, 56 he was too young at 20. At Rome 60, he was not the favorite having survived a near fatal automobile accident 2 years back that nearly killed him. In Tokyo, 64 he was bothered by a neck injury and then tore a cartilage in his ribs shortly before the competition. And in Mexico City, 68, he was deemed over the hill, only to win the gold again. Surprisingly, he won all his gold medals with new Olympic records, that too a record in itself.
The injury in his 64 Tokya games occurred six days before competition was to begin. While throwing a discus he slipped on a wet concrete discus circle and tore rib cartilage on his right side, causing internal bleeding and severe pain. Team doctors told him to forget the Olympics and not throw for six weeks. He refused and is said to have said, “These are the Olympics. You die before you quit.” Such indomitable spirit epitomized the Olympic Games and made legends out of normal humans.
Circa 2000, the Sydney Games……a very attractive and beautiful negress stormed the athletic world and won not only 5 medals but billions of hearts worldwide. If ever beauty, grace, skill, speed and passion combined, Marion Jones was the potent epitome. Jonesy, as I would fondly call her, emulated her childhood idol, the rock-star like Florence Griffith Joyner. Flo-Jo, of the 20 painted nails and irreparable sprint world records, was someone who shocked the world with sub 10.5’s in the women’s 100m and the fact that Marion was black and doing the same rounds was too uncanny a resemblance. Alas, it was not to be the only connection that these two famous yet fatal athletes would draw on. Flo Jo died an untimely death at only 38, alleged by many specialists as effected by drug overdose. Her records would lead many to conjecture that she did consume performance enhancing drugs, though it was never proven even posthumously. Her death accentuated the idea further but lack of proof possibly absolved her. She was a prima donna, pretty, sexy, successful and on top of Olympics glory, till death did her part from husband Al and the athletic fraternity. Jonesy was of similar ilk. A prima donna, pretty, sexy, successful and on top of Olympics glory, till reality and truth caught up with her. It was death of innocence and artificial glory in her case. The BALCO scandal and successive investigations seemed flawed way back in 2004 when in front of the world, Jones vehemently denied that she had never ever taken drugs and was wrongly being made the proverbial scapegoat. Alas, time and reality (or death) catches up with wrongdoers, or so I believe. If truth needs to come out, circumstances contrive to unfold it. Jonesy’s one time beloved hubby and coach CJ Hunter, told world media after his divorce that his ex-wife had taken human growth hormone and a designer steroid ironically known as "the clear" at the Sydney Games. At times, Hunter said, he personally injected Jones with banned substances. He also reported seeing Jones inject herself with drugs at the residence they shared in Australia.
It was a shock to me to see the same athlete in her early 20s that had seduced America and had the whole world kissing her feet in 2000, crying in front of world media 7 years later, seeking forgiveness because she had cheated her country, her family, her near & dear ones and herself for personal glory. Marion Jones was a heartthrob of men and women alike, but in hindsight she looks like the Ben Johnson of yore - full of promise, talent, attitude, spunk but lacking the basic ethical values that make athletes, sportsmen and people. Jones made for fabulous copy. She was smart, sexy, stunning and media savvy. She smiled for the cameras, glammed up for magazine covers, set sky-high goals and in reality reached them. But while she is being castigated today for her wrong doing (and so should she), for the public sadly growing accustomed to disappointment from their sporting heroes (remember Floyd Landis and Barry Bonds), the denouement of Marion Jones was indeed a painful moment. Ann Killion, a sports columnist at the San Jose Mercury News, recalled last Friday on CNN how she along with everyone else in the US had been seduced by the Jones image. Not only in the US, but everyone across the globe was seduced by Jones, just as they would be by a Broadway star or a soccer star.
In reality though, Jones should be dealt with capital punishment IMHO. It should be so landmark in precedence (may be extended jail time) so that no one ever again should even think of using drugs to cheat in sport. Athletics today is big money and achieving success through illicit means is thereby the path of least resistance to glory, which people often try successfully. Jones cheated not only the fans, the Aussie organizers who spent billions to stage the greatest show on earth only to be slapped on their faces 7 years later that the star performer of their show was a swindler, the sport, the athletic fraternity and its many jewels who surely heaped encomiums on her but most importantly her fellow athletes. The evergreen Marlene Ottey, Inger Miller, Pauline Davis-Thompson, Tatiana Kotova, Irina Privilova, even our neighbor Susanthika Jayasinghe who all lost out at either the Olympics or the world championships or some Golden League event all were cheated by Marion. These people many of who missed the podium or a better hued medal due to her will never experience the thrill of Olympic glory. In many ways, Jonesy has robbed the sport off because people will always question now whether superlative performances are drug aided. In fact, the sport is mired with such rubbish that the 100 m silver winner in Sydney, Eakterina Thanou was at the center of a doping controversy in 2004 and did not run in her own nation's Olympics. Thanou, Kostas Kenteris and 12 others are due to face a Greek court over charges of perjury relating to allegedly faking a motorcycle accident to avoid a drug test on the eve of the Athens Games. If found guilty, she could be sentenced to up to six years' jail and herself stripped of the Olympic silver. The biggest irony would be handing Jones’ gold to her. Ukrainian sprinter Zhanna Block, who defeated Jones in the 100 meters at the 2001 World Championships, was also reportedly listed in an investigator's report as receiving drugs from Balco, although she was never banned and she denied involvement. Those are just two. The wonderful world of athletics is sadly a system deeply rooted in doping culture today.
Al Oerter, at the age 43 in 1980, threw his career best and the second longest throw in the world that year. In the 1980 Olympic trials, he finished fourth, one place and 4 feet short of making the team. After Oerter’s last throw, the crowd gave him a five-minute standing ovation. Believe it or not, he re-emerged at 47 for the 1984 Olympic trials. He reached the finals, only to tear a calf muscle jogging before his last three throws. In 1987, at the staggering age of 50 years, he quit elite competition for good, because “the drug culture had taken over.” Once asked in his 40s, what he had to prove at that age, he replied: “You don’t understand. It’s not whether you get there. It’s the journey.” People like Al Oerter were the romantics in sport. They typified what people looked up to sportsmen for, toiling hard in the sun and coming up with performances that were superhuman yet legitimate. They are a dead / dying breed today. It’s the dirty world of athletics show business today, where people take drugs to cap glory, which rules. It is such a shame that Citius Altius Fortius is but a buzzword and has different connotations today.
IOC boss, Jacques Rogge, an Olympian from the old school, thus has his hands full to eradicate corruption. All three Olympic Games that Rogge has presided over have thankfully begun with athletes taking an oath against doping. Let us all pray that the values of the Olympic movement come back to have many more Alfred Oerter’s in the years to come.
Al Oerter died a natural death on the 1st of October, 2007. A few days later Marion Jones died an unnatural and gruesome death.
P.S. This article was written on a flight from Madrid to Milan under the influence of 6 glasses of wine. Strangely, the words and history just unfolded themselves without any effort whatsoever. This is one of the most touching pieces that I have ever written, so passionate am I about sport. Please leave comments.
The original athlete or should I say the “Most Valuable One” was Jim Thorpe, who undoubtedly is part of Olympic folklore. Thorpie was one of the most versatile athletes in modern sport; he won Olympic gold medals in the pentathlon and decathlon, played American football collegiately and professionally as also professional baseball and basketball. However, he was in the scheme of things long back, well before the 1st world war and thus, the one name in that similar league that was much closer to present times was Alfred Oerter. Big Al was a genial hulk who created Olympic history by being the 1st athlete to win a single discipline 4 Olympics in succession (the discus for the uninitiated), much in the same mode the good fanny did. Now, before you jump into ideas, we are of course talking of the flying Dutch, Fanny Blankers Koen, the first female athlete to win 4 medals in 1 single Olympic. If what Fanny did was well ahead of her times, Al’s achievement can be considered superhuman, if only in concept and not achievement. People those days were not known to retain Olympic medals of any hue, let alone strike gold for 4 consecutive games. Boy! Till we saw Carl Lewis do it much later, close to the 3rd millennium did we realize that it was possibly do-able but by athletes way above the hoi polloi in competence and capability. Al Oerter once said that he never was a favorite to win any of his 4 golds – in Melbourne, 56 he was too young at 20. At Rome 60, he was not the favorite having survived a near fatal automobile accident 2 years back that nearly killed him. In Tokyo, 64 he was bothered by a neck injury and then tore a cartilage in his ribs shortly before the competition. And in Mexico City, 68, he was deemed over the hill, only to win the gold again. Surprisingly, he won all his gold medals with new Olympic records, that too a record in itself.
The injury in his 64 Tokya games occurred six days before competition was to begin. While throwing a discus he slipped on a wet concrete discus circle and tore rib cartilage on his right side, causing internal bleeding and severe pain. Team doctors told him to forget the Olympics and not throw for six weeks. He refused and is said to have said, “These are the Olympics. You die before you quit.” Such indomitable spirit epitomized the Olympic Games and made legends out of normal humans.
Circa 2000, the Sydney Games……a very attractive and beautiful negress stormed the athletic world and won not only 5 medals but billions of hearts worldwide. If ever beauty, grace, skill, speed and passion combined, Marion Jones was the potent epitome. Jonesy, as I would fondly call her, emulated her childhood idol, the rock-star like Florence Griffith Joyner. Flo-Jo, of the 20 painted nails and irreparable sprint world records, was someone who shocked the world with sub 10.5’s in the women’s 100m and the fact that Marion was black and doing the same rounds was too uncanny a resemblance. Alas, it was not to be the only connection that these two famous yet fatal athletes would draw on. Flo Jo died an untimely death at only 38, alleged by many specialists as effected by drug overdose. Her records would lead many to conjecture that she did consume performance enhancing drugs, though it was never proven even posthumously. Her death accentuated the idea further but lack of proof possibly absolved her. She was a prima donna, pretty, sexy, successful and on top of Olympics glory, till death did her part from husband Al and the athletic fraternity. Jonesy was of similar ilk. A prima donna, pretty, sexy, successful and on top of Olympics glory, till reality and truth caught up with her. It was death of innocence and artificial glory in her case. The BALCO scandal and successive investigations seemed flawed way back in 2004 when in front of the world, Jones vehemently denied that she had never ever taken drugs and was wrongly being made the proverbial scapegoat. Alas, time and reality (or death) catches up with wrongdoers, or so I believe. If truth needs to come out, circumstances contrive to unfold it. Jonesy’s one time beloved hubby and coach CJ Hunter, told world media after his divorce that his ex-wife had taken human growth hormone and a designer steroid ironically known as "the clear" at the Sydney Games. At times, Hunter said, he personally injected Jones with banned substances. He also reported seeing Jones inject herself with drugs at the residence they shared in Australia.
It was a shock to me to see the same athlete in her early 20s that had seduced America and had the whole world kissing her feet in 2000, crying in front of world media 7 years later, seeking forgiveness because she had cheated her country, her family, her near & dear ones and herself for personal glory. Marion Jones was a heartthrob of men and women alike, but in hindsight she looks like the Ben Johnson of yore - full of promise, talent, attitude, spunk but lacking the basic ethical values that make athletes, sportsmen and people. Jones made for fabulous copy. She was smart, sexy, stunning and media savvy. She smiled for the cameras, glammed up for magazine covers, set sky-high goals and in reality reached them. But while she is being castigated today for her wrong doing (and so should she), for the public sadly growing accustomed to disappointment from their sporting heroes (remember Floyd Landis and Barry Bonds), the denouement of Marion Jones was indeed a painful moment. Ann Killion, a sports columnist at the San Jose Mercury News, recalled last Friday on CNN how she along with everyone else in the US had been seduced by the Jones image. Not only in the US, but everyone across the globe was seduced by Jones, just as they would be by a Broadway star or a soccer star.
In reality though, Jones should be dealt with capital punishment IMHO. It should be so landmark in precedence (may be extended jail time) so that no one ever again should even think of using drugs to cheat in sport. Athletics today is big money and achieving success through illicit means is thereby the path of least resistance to glory, which people often try successfully. Jones cheated not only the fans, the Aussie organizers who spent billions to stage the greatest show on earth only to be slapped on their faces 7 years later that the star performer of their show was a swindler, the sport, the athletic fraternity and its many jewels who surely heaped encomiums on her but most importantly her fellow athletes. The evergreen Marlene Ottey, Inger Miller, Pauline Davis-Thompson, Tatiana Kotova, Irina Privilova, even our neighbor Susanthika Jayasinghe who all lost out at either the Olympics or the world championships or some Golden League event all were cheated by Marion. These people many of who missed the podium or a better hued medal due to her will never experience the thrill of Olympic glory. In many ways, Jonesy has robbed the sport off because people will always question now whether superlative performances are drug aided. In fact, the sport is mired with such rubbish that the 100 m silver winner in Sydney, Eakterina Thanou was at the center of a doping controversy in 2004 and did not run in her own nation's Olympics. Thanou, Kostas Kenteris and 12 others are due to face a Greek court over charges of perjury relating to allegedly faking a motorcycle accident to avoid a drug test on the eve of the Athens Games. If found guilty, she could be sentenced to up to six years' jail and herself stripped of the Olympic silver. The biggest irony would be handing Jones’ gold to her. Ukrainian sprinter Zhanna Block, who defeated Jones in the 100 meters at the 2001 World Championships, was also reportedly listed in an investigator's report as receiving drugs from Balco, although she was never banned and she denied involvement. Those are just two. The wonderful world of athletics is sadly a system deeply rooted in doping culture today.
Al Oerter, at the age 43 in 1980, threw his career best and the second longest throw in the world that year. In the 1980 Olympic trials, he finished fourth, one place and 4 feet short of making the team. After Oerter’s last throw, the crowd gave him a five-minute standing ovation. Believe it or not, he re-emerged at 47 for the 1984 Olympic trials. He reached the finals, only to tear a calf muscle jogging before his last three throws. In 1987, at the staggering age of 50 years, he quit elite competition for good, because “the drug culture had taken over.” Once asked in his 40s, what he had to prove at that age, he replied: “You don’t understand. It’s not whether you get there. It’s the journey.” People like Al Oerter were the romantics in sport. They typified what people looked up to sportsmen for, toiling hard in the sun and coming up with performances that were superhuman yet legitimate. They are a dead / dying breed today. It’s the dirty world of athletics show business today, where people take drugs to cap glory, which rules. It is such a shame that Citius Altius Fortius is but a buzzword and has different connotations today.
IOC boss, Jacques Rogge, an Olympian from the old school, thus has his hands full to eradicate corruption. All three Olympic Games that Rogge has presided over have thankfully begun with athletes taking an oath against doping. Let us all pray that the values of the Olympic movement come back to have many more Alfred Oerter’s in the years to come.
Al Oerter died a natural death on the 1st of October, 2007. A few days later Marion Jones died an unnatural and gruesome death.
P.S. This article was written on a flight from Madrid to Milan under the influence of 6 glasses of wine. Strangely, the words and history just unfolded themselves without any effort whatsoever. This is one of the most touching pieces that I have ever written, so passionate am I about sport. Please leave comments.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A Wonderful weekend at my new home
Milano, the city of haute couture, the city of soccer, San Siro, AC & Inter, the city of “angels” and beautiful people is a wonderful place to be visiting. It is the city that is going to be my new home for the next year and so. Though I have been here many times before, this was the going to be my longest stretch, by far, here. And all it needed was a weekend like last, to get things quickly into the groove and kick start a fantastic year ahead.
Venice was a place that I had never visited before and last Saturday was apt for making a trip there as the 64th Mistral Internazionale d'Arte Cinematografica, better known internationally as the Venice Film Festival was concluding that day. It is by far the oldest film festival still in existence today, and being passionate about movies it would be a crime not to go there when so near. So early Saturday morning, I boarded a Eurostar at the Milano Central and make the 150-odd minute trip to Venice. The first impression of Venice was just what I had read and imagined about it - veritable paradise. Venice is the largest stretch of land in Europe (and possibly in habitated world) where the main transport is on waterways - watertaxis, launches, ferries, gondolas et al. To travel from one place to another, one needed to be on the Adriatic waters half the time - it is sort of like the main road. With clear blue skies and weather in its early 20°C’s, the ambience complemented the mood.
The Venice Film Festival was being hosted at Lido di Venezia, which was the centre of the action, though the screenings take place in cinemas all over the city. The festival was established in 1932, and even in the then prevailing cinematic climate of fascist propaganda films and imitations of Hollywood comedies, it upheld the values of cinema, transcending national boundaries. In 1952, the characteristic Golden Lion prize was introduced. To this day it remains, along with Cannes’ Palme d'Or, one of the few trophies in the film world that compares to Hollywood's little golden man, the Oscar. Although the festival has traditionally sponsored non-Hollywood cinema, there has recently been a rapprochement, making this one of the most glamorous end-of-summer venues in the world. The festival features 4 main sections: In Competition, Out of Competition, Horizons (offering feature-length documentaries) and Corto Cortissimo (short films). With it being the last day of festival, it was a mixed atmosphere as one could not see either many films or celebrities. However, the atmosphere was electric with the international scribes, the bustling junta clicking away to glory, music blaring from the speakers and some people doing impromptu jigs, all lending a marvelous aura to the settling. The beautiful beach and the sea adjoining the venue also made it the place to be in. The Golden lions were all over, multiple replicas lined up on makeshift stages, a huge couple on either side of the main entrance and small ones littered around the main pathway. Outside the mail auditorium, a huge gallery was set up where artifacts, DVDs and festival memorabilia were being sold. I chanced upon some very good movies but the fact that all subtitles were in Italian hindered me from buying.
The festival per se ended on a somewhat sour note with some shock film choices. Ang Lee surprised everyone and won the Golden Lion with his film "Lust, Caution" ("Se, Jie"), two years after he had won the same award for the gay cowboy drama "Brokeback Mountain." In 2005 he was a popular winner. In 2007 he was not. The slow narrative, only excerpts of which I could manage to view, set in World War Two Shanghai, is punctuated by explicit and sometimes violent sex which Lee hinted was real. Reporters and critics in the press room, watching the closing ceremony beamed live on a big screen, booed when Lee's Golden Lion was announced. That, the film was not even thought for one of the lesser awards in all of the pre-award speculation, vindicated the critics’ stance. Although no strong favorite emerged from the 23 films in competition in Venice, critics agreed Tunisian-born Abdellatif Kechiche's "The Secret of the Grain", about an Arab family living in France, would be a worthy winner. In the end a disappointed Kechiche walked away with a jury runner-up prize, as did U.S. film maker Todd Haynes for his conceptual biopic of Bob Dylan called "I'm Not There".
More controversial than the Golden Lion for Lee was the best actor prize for Pitt, who starred as the fabled outlaw in "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford." Critics said the decision was particularly baffling because Pitt's co-star in the movie, Casey Affleck, was widely considered to have stolen every scene, while Michael Caine in Kenneth Branagh's "Sleuth" was also a frontrunner. The disgusted crowd booed even more loudly, when Pitt was named best actor, a far cry from the first day when “Brangelina” walked the red carpet. It makes me wonder whether the jury tries, at times, to only whet the appetites of big names and thereby rendering such huge artistic festivals to lose some of its mystic sheen. After all its festivals like Cannes and Venice that have unearthed such colossal global directors, our own Satyajit Ray included, and not allowing talented film makers to bloom would only make world cinema poorer.
After spending the afternoon there, I headed to the Piazza San Marco in the evening. Piazza San Marco, often known in English as St Mark's Square, is the principal square of Venice. The buildings around the Piazza are, anti-clockwise from the Grand Canal, the Doge's Palace, St Mark's Basilica, St Mark's Clock tower, the Napoleonic Wing of the Procuraties, the Procuratie Nuove, St Mark's Campanile and Loggetta and the Biblioteca Marciana. The last of these buildings were completed under Napoleonic occupation, although the campanile has since been rebuilt. The Piazza is undoubtedly the most popular tourist destination in Venice and it faintly reminds you of Trafalgar Square and the Milano Duomo with all the pigeons in it. The best part of the Piazza of course is that it hasn’t been corrupted by the automobile, as the only mode of vehicular transport is the waterway. It is a must visit for tourists in Venice.
Saturday over, the next day was one of the biggest in the annual Italian sporting calendar. It was time for Grand Prix and Formula 1. The F1 circuit had, in recent weeks, assumed additional significance due to the Mclaren Ferrari espionage imbroglio and at the autodrome at Monza, the home crowd was baying for blood. Strangely the leaders from Mclaren, Hamilton and Alonso were facing the crowd chagrin when to me it should have been Ron Dennis, the Mclaren boss. But such is passion in sport that instead of the scheming administrators, it is often the gladiators who face the wrath. The Italians are mad about F1 and it was just crazy being there, an experience in itself. People wearing the traditional red, many having made the trip from all over Italy and Europe and camped in tents outside the stadium, some with trumpets, some perched on tree tops, many families with children too, the men and at times even the women guzzling beer. The crowd was shouting for the home team, most of the people with general tickets, the lowest in denomination costing a decent 60 Euros J, having made their own personal spaces on the grass and hilltops, the luckier ones having found seating on the makeshift galleries that the organizers had planted at few places. Our strategy (I had gone with another colleague) was not to stick at one place, but roam around and explore the entire course before and during the race. It surely wasn’t a bad strategy because not only we were able to view the entire course – famous curves like the parabolica but it was also not boring to sit at one place and view the cars zip by you, at times at blinding speeds over 350 kmph. Besides we were able to soak in the atmosphere and enjoy the emotions of the crowd, which to me is as important besides viewing the sport itself inside a stadium. Alonso had pole, followed by teammate Hamilton, and then the reds, Raikkonen and Massa followed suit. The remaining field was destined to be the bridesmaids any which way, such is the domination of machine over men in this fiercely competitive sport. The sea of red were already chanting curses, many hoping and even praying that the Mclaren duo would crash out. True to their desire, there was an early crash in the second lap itself but it was ex-champion David Coulthard on a Red Bull who had an early collision with Italian Giancarlo Fisichella's Renault, leading to the safety car to come out and lead the race for some time. The Torro Rosso team's young German driver Sebastian Vettel also suffered an early accident. Soon after disaster for the home team as Felipe Massa’s car had some technical problems and he was forced to drop out as early as the 11th lap. The frenzied crowd went quiet and some feared the inevitable early in the race. But fantastic Kimi had other ideas. The Scandinavian drivers have scorched the track over the years from the phenomenal Keke Roseborg to the more recent Mika Hakkinen and surely Kimi Raikkonen, Nico Roseborg and company will keep those flags flying high in the years to come. Within a few laps, Kimi had crossed Hamilton into the second position and was closing in on Alonso. The crowd suddenly got excited and were shouting hoarse. The intoxicating smell of burnt rubber was all over the place and tyres flew sparks, what with the drivers peaking close to 350 kmph quite often. The sound was deafening with the roaring engines of the machines as they whizzed past you. Close to the halfway stage, aided by an Alonso pit stop, Kimi had slipped into position one and frenzy of the Italians was palpable. The crowd was blowing trumpets and shouting and egging its lone driver on. However, the one stop strategy backfired on Ferrari when fresh tyres and Mclaren’s persistence paid off with Alonso crossing Raikkonen soon after at the latter’s only pit stop and in a fantastic and daring maneuver, even Hamilton who till then was lying low, managed to slip past Kimi. That’s how the podium finished with Alonso’s win cutting down Hamilton’s lead to less than 5 points in the driver’s championship. The home team had to be content with Raikkonen 3rd place and this was the first time in 5 years that Ferrari had failed to win the race at Monza.
After the race, the track was opened up to the audience and it was a dream to walk on the track at Monza, supposed by many as the Holy Grail of Formula 1. People of different countries, of race, colour and creed were walking on the track with flags of the constructors and even the various countries being flown. There was a Polish contingent with the biggest flag that you would ever see, shouting Kubica’s name. There was a queer sight of an over-zealous fan lying flat on the turf kissing it with gay abandon, a sight his wife surely had been amused about has she seen it. There were ladies and children posing on the track and the adjoining green, which at places had been artificially multi colored by main sponsor Martini. Being a sporting maniac, I had seen some of the greatest stadia and sporting spectacles at the venue, the cricket world cup, US Open tennis, Confed Cup and Serie A soccer, even international beach volleyball, but this one stood right up there if only for the manner in which emotions went wild and tempers frayed. We have seen such stuff in cricket matches in India, but in an altogether different sport in a different continent, it was an experience worth being a part of and enjoying. Sadly Ferrari lost the battle that day, but aided by an FIA decision deriding the Mclaren team and fining them 100 million USD just days after Monza, would go on to win the war and the subsequent F1 constructor’s championship for 2007.
Venice was a place that I had never visited before and last Saturday was apt for making a trip there as the 64th Mistral Internazionale d'Arte Cinematografica, better known internationally as the Venice Film Festival was concluding that day. It is by far the oldest film festival still in existence today, and being passionate about movies it would be a crime not to go there when so near. So early Saturday morning, I boarded a Eurostar at the Milano Central and make the 150-odd minute trip to Venice. The first impression of Venice was just what I had read and imagined about it - veritable paradise. Venice is the largest stretch of land in Europe (and possibly in habitated world) where the main transport is on waterways - watertaxis, launches, ferries, gondolas et al. To travel from one place to another, one needed to be on the Adriatic waters half the time - it is sort of like the main road. With clear blue skies and weather in its early 20°C’s, the ambience complemented the mood.
The Venice Film Festival was being hosted at Lido di Venezia, which was the centre of the action, though the screenings take place in cinemas all over the city. The festival was established in 1932, and even in the then prevailing cinematic climate of fascist propaganda films and imitations of Hollywood comedies, it upheld the values of cinema, transcending national boundaries. In 1952, the characteristic Golden Lion prize was introduced. To this day it remains, along with Cannes’ Palme d'Or, one of the few trophies in the film world that compares to Hollywood's little golden man, the Oscar. Although the festival has traditionally sponsored non-Hollywood cinema, there has recently been a rapprochement, making this one of the most glamorous end-of-summer venues in the world. The festival features 4 main sections: In Competition, Out of Competition, Horizons (offering feature-length documentaries) and Corto Cortissimo (short films). With it being the last day of festival, it was a mixed atmosphere as one could not see either many films or celebrities. However, the atmosphere was electric with the international scribes, the bustling junta clicking away to glory, music blaring from the speakers and some people doing impromptu jigs, all lending a marvelous aura to the settling. The beautiful beach and the sea adjoining the venue also made it the place to be in. The Golden lions were all over, multiple replicas lined up on makeshift stages, a huge couple on either side of the main entrance and small ones littered around the main pathway. Outside the mail auditorium, a huge gallery was set up where artifacts, DVDs and festival memorabilia were being sold. I chanced upon some very good movies but the fact that all subtitles were in Italian hindered me from buying.
The festival per se ended on a somewhat sour note with some shock film choices. Ang Lee surprised everyone and won the Golden Lion with his film "Lust, Caution" ("Se, Jie"), two years after he had won the same award for the gay cowboy drama "Brokeback Mountain." In 2005 he was a popular winner. In 2007 he was not. The slow narrative, only excerpts of which I could manage to view, set in World War Two Shanghai, is punctuated by explicit and sometimes violent sex which Lee hinted was real. Reporters and critics in the press room, watching the closing ceremony beamed live on a big screen, booed when Lee's Golden Lion was announced. That, the film was not even thought for one of the lesser awards in all of the pre-award speculation, vindicated the critics’ stance. Although no strong favorite emerged from the 23 films in competition in Venice, critics agreed Tunisian-born Abdellatif Kechiche's "The Secret of the Grain", about an Arab family living in France, would be a worthy winner. In the end a disappointed Kechiche walked away with a jury runner-up prize, as did U.S. film maker Todd Haynes for his conceptual biopic of Bob Dylan called "I'm Not There".
More controversial than the Golden Lion for Lee was the best actor prize for Pitt, who starred as the fabled outlaw in "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford." Critics said the decision was particularly baffling because Pitt's co-star in the movie, Casey Affleck, was widely considered to have stolen every scene, while Michael Caine in Kenneth Branagh's "Sleuth" was also a frontrunner. The disgusted crowd booed even more loudly, when Pitt was named best actor, a far cry from the first day when “Brangelina” walked the red carpet. It makes me wonder whether the jury tries, at times, to only whet the appetites of big names and thereby rendering such huge artistic festivals to lose some of its mystic sheen. After all its festivals like Cannes and Venice that have unearthed such colossal global directors, our own Satyajit Ray included, and not allowing talented film makers to bloom would only make world cinema poorer.
After spending the afternoon there, I headed to the Piazza San Marco in the evening. Piazza San Marco, often known in English as St Mark's Square, is the principal square of Venice. The buildings around the Piazza are, anti-clockwise from the Grand Canal, the Doge's Palace, St Mark's Basilica, St Mark's Clock tower, the Napoleonic Wing of the Procuraties, the Procuratie Nuove, St Mark's Campanile and Loggetta and the Biblioteca Marciana. The last of these buildings were completed under Napoleonic occupation, although the campanile has since been rebuilt. The Piazza is undoubtedly the most popular tourist destination in Venice and it faintly reminds you of Trafalgar Square and the Milano Duomo with all the pigeons in it. The best part of the Piazza of course is that it hasn’t been corrupted by the automobile, as the only mode of vehicular transport is the waterway. It is a must visit for tourists in Venice.
Saturday over, the next day was one of the biggest in the annual Italian sporting calendar. It was time for Grand Prix and Formula 1. The F1 circuit had, in recent weeks, assumed additional significance due to the Mclaren Ferrari espionage imbroglio and at the autodrome at Monza, the home crowd was baying for blood. Strangely the leaders from Mclaren, Hamilton and Alonso were facing the crowd chagrin when to me it should have been Ron Dennis, the Mclaren boss. But such is passion in sport that instead of the scheming administrators, it is often the gladiators who face the wrath. The Italians are mad about F1 and it was just crazy being there, an experience in itself. People wearing the traditional red, many having made the trip from all over Italy and Europe and camped in tents outside the stadium, some with trumpets, some perched on tree tops, many families with children too, the men and at times even the women guzzling beer. The crowd was shouting for the home team, most of the people with general tickets, the lowest in denomination costing a decent 60 Euros J, having made their own personal spaces on the grass and hilltops, the luckier ones having found seating on the makeshift galleries that the organizers had planted at few places. Our strategy (I had gone with another colleague) was not to stick at one place, but roam around and explore the entire course before and during the race. It surely wasn’t a bad strategy because not only we were able to view the entire course – famous curves like the parabolica but it was also not boring to sit at one place and view the cars zip by you, at times at blinding speeds over 350 kmph. Besides we were able to soak in the atmosphere and enjoy the emotions of the crowd, which to me is as important besides viewing the sport itself inside a stadium. Alonso had pole, followed by teammate Hamilton, and then the reds, Raikkonen and Massa followed suit. The remaining field was destined to be the bridesmaids any which way, such is the domination of machine over men in this fiercely competitive sport. The sea of red were already chanting curses, many hoping and even praying that the Mclaren duo would crash out. True to their desire, there was an early crash in the second lap itself but it was ex-champion David Coulthard on a Red Bull who had an early collision with Italian Giancarlo Fisichella's Renault, leading to the safety car to come out and lead the race for some time. The Torro Rosso team's young German driver Sebastian Vettel also suffered an early accident. Soon after disaster for the home team as Felipe Massa’s car had some technical problems and he was forced to drop out as early as the 11th lap. The frenzied crowd went quiet and some feared the inevitable early in the race. But fantastic Kimi had other ideas. The Scandinavian drivers have scorched the track over the years from the phenomenal Keke Roseborg to the more recent Mika Hakkinen and surely Kimi Raikkonen, Nico Roseborg and company will keep those flags flying high in the years to come. Within a few laps, Kimi had crossed Hamilton into the second position and was closing in on Alonso. The crowd suddenly got excited and were shouting hoarse. The intoxicating smell of burnt rubber was all over the place and tyres flew sparks, what with the drivers peaking close to 350 kmph quite often. The sound was deafening with the roaring engines of the machines as they whizzed past you. Close to the halfway stage, aided by an Alonso pit stop, Kimi had slipped into position one and frenzy of the Italians was palpable. The crowd was blowing trumpets and shouting and egging its lone driver on. However, the one stop strategy backfired on Ferrari when fresh tyres and Mclaren’s persistence paid off with Alonso crossing Raikkonen soon after at the latter’s only pit stop and in a fantastic and daring maneuver, even Hamilton who till then was lying low, managed to slip past Kimi. That’s how the podium finished with Alonso’s win cutting down Hamilton’s lead to less than 5 points in the driver’s championship. The home team had to be content with Raikkonen 3rd place and this was the first time in 5 years that Ferrari had failed to win the race at Monza.
After the race, the track was opened up to the audience and it was a dream to walk on the track at Monza, supposed by many as the Holy Grail of Formula 1. People of different countries, of race, colour and creed were walking on the track with flags of the constructors and even the various countries being flown. There was a Polish contingent with the biggest flag that you would ever see, shouting Kubica’s name. There was a queer sight of an over-zealous fan lying flat on the turf kissing it with gay abandon, a sight his wife surely had been amused about has she seen it. There were ladies and children posing on the track and the adjoining green, which at places had been artificially multi colored by main sponsor Martini. Being a sporting maniac, I had seen some of the greatest stadia and sporting spectacles at the venue, the cricket world cup, US Open tennis, Confed Cup and Serie A soccer, even international beach volleyball, but this one stood right up there if only for the manner in which emotions went wild and tempers frayed. We have seen such stuff in cricket matches in India, but in an altogether different sport in a different continent, it was an experience worth being a part of and enjoying. Sadly Ferrari lost the battle that day, but aided by an FIA decision deriding the Mclaren team and fining them 100 million USD just days after Monza, would go on to win the war and the subsequent F1 constructor’s championship for 2007.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Practical Magic - The Hellenic way
While the whole world's reading community and beyond was waiting to get seduced by Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and Harry and Rowling’s impending future on the 20th of last month, I was waiting that very day for magic of a different hue to happen to me. I was headed to Greece for a quick 3 day trip to explore the possibility of some “historic” pleasure along with obvious business.
The journey from Paris to Athens was beautifully eclectic to say the least - Alps on the one hand, not snow capped for a change and then changing into intemperate zones as we headed to the Aegean belt and the beautiful islands therein. It was just amazing to see the number of islands littered on the Adriatic and Ionian seas of different hues and shapes from small to big, green to rough and the changing shades of water as well around them– blue to turquoise to aquamarine to green.
The Greek territory comprises 6,000 islands and islets scattered in the Aegean and Ionian Sea, a truly unique phenomenon of the European continent; of these islands only 227 are inhabited. One of the most famous of them is the Santorini Island. It differs from the other islands in the group because of its geological morphology which is the result of action by a volcano now dormant. Santorini, officially known as Thira, is regarded as the most spectacular of all the Greek islands. Unfortunately, my short duration did not allow me to make a trip there but I surely plan to visit this romantic island sometime down the line.
Thankfully, the people speak more English that their Italian, Spanish or French brethren and thus, it wasn’t a big challenge to find the nearest taxi stand and make the long journey to the hotel. Strangely after Paris, Athens felt more like home with soaring temperatures of 40C+, a veritable furnace if it were. The other interesting fact was that the city had a much lower cost of living compared to the other southern European bigwigs leading to expenses being much lesser there, even though the strengthening of the Euro has resulted in a number of European cities (Athens included) moving significantly up the global cost of living index. Hence if I paid 75 Euro for a certain distance in the morning at Milan, traversing roughly the same distance at Athens cost me only 30 Euro 4 hours later. Different strokes, as they say, for different folks but I was surely not complaining.
After having a quick nap, I was ready to hit the Athens evening with aplomb and once the hotel shuttle dropped me at the Syntagma Square, the city centre, I was right in the middle of history. Syntagma Square is the most famous square in Athens if not all of Greece. No matter where you have to go in Athens, if you can find Syntagma Square you can find your way. The name Syntagma means Constitution. At the top of Syntagma is the Parliament Building, formerly the King's Palace. The original idea was to put the king's palace on the Acropolis but luckily this never happened. From the top of Syntagma is the terminal for the Athens Coastal Tram to take rides to the beaches. Bordering the Syntagma is the Metro station, thus making it a hub for many forms of public transportation in Athens. The Syntagma area is a large public square with tree shaded walkways and fountains, benches and cafes where Athenians and travelers could talk politics, sports, movies and anything under the sun.
The Square is also located near many of Athens' oldest and most famous neighborhoods & tourist attractions. The neighborhoods of Plaka, Monastiraki, Psiri and Kolonaki are all within walking distance of the Syntagma, and most of the famous sites of ancient Athens are nearby, including the Acropolis, the Theater of Dionysos, the Areopagus, the Ancient Agora of Athens with Hadrian's Library, the Tower of the Winds in the Roman Agora, the Arch of Hadrian and the Temple of Olympian Zeus, the Pnyx, the Philopappos Monument on the Hill of the Nymphs, the Kerameikos Cemetery and many more. Historic churches also dot the area, some dating from the middle ages.
Pláka, the old historical neighborhood of Athens just under the Acropolis, with labyrinthine streets, many restaurants and plenty of souvenir stores, was my next destination. It is visited by many thousands of tourists every year and is the perfect place for picking up some Greek artifacts and is a must see for anyone visiting Athens. The Pláka is full of street musicians, flower sellers, photographers and people who sell beads or will write names on a grain of rice. An occasional restaurant would also throw some traditional Greek song and dance routine to attract customers, like it did to me. I picked up some Olympic paraphernalia, a Parthenon T shirt, and some beautiful antiques and relics for back home. Since it was late for visiting the Acropolis which closes at 7 30 pm sharp everyday, I routed myself to the Monastiraki Flea Market, another shopping area, which I felt was a logical extension of the Pláka. The area is named after Monastiraki Square, where the metro station is located. Sunday is special because people come from all over to buy and sell in the Monastiraki flea market. In fact that day, the flea market really is a flea market and not just a collection of small shops.
The entrance to the Acropolis was a monumental gateway called the Propylaea. To the south of the entrance is the tiny Temple of Athena Nike. A bronze statue of Athena originally stood at its center. East of the entrance and north of the Parthenon is the temple known as the Erechtheum. At the centre of the Acropolis is the Parthenon. It is the most famous and talked about edifice of the Acropolis. It is the most important surviving building of Classical Greece and is one of the world's greatest cultural monuments. The Greek Ministry of Culture is currently carrying out a program of restoration of the entire Acropolis.
The journey from Paris to Athens was beautifully eclectic to say the least - Alps on the one hand, not snow capped for a change and then changing into intemperate zones as we headed to the Aegean belt and the beautiful islands therein. It was just amazing to see the number of islands littered on the Adriatic and Ionian seas of different hues and shapes from small to big, green to rough and the changing shades of water as well around them– blue to turquoise to aquamarine to green.
The Greek territory comprises 6,000 islands and islets scattered in the Aegean and Ionian Sea, a truly unique phenomenon of the European continent; of these islands only 227 are inhabited. One of the most famous of them is the Santorini Island. It differs from the other islands in the group because of its geological morphology which is the result of action by a volcano now dormant. Santorini, officially known as Thira, is regarded as the most spectacular of all the Greek islands. Unfortunately, my short duration did not allow me to make a trip there but I surely plan to visit this romantic island sometime down the line.
Thankfully, the people speak more English that their Italian, Spanish or French brethren and thus, it wasn’t a big challenge to find the nearest taxi stand and make the long journey to the hotel. Strangely after Paris, Athens felt more like home with soaring temperatures of 40C+, a veritable furnace if it were. The other interesting fact was that the city had a much lower cost of living compared to the other southern European bigwigs leading to expenses being much lesser there, even though the strengthening of the Euro has resulted in a number of European cities (Athens included) moving significantly up the global cost of living index. Hence if I paid 75 Euro for a certain distance in the morning at Milan, traversing roughly the same distance at Athens cost me only 30 Euro 4 hours later. Different strokes, as they say, for different folks but I was surely not complaining.
After having a quick nap, I was ready to hit the Athens evening with aplomb and once the hotel shuttle dropped me at the Syntagma Square, the city centre, I was right in the middle of history. Syntagma Square is the most famous square in Athens if not all of Greece. No matter where you have to go in Athens, if you can find Syntagma Square you can find your way. The name Syntagma means Constitution. At the top of Syntagma is the Parliament Building, formerly the King's Palace. The original idea was to put the king's palace on the Acropolis but luckily this never happened. From the top of Syntagma is the terminal for the Athens Coastal Tram to take rides to the beaches. Bordering the Syntagma is the Metro station, thus making it a hub for many forms of public transportation in Athens. The Syntagma area is a large public square with tree shaded walkways and fountains, benches and cafes where Athenians and travelers could talk politics, sports, movies and anything under the sun.
The Square is also located near many of Athens' oldest and most famous neighborhoods & tourist attractions. The neighborhoods of Plaka, Monastiraki, Psiri and Kolonaki are all within walking distance of the Syntagma, and most of the famous sites of ancient Athens are nearby, including the Acropolis, the Theater of Dionysos, the Areopagus, the Ancient Agora of Athens with Hadrian's Library, the Tower of the Winds in the Roman Agora, the Arch of Hadrian and the Temple of Olympian Zeus, the Pnyx, the Philopappos Monument on the Hill of the Nymphs, the Kerameikos Cemetery and many more. Historic churches also dot the area, some dating from the middle ages.
Pláka, the old historical neighborhood of Athens just under the Acropolis, with labyrinthine streets, many restaurants and plenty of souvenir stores, was my next destination. It is visited by many thousands of tourists every year and is the perfect place for picking up some Greek artifacts and is a must see for anyone visiting Athens. The Pláka is full of street musicians, flower sellers, photographers and people who sell beads or will write names on a grain of rice. An occasional restaurant would also throw some traditional Greek song and dance routine to attract customers, like it did to me. I picked up some Olympic paraphernalia, a Parthenon T shirt, and some beautiful antiques and relics for back home. Since it was late for visiting the Acropolis which closes at 7 30 pm sharp everyday, I routed myself to the Monastiraki Flea Market, another shopping area, which I felt was a logical extension of the Pláka. The area is named after Monastiraki Square, where the metro station is located. Sunday is special because people come from all over to buy and sell in the Monastiraki flea market. In fact that day, the flea market really is a flea market and not just a collection of small shops.
After roaming all over the city centre area and the markets, it was time to catch the metro back to the hotel for a well earned sleep, as early next day was planned for the Acropolis. The Acropolis literally means the edge of a town or a high city. For purposes of defense, early settlers naturally chose elevated ground, frequently a hill with precipitous sides, and these early citadels became in many parts of the world the nuclei of large cities which grew up on the surrounding lower ground. The word "Acropolis", though Greek in origin and associated primarily with Greek cities may be applied generically to all such citadels.
The ticket to the Acropolis cost 12 Euros and allows one to also visit the Theater of Dionysos, the Ancient Agora, the Roman Agora, the Temple of Olympian Zeus & the Kerameikos Cemetery. It is valid for a 4 day period during which time one can visit any of the historic
monuments which was fantastic for tourists for me trying to plug in some travel & leisure time amidst business.
The base of the Acropolis has the Theatre of Dionysos, which was a major open air theatre in ancient Greece. Dedicated to Dionysos (also known as Bacchus by the Romans), the god of plays and wine (among other things), the theatre could seat as many as 17,000 people, making it an ideal location for ancient Athens' biggest theatrical celebration, the Dionysia. It became the prototype for all Theatres of ancient Greece. Dionysos often alludes to being the birthplace of Greek tragedy and was the first theatre built of stone. It was amazingly romantic to be standing in the ruins of an amphitheatre that existed in 500 BC and held Greek plays. I haven’t been to Pompei yet, but standing at the Theatre of Dionysos, I knew exactly why the avant-garde Floyd foursome sans Syd could make such a path breaking VHS.
From the Theatre upwards, is the scale up to the Acropolis. Being there was a dream come true. History had always fascinated me, especially such great civilisations that existed centuries ago. The Acropolis, if anything, was the epitome of the Greek civilization. Having read about the legends of Greece as a kid in school, being there was absolute magic. One just could not wonder and amaze at how life and an entire society and culture existed more than 5000 years back. The structures inside this amazing historic monument would make even the best in today’s world proud. Such historical places across the world should be restored in a bigger and better manner.
monuments which was fantastic for tourists for me trying to plug in some travel & leisure time amidst business.The base of the Acropolis has the Theatre of Dionysos, which was a major open air theatre in ancient Greece. Dedicated to Dionysos (also known as Bacchus by the Romans), the god of plays and wine (among other things), the theatre could seat as many as 17,000 people, making it an ideal location for ancient Athens' biggest theatrical celebration, the Dionysia. It became the prototype for all Theatres of ancient Greece. Dionysos often alludes to being the birthplace of Greek tragedy and was the first theatre built of stone. It was amazingly romantic to be standing in the ruins of an amphitheatre that existed in 500 BC and held Greek plays. I haven’t been to Pompei yet, but standing at the Theatre of Dionysos, I knew exactly why the avant-garde Floyd foursome sans Syd could make such a path breaking VHS.
From the Theatre upwards, is the scale up to the Acropolis. Being there was a dream come true. History had always fascinated me, especially such great civilisations that existed centuries ago. The Acropolis, if anything, was the epitome of the Greek civilization. Having read about the legends of Greece as a kid in school, being there was absolute magic. One just could not wonder and amaze at how life and an entire society and culture existed more than 5000 years back. The structures inside this amazing historic monument would make even the best in today’s world proud. Such historical places across the world should be restored in a bigger and better manner.
The entrance to the Acropolis was a monumental gateway called the Propylaea. To the south of the entrance is the tiny Temple of Athena Nike. A bronze statue of Athena originally stood at its center. East of the entrance and north of the Parthenon is the temple known as the Erechtheum. At the centre of the Acropolis is the Parthenon. It is the most famous and talked about edifice of the Acropolis. It is the most important surviving building of Classical Greece and is one of the world's greatest cultural monuments. The Greek Ministry of Culture is currently carrying out a program of restoration of the entire Acropolis.After spending a couple of hours at the Acropolis, it was time for lunch and some Greek beer, the famous Mythos 
lager. And then the descent down to the dual Agoras – the Roman and the Ancient. The Roman Agora actually has nothing to do with Romans, but took this name because it was constructed during Roman times. The Roman Agora consists of a large, open-air courtyard surrounded by colonnades (a very Greek structural trait as I observed) on all four sides. Agora means market place and on the eastern side, there were a series of shops. On the southern side was a fountain. The Roman Agora apparently became the main market of the city, taking over many of the commercial functions of the Greek Agora, which had become something of a museum (or archaeological park) by that time. It also houses The Tower of the Winds, designed to be an elaborate water clock, sundial and weather vane.
The more famous Agora of Athens is however the Ancient Agora. In the 5th century BC there were temples constructed to Hephaistos, Zeus and Apollo. Of these, the Temple of Hephaistos is the most famous. It’s one of the few temples that has survived the centuries intact. Even the frieze has survived in its original position in a remarkably complete condition. As a result, it is a favorite spot for tourists and archeologists to view. As with virtually all of the ruins, visitors are not allowed inside the temple. However, one can see enough from the outside to get a good understanding of the form and function of a Greek temple.
Down the small hill where the Temple of Hephaistos sits is the Stoa of Attalos. The Stoa was rebuilt by archeologist in the 1950s to serve as the Agora’s museum. The museum on the Stoa's round floor contains finds from 5,000 years of Athenian history, including sculpture and pottery, a voting machine, and a child's potty seat, thankfully all labeled in English. The Hellenic ministry of culture has done a stupendous job in maintaining the artifacts.
The next destination was the Kerameikos, the ancient cemetery of Athens. One can only make it out as a cemetery by the several burial tombs. Apart from that, Kerameikos is strangely beautiful. The Eridanos River which once passed through the sacred gate still flows beneath the site. There is a small yet lovely garden with blooming flowers. There is a small museum to the left of the site entrance with some really nice pottery and sculptures, one of a huge bull that will give its more famous New Yorker brother a run for it money.
It was late afternoon when I headed to the last destination, Temple of Olympian Zeus. It is not to be confused with the “wonder"ful statue of Zeus at Olympia, one of the seven original wonders at the ancient town of Olympia, where started the original Olympic Games in 776 BC (in fact the ancient Greek calendar starts from here). The Roman Emperor Hadrian dedicated the temple to Zeus Olympios during the Panhellenic festival of AD 132, on his second visit to Athens. He also set up a gold and ivory inlaid statue of the god inside the temple, a copy of the original by Pheidias at Olympia. Next to it he placed a huge statue of himself. Both these statues have since been lost. Only 15 of the original 104 Corinthian columns remain, each 17 m high - but enough to give a sense of the enormous size of this temple, which would have been approximately 96 m (130 ft) wide. The temple is situated next to Hadrian's Arch, built in AD 131. It was positioned deliberately to mark the boundary between the ancient city and the new Athens of Hadrian.
It was evening already and the setting sun indicated the end of a glorious day at one of the most historic locations that I had ever visited in my lifetime. Even though, I had not explored Athens and Greece well enough, this was certainly a very exciting start to the Aegean belt. I knew already that I had to come back to the Aegean waters, to visit romantic Santorini, to visit Olympia, to visit the Saronic isles, Delphi and Sounion and many other such jaw dropping historical landmarks. And with one of my all time soccer heros Rivaldo, plying his trade with AEK Athens at the most beautiful Olympic stadium, I am sure Athens and Greece will happen sooner rather than later. Till then I shall continue to play the wonderful 2 days at Athens in my memory and relive those magical moments over and over again.
lager. And then the descent down to the dual Agoras – the Roman and the Ancient. The Roman Agora actually has nothing to do with Romans, but took this name because it was constructed during Roman times. The Roman Agora consists of a large, open-air courtyard surrounded by colonnades (a very Greek structural trait as I observed) on all four sides. Agora means market place and on the eastern side, there were a series of shops. On the southern side was a fountain. The Roman Agora apparently became the main market of the city, taking over many of the commercial functions of the Greek Agora, which had become something of a museum (or archaeological park) by that time. It also houses The Tower of the Winds, designed to be an elaborate water clock, sundial and weather vane.The more famous Agora of Athens is however the Ancient Agora. In the 5th century BC there were temples constructed to Hephaistos, Zeus and Apollo. Of these, the Temple of Hephaistos is the most famous. It’s one of the few temples that has survived the centuries intact. Even the frieze has survived in its original position in a remarkably complete condition. As a result, it is a favorite spot for tourists and archeologists to view. As with virtually all of the ruins, visitors are not allowed inside the temple. However, one can see enough from the outside to get a good understanding of the form and function of a Greek temple.
Down the small hill where the Temple of Hephaistos sits is the Stoa of Attalos. The Stoa was rebuilt by archeologist in the 1950s to serve as the Agora’s museum. The museum on the Stoa's round floor contains finds from 5,000 years of Athenian history, including sculpture and pottery, a voting machine, and a child's potty seat, thankfully all labeled in English. The Hellenic ministry of culture has done a stupendous job in maintaining the artifacts.
The next destination was the Kerameikos, the ancient cemetery of Athens. One can only make it out as a cemetery by the several burial tombs. Apart from that, Kerameikos is strangely beautiful. The Eridanos River which once passed through the sacred gate still flows beneath the site. There is a small yet lovely garden with blooming flowers. There is a small museum to the left of the site entrance with some really nice pottery and sculptures, one of a huge bull that will give its more famous New Yorker brother a run for it money.
It was late afternoon when I headed to the last destination, Temple of Olympian Zeus. It is not to be confused with the “wonder"ful statue of Zeus at Olympia, one of the seven original wonders at the ancient town of Olympia, where started the original Olympic Games in 776 BC (in fact the ancient Greek calendar starts from here). The Roman Emperor Hadrian dedicated the temple to Zeus Olympios during the Panhellenic festival of AD 132, on his second visit to Athens. He also set up a gold and ivory inlaid statue of the god inside the temple, a copy of the original by Pheidias at Olympia. Next to it he placed a huge statue of himself. Both these statues have since been lost. Only 15 of the original 104 Corinthian columns remain, each 17 m high - but enough to give a sense of the enormous size of this temple, which would have been approximately 96 m (130 ft) wide. The temple is situated next to Hadrian's Arch, built in AD 131. It was positioned deliberately to mark the boundary between the ancient city and the new Athens of Hadrian.
It was evening already and the setting sun indicated the end of a glorious day at one of the most historic locations that I had ever visited in my lifetime. Even though, I had not explored Athens and Greece well enough, this was certainly a very exciting start to the Aegean belt. I knew already that I had to come back to the Aegean waters, to visit romantic Santorini, to visit Olympia, to visit the Saronic isles, Delphi and Sounion and many other such jaw dropping historical landmarks. And with one of my all time soccer heros Rivaldo, plying his trade with AEK Athens at the most beautiful Olympic stadium, I am sure Athens and Greece will happen sooner rather than later. Till then I shall continue to play the wonderful 2 days at Athens in my memory and relive those magical moments over and over again.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Of dreams and Khwaishes: Hazaaron Khwaishe Aise, a perspective
The late 1960s and early 1970s were turbulent times globally, angst filled and strife scarred if you will. It was the time of Vietnam, of flower power in the west, of the Emergency and the rise of the Naxal movement in India. It meant that a booming population of restless youth driven by torment and perturbed as to where India was headed to was eager to wage war against anything that curbed idealism. The mall going, disco toting, MMS flashing generation of today is not quite aware of those times of unrest. “Hazaaron Khwaishe Aise” tries to depict some of it through its beautiful plot.
This movie is shot in the backdrop of the Naxal movement in Bengal. It features Shiney Ahuja in his pre-lobotomy (Gangster) days, Kay Kay Menon before his cool deliverances (Corporate, Black Friday) and the exquisite debutante Chitrangada Singh, better known besides this film as the better half of ace golfer, Jyoti Randhawa. I’m a sucker for films which follow characters over decades. It reminds me of Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Dreamers, which is set in Paris during the 1968 student riots, but of course sans the messy, taboo-breaking sex so intensified by the tempestuous Eva Green. The film also likens itself to Dil Se and Dr. Zhivago, if only for its romance during revolution.
It is so rare to find period films being made in India. Having watched English classics which were mainly war time love stories, it always was a dream to see Hindi films shot in the backdrop of social and political movements of our own country. Besides being a period film, a love triangle of talented actors, fantastic background score, an Indianised script, the crescendo is an enthralling Shubha Mudgal signature song.
The beauty of the film, however, lies not in its undivided attention to either relationships or the progeny of such movements in India but intertwined between those, the hopes and aspirations of the three protagonists. Each is mature enough to appreciate the other’s “khwaish” while being single-mindedly devoted to attaining theirs. So if Vikram (Shiny) understands that Geeta's love is only for Siddharth (KK) it doesn’t stop him loving her and caring for her selflessly and unconditionally. Possibly utopic in today’s world but heart rendering nonetheless!!!
Geeta, a traditional south Indian brought up in Canada and Delhi is drawn to Sid because of his ideologies, his revolutionary and socialist thinking. And when marriage with him fails her, she does not flinch to run away from her marriage to spend nights with Sid in the villages, even fathering his illegitimate child. Again utopic even in the India of today, but what the heck, fulfilling the character’s dream in the scheme of things!!!
All in all, Hazar Khwaishe (thousand aspirations) of the three don't really get fulfilled but isn’t that life? We all dream a thousand dreams, nay a million ones, some real some unreal some abstruse – material ones like the job, the car, the wife, the partner, the championship, and then the ones that I term ethereal, a Mother Teresa out to help orphans, a Gandhi advocating peace and non-violence amidst battlefields and war, an Al Gore out to green the world with a vengeance (so what if it has political undercurrents) or even you and me dreaming to get the elusive happiness that we are so bereft of in today’s slam bang world. The fact that only a few fortunate ones realize them, make dreams as surreal as they get. However, in spite of all cynicism, people dream and life moves on – POSITIVELY. The end might not always be a happy one buts it surely should be optimistic. That, if anything, succinctly sums up “Hazaaron Khwaishe Aise”, the movie.
“Haazaron kwaashen aisi ke har khwaish pe dam nikle,
Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi dam nikle.
Nikalna khuld se aadam, ka sunte aae the lekin,
Bahut be aabroo ho kar tere kuche se ham nikle”
Mirza Ghalib thank you so very much for your inspirational and allegorical couplets…….
This movie is shot in the backdrop of the Naxal movement in Bengal. It features Shiney Ahuja in his pre-lobotomy (Gangster) days, Kay Kay Menon before his cool deliverances (Corporate, Black Friday) and the exquisite debutante Chitrangada Singh, better known besides this film as the better half of ace golfer, Jyoti Randhawa. I’m a sucker for films which follow characters over decades. It reminds me of Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Dreamers, which is set in Paris during the 1968 student riots, but of course sans the messy, taboo-breaking sex so intensified by the tempestuous Eva Green. The film also likens itself to Dil Se and Dr. Zhivago, if only for its romance during revolution.
It is so rare to find period films being made in India. Having watched English classics which were mainly war time love stories, it always was a dream to see Hindi films shot in the backdrop of social and political movements of our own country. Besides being a period film, a love triangle of talented actors, fantastic background score, an Indianised script, the crescendo is an enthralling Shubha Mudgal signature song.
The beauty of the film, however, lies not in its undivided attention to either relationships or the progeny of such movements in India but intertwined between those, the hopes and aspirations of the three protagonists. Each is mature enough to appreciate the other’s “khwaish” while being single-mindedly devoted to attaining theirs. So if Vikram (Shiny) understands that Geeta's love is only for Siddharth (KK) it doesn’t stop him loving her and caring for her selflessly and unconditionally. Possibly utopic in today’s world but heart rendering nonetheless!!!
Geeta, a traditional south Indian brought up in Canada and Delhi is drawn to Sid because of his ideologies, his revolutionary and socialist thinking. And when marriage with him fails her, she does not flinch to run away from her marriage to spend nights with Sid in the villages, even fathering his illegitimate child. Again utopic even in the India of today, but what the heck, fulfilling the character’s dream in the scheme of things!!!
All in all, Hazar Khwaishe (thousand aspirations) of the three don't really get fulfilled but isn’t that life? We all dream a thousand dreams, nay a million ones, some real some unreal some abstruse – material ones like the job, the car, the wife, the partner, the championship, and then the ones that I term ethereal, a Mother Teresa out to help orphans, a Gandhi advocating peace and non-violence amidst battlefields and war, an Al Gore out to green the world with a vengeance (so what if it has political undercurrents) or even you and me dreaming to get the elusive happiness that we are so bereft of in today’s slam bang world. The fact that only a few fortunate ones realize them, make dreams as surreal as they get. However, in spite of all cynicism, people dream and life moves on – POSITIVELY. The end might not always be a happy one buts it surely should be optimistic. That, if anything, succinctly sums up “Hazaaron Khwaishe Aise”, the movie.
“Haazaron kwaashen aisi ke har khwaish pe dam nikle,
Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi dam nikle.
Nikalna khuld se aadam, ka sunte aae the lekin,
Bahut be aabroo ho kar tere kuche se ham nikle”
Mirza Ghalib thank you so very much for your inspirational and allegorical couplets…….
Monday, May 7, 2007
Leo Messi - A soccer gift
Just when it seemed that soccer had become dull and dour, subsumed by commerce, endorsements and politics (and you thought only Indian cricket suffered from this evil), there appeared from nowhere a thing of sublime beauty that left everyone spellbound.
Lionel Messi, the precocious 19 year old Argentine, took 13 touches in, would you believe it, 13 seconds to baffle the entire (well almost) Getafe team and score a goal that would put all soccer cynics to rest. As he waltzed through the opponent defense, the ball dancing to his tune, his black mane flowing like a wild horse and opponents falling around him like nine pins, he bore uncanny resemblance to another of his ilk (in more ways than one), his countryman, the legendary Diego Armando, who scored what is supposed by many as the greatest goal that ever was. Maradona’s goal against the Englishmen was possibly on a higher altitude because of the stakes attached - the stage was the Copa Mundial 1986 and the backdrop of the Falkland Wars left any Argentina-England duel in those times akin to real war. His work of art, 2 decades back, happened before Leo was born but the difference if any stops there. Both are Argentine, both from humble backgrounds, both plied their trade in Barcelona as some point in time in their careers, both primarily left footed, both dwarfs in size but giants in footballing terms, both as far as intuition and soccer ability goes.
Each man received the ball in his own half, close to the right touchline. Each wove his way around some 200 feet (WOW!!!!!) at breathtaking speed, false footing five-six opponents, besides the goalkeeper. Each controlled and moved the ball with his left foot, swerving and producing subtle body feints, but coming from the right side of the park. However, Diego’s final touch to the English goal was left footed while Messi used his right, so acute he had gone while dodging the rival goalkeeper. But all in all, the path traversed, the feints and pauses, the speed, the final culmination, all made the goal a replica in many ways of the original master’s.
While purists will say that young Leo has a lot to do before he scales the dizzy heights of his predecessor, I have a gut feel that he will go a long way. Coming in today’s professional era, having seen loads of talented youngsters go wayward due to erratic lifestyles would be an abject lesson for the injury prone teen to know how and where to tread. Even the great Diego paved his own downfall triggered by drugs and alcohol and has been hospitalized quite often in recent times. Messi’s control on his superb run might have been a shade below Maradona’s but we hope that he will be in greater control on his personal and professional life to be placed in untouchable heights when he has long left the game.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6_mAzYU69U
Lionel Messi, the precocious 19 year old Argentine, took 13 touches in, would you believe it, 13 seconds to baffle the entire (well almost) Getafe team and score a goal that would put all soccer cynics to rest. As he waltzed through the opponent defense, the ball dancing to his tune, his black mane flowing like a wild horse and opponents falling around him like nine pins, he bore uncanny resemblance to another of his ilk (in more ways than one), his countryman, the legendary Diego Armando, who scored what is supposed by many as the greatest goal that ever was. Maradona’s goal against the Englishmen was possibly on a higher altitude because of the stakes attached - the stage was the Copa Mundial 1986 and the backdrop of the Falkland Wars left any Argentina-England duel in those times akin to real war. His work of art, 2 decades back, happened before Leo was born but the difference if any stops there. Both are Argentine, both from humble backgrounds, both plied their trade in Barcelona as some point in time in their careers, both primarily left footed, both dwarfs in size but giants in footballing terms, both as far as intuition and soccer ability goes.
Each man received the ball in his own half, close to the right touchline. Each wove his way around some 200 feet (WOW!!!!!) at breathtaking speed, false footing five-six opponents, besides the goalkeeper. Each controlled and moved the ball with his left foot, swerving and producing subtle body feints, but coming from the right side of the park. However, Diego’s final touch to the English goal was left footed while Messi used his right, so acute he had gone while dodging the rival goalkeeper. But all in all, the path traversed, the feints and pauses, the speed, the final culmination, all made the goal a replica in many ways of the original master’s.
While purists will say that young Leo has a lot to do before he scales the dizzy heights of his predecessor, I have a gut feel that he will go a long way. Coming in today’s professional era, having seen loads of talented youngsters go wayward due to erratic lifestyles would be an abject lesson for the injury prone teen to know how and where to tread. Even the great Diego paved his own downfall triggered by drugs and alcohol and has been hospitalized quite often in recent times. Messi’s control on his superb run might have been a shade below Maradona’s but we hope that he will be in greater control on his personal and professional life to be placed in untouchable heights when he has long left the game.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6_mAzYU69U
Monday, April 2, 2007
At the Pink City of Floyd, circa April 2002
It has been almost 5 years since that momentous day in Bangalore and it still sends shivers down my spine reminiscing that magic Saturday, right from meeting Roger Waters "In the Flesh" (pun intended) to finally being in the Waters concert that evening.
It all started off casually that afternoon while strolling on MG Road with some friends, when I suddenly countenanced a very familiar face ensconced between 3 burly bodyguards and traveling with an entourage that was very “phoren”.....it took less than 5 seconds to realize that it was the same face I had come down all the way from Delhi to see. What was surprising, though, was the fact that he was strolling so casually on “happening” MG Road with no one actually recognizing him. It was good that no one discerned him for it helped me coolly walk up to him and meet him one on one, take his autograph and strike up a small conversation as well. In between, however, a group of people had gathered and we all had to be shooed away from there but not before I had already taken his autograph on the quickest piece of paper I could lay my hands on - my company’s business card :)
By that time, I was almost walking in a dream - having met, autographed and spoken to one my rock legends. In keeping with the mood, we hit one of our favorite pubs, Pecos and guzzled beer till we ventured out for the venue, the Palace Grounds in a state of “happiness” where the only color of grass was brown.
And then the show started.......aptly the opening track was “In the Flesh" (incidentally the name of the tour) which drove the 30,000+ crowd to frenzy. The crowd, mostly Floyd freaks, soaked in the occasion. The opening number led to Pigs on the Wings, Another Brick in the Wall, Parts 1-3, Mother, Dogs, Welcome to the Machine, Wish You Were Here, Shine on You Crazy Diamond (all parts), Time, Money, Brain Damage, Breathe, Eclipse, Comfortably Numb and then tracks from his solo albums Pros and Cons & Amused to Death viz. Pros and Cons of Hitch Hiking, Perfect Sense (Parts I and II), Amused To Death and many more which left the crowd screaming for more. The show ended up with a solo number from his forthcoming album Flickering Flame.
The ambience was electric what with the unmistakable smell of pot filling the air and people swaying to the psychedelic music. Waters was phenomenal as was his regular backup "Bleeding Hearts Band". In fact his son, Harry Waters, was on the keyboards during the concert and did a more than commendable job. I thought Roger missed a few good numbers from his magnum opus Radio K.A.O.S. which I position as one of his creative best.
The setting was amazing with innovative graphic video projections like the Prism, Machines and fantastic acoustic effects with sounds Floyd fans are so familiar with viz. the helicopter, psychedelic laughter, the barking dogs, sirens, the ticking of a thousand clocks, clanging of slot machines, wailing children, the heartbeat etc. The 30,000+ crowd were left “comfortably numb” as they sang along, word for word, note for note, every number thrown at them for a period of three hours. Overall a great concert and one that will always remain very close to my heart. Post Roger Waters, “the lunatic in my head” would no longer scream, “there’s someone in my head but it’s not me”. For time and everything else had stood still, that eventful evening when I attained my rock nirvana.
It all started off casually that afternoon while strolling on MG Road with some friends, when I suddenly countenanced a very familiar face ensconced between 3 burly bodyguards and traveling with an entourage that was very “phoren”.....it took less than 5 seconds to realize that it was the same face I had come down all the way from Delhi to see. What was surprising, though, was the fact that he was strolling so casually on “happening” MG Road with no one actually recognizing him. It was good that no one discerned him for it helped me coolly walk up to him and meet him one on one, take his autograph and strike up a small conversation as well. In between, however, a group of people had gathered and we all had to be shooed away from there but not before I had already taken his autograph on the quickest piece of paper I could lay my hands on - my company’s business card :)
By that time, I was almost walking in a dream - having met, autographed and spoken to one my rock legends. In keeping with the mood, we hit one of our favorite pubs, Pecos and guzzled beer till we ventured out for the venue, the Palace Grounds in a state of “happiness” where the only color of grass was brown.
And then the show started.......aptly the opening track was “In the Flesh" (incidentally the name of the tour) which drove the 30,000+ crowd to frenzy. The crowd, mostly Floyd freaks, soaked in the occasion. The opening number led to Pigs on the Wings, Another Brick in the Wall, Parts 1-3, Mother, Dogs, Welcome to the Machine, Wish You Were Here, Shine on You Crazy Diamond (all parts), Time, Money, Brain Damage, Breathe, Eclipse, Comfortably Numb and then tracks from his solo albums Pros and Cons & Amused to Death viz. Pros and Cons of Hitch Hiking, Perfect Sense (Parts I and II), Amused To Death and many more which left the crowd screaming for more. The show ended up with a solo number from his forthcoming album Flickering Flame.
The ambience was electric what with the unmistakable smell of pot filling the air and people swaying to the psychedelic music. Waters was phenomenal as was his regular backup "Bleeding Hearts Band". In fact his son, Harry Waters, was on the keyboards during the concert and did a more than commendable job. I thought Roger missed a few good numbers from his magnum opus Radio K.A.O.S. which I position as one of his creative best.
The setting was amazing with innovative graphic video projections like the Prism, Machines and fantastic acoustic effects with sounds Floyd fans are so familiar with viz. the helicopter, psychedelic laughter, the barking dogs, sirens, the ticking of a thousand clocks, clanging of slot machines, wailing children, the heartbeat etc. The 30,000+ crowd were left “comfortably numb” as they sang along, word for word, note for note, every number thrown at them for a period of three hours. Overall a great concert and one that will always remain very close to my heart. Post Roger Waters, “the lunatic in my head” would no longer scream, “there’s someone in my head but it’s not me”. For time and everything else had stood still, that eventful evening when I attained my rock nirvana.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
INDIA CRICKET’S PORT OF PAIN
For the “true” cricket loving Indian fan, the “Garden of Eden” and the “Oval Park of the Queen” ARE 2 happy hunting grounds and hugely historical ones at that. ARE??? Nay, I should change it to HAD BEEN. After the ignominious defeat to the hand of tigers of Bangladesh and the subsequent ouster from cricket’s mega event, the Queen’s Park Oval, Port of Spain, Trinidad would always be remembered as the venue where “Cricket India” hit its proverbial nadir.
And the plot was not supposed to peter out this way. Let’s take a sneak peek at history. India’s first success against an almighty Caribbean team led by the legendary Sir Garfield Sobers happened way back in 1971 at this particular venue. The decisive win there gave India her first Test series triumph against the West Indies.
For the uninitiated, India has won just four test matches on West Indies soil and all of them, save one, has come at Queen's Park Oval. After the historic 1971 win, there have been wins in April 1976, when she chased down 406 in the last innings - the second highest successful fourth innings chase in test cricket ever and finally the one in April 2002.
The QPO was the venue where the greatest Indian batsman of all time IMHO, the little master Sunil Manohar Gavaskar, made an electric debut scoring 132 of his 10,122 Test match runs in two match winning knocks. SMG has also scored most runs by an Indian in one Test Match 344 (124 & 220) again at the same venue. Most interestingly, he teamed up with brother-in-law Vishwanath, each scoring dazzling centuries, in the historic chase down of the final innings 406 in 1976 again at PoS, the first time the cricketing Everest of the “4th inning 400” was reached.
Therefore, the fall from grace from such dizzy heights, will always look gargantuan especially, when India were being touted, albeit meretriciously, as possible world cup champions. A sizable presence of PIO (people of Indian origin) living in Trinidad & Tobago has always ensured good support for India’s cricketers, who have also found the pitches at this venue thankfully responding to spin bowling. Add to that people who flew in to the Windies from every conceivable part of the world to cheer for the Men in Blue. With all the tradition, support, pitch quality, a supposed “world beating” batting line up and “world class” coaching and support staff, it was but a huge shock (Indian cricket no longer gives surprises) that the bridesmaid of the last edition could not even graduate to the next round of the “2007 Copa Mundial”. Whether, they can rise from these ashes like the proverbial phoenix, is what a secular country of billion and more, which so theatrically calls cricket its only religion will expectantly wait and watch. Till then let us all look back and ponder at the catastrophe that befell Indian cricket at what has turned out be Indian cricket’s PORT OF PAIN.
And the plot was not supposed to peter out this way. Let’s take a sneak peek at history. India’s first success against an almighty Caribbean team led by the legendary Sir Garfield Sobers happened way back in 1971 at this particular venue. The decisive win there gave India her first Test series triumph against the West Indies.
For the uninitiated, India has won just four test matches on West Indies soil and all of them, save one, has come at Queen's Park Oval. After the historic 1971 win, there have been wins in April 1976, when she chased down 406 in the last innings - the second highest successful fourth innings chase in test cricket ever and finally the one in April 2002.
The QPO was the venue where the greatest Indian batsman of all time IMHO, the little master Sunil Manohar Gavaskar, made an electric debut scoring 132 of his 10,122 Test match runs in two match winning knocks. SMG has also scored most runs by an Indian in one Test Match 344 (124 & 220) again at the same venue. Most interestingly, he teamed up with brother-in-law Vishwanath, each scoring dazzling centuries, in the historic chase down of the final innings 406 in 1976 again at PoS, the first time the cricketing Everest of the “4th inning 400” was reached.
Therefore, the fall from grace from such dizzy heights, will always look gargantuan especially, when India were being touted, albeit meretriciously, as possible world cup champions. A sizable presence of PIO (people of Indian origin) living in Trinidad & Tobago has always ensured good support for India’s cricketers, who have also found the pitches at this venue thankfully responding to spin bowling. Add to that people who flew in to the Windies from every conceivable part of the world to cheer for the Men in Blue. With all the tradition, support, pitch quality, a supposed “world beating” batting line up and “world class” coaching and support staff, it was but a huge shock (Indian cricket no longer gives surprises) that the bridesmaid of the last edition could not even graduate to the next round of the “2007 Copa Mundial”. Whether, they can rise from these ashes like the proverbial phoenix, is what a secular country of billion and more, which so theatrically calls cricket its only religion will expectantly wait and watch. Till then let us all look back and ponder at the catastrophe that befell Indian cricket at what has turned out be Indian cricket’s PORT OF PAIN.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Trip to Viking land on a "cold" wintry December 2006
Wanderlust being a trait that comes naturally to me, it was with total delight last December, that I greeted yet another business trip, this time to freezing Norway. I had heard so much of Scandinavia, and though I had been to Sweden once before, albeit fleetingly, this was going to be the first time I would be staying in Nordic land for a while. The enthusiasm was not at all spiked by the fact that it would be the coldest place on earth that I would have ever ventured out from the sultry shores of India by a distance. It was thus with trepidation that I started my mental preparations having learnt that temperatures shot as low as -40C. The itinerary would be choc-a-bloc though with the luxury of 1 weekend it might have made for some wonderful roaming around Oslo, where I would be based out of.
The KLM connector brought me to Oslo from Amsterdam a couple of hours post schedule on a Wednesday afternoon and by the time I “duty-freed” some Spanish van rouge and reached Radisson, it was already late afternoon, but in the month of December, 4 pm was pitch dark. I had been to Europe many times before, but the nip in the air and the darkness at that hour, had a strange feel to it. By the time, I was well entrenched in my hotel room on the 18th floor after dinner, I was ready to snooze into dreamland and so I did with minimum fuss.
I woke up afresh the next day and for once thought that it was midnight again, only to realize that “Uncle Sun” was in hibernation and like an early sunset, it was to be a very late sunrise as well. So, by the time I had a sumptuous breakfast littered with all sorts of possible catches from the North Sea, the smoked salmon, the cod fillet, the mussels, the trout and caviar, I was alive and kicking. Coming from a part of the world where fish is considered “vegetarian”, I sumptuously gorged on all the sea fish on offer. The next few days went off at work before I could bat an eyelid and before I knew it, the weekend was in. The old age “work hard, play harder” was now going to be implemented in full swing. To my delight, my Norwegian co-worker Jon, volunteered to spare some of his precious time to show me around.
Jon’s exuberance and willingness was summed up by the fact that the warmest winter in some 60 years made the temperature only around -5C, a veritable heaven for the locals, who dread much chiller winters. We planned to drive up the hill to a wonderful place called Holmenkollen, a hilly area in the outskirts of Oslo which boasts of the Holmenkollen ski jump, world's second oldest ski jump competition that still exists. The area has been a ski recreation area since the late 19th century, with its famous, eponymous, ski jump arena hosting competitions since 1892. The jump also played host to the 1952 Winter Olympics, in Oslo. The area is located within the Oslo borough of Vestre Aker, and borders Marka, the large woodlands located within the Oslo city borders. At the base of the Holmenkollen Ski Jump is a lake which is open for swimming. In September the lake is emptied in preparation for skiing season. If ever there was sporting paradise on the face of mother earth, THIS was it. I was left visualizing the ski jumps and the giant slaloms and actually viewing some of the legends airborne on the large screen plasmas inside the stadium gallery and the museum, presumably the world’s oldest ski museum. From the legendary Norwegian, Paul Braaten, the earliest 2 time winner through to Tommy Ingebrigtsen, again of Norway, holder of the current jump record of 136 meters achieved on January 25, 2006, the museum had it all. The icing on the cake was a breathtaking view of Oslo from atop the ski jump which was veritable magic.
The next destination was the Viking Ship Museum, which is part of the University Museum of Cultural Heritage, and home to great Viking-ship discoveries from Gokstad, Oseberg and Tune as well as other finds from Viking tombs around the Oslo Fjord. The world's two best-preserved wooden Viking ships built in the 9th century also find their place. The architectural splendor is complete with small boats, sledges, carts with exceptional ornamentation and even implements, tools, harness, textiles and household utensils. Made you wonder whether it was only pilferage that the Vikings should have been associated with, for they also strangely seemed a mature enough society to have forged their own civilization.
After finishing a belated lunch, the Norwegian Maritime Museum was where we headed next. It is beautifully located on the waterfront at Bygdøynes and has fascinating environmental exhibitions about fishing, ship building, shipping, marine archeology and impressive collections of boat models and marine paintings. The arctic vessel `Gjøa´ finds place in older boat exhibitions in the harbour. An exciting new video presents `Maritime Norway´, showing a unique and fascinating panoramic view of Norway’s maritime history, the Norwegian coast with its traditions and heritage.
We had had a hectic day and assimilating the beauty of Norway and its culture could only be complete with a sumptuous dinner downed with some good wine. I was very sure that I would try some exotic traditional Norwegian cuisine and my host suggested that I try Pinnekjøtt, salted dried lamb ribs steamed over a rack of juniper or birch twigs, and served with potato, mashed swede (rutabaga). To conclude the meal riskrem, a thick rice pudding topped with a berry sauce, is served. Traditionally, beer and akevitt are served with pinnekjøtt, but it has become increasingly popular to drink red wine instead, but only cause wine is becoming more popular in general. In keeping with the modern times, we ordered some Spanish Merlot to wash the lamb. Pure epicurean delight was what it wasJ. I still feel the taste in my buds even after a quarter. Heavenly, simply heavenly.
We drove back in Jon’s swanky BMW sports model and I pretty much crash-landed soon after in my hotel room. It was a hectic day but worth every single moment of it. Unfortunately, the remaining time flew away faster than one could say hello and try as I might, I could not muster additional time to explore Oslo more enough. In spite of my ardor to visit the Henie-Onstad Art Centre at Høvikodden, a museum dedicated and founded by one of my all time sporting legends, the mesmerizing Norwegian figure skater of the 30s and later day Hollywood actress, Sonja Henie, it was something that will have to wait for another day and another trip to a land which I did not know much about but fell quite in love with. Finally, the other noteworthy fact was that I had the opportunity to treat myself to some arresting reindeer steak which otherwise I could never imagine I might devour.
The KLM connector brought me to Oslo from Amsterdam a couple of hours post schedule on a Wednesday afternoon and by the time I “duty-freed” some Spanish van rouge and reached Radisson, it was already late afternoon, but in the month of December, 4 pm was pitch dark. I had been to Europe many times before, but the nip in the air and the darkness at that hour, had a strange feel to it. By the time, I was well entrenched in my hotel room on the 18th floor after dinner, I was ready to snooze into dreamland and so I did with minimum fuss.
I woke up afresh the next day and for once thought that it was midnight again, only to realize that “Uncle Sun” was in hibernation and like an early sunset, it was to be a very late sunrise as well. So, by the time I had a sumptuous breakfast littered with all sorts of possible catches from the North Sea, the smoked salmon, the cod fillet, the mussels, the trout and caviar, I was alive and kicking. Coming from a part of the world where fish is considered “vegetarian”, I sumptuously gorged on all the sea fish on offer. The next few days went off at work before I could bat an eyelid and before I knew it, the weekend was in. The old age “work hard, play harder” was now going to be implemented in full swing. To my delight, my Norwegian co-worker Jon, volunteered to spare some of his precious time to show me around.
Jon’s exuberance and willingness was summed up by the fact that the warmest winter in some 60 years made the temperature only around -5C, a veritable heaven for the locals, who dread much chiller winters. We planned to drive up the hill to a wonderful place called Holmenkollen, a hilly area in the outskirts of Oslo which boasts of the Holmenkollen ski jump, world's second oldest ski jump competition that still exists. The area has been a ski recreation area since the late 19th century, with its famous, eponymous, ski jump arena hosting competitions since 1892. The jump also played host to the 1952 Winter Olympics, in Oslo. The area is located within the Oslo borough of Vestre Aker, and borders Marka, the large woodlands located within the Oslo city borders. At the base of the Holmenkollen Ski Jump is a lake which is open for swimming. In September the lake is emptied in preparation for skiing season. If ever there was sporting paradise on the face of mother earth, THIS was it. I was left visualizing the ski jumps and the giant slaloms and actually viewing some of the legends airborne on the large screen plasmas inside the stadium gallery and the museum, presumably the world’s oldest ski museum. From the legendary Norwegian, Paul Braaten, the earliest 2 time winner through to Tommy Ingebrigtsen, again of Norway, holder of the current jump record of 136 meters achieved on January 25, 2006, the museum had it all. The icing on the cake was a breathtaking view of Oslo from atop the ski jump which was veritable magic.
The next destination was the Viking Ship Museum, which is part of the University Museum of Cultural Heritage, and home to great Viking-ship discoveries from Gokstad, Oseberg and Tune as well as other finds from Viking tombs around the Oslo Fjord. The world's two best-preserved wooden Viking ships built in the 9th century also find their place. The architectural splendor is complete with small boats, sledges, carts with exceptional ornamentation and even implements, tools, harness, textiles and household utensils. Made you wonder whether it was only pilferage that the Vikings should have been associated with, for they also strangely seemed a mature enough society to have forged their own civilization.
After finishing a belated lunch, the Norwegian Maritime Museum was where we headed next. It is beautifully located on the waterfront at Bygdøynes and has fascinating environmental exhibitions about fishing, ship building, shipping, marine archeology and impressive collections of boat models and marine paintings. The arctic vessel `Gjøa´ finds place in older boat exhibitions in the harbour. An exciting new video presents `Maritime Norway´, showing a unique and fascinating panoramic view of Norway’s maritime history, the Norwegian coast with its traditions and heritage.
We had had a hectic day and assimilating the beauty of Norway and its culture could only be complete with a sumptuous dinner downed with some good wine. I was very sure that I would try some exotic traditional Norwegian cuisine and my host suggested that I try Pinnekjøtt, salted dried lamb ribs steamed over a rack of juniper or birch twigs, and served with potato, mashed swede (rutabaga). To conclude the meal riskrem, a thick rice pudding topped with a berry sauce, is served. Traditionally, beer and akevitt are served with pinnekjøtt, but it has become increasingly popular to drink red wine instead, but only cause wine is becoming more popular in general. In keeping with the modern times, we ordered some Spanish Merlot to wash the lamb. Pure epicurean delight was what it wasJ. I still feel the taste in my buds even after a quarter. Heavenly, simply heavenly.
We drove back in Jon’s swanky BMW sports model and I pretty much crash-landed soon after in my hotel room. It was a hectic day but worth every single moment of it. Unfortunately, the remaining time flew away faster than one could say hello and try as I might, I could not muster additional time to explore Oslo more enough. In spite of my ardor to visit the Henie-Onstad Art Centre at Høvikodden, a museum dedicated and founded by one of my all time sporting legends, the mesmerizing Norwegian figure skater of the 30s and later day Hollywood actress, Sonja Henie, it was something that will have to wait for another day and another trip to a land which I did not know much about but fell quite in love with. Finally, the other noteworthy fact was that I had the opportunity to treat myself to some arresting reindeer steak which otherwise I could never imagine I might devour.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Joining the Blog-wagon……..FINALLY
Procrastination, in my eyes, is the worst of the seven sins, a close parallel to “sloth” from the original line up, if you will. And such laziness has delayed what can be termed as an obvious inevitable, joining a blog site and penning down endless words of creativity (or lack thereof).
And so friends, Indians and global citizens, finally I have also joined the bandwagon too :)
No specific raison d'être, just trying to clear some mental cobwebs and sharpen that long lost art that I once practiced well enough - read writing. Will surely pen down some my self-confessed passions viz. sports, classic rock and world cinema. Will also pen down some of my travel that I am lucky enough to do across the globe but not much of travails lest I start being a bore. I shall also share some of the videos and pictures that I treasure as a part of these globe-trotting sprees, some interesting, some funny, some trite, but ALL that I cherish deep down in my heart.
So without further ado, let us kick-start the show. Anyone reading my blog-space and curious to quiz me on anything is more than welcome to shoot a mail across and I would be happy to answer back.
Happy Reading
Surrealistic Cornucopia
And so friends, Indians and global citizens, finally I have also joined the bandwagon too :)
No specific raison d'être, just trying to clear some mental cobwebs and sharpen that long lost art that I once practiced well enough - read writing. Will surely pen down some my self-confessed passions viz. sports, classic rock and world cinema. Will also pen down some of my travel that I am lucky enough to do across the globe but not much of travails lest I start being a bore. I shall also share some of the videos and pictures that I treasure as a part of these globe-trotting sprees, some interesting, some funny, some trite, but ALL that I cherish deep down in my heart.
So without further ado, let us kick-start the show. Anyone reading my blog-space and curious to quiz me on anything is more than welcome to shoot a mail across and I would be happy to answer back.
Happy Reading
Surrealistic Cornucopia
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