The Cup runneth over .....

In India, it always feels that we are never away from anything "cricket".


I often wonder whether cricket is as much entwined in the daily life of the populace of other countries as it is in India.

What do you say about a country , where the entire population stays awake the whole night to watch India win the world cup in 1983 in England, and as dawn approaches, there are wild celebrations, including a guy sitting on top of an elephant and distributing sugar to the ecstatic masses on the road, on one of Pune's main city thoroughfares , all to the intense confusion of the elephant , who , so far, simply took children and families for a ride in a very responsible and sedate manner, and probably looks down disdainfully about this much ado about three sticks, a bat and a ball....

What do you say about a country , where as more and more people claim toe-space in a unhealthily packed suburban train in Mumbai, three guys hanging at the door, half in and half out, avidly discuss, wind blowing through their faces, how the umpire turned a blind eye to someone who was clearly bowled by Kumble, and the guy who is 3/4ths in and 1/4th out of the train compartment , gestures to some inside chaps to move a couple of more centimeters, so that the 3 cricket faithfuls , blowing in the wind outside, get slightly enhanced protection, all in the interests of having a continued discussion on the topic . I sometimes think even the pickpockets in Mumbais' suburban trains have a modified schedule during cricket matches.....

And what can you say about a country where, electronic shop owners, displaying various fancy TV's , turn one of them a wee bit at an angle, so guys who can probably only afford 1/10th of a remote , can stand outside and watch the match with bated breath, as Sachin Tendulakr strides out with his bat at the fall of a wicket, head held high, shoulders straight, despite the entire nation's burden of expectation resting heavy on them.....

What can you say about a country, where in a group of ten people speaking 9 languages between them, and watching cricket, standing for hours outside the newly cleaned glass front of the electronic store, there needs to be no exchange of any words whatsoever; they all speak the same language and their expressions and eyes say it all....

What can you say about a country, where a long time ago, the people in the stadium reacted angrily to some repeated bad umpiring , and some thoughtless people started throwing stuff and running on to the field , preferring strenghth to good sense; while the "security" surrounded the teams and huddled them away into the pavillion, some bravehearts rushed on to the field and stood guard over the pitch, to protect it, from those, hell bent on destroying it; and there were no praises that were sung about it.....

What do you say about a country with so many religions, that if everyone decided to fight everyone else on religion or language alone, generations would go by and we'd still be futilely fighting; but someone in Calcutta organises a special puja ceremony to propitiate the Gods for the benefit of the Indian Cricket team, and you see photos the next day, of guys of various religions, sitting at the function with serious faces, all probably praying seriously to their own Gods, and it doesnt really matter who is doing the rituals so long as Sachin gets his century, Ganguly follows in his footsteps, and Dravid and Dhoni do their thing.

What do you say about a country where marriage halls incurr a loss , in a heavy marriage season, simply because no one wants to schedule a marriage reception that clashes with , say, a Indian Pakistan one day International, with the series tied at 2-2; The wedding folks probably have serious issues on which the bride's and groom's sides do not agree, but on this they are united. To schedule a reception on such a day, is just not Cricket....

And what do you say about a guy in South India, constructing an entire Ganesha temple; and , in keeping with the habit of Indian Gods who appear in several popular forms, he dedicates this temple and names it Cricket Ganesha; it is probably good business sense as ordinary middle class folks, come in and perform specific ceremonies, for the success of their favourite players, all earning the priest a decent fee......

And how do you treat a cricket crazy senior citizen , who was beside himself, watching India needing 4 runs to win and one ball to play; and all that excitement is more than his heart can handle, resulting in a traumatised family rushing him to the nearest Intensive Care facility, while Dravid, smiling in his restrained fashion, jabs his bat in some direction, and walks back to the pavillion with Dhoni, quietly planning what to say at the prize ceremony....

What do really say, about a country, where terrorism is destroying lives, child malnutrition has increased, crime has increased, prices of essential commodities have reached the roof, but the esteemed Members of Parliament, take up the issue of player selection and deselection in speech after speech, fearing an enraged home constituency. There are demonstrations, effigies of assorted people are burned. The Speaker himself, makes a statement in Parliament , the whole thing is politicised, and newspapers report everything gleefully, then write chiding editorials, and the game of cricket continues as before.....

And what do you say about people, who start speculating on why Tendulkar's back problem suddenly surfaced before the final one day match, and motives are attributed to all kinds of people who have actually "dropped" him under the guise of a back needing a rest; and they all forget, that his selecetion for the World Cup is a given, some other guys need to be given a chance to play this match, and maybe Tendulkar the father of a 6-7 year old little boy, really badly wants to attend his son's first football interschool match , where he is captaining the school team.....

But the final cake is really taken by this Gujarati family , who organised a "one day international cricket match" between the bride's side and groom's side, as part of the pre wedding festivities, at the Oval in Mumbai, where they rented a part of the ground, erected a pavillion, complete with commentators on the P.A. system analysing the play , drinks interval , third umpire (God only knows what he did). The only thing inetrnational about this was the mother-in-law's Tiffany earrings. The audience came in all the pre wedding finery, there were comments and hooting, some ladies did the mexican wave; lunch was served to all the invitees; . The Oval ground in Churchgate is not really designed for such social occasions. At the end of the day, those that wanted to visit the bathroom had a problem, and true to the spirit in which the game was played, the solution was found at Churchgate Station, which saw a whole bunch of ladies in finery, old folks with gilt edged walking sticks, acoompanied by muddied young people with knee pads rushing in to use the loos, before returning to the "pavillion" .

Well ? How do I know all this ? My friend (who was the groom's aunt) attended, and her husband batted at no 4. Out for a duck.

We are like that only......

The secrets of Flax......

Great things come in small sizes. And they have great histories behind them.
(I am not sure I am quoting anyone there, much as it sounds like a "saying". I just made that up. ).

And so it is with the seeds of the plant known as the flax plant. Today, the importance of flax seeds as a part of our
diet cannot be emphasized enough.
It has almost a world wide presence, being native to , Egypt, India, Iraq, South and Central America, Kurdistan, Peru, Spain, Turkey, Venezuela, USA, Canada, China, and much of Europe.

Flax originated in Asia about 5000 years ago and has been used for thousands of years in what are considered the older civilisations of the world. According to some, flax is thought to have originatd in Mesopotamia, and some believe that it has been known to folks even in the Stone Ages.

In the middle ages , when things got pretty exciting with witches , sorcery, burning, etc, the blue flowers of the flax plant were considered a surefire protection aganist sorcery. In Bohemia, where less violent life styles were the order of the day, children were encouraged to dance amoong the flax pants, so as to improve upon their looks. (I am continually amazed at the abysymmal ignorance of folks like Revlon,Neutrogina,Loreal and assorted "beauty types" about this. But we shall let that pass...).

As if all this was not enough, flax, per se, was under the Divine Protection of the Teutonic Goddess , Hulda, who is supposed to have guided the mortals, regarding the growing and subsequent uses of the flax plant. It is , however a continuing mystery what has happened to all these goddesses , in todays world, where deforestation is rampant,, and mountains are being quarried and flattened , all in the name of progress. I guess , sometimes, even the Gods may have had enough....

Flax seeds and cloth were found in Egyptian tombs as far back as 23rd century BC. Flax seeds are mentioned in the Bible in both the Old and New Testaments and are mentioned by Homer in the Odyssey as being used for sail cloth and cords.

The earliest use of flax seeds in the field of cooking, may be attributed, like several other things, to the Greeks. In both that civilization and in ancient Rome, the health benefits of flaxseeds were widely praised. After the fall of Rome, the cultivation and popularity of flaxseeds declined. (The continuing involvement of Rome, and its citizens, in all the exciting chapters of human development will be the subject of another study , maybe !).

But flax came into its own , once again, thanks to Emperor Charlemagne. Besides being the architect and shaper of European history, he did not allow his grandiose royal lifestyle to close his eyes to the lifestyles of the ordinary and non-famous. He observed the culinary, medicinal, and fibrous uses of flax seeds, by the populace, and was so impressed, that in the 8th century B.C. he actually passed a law making compulsory, the growing and consumption of these seeds. This was the entry of flax into Europe, and would have more repurcussions than Europeans ever realised, and we are not referring only to the medicinal, intestinal clearing properties of flax.

Flax, is a slender, grass-like, annual plant with narrow leaves that blooms with small light blue flowers in early summer. Flax is planted in the early spring, and ranges in height between eighteen to thirty inches. When the seed pods replace the flowers the flax is considered ready to be harvested.

Thanks to Empereor Charlemagne's masterstroke, Ireland began growing the best quality flax around 1000 BC.

And just when you thought all you do with flax is eat, listen to this...

During the eighteenth century, in Ireland, flax was the only cash crop produced by the vast majority of the people, especially the small farmholders. Why flax ? Becuase it was what made Irish Linen , Irish Linen. The stalks of the Flax plant were processed and provided to the manufacturers and weavers of the linen. Potatoes and oats were produced to feed the people and animals. Production of the crop during the summer, and weaving the yarn during the winter kept the people occupied all year round. They became highly skilled at the industry and their craftsmanship was known and recognised far and wide. Irish Longford linen was equal to the best in the world. When the famine hit Ireland, and folks migrated across the Atlantic to the New World, a lot of the flax went along with them, and grew and prospered in the USA.

The question arises as to whether , with all the well known properties of flax for the betterment of one's health, were the irish aware of it ? The answer tells you why some foods are native to some areas, but everyone does not use that foodstuff the same way. It turns out that although the Irish climate was found to be very suitable for growing flax, short harvests were not favourable to ripening the flax seeds, therefore no seed or linseed products were produced. The crop was harvested for linen production only while it was in full flower. In dryer climates linseed and linseed products were used for a more widely varied number of products, such as animal meals, oil, paint, varnish, French polish, soap, animal laxatives, oil cloth and linoleum. Pectin was also extracted by boiling.

All across the world today, flax , which is basically an oilseed , is primarily used for its lubricative and medicinal properties.

Hippocrates, the father of all modern medicine, actually wrote of using flax seeds for relief from abdominal pain.

In many countries, historically, flax seeds were part of the seasonal diet. Today in western countries, using flax seeds in muffins, cakes etc, has become an innovative and beneficial thing to do.

But it is interesting to note that in the non-coastal regions of India, a dry ground spiced flax seed mixture is the condiment of choice , eaten with great relish in the winter season, along with freshly rolled whole wheat and other grain tortiillas. Today, during winters, farmer households , will typically make a wonderful dry mixture of dry roasted and gropund flaxseeds, cayenne pepper, salt and garlic, and this is stored in a earthen vessel . A freshly roasted tortilla, with a crushed fresh onion, sprinkled with this flax misture, is the lunch of convenience for the farmers, as they rest under the shade of a mango tree , at lunchtime. Across more urban or more prosperous households, variations of this mixture are seen. People often go overboard in the pursuit of stuff that would tickle the tongue, as opposed to comfort the heart, and you see people adding all kinds of things to this mixture, such as other oilseeds and coconut etc, that completely defeat the medical benefits of flax seeds.

What are these ?

Researchers believe that the lignans, fiber, and omega-3 fatty acids (EFA's) found in ground flax seed are essential to good health. EFA's or essential fatty acids ( Linolenic acid and Linoleic acid ) are not produced by our bodies, and flax seeds are an excellent source. The Omega-3 component is the magic stuff. Those people who eat certain types of fish, do obtain this in their diet, but for those who swear by a vegetarian diet, flax seeds then become the only source. (Mixing up all kinds of other oilseeds etc in these flax seeds mixtures , simply dilutes the benefits).

Roasted flax seeds, powdered coarsely, have a wonderful nutty taste. Those who need a spicy tingle on their tongues, may add a variety of spices here like cayenne pepper etc. But it even tastes wonderful with a pinch of salt.

Flax seeds contain both soluble and insoluble fiber. About one-third of the fiber in flax seed is soluble, and soluble fiber can aid in lowering cholesterol and regulating blood sugar levels. Two-thirds of the fiber in flax seeds is insoluble. Insoluble fiber aids digestion by increasing bulk and preventing constipation. These characteristics seem to have a role in reducing incidents of colon cancer.

What is interesting is that to get all these benefits, one must use ground flax seeds. Flax seeds, per se, by themselves, whole, are not digestible. They need to be roasted well and ground coarsely to be digestible as well as to obtain the required medicinal benefits. Ground Flax Seed is rich in protein, B vitamins, vitamin E, beta-carotene, calcium, potassium, magnesium, manganese and zinc. The fiber benefits of flax seed can only be found in the ground flax seed.

Then there is Flax seed oil. A lot of people experiment with taking a fixed dosage of flax seed oil. The main thiing to remember is that the nutrients available in the flax seed, get depleted and destroyed in the process of extracting the oil. Besides fibre , flax seeds contain what are known as Lignans and ALA (alpha linloleic acid -omega-3). These lignans are of immense interest, as for possible use in breast and colon cancer as well as some kidney diseases. Conversion to oil only leaves the fibre for your usage. So its very desirable that the seeds be cosumed in preference to the oil. In addition, it is observed that flax oil goes rancid very fast.

Remember that flax seed must not be consumed raw, and /or whole. The unbroken seed has a tendency to pass unchanged through the human ailimentary canal . If at all roasted seed is to be eaten whole, it must be nicely chewed before it is ingested.

Flax seeds, due to the fibre they provide are an ideal food for those suffering from constipation.

Eatern medicine systems often link the skin , and bone health with the ability to clear one's intestines daily in order to throw out the toxic body wastes. So it goes without saying that its is not surprising that consumption of flax seeds is also known to help people with acne and other skin problems, as well as some cases of arthritis.

Regular intake of flax also helps in improving your heart health. The quickest way to improve your "good" cholesterol or HDL , is to have a regular intake of flax every day.

One however, needs to be careful of not over doing the flax, as for those with very sensitive guts, and with a tendency to get your colon muscles into peristalsis very easily, this may mean quick and fast trips to the toilet for a while.
Flax seeds are an astringent, and have , basically, a laxative action.

Very recently, research has been done to see if fish oil or the omega-3 variety of oil (for which non fish eaters patronise flax) , has any effect on brain function. It appears that the Omega-3 oils may help in concentration and is actually a nutrient that the brain can use. Omega-3 fats seem to work by making the thin fatty membranes that surround the nerve cells in the brain more flexible. This allows more neurotransmitters to be successfully transmitted between nerve cells, increasing our ability to think faster and concentrate better. Omega-3 has also been shown to have a number of other effects that control harmful inflammation (arthritis) and even possibly prevent depression.

So what is the ideal dose of flax seeds ? About 25 to 30 gms of flax roasted seeds is suggested.

But remember, you cannot make huge quantities of ground flax , as it does not keep well over time. Flax oil, as we know, gets rancid very fast; the ground flax loses its flavour as well as its nutrients if kept for a long time.

The trick is to grind a small bottle full of flax along with other benficial tasteful things like cayenne pepper, garlic, salt. It tastes winderful on pasta, toast , and even pizza.

Like they said in an ad, when I was younger, "Try it, you'll like it". .

Flax seeds are very small seeds , but as we see often in life, its the small things that have the biggest impact.....

On a completely non technical note, and surprising as it may seem , flax has been the inspiration for poetry for some people.

In the Boston Poets First Edition, Wendy Mnookin, a poet living in Newton , Massachussets writes :


Flax

Laundry hangs out its stripes,
the counter shines. Even the cat
feels the satisfaction of Tuesday.

For his third birthday
my son asked for a white cake.
I baked angel food,
brought recipe and egg whites and beater
to the cabin in Maine.

He cried when he saw it.
He meant a not-chocolate cake.
He meant a yellow cake.

I heat the oven for bread,
measure flour and flax,
proof the yeast in warm milk.
Apples plead for their skin, thin

and necessary covering.
When I wash my hands,
flax seeds cling to my fingers,
the hems of my sleeves.

Gathered in deep waiting, seeds
have all the time in the world.

...........

Lost , on life's main street.....

A life, with its usual preocuupation with work, the family, children's education , and then facing the eventide, as it rolls in bringing a sudden emptiness as you retire, looking askance at an emptying nest, and wondering what life has in store for you.

A friend of ours , one among a set of several sisters and brothers, a most beloved aunt of so many nieces and nephews, one day, just forgot everyone. Just like that. We spent our vacations at her place, almost every summer; and never having married and had children herself, she indulged in us , and looked forward to our visits. We could get up late, play to our hearts content, and there would be these interesting things she would make for us at mealtimes.

She lived alone. She knew everyone in the neighborhood, and did her shopping almost on fixed days during the week.

One fine day, she didnt turn up for her shopping. Acquaintances who knew her and often met her there, thought maybe she was just taking it easy. Then she came in the next day, and shopped. But she did not go home. The manager of the place saw her sitting outside on a bench, doing nothing. Walking up to her, an old customer, he wished her, and smiled. Hardly any response. He got talking to her. And realised , that although she spoke to him well, it was as if she did not know him, and she had forgotten how to reach home.....

Small towns have bigger hearts.

He drove her home himself, let her inside, and informed her neighbor about what had happened.

This was the beginning of getting lost. This continued in a heart breaking manner, till she stopped recognising us when we came to visit, couldnt place her own sister on the memory mind screen, and occasionally exhibited so much confusion in day to day activities, that we often wondered how she could be the same favourite aunt that we spent our childhod holidays with.

Today, Alzheimer's Disease, which my aunt was finally diagnosed with, has started affecting folks as early as their late fifties and early sixties. The number of people with the disease doubles every 5 years beyond age 65. Alzheimer's disease (AD), basically involves the parts of the brain that control thought, memory, and language. Scientists still do not know what causes AD, and there is no cure.

Losing her way home, and forgetting her address was just the beginning. Then there was this money confusion. The checkout lady was the first to notice. She once handed her entire wallet to the lady at the counter. Thanks to her previous good karma, she did not ever get cheated, but this became a worry factor.

There is lots of research going on regarding what might cause this disease. What is known, is that such people have what are known as amyloid plaques, or something like nerve tangles in their brains. These can be seen in scans. Various blood tests may also test for various protein levels , unique to alzheimers patients.

But to you and me, it is useful to know, what are the typical signs, and scenarios where the Alzheimer "behaviour" as such may be recognised by the family members and friends.

The Beginning:

One of the first things you are likely to notice is that the person easily forgets recent events; as recent as where he went with everyone 2 days ago. And there is no awareness that he or she has forgotten something either.

The person will usually suddenly develop trouble remembering words. Occasionally a similar sounding word which doesnt even exist in the dictionary will be used. Sometimes, these folks get repetetive about what they are saying. Remember, they dont know they are being repetetive; its their brain tangle asserting itself.

One of the biggest changes is that the person simply loses enthusiasm about doing things. A sudden turn off. There is trouble organising things, including thoughts. Sometimes when the person realises this based on reactions from around him, he or she simply stops talking.

Typically, the person will start misplacing things around the house. This is often a precursor to getting obsessive about hoarding and searching for trivial things.

Simple actions are confusing. The person will hold on to a toothbrush, not knowing what to do with it. All this leads to some kind of withdrawl into self, which appears to be a logical next step, in a world where simple day to day living starts getting so problematic.

Money gets confusing. They forget how to use money. Forget why they have come where they have come. Sometimes, as in my aunt's case, they give their entire wallets at the check in counter, whether or not it contains the money.

You can try conversation, but there are no guaranteed answers . If you press on, there is anger, and clamming shut. Decision making is very very difficult for them and traumatic. So they stop thinking about it. Even simple things like asking them what food they would like, ellicits a quick reply saying something like "whatever you are having"....

The biggest danger is that of losing their way going to places they would normally reach with their eyes closed, so to speak. This getting lost factor is often the first indication to the family that something is amiss. Other behavioural factors often get attributed to old age, dementia, etc.


The next progression .

At some point, the person starts mixing up people around him. Things become really difficult for the family when a dedicated caretaker family member is questioned as to their identity. Its not uncommon to have a complete mixup between wife, sister, mother, brother, son etc.

There are changes in the persons appearance; inattention to dress, disturbed sleep, behaviour pattern changes.

One curious habit often displayed is a propensity for cutting up paper and tissues. Just like that. And these could be just bathroom tissues, or they could be documents found somewhere. These are often cut up with a great deication to the act.

These folks often get restless towards late afternoon and evening; pacing around, fingering and rattling doorknobs, fiddling around with the drapers is common.

Sometimes the sense of time temporarily disappears. The person wakes up at night and is convinced it's time to get to work. Intellectual work is problematic and there is a definite difficulty is following written requests. Completing tasks is difficult. The person tends to shout and fight , cursing, hitting and abusing people; kicking is also not unknown. It is sometimes amazing to see a perfectly mannered person, become a complete slob with sloppy manners.

Imagination plays its tricks. While watching TV,the person sometimes things it's all happening to him or her. The next step is to make up stories to suit onesself. They will ofte say "XYZ is coming to pick them up" as a completely baseless remark, where XYZ may not even be around.

What becomes difficult is when they start attributing imaginary motives to people, like some member of the family "out to get him". "stealing" , and sometimes, "even accused of having affairs" etc. Its a hard, pathetic attempt by a tangled mind to find a straight path , in what continues to be, for them , a path through the dense jungle, dotted with beasts, some mental, some physical.

Things get serious when they start forgetting things like how to use the toilet seat . Very often such folks need a full time caretaker to attend to their bathing and other needs, as they even lose cntrol over their dressing . What is more, inappropriate dressing , forgetting what is public behaviour and occassionally disrobing etc in pyblic is not uknown.

These are very traumatic times for both the Alzheimers patient and his family. Solutions are very person centric; what works for one person may not work for the other. Interactions with society etc are reduced. It is not unknown for a person to suddenly take things belonging to others and claim they are his, followed by angry outburts, and petulance.

One interesting observation is that whatever the minimal conversation, repetitive or otherwise the person may have with those around him, is often peppered with completely nonsensical gibberish words, made up by the patient,

Deep in the woods:

This is the serious Alzeimers stage.

The person recognises no member of his family. Simple acts like eating and swallowing become difficult; partially due to physical limitations , and partially due to forgetting what food is in the mouth for.

Emptying the bladder and stools is something that happens spontaneously, as they slowly forget about how its done.

Predictably, the person often mumbles a lot, tries to touch and pat things and even cries. The toughest times happen when the person developes problems regarding walking. They forget how to walk, and stumble around , and often fall. In some cases, there are seizures.

Loss of weight is a common feature, and many times, there is a thinning of the skin. All these factors, indicate a dangerous possibility of devloping bedsores, which become a real test for caregivers , of, say, a diabetic patient, in particular. The skin reddens and tears easily.

What is worse , is when one tries to apply skin healing dressings and other stuff, the person shouts and screams, sometimes even hitting out.

Sleep increases. With a complete sense of loss in space and time.

For the caregivers , its a huge punishment to see an earlier active wonderful family member reduced to a stubborm weak, slobbering , confused mass.

For the patient, it has been a long , long trip, on the main road of Life, through well known spots and markers , but now the world has changed so much in his eyes, that there is no looking back or going back.

He is completely lost on Main Street itself.

So where do we go from here ? Are we all condemned to a variation of this maybe, in our old age ? Did our ancestors suffer from something like this ? Is this a result of technology allowing people to live longer and longer, but physiology not enhancing its performance at the same rate ? Does this have something to do with the tons of medicines and chemicals we ingest, as quick and fancy cures , applauded by the medical fraternity as "cutting edge" ?

In the meanwhile, researchers have come up with suggestions for how to live in our old age, trying to keep this terrible disease at more than an arm's length away. The Mayo Clinic people have suggested several activities, vis -avis keeping those parts of our brain healthy, which would normally get tangled into an Alzheimer's jungle .

Learning is the key to all. One needs to keep learning. To exercise the mind in the correct useful manner. Its not rocket science or nanotechnology .

One could try , for example :

* Learning to play a musical instrument
* Playing Scrabble or doing crossword puzzles
* Interacting with others
* Switching careers or starting a new one
* Starting a new hobby, such as crafts, painting, biking or bird-watching
* Learning a foreign language
* Volunteering
* Staying informed about what's going on in the world
* Reading

An active brain produces new connections between nerve cells that allow cells to communicate with one another. This helps your brain store and retrieve information more easily, no matter what your age.

In this modern age, where people are conversing more with machines than with other humans, maybe thats what we all need to try.

A fairly drastic history of Valentines Day.......

Valentines Day today is all about Declarations. Someone is someone else's Valentine. If someone is not, then someone is depressed. If someone is NOT depressed, society reacts in such a way, that someone has no recourse, except to get depressed, thanks to things like Hallmark etc.

What is this big hype all about ?

Actually there are several stories. Some have to do with the Romans and the wolves, some have to do with priests, then some have bishops involved.

Turns out that the ancient Romans had a festival called Lupercalia. The name has something to do with "lupus" or wolves. Far from being soft and romantic, this particular festival was, well, pretty drastic.

First of all, it was in honor of a deity which was connected with the she-wolf that is supposed to have protected and reared Romulus and Remus, the founders of Rome. This deity was also supposed to protect the goat herds and shepherds from the wolves. Where do the shepherds and goatherds come in , in Rome, you might ask.

Well , those were NOT the days of Global Warming, Inconvenient Truths etc , and Rome , as such, was surrounded by virgin wilderness and forests, where packs of wolves simply ran wild. But there was a price to be paid for all this environmental bliss....

The Lupercalia festival began with a sacrifice of, inexplicably, 2 goats; and a dog. Two priests were led upto the sacrificial place , and (no, they did not follow in the goats footsteps), blood from the sacrificial mess was anointed on their foreheads. This was followed by a grand feast and since no one was interested in the goats skin, they simply made stuff out of it, which they then ran around Rome, waving . Any woman who crossed their path , simply got whacked with it.

Just in case you think someone then took up cudgels on behalf of the women, NO. The women were told and presumably they actually believed that a whack from these guys waving the goat skin stuff bestowed fertility on them.

Interestingly, these goat skin lashing weapons were called "februa" and the business of lashing was called "februatio". In Latin, both words meant something similar to "purification".

So thats how the month got its name. February.

Later on Rome became a walled city and a powerful empire, Throughout the tumultous years the Lupercalia continued to be followed.

Its very clear that this killing and waving of goats skin and whacking women into fertility must have been on the approved list of hobbies for most Roman emperors and their noblemen or whoever. When Roman armies invaded France and Britain, they took their R and R habits with them.

They took the Lupercalia customs there. One of these is believed to be a lottery where the names of Roman maidens were placed in a box and drawn out by the young men. Each man accepted the girl whose name he drew as his love - for a year or longer. (I suppose after running trying to avoid a whack, and then having to give in, the women didnt have much of a choice. Nor was there any Goddess etc, who could have a complementary festival, where say, maidens rode around on horses etc, whipping guys who crossed their paths, convincing them that it was good for their war training and strength.)

In the slightly less violent and dramatic stories about Valentines, there are actually , according to the Catholic encyclopedia, three guys, or should I say, saints, vying for the honor. One was a priest in Rome, the second was a Bishop of Interrama (now called Terni) , and the third, lived and died somewhere in Africa.

Some say the priest and Bishop are actually the same person. Well, same or not, they too had to face some dramatic events, from a Roman king called Claudius, the (what else) Cruel. (We have come such a long way; we just say, Mr Bush, the President; Mr Blair, the PM , and Queen Elizabeth (followed by like n titles , none of them having to do with cruelty).

The priest used to preside over a wonderful temple near the palace. A permanent Holy fire burned there and the citizens came there to seek the priest's blessings and hear his sermons. In the menawhile, Claudius, true to his name, kept waging wars here and there, and got the idea of the Draft. All young men were supposed to join up, married or not. Well, the young guys had girlfriends they didnt want to leave, and so they went to the priest and secretly got married to their girls. Seeing that folks were not joining up, Claudius declared that the priest would do no more marriages or celebrate engagements and that all the guys needed to report to boot camp.

Well, this priest was what we call a "consciencous objector". He sort of defied Claudius the cruel, and kept performing the marriages and stuff. What happened was not surprising. Claudius decided to be really cruel, and sent his soldiers to arrest the priest and threw him into the dungeon, where he stayed till he died on February 14, AD 270. Pope Gelasius put a Christian Spin on this by saying that this day was to honor St Valentine, who was killed by Claudius while pursuing Christianity.

Claudius had a thing about persecuting Christians, so according to another story, he threw a guy named Valentine in jail for following and propagating Christianity. This guy was very smart. He converted the jailor and his entire family to Christianity; in addition, he fell in love with Julia, the jailor's daughter who was blind, and restored her eyesight. The jailor was ecstatic but Claudius was furious. He sentenced Valentine to be execeuted. History says, that on the morning of his execution, Valentine sent a message to the daughter, saying, (what else) , "From your Valentine !"

The nations in Europe all have their competetive hangups with each other. Just in case the Romans thought they had a copyright over Valentine, the Norse had a saint by the name of St Galantin, whicj means, "lover of women" . The G in Norse is not pronounced like "ga" (like in , eg., garbage ), but more like a "V". So Galantin simply became St Valentine.

(And we dont say anything about the French, who insist that the word comes from "galantine" which translates to gallant and/or lover.)

It so happened, that the Christian officialdom did their best to counter all the excitement about the wolves, and whacking, fertility rituals, drawing names of women from baskets, and going around with them for a year, fighting against Claudius etc etc. It ruled against folks following pagan rituals. Finally, they found that it made better sense to officially redefine the day as their own, instead of declaring bans.

And so we have Valentines Day, being celebrated on February 14th, dedicated to a Christian Saint. King Charles the II, officially restored Valentines Day to British Society. Notwithstanding the fact that folks called Puritans came over to the New World in 1629, Valentines Day in America went through the same opposition as it did from the Church in England. It took another 100 years for Valentines Day to be firmly established in the American scheme off things.

The first U.S. maker of valentines, to succeed on a commercial basis was Esther A. Howland, of Worcester, Massachusetts, In 1847, after seeing a British valentine, she decided to make some of her own. She made samples , took orders from stores , hired staff of young women and set up an assembly line to produce the cards. Howland expanded her business into a $100,000-a-year enterprise. (Oprah, eat your heart out)

In all this romance,adulation,beauty and other exalted stuff, there did creep in some some folks, who thought things needed to be normalised a bit. Everyone was not the epitomy of beauty, fashions changed, some people were downright mean, though pretty, folks had fights, and so we had what were called the Penny Dreadfuls. A nice normal American version designed to warm the cockles of the hearts of all little boys in America , who cant stand girls....

In the last part of the 19th and beginning of 20th century, some decided to tell it like it is. They sent these "penny dreadfuls" , (cards that cost a penny) , saying stuff as below, and then sat back and enjoyed......

'Tis all in vain your simpering looks,
You never can incline,
With all your bustles, stays, and curls,
To find a valentine.

I shudder to think what would have happened if the goat skin stuff was still prevalent then. Maybe this time the guys would have got whacked ?

The BIg TransP-Dhakka Reality show

Shilpa Shetty winning the Big Brother Reality show in London is OK.

What is really better than OK is the Big TransP-Dhakka Reality show currently playing in Mumbai, on all channels.

A couple of ordinary people and a couple of celebs have to travel daily by BEST as well as the suburban trains, as per the BIG TransP-Dhakka's instructions.

Contrary to the selections prevalent in all other reality shows, the celebs have tried every trick in the book to get selected here. The ordinary people didnt even realise they were selected, so busy were they, clutching their purses just so, water bottles in a netted side pocket, one chappal left on the platform, trying to catch their 7:17 fast to VT from Thane.

While we will come to the motivation and rewards shortly, it is interesting to look at the celebrities involved.


Himesh Reshamaiiya crooning at a special concert outseide Mulund Bus Depot, his immortal nasal song "Mujhe mujhe leylo zaroooor...." as the drivers and conductors, emerged from their trip-accounting cum tea breaks, fingers in their ears ("khali peeli katkat karta hai idhar") before starting on one more traumatic scenic trip from west to east, sinusoidally through the potholes.

Sanjay Dutt, unable to do anything else while all his cases were subjudice, decides to mingle with the VT subway crowd as he climbs the steps to the suburban railway concourse, singing, "Munnabha-ee, ek Thane Return !", as a dark coated TC , immense in girth, blocks his path, and directs him to the ticket counter, where, wonder of wonders, there is Madhuri Dixit, doing her "ek-do-teen" number, except she is counting the people in the queue for the tickets, and her song has already reached "pachaas".....(She isnt part of the BIG TransP; her non resident status will cause probems with taxes if she wins. So she is just practising her stuff in view of her long absence from the movies).

Rani Mukherjea, an expert TransP-Dhakka partcipant subsequent to her experiences with an unnamed tall guy in Bunty Aur Bubly, was most enthusiastic. All that leaning out of trains, emerging unscathed from tunnels, and singing freely waving one hand, would now come in useful, as she tried to get off at Kanjurmarg from a Titwala Local (slow), trying to traverse about 5 feet towards the exit door, as about 5 stations whizzed past.

One of the Justices of the high court, in a great gesture of "mingling with the masses" offered to join the BIG TransP, but was refused as they did not have place for all his M-security people, and his assistant has now filed a request under the Right to Information Act, wanting to know how the others were selected, and what were they doing about their own security.

The Nach Baliye winners, Hussain and Tina signed on as "Hina" and offered to use their acrobatic dancing techniques, showing how to get from the back of a Andheri-Dahisar bus (via S. V. Rd) at 6 PM, to the front in 10 seconds flat, without saying "jara bajula honar ka ?"

In the meanwhile, Kusumtai Kulkarni, senior typist(SG) working in SEEPZ is thrilled to bits (or is it bytes ?) , as the winner in the Janata category is going to a free year's pass to travel on the AC buses from anywhere to anywhere, with two other relatives accompanying at half price. At 55, she has spent 30 years at her job, during which she got married, had kids, looked after her in-laws and parents during their terminal illnesses, and just recently orgaised the marriage of her daughter, who is doing quite well in, what do they call it ? IT ?

Dnyanoba Pawar, is actually 70, but looks 55, thanks to his several decades of travelling daily from Dombivli to Dadar. He can climb and alight from a running train, can predict what message the station-announcers are going to say, from their initial tone, and is the first to rush and change platforms, when arriving trains decide to do that, 30 seconds before their arrival. P. T Usha invited him to train her wards, but his boss in Dadar decilned the leave.

Rustom Irani, a college going youth was chosen as he used both the BEST and the trains, as he went about attending college in Churchgate , and occasional visits to his relatives and friends in Cusrow Baug in Colaba. A very polite boy, most conductors smile at him, and no TC ever asks him for his ticket; Rustom always holds out his pass , voluntarily , when he has to walk within 6 feet of a TC , anytime, anywhere. Rustom is the first to offer his seat to anyone who vaguely resembles his grandfather.

Sejalben Mehta ,champion traveller from Ghatkopar to Bandra via Vile Parle(East), is 40. She got married at 18, her eldest daughter is 20. Between the two , they run a womens cooperative, where they organise the making of khakras and pickles at centres in Ghatkopar, Vile Parle and Bandra. During the day, Sejalben and her daughter Kruti, (after seeing off her husband and son with their dabbas to the diamond arcade at Opera House), are often seen supervising the correct packaging of the Khakras, so that the stuff doesnt get reduced to pure slivers as they make their way to getting out of the bus, to deliver stuff at Santa Cruz on their way.

There will be different assigments given by the BIG TransP-Dhakka.

Getting in with Khakras and Pickles (Nadiad Style), into a bus at Powai, as it arrives, with three people hanging on to the last step, and the driver in two minds about stopping. Glaring at the guy on the second last step , when all he has done is offered toe space to her daughter Kruti, bringing her, a centimetre closer to him....(of course, she always carries her very versatile, multi-function umbrella, occasionally used as a weapon).

Dynaobabhau Pawar, has to to carry a big cake from Dadar to his bosses house in Thane , where there is a family gettogether to celebrate someone passing the 12th class exam at the age of 24. Finally. If the cake gets converted to a creamy mass in the 5:08 double fast to Thane, the saddest person will be Dnynoba himself; you see, he had just joined when this chap, the 24 year old was born.

Rustom Irani will be travelling on the train from Thane (visiting relatives) when it will have a planned breakdown on the outskirts of Kurla for an hour. His job will be to get to Sion on foot, so as to make it in time for Navjyote in Parsi Colony in Matunga, in a presentable state, partcularly clean shoes.

Kusumtai Kulkarni, has been assigned an office at Masjid Bandar. She will travel daily between Saki Naka and Masjid, and her brief is to carry the cash payment for their temporary workers from Seepz to Masjid every day. There is no "upgradation" clause, say, for the train travel. But Kusumtai has decided that she will carry the stuff under a pile of knitting and religious books which she carries with her at all times. her only concession towards this partcipation is the purchase of a handbag-cum-purse, with deep insides, luckily available at the "Koi-bh-cheez-dus-rupaiyya' stall outside Ghatkopar station.

The question is, who will win the BIG TransP-Dhakka Reality Show? The rewards are people specific.

Himesh , if he croons his way to winning, will win a compulsory trip to the Amazon Rain Forest, where the World Bank is studying the chimpanzee's response to certain music frequencies.

Sanjay Dutt, stands to win a free lawyer, a lifetime reward.

Rani Mukerjea, is in line for a treasure trove of 500 chiffon sarees, in lieue of the various Yashraj movies she will now lose out to Aishwarya.

Hussain and Tina , or "Hina" are vying for a chance to perform at next years Republic Day Parade, on the Maharshtra float, in a Koli Dance.

Everyone has to travel "the TransP-Dhakka way" for a fortnight, and undertake the various difficult assignments.

Unlike what Shilpa Shetty endured, no one here will be at the mercy of the other contestants. Actually, everyone will be at the mercy of the normal commuters of Mumbai. Who are, come to think of it, given their huge variety (of religion, customs, language, mode of dressing, social manners etc) , a wonderfully tolerant lot.

There will be hardly any racial jibes a la Jade Goody, no racial outbursts a la Daneielle Someoneelse; someone will offer to hold the khakras for a while to give Sejalben a break, Dynnoba Pawar will be offered a seat by a yuppie, who has been sitting for a while; Kusumtai's daily unknown seat companion, will offer to complete a bunch of lines of knitting, as she finshes reading one of her daily stotras before Byculla comes; and Rustom Irani will help an Aunty climb down from the ladies compartment of the stalled train, by offering his knee as a step - and to hell with the spic and span clothes; the Navjyote folks will understand; and surely applaud. At the end of the day at the most, , there will be a voice , sometime, somewhere, which will, pipe up (as it does with unfailing regularity), saying "Kya ye apke baap ka rasta/gaadi hai?".....

And who do I think will win ? Well, Kusumtai, Dnyanoba, Sejal, and Rustom - a fourway tie.

Any doubts ?

Kachra Re !

Over the new year and immediately preceding it, the papers and magazines have been full of various so called "attractive deals" offered by hotels and restaurants. Special weekend deals, baskets of fruit, locations next to the beach, gastronomic excesses of the highest magnitude, and monetary excesses of even a higher kind. "Just "seven thousand" rupees for a grand new years eve dinner. (If you stay on for breakfast its extra; two thousand "only"). Some guys in white uniforms and caps, do their kadhai stuff behind see through glass enclosures, arrange the miniscule dish (of the non-miniscule price) in an artistic way on the dish, decorate it with sprigs of green stuff placed at startegic angles , and suddenly , its "fine dining"......

I've realised its all marketing. Taste buds have nothing to do with it. The whole idea is to make something look so attractive, that young people and yuppie types will throng, and yes, empty their pockets.

Maybe, circa 2010, we will witness some of the following ads?

"CRUSH 2010" :

"Spend the new years eve in the midst of the throng, pulsating to the throbbing beat, standing room only, most popular locations, all across mumbai. Subsidised Seng and Channa available throughout the evening at all locations. Enjoy yourself on a moving stage, and get off when you feel like it to have a cutting chai or a subsidised shoe polish (in case too many have syepped on your shoes in the frenzy). Get into the mood with limbupani and kala khatta. Native music on innovative instruments a definite plus. Cant forget the almighty , can we ? Special bhajan "karo...ok" sessions in selected locations. Those staying till 1 am, will get special transport to visit Titwala and get the Lord's blessings for the new year........"

"The MOO Year Special"

Like the Beatles sang " Get Back, Get Back, to where you belong..." The call of the wild, the green of the earth, and its a wonderful new year eve nestled amongst the sylvan surroundings of Gobarnagar, the new special "Earth Info park" created outside Mumbai (ISO 10001 certfied) , by the thousands of tabelas that shifted from Goregaon on instructions from the World Bank. . Get away from the glaring blaring mumbai lifestyle, and enjoy a new years eve lassi as you relax on a satranji , leaning against a tree trunk. Exciting greenery everywhere you look, and even more excitement on sudden encounters of the bovine kind. Meet your own buffalo, and admire its resemblance to several famous people as it chews the cud in style , circa 2010. Get drunk on the smells of the earth, mixed with other aromatic materials , obtained free, courtsey the buffaloes. Bhakris and Zunkaas available on order , and red chillies will be on the house.Special dawn conveyance for everyone , upto the Gobarnagar entrance. We throw in FREE Puncture Nikal training during this ride . Rush. Seats are limited . Like everywhere else. Rs 1000 per couple. 50% off instantly to those who can MOO in style. Decisions of the buffaloes will be final....

Kachra Re ! New Year Shindig.

Dance to the latest version of the song immortalised by Alisha Chinai , and enacted in 2006 by members of the Bachchan Family . Bring in the new year as you sink your feet into the studded sands of the Yahoo beach in Mumbai; home to scintillating bhelpuri, dripping panipuri, burning vadapav, and tingling chinese.....Experience the latest USE AND THROW technology imported specially for the occasion from Bihar. If the heat gets to you, we have special stalls supplying mumbai's answer to pepsi/coke and assorted mnc types; those not brave enough can enjoy kapi from mobile cycle coffee bars , India's answer to Starbucks...Take part in a dummy film shooting - ride horses on the beach and rescue unwilling random damsels, whether they are in distress or not! Stay on to watch the dawn, as Mumbai's glitterati get into their Reeboks and Nikes and jog around you, their X-category security following in their steps, to the beat of Kachra Re ......

And finally.

The BEST of it all !

The Nachos BEST

Can anything beat ringing out the old and ringing in the new, to the exciting sound of brakes and clutches ? Join us for a no holds barred ride across the length and/or/breadth of Mumbai. Travel on the only 5 remaining double decker buses in the BEST fleet, (ever since they banned them after one bus threatened to lean over a flyover). Special ragtag honking music in specially designated areas like Parel , Dadar(TT and BB; central and western to you modern types), Mahim, SV Rd Bandra, Malad, Sion, Mulund, Borivli, Kandivli and so on. You dont need to know how to dance ! Just hold on to the world-class-recently-installed hangers in the central bar, and the bus driver will take care of the rest. Enjoy the thrilling acceleration, the disdainful "sneezing" attitude when changing gears, and the unique bus-stopping mechanism recently perfected by the drivers, that involves all standees in a set of fourier series sinosoidal movements , culminating in a deadly action dance . Yes, Nachos! Its not just the "nach". Drawing inspiration from the mexican nachos chips, the BEST canteen has been, for the last several years converting left-over chapaties into nachos chips. These will be offered , "on the bus" , to all those who grace the BEST with their presence between 11pm and 2 am. Buses plying through Parel and Borivli will get complementary pickle, and lasoon chutney.

The mind boggles at the stuff on offer....

And you STILL want to attend the Taj ,Oberoi, and the H-H-Hy...att (sneeze)... stuff ?

Patterns of Departure

We all come into this world the same way.

Looking for a way out through a labrynth of contracting muscle tissue, seeking that liitle ray of light at the end of the tunnel, as we navigate through, still connected to our mothers by the umbilical bond. A gasp of fresh air, a feeling of being held upside down. Come to think of it, we dont really know what upside down is, we havent really lived in co-ordinates , for sometime now, suspended as we are in amniotic fluid. But someone says we are held upside down, so we will go along. Just in time for that little whack from the white coated big people with gloves and masks. And for the first time we burst forth crying out our pleasure and / or displeasure at arriving like this, in what purports to be , our life.

Then it's years and years of babydom, indulgent childhood, precocious teenage, dangerous and carefree adolescence, the confident twenties. Marriage,children, their tears and laughter, welcoming new members into the family, losing old ones, the cycle goes on.

One was priviledged to be the member of the particular family, and one learnt to appreciate the special qualities of people as they endeavoured to bring you the best life had to offer.

And then it was time for them to go.

Tired limbs, thinning hair, receding hairlines, and verterbral columns perenially physically displaying a question mark There was so often a tussle between taking in the oxygen, and your heart demanding more. Having to refuse that extra helping of cake at the granddaughter's birthday, because of a tired digestive system; falling asleep in the rocking chair, with the mouth open, while watching the 35th rerun of the famous 1945 movie, the lead actors of which were no more. Having to take more than a couple of starts while trying to elevate oneself out of a chair. Trying hard to listen to someone say something, thinking it's about you, and realising that its not that they speak softly; its more like you can't hear well these days. And its so difficult to read the paper now; whats there to read these days anyway ? War, money, waste, disasters, lying; sometimes some good, like a great lecture by a great leader of men, a discourse by a holy man, and jokes by a child, and the peals of silent laughter keep resonating in your brain.

And unlike the way you came into this world, there are different ways of saying goodbye, different patterns of departure.....

She was always the principled, godfearing, strong minded one. No effort was ever enough where her children and grandchildren were concerned. Exercise was a BIG thing in her life, long before the American Heart Association started their 10,000 steps a day program. Her theory was that only a body exertion earned you the right to eat. So daily exervise was a given. She was following the food pyramid, when it was dismantled and lying around waiting for someone , from say, Stanford, to rebuild it. Her prayer to God, before dinner, was a daily occurence, and she fasted every Monday.

Having just returned from a trans-pacific flight of 24 hous duration, she was tired. Physically, beacuse of the flight. Mentally because she was returning to a dormant, tired life after a vibrant visit attending a grandchild 's graduation, where she got to meet all his professors, who were delighted to note that she came all the way at this advanced age. She wouldnt have had it any other way. Life was about facing up to various situations to the best of ones ability. Life was about sticking with the true and tested, honest, occasionally considered oldfashioned, but very solid standards by which life was to be lived. Of course , most of the grandchildren could do no wrong. When one of her grandchildren at 7, challenged her to accompany him on her own bike (actually her daughters) to the park beyond the lake, she sportingly agreed. On the way back, the exultant grandson suggested exchanging bicycles, and being a grandma, she agreed. Except the childs bicycle was the easyrider style. But a promise was a promise, and she came back, riding back with him, a great combination of Gatsby meets Jon Voight, to the unabashed delight of several folks on the road.

She had been shopping after a lunch at a mall, and although a bit tired, she decided to indulge the children. Returned home, spending a great funfilled afternoon with family. Lay down for a while. Stared feeling uneasy. Wished away obvious thoughts from her head. Tried some easing postures. No effect. She was taken to the hospital where she collapsed . That would have been the end. But it wasnt. That was not the pattern of her life. It wouldnt be the pattern of her death.

Tubes,beepers, electrodes, needles; anything that could be attached was attached to her persona. In the Intensive care unit, began the last fight of her life. She had been through so many tough times, this was just one more. Her child abroad was informed, and he began his long 22 hour journey back. She lived and improved on just raw willpowr. The doctors had never seen anything like this. Thirty six hours later, Tuesday at dawn, as her sons plane landed, she was getting rid of the last of her several tubes, and for a while , it was all systems go, albeit, tired systems. (And she was pleased because she had automatically "fasted" on her Monday !! ).

She lived another day, to see her youngest come to her. She fussed about whether he had eaten, who was with the grandkids, fired him for wasting his time like this in hospital. That night as her children sat by her bedside, she turned away from them when she realised the footfall of Death. She had held on for 24 hours and it had exhausted her. It was time to cut loose, all bonds that would cause a lingering of the spirit.

There was one sharp breath intake. She never exhaled. A pattern so heartrending in its peaks and troughs, a tough lady waging a tougher battle, showing how its done.

And he was the total opposite.

A writer, a dreamer, he was very comfortable with utopia. Nitty gritty house and children situations were not his style. Problems got solved, solutions appeared . A great one for organic basic nutrition and old systems of medicine, his greatest joy was challenging modern doctors. Like her, he sometimes worked on sheer will power.

At one point in his 70's he was unable to sit due to a herniated disk. He loved to order the household around. NSAID's were a 4 letter word in a 5 letter world. He listened to the doctor, then refused MRI's amd Xrays. They prescribed some meds which reduced his pain temporarily. Whereupon, he undertook learning of some great yoga exercises, all religiously followd , and 6 months later, he was accompanying his granddaughter on a climbing trip across the neighbouring hill. He read voraciously, wrote prodigiously, and campaigned with great passion for his pet projects in vegetarianism, eye donations, forestation, rural deveopement, , and subjects as diverse as education of the girl child, and rehabilitation of women following the oldest profession of the world.

Everytime he felt age catching up, he walked more, to prove a point, mostly to himself, but sometimes to others too. The one day he fell down, and hurt himself. The doctors found an aneurysm, and asked him to take some meds, and avoid certain exercises. He reacted to this in a typical way. Gave up taking meds after a month, and simply continued doing the specific exercises they told him to avoid. He'd even call up the doctor , and tell him all this, and tell him how great he was doing WITHOUT all HIS medicines. He wrote health articles where he professed to know the secret of longevity. And peple flocked to see him, learn exercises from him and take his nutrition advice.

Like I said there are patterns and patterns. Of Departure.

The graph which was coasting along, on a plateau now started a slight slide. Movement reduced. Energy reduced. Over a year, his favourire exercise of walking almost stopped. He was slowly confined to bed. Every now and then one of the physiological body systems would get into a tangle, and need straightening out by a doctor. There was a feigned indifference to the prescribed meds. When the body couldnt do much else with the physical systems, given his strong heart and lungs, it started messing around with the brain. The reading and writing got tiring. So did people. So he stopped remembering them. The he stopped remembering places and events. Finally he was completely confused in time.

There was a dream type quality to his last few months. He had delusions of great grandeur. He would blithely wish away his physical afflictions, and get into a rage on finding it still there. Heard voices somewhere. He was always a great eater of traditional food, and that continued . His children and their children came by and stayed with him. He knew and they knew what lay ahead. But he continued to say to all who enquired that he was in excellent health and there was nothing wrong with him. He would say that he walked 2 miles everyday. It was the ultimate manifestation of translating what you will and you want-to-happen , into something verbal, just enough to cheat youself. Complicated, but true.

He became so weak that swallowing tired him. So he would tell those who fed him, that he was full.

Full, not tired.

He did that on the last night. His daughter was feeding him. He motioned to her to stop, whispering that he was full. Everybody took a small break at this point, it was a routine thing. Fifteen minutes later, when she went back with the soup, it was all over. Just like that. It was as if the slow slide of the graph from a plateau had finally started along the asymptote. It was a game of hide and seek amongst us. He tricked us into believing it was just another break, and the graph quietly , asymptotically went to zero, as if cocking a snook at all those around. He had managed to convince everyone so well, with his great powers of recovery from so many afflictions, that no one thought death was so imminent.

Both patterns of departure. So different in style. But very equal in magnitude. And the high intensity drama over 24 hours, and the gentle slide over a few months, both have something to tell about the persona and the style of living of the person.

The little girl grows up......

It was just yesterday, it would seem, that I was in, what passed for a garden, outside, our four-apartment building. The lake opposite our building , although struggling under the weight of the daily intake of construction silt, retained its illusory green top, which was actually the terribly undesirable water hyacinth, propagating itself with a vengeance.

Evening breezes appeared to add to the charm of a slightly cool early february evening, as a gaggle of small children, excitedly blabbering, turned the corner, gifts clutched anxiously in their hands, secretly wishing it was their own turn to recieve them....

They were welcomed at the house by the impatient birthday child, who couldnt really wait to get started with the games. But first there was the photograph in the garden. The garden was full of rocks, ensuring a teetering child every few square feet; and so they stood, innocent faces glinting in the setting sun, holding on to each other for balance, nudging each other , trying to act grown up, sort of trying to ignore indulgent grandparents asking them to "smile", "look up", "move to the left" and assorted stuff.

And all the while, there was this girl , who stood firmly next to the birthday boy, ensuring that several layers of her multilayered frock wafted in the breeze, giving a blooming effect - just what she wanted.

She was a special childhood friend. She and the birthday boy were less than a month apart in age. Both their mothers worked. (Fathers of course worked, but thats the default; we dont mention that). Whats more, when these two were not at school, they both attended the same creche, where they had the kind of status airlines confer upon their "gold card members". At a fairly young age, both these kids learnt to talk like older people, often amusing those around them , with their unique interpretation and lack of finesse in talking about sensitive topics like bride-groom searches , as they observed the going ons around them.

The boy's birthday plans were avidly discussed by them; she was around when the birthday cake was being iced by the boy's mother, who pretended not to notice, when these two "accidentally" got chocolate icing on their fingers. She even had a special dress for her friend's birthday. She described it in great geometric detail to his parents, till the father of the boy actually ventured to see it on D-day, and brought a beaming smile to the little girl's face by exclaimng that she was wearing 3-3 skirts ! She , of course, revelled , in what she thought was the supreme ignorance of father types, about girls fashions..... 3 skirts indeed.

And one day the boy had one of those illnesses which all parents think is a nuisance and all children think, is a great opportunity , to bunk school and read comics. The little girl's mother was a doctor, and she layed own the ground rules . Rest, medicines, good nutrition. While the little boy busied himself scratching here and there, swallowing medicines, making faces, trying to sleep, and eating what his worried mother offered , his great friend, collected all her comic books together, (current hot sellers on railway stations) with outrageous names and titles, and sent word through her mother, that she knew what the little boy needed were these books. They got you better faster. Her mother was a doctor, but they did not teach this is in medical college......

The boy spent several hours reading, barely able to control his mirth , cracking up at the antics of various cartoon types, as he lay in his bed, taking the mandatory "rest", at an age where human brownian motion was really the norm.

By and by the littlle girl grew up, went to college. In an age where going to engineering school was the most treaded path, she decided to get non-technical. But mathematical. Elders advised otherwise. Peer pressure. Arguments. Tears, Fights. And she won. She enjoyed college, the fests, the new friends, , but she still remained the little girl at heart.

One of her neighbours was another little strong minded girl, who actually needed to learn subtraction (with carry , if you please), but actually thought swimming was a better way of spending time. The age difference between the two was more than ten years. But one day, found the little girl at the older girl's place, sitting with her to learn the tricks of the trade for doing subtraction (with carry), with one eye on the going ons in the kitchen, and one nostril inhaling wonderful aromas. And the older one succeeded . The session ended with some great refreshments, details of which were carried home by the little girl, with great relish and licking of lips. The younger one, today, is probably a sworn enemy of calculus, and geometry, but "subtraction with carry " is what maths is all about :-)

The boy and the girl both went their different ways, learning different things. The girl did her post graduation, and went out into the world. A lot of her contemporaries left India, to learn from new jobs in new cultures, in new languages. But she knew what she wanted. She bided her time. Travelled. Thought of taking some exams, in case further studies appeared as an option on the horizon.

But this only child of her parents found her calling away from her city. She moved to a city about 1000 kilometres away. She enjoyed her job, her life with her roommates, the joy of handling her own problems, tears and all. All the while she remained very connected to the maternal house, through the electronic umbilicus. Everytime she came on a visit home, she looked up and contacted all the friends, including the little boy's folks, although the little boy, not being little any more, was now working and hardly ever home. And they appreciated how well she was doing and how well she had adjusted to her new life. And she made sure, that she looked up her "subtraction (with carry)" student, who was now a teenager, and very much into Warli painting. Sure enough, a day before she left, the younger girl was etching stuff on a white t-shirt , something for the older one to wear, sure to garner comments from her friends . Well , one of a kind t-shirt, did you say? More like one-of-a kind friend. She gave her plain tshirt to the younger kid to paint on, and took it with her when she left.

Today the little girl, who explained the flounces on the layers of her frock , on the boy's birthday, stands on the threshhold of a new life. She excelled at her job. Kudos rained forth. Some part of them sprinkled over to her family, who basked in the satisfaction of their only child settling down well in life.

And then she met him. At work. She was great at her job. He was great at spotting excellence. And all the while, she remained this young, confident, simple, fun loving, but duty conscious, generous hearted girl. It wasnt all fairy tales and fun. There was some suspense. Parents met. Dates were fixed.

We dont see her that often now. Her world has shifted south. But as she readies her self, wrapping herself in the gilt-edged paithanees and kanjivarams and adorning herself, with the shining precious metal, I still hark back, to the day they all stood in the garden for a photograph at the birthday party, and someone yelled "Smile !", and they they all posed, thrilled to bits , and smiled.

She is still smiling. At the guy standing next to her. And just like she smoothed the frills on the layers of her frock 19 years ago, she now , confidently, adjusts her saree pallav, the pleats, falling gracefully , shimmering in the light. And he , in his suit, stands proudly next to her.

Someone will be taking photos. And videos. And the two will be smiling and doing namaskars and greeting everyone. And we will all be there, if not physically then in spirit. And in case you hear someone shouting and saying "Smile !", Its probably Someone Up There smiling down at them, through a cascade of blessings....

With all our blessings too.....

Chewing gum for the eyes in cricket times...

“TV is chewing gum for the eyes.”
Frank Lloyd Wright

If there is one item that has changed life, per se, it's television. And television and computers have spawned a jungle of statistics.

Observe the excitement over Shane Warne's 700tth wicket. Why seven hunderd, sort of in between ? After all, we always talk about 100 runs or a century; Tendulkar achieving the milestone of 10,000 runs. No one ever heard of anyone celebrating anything 700, 7000 or say, 300,

Shane Warne announces he is retiring at the end of this series, and immediately a hype is built up . Anything-99 is always a suspenseful situation. So television types went ballistic over 700 wickets, tributes poured in from Cricket Australia, folks rushed to get tickets for the Sydney Test. Poor Glenn Mcgrath got pulled along in the wake, till he had to issue a denial later. Inexplicably, he then shortly, anounces his retirement at the end of the 2007 World Cup.

Television demands drama.

Every twitch hovering about your lips and every tear descending from your eyes is recorded for posterity. Sledging, hitherto restricted to the pitch, suffers, due to the presence of microphones near the stumps, And gnarling bowlers have spawned an entire generation of lip readers, who can tell what kind of words are being exchanged by adversaries. Your gait, as you return to the pavillion is scrutinised and analysed, till you feel like just lying down on the grass right there, alone with your thoughts, after a flying career .

Cricket they say, is a gentlemens'game. That was probably true till the operative adjective was "gentle".

Whoever heard of , say, Bapu Nadkarni, exulting over a wicket, pumping his arms, shaking his fist and twirling the ball while doing aeroplane like action runs on the field ? Prasanna and Chandrashekhar often endeavured to hold up the tail of the batting side; so does Sreesanth. Notwithstanding the fact that I grew up listeneing to radio commentary of cricket matches due to the non existence of TV, I dont ever recall anyone ever reporting on Prasanna et al dancing down the wicket , concluding with a bharat natyam /breakdance mudra at the end of it all, to the complete consternation of the bowler.....
Dramatics certainly existed. Gilchrist and Nari Contractor are proof enough. One ended his career.

Somehow, one cannot imagine the Nawab of Pataudi whipping of his shirt and twirling it from the pavillion balcony, and Gundappa Vishwanath was more comfortable exchanging cool smiles with the bowler, while whipping the ball regularly beyond the ropes.

We never knew the length of a batsman's hai and frankly, it never mattered to us whether he even HAD hair. And here we have M. S. Dhoni, celebrating his arrival on the cricket scene , so to speak, with a drastic coloring of his hair, appearing immediately in motorcycle commercials, where he compares his milk drinking with the vehicles gas guzzling..... (actually he is shown to lose out. I wish someone thought of using him for a "drink milk" commercial, hopefully , free)

And then there is this thing about the sunscreen stuff they plaster on.

By and large, sun strength on the subcontinent has remain unchanged over, say the last 50 years. The indian skin, I like to think has some built in protection native to our natural habitat. Unlike white skin, with its absence of melanin, we do not tend to suffer from serious tanning issues.

Television, has proven to be a fertile ground for multinational sports cosmetics comapnies, who hitherto spied only on teams from colder, western countries. So you see Sehwag splattered with the white stuff on his face and around his lips, Zaheer Khan, manages to improve on his ferocious looks at the batsmen, as he takes his final bowling leap, his mouth surrounded by a border of the white stuff, glaing at the batsman. Muttering through the white stuff is even better.

They all lookalike, were it not for their one -day match colours.

Strangely though, except for matches held in India, and possibly Pakistan, most of the time there is very little audience watching these histrionics. The game is being played , not for the people, but for TV audiences. Where Cricket Control Boards rake in the Moolah selling the TV rights.

When the TV cameras pan across the stadium, giving their commentators a breather, one sees empty stands, clean green hillock like outfields, devoid of spectators. And all the while, a dumbstruck captive TV audience inhales and exhales tension with every ball bowled by Sreesanth, Munaf, Irfan and company, and every cut,glance and swipe, reverse or otherwise exhibited by a Tendulkar or Dravid. Traffic actually reduces on the main thouroughfares of Mumbai, and you can actually get place to sit in buses and trains.

And while we are on records and staistics, why not go back to the days, when radio commentary was still an idea in someones head.

It may have occurred to some that Warnes 700 wickets will shine only till someone else comes up with 703 or something. The upper limit is adjustible. With the amount of cricket being played today, thanks to TV sponsorships, its a matter of time before the norm will be 20,000 runs and 1000 wickets, all upwardly adjustable.

So we need to go back to when Teat Cricekt first began. Between England and Australia. I am sure there werent hundreds of guys compiling statistics then, but some performances get remembered....

Charles Bannerman of Australia set a number of records in the first England Australia Test.. He faced the first ball in test cricket, scored the first run, the first four and the first century. He scored 165 not out in Australia’s 245 all out. Of all the records he set in that match one record still holds – his 165 constituted 67.34% of Australia’s total (245) – the highest percentage by a batsman in a completed test innings.

Charles Bannerman scored the first test century. Billy Murdoch, who played for both Australia and England scored the first test double century (he also hit the first ever six in test cricket). Andy Sandham of England scored the first triple century (in what was his last test match), and Brian Lara has scored the only quadruple century.

And since we began with Shane Warne, it is only fitting that we end with some other bowlers with records of some other types.

Who is the worst bowler in test cricket? It is Rawl Lewis of the West Indies whose three match test career saw a bowling average of 318 (the worst in test history) at a strike rate of 585. However, Roger Wijesuriya of Sri Lanka has the worst strike rate of 586 - though he has a better average of 294!

TV, anyone ?