The True Youth Icon...

[Disclaimer: I'm probably one of the most loyal supporter of the Indian team you can find. However, the truth will remain the truth]

I just watched Sania's second round match at the US open (that she won 6-3, 7-5), and my whole family was rejoicing- literally shouting, and prancing around- all the exhaustion of the day forgotten. Now, just about twenty minutes later, everybody is trying to find an excuse to get to bed early- and tempers are flying all over the place. The reason? Just a flick of the remote control away. The Indian Cricket team in England. Enough said.

Tomorrow, the papers are probably going to carry a whole page of articles on what the Indian team could have done better-- and Sania will find all of one article for herself later on in the sports section. Why? Why isn't a milestone win by an upcoming player not enough to overshadow a loss by a team (that's been doing pretty poorly anyway!) from the same country? Would the responses have been the same, had it been the other way round? Probably not. Why? One word. Cricket. Or our near-obsession with the game, and all involved in it. In fact, I admit I am one of the crowd too...

But today changed a few things... Or probably the last few months did. Sania's continued rise in International tennis has been drawing quite a bit of attention as of late, and it makes me wonder, of she deserves more attention than she is getting. Most would argue otherwise. I mean, afterall, we do know what each of her t-shirts say (Including the headline-grabbing "well-behaved women seldom make history"), and her faster-than-my-forehand cheeky replies have been perfect fodder for the gossip-seekers (On being asked recently what she thought of her opponents having a game plan to attack her weak backhand, her quick reply was "Well, they must be repenting bitterly!")

But here are a few reasons Sania is clearly more deserving than the Indian Cricket team:

1. She is young. And she has a whole career ahead of her. Unlike the Cricket team, where most of the players that actually seem to be performing today are almost certainly not even going to be around for the next World Cup!

2. She has fought her way to the top. She has seen the worst. She has creeped up the ranking- top three hundred, top hundred, top seventy, top fifty, and now- the top thirty. A Cricket player, on the other hand, finds him name being chanted by the entire nation just for making it to the team. Instant popularity!

3. She is fit. She works hard on the court. Runs around with grit, and determination. Fighting for every point with her all. While her counterparts treat the cricket ball like a hot potato on the field- and desperately need a dictonary that actually has words like 'fitness', and 'team spirit', and 'hard work'.

4. She improves with every game- and certainly every season. The difference in her game from the time she last peaked in 2005, and right now, is remarkable- to say the least. She seems to go from strength-to-strength, converting even her weaknesses into her strengths. The Indian Cricket story is, on the other hand, a sad saga of not learning from ones mistakes, and relying wholly on one's strengths...

5. She is aggressive. Both on- and off-court. On court, her strength lies in attacking her opponent- pushing them in a corner. And even when she's not at the top of her game, she manages to intimidate the person on the other side of the net. Her counterparts, seem to take the adage 'Cricket is a gentleman's game way' too seriously though- whether it be in our passive strike rates, or our generosity with runs on the field, or even the kindness with which we return favours- dropping catches that are gift-wrapped and sent into our hands... Oh no! We are too gentlemanly to become all aggressive!

Basically, Sania represents India. And its aspirations. The youngest country in the world-on the threshold of great success. Aggressive, smart, determined. Wanting to take on new challenges everyday with renewed vigor. Not relying on past greatness to see it through...

Maybe the Indian Cricket Team needs a well-deserved break from the limelight-- and maybe, if that happens, I'll be writing a blogpost a few years down the line asking people to notice the new cricket team... (wow! That'll be some day!)

But until then... Chak De! Sania!!

The bitterness of truth...

So Hannah and Mom are away to the little town that mom works in for two days, and shashwat and I have stayed back coz we cannot afford to miss school [And to make most of the Independence day holiday]

And of course, just an hour after they leave...

"The cooking gas is over!" Cries my cook as I have just taken up my physics book (We have cooking gas cylinders here- that get replenished once they're empty)

I look dismally at the kitchen. She is right in the MIDDLE of her cooking-- the gravy (sabji, as we call it) is half cooked, and she's just beginning to cook rotis (Indian tortillas)- and the kitchen is a mess. Her expression is even more infuriating- she looks at me like its all my fault.

Crisis management... *ring ring*...

"Hello?"

"Hi.. mom. Umm... we just ran out of gas"

"ohhhhhh" I hear her sigh at the other end. "Is she (the cook) still cooking?"

"yeah. she's not done with anything yet" I'm getting more and more frustrated. Why can't she just offer a magic solution like she always does?

"Okay. Do one thing" Something in her voice tells me its not gonna be something I'll like. "Go to our old house and get the gas cylinder from there. Do you know how to detach it?"

"No" I say in a grumpy, almost complaining tone. I can feel my heart sinking. I had hoped for a day of solid studying, and generally chilling and doing what I like. But by the way things were going, that seemed far from likely...

"Ask one of the workers to come with you and get it" A reference to the people still working on the furniture in mom and dad's room (just one of the disadvantages of moving into a house when it is only half-done)

"Okay"

"Do you have money for a rickshaw?"

"No!" I say with a new hope... Hoping she would just tell me to stay home and eat the left overs...

"Just borrow some from your granny" Oh of course. Ms. magic solutions. What was I thinking?

"Okay" I say, even more sullenly.The cook has been following me around the house all through this conversation, constantly asking me questions: Are you talking to your mom? Can I go? What should I do with the raw batter?... I wanna yell so loudly: CAN I FINISH TALKING??!!!

But I just hang up on mom, and tell her to put everything away. Right now, all I can think of is mom's direction: "ask a worker to come with you-- go to the old house-- detach the cylinder (I still dunno how!!)-- haul it into the rickshaw-- bring it home and plug it in"... I don't have time to deal with anyone else. I tell her she can go home...

I finally convince one of the two people working in the inside room to come with me (incidentally, his name is Arun)-- and he timidly follows me to the rickshaw stand a little distance away, and sits as far from me as he can once we get into one.

We finally get there, and thereon, things go (surprisingly) smoothly- the guy knows how to detach the cylinder, and we manage to get into the rickshaw and get home fast enough not to be charged ridiculous amonts of money. I pay up 20 bucks (from my wallet- yeah, I found some at last)... and we haul the heavy cylinder upto the thrid floor, and attach it.

Ah! All well!

Oh! Wait "Didi, I'm hungry!"

In my hurry to get the cylinder to the house, I'd completely forgotten what exactly I got it for! There was no food. And a hungry brother is not the best person to have around.

Crisis management! *ring ring*

"Amma, I want the cook's number!"

"But why?" Arrrrgghhhh!! Because just when I sit down to study in peace (which, if you remember, was the reason I didn't come along!), everything has to go wrong!!!

"She left"

"Well, she won't come back. She must have already gotten home."

In the meanwhile, I looked at the half-cooked stuff lying in front of me, and decided I would finish the cooking off-- that would be the fastest thing.

"Nevermind, I'll cook the rest and feed Shashu"

"But putta..." She did not believe me, obviously. "Do you want ME to call the cook?"

"No mom. I'll manage!"

"But... but you don't know how to finish cooking the sabji..." And she launches into elaborate instructions on how to finish cooking..."But are you sure?" She finishes, still not sure.

"Yes ma. I'll manage. I promise. I'll call you if need be"That convinces her. "Okay putta. Take care! I'm sooooo happy!! This made my day... thank you so much for handling everything!"

I finish the call, and take on cooking with a renewed vigor. The house maid watches on sceptically, offering to do it herself every five minutes. I refuse... I WANT to do it now.

After adding a few things to the sabji and setting it on boil, I take on the rotis and (very slowly) make a few.

"Shashwat! Get a plate and serve yourself!" I try to sound all mom-like.

This is fun. And my brother is actually obeying me for the first time. He gets a plate and watches in amazement as his sister, whom he's never seen in the kitchen, is actually COOKING a full-blown meal!

He serves himself and starts eating. I look at him with a questioning look.

"Its forgettable" he says.

I feel the rage building up in me. "Why don't YOU try cooking once, and you'll know what it takes?!!"

"I'm only talking about the sabji. The rotis are good" He saw me making only the rotis, and assumed the cook had already cooked the sabji when she left.

"I cooked the sabji too!" I say defiantly.

"Oh!" He looks down, finishes the rest of the meal, and goes back into his room.

I just finished my lunch. It WAS forgettable. Even the rotis.

Oh for the bitterness of truth....

Lessons abound...

"The value of something is seldom known until lost"



Who would have thought the past year would reinforce the popular epithet SO many times, I'm almost sure never to forget?



When, a year ago, I left India for the United States, that WAS my intention- to put myself in a position where I would be able to value what I had this end- things I'd taken for granted. It was one of the motivations that pushed me to accept the opportunity with the enthusiasm that I did. But the lessons after that seemed to be uncalled for-not that lessons are supposed to come pre-warned- but they are sometimes so very hard when you don't even have a hint. The latest- Hannah's impending sudden departure- is another to add to the list, that only seems to get tougher...

At most times, I seem to think I'll know what I'll miss... That is, until the threat of and impending departure- mine or someone else's- looms over the head like a fatal sword, and then everything seems to suddenly come uder a completely different light. Thinking about something as the last time you might be witnessing it changes it so radically, and makes your reaction to it so different- it is almost never the same again.

And I quickly realise that the first of those lessons- laving family in India for a year- was probably the mildest. Given that I always knew I was going back after a year, it wasn't as hard afterall! I realised a few things that I'd taken for granted, and was glad for an opportunity to go back and make some things better- to be able to look at them in a different light.

But the others- leaving friends and family in Atlanta, leaving Grady high school, and Hannah leaving back for home- seem so permanent, so unrectifiable. I managed to gague their true value only in the last few moments- making it near impossible to go back to make things better...

Regrets. So many of those- making me wish for time travel more than ever. Regreats- that will probably always remain what they are- regrets. Regreats about doing some things, and not doing others; regrets about saying some things and not saying others. Regrets- that make you wonder how much better, how much more special something could have been if you had acted differently. But they are what remain in the hand when all else is lost- like stubborn pieces of stones in a fistful of smooth sand...

Hannah is leaving. I don't know what to feel about that yet. We've been together for SEVEN long months- spent almost every one of those moments together. It's difficult not to take the bond for granted. But now that she is leaving, I look at ordinary, day-to-day things with a renewed interest- a queer pre-nostalgia. Everything from our silly talks late into the night, to our random bursts into songs we love, to random tidbits of memories we share, to the spontaneous hugs, to her adorable 'awoo-woo!' call whenever I'm down, to all those laughs, the smiles, and tears we've shared.I had taken it all to be permanent. Maybe, the fact that she would have left at the end of the year anyway was never in my mind when I thought of our bond...

A sister. I always wanted one. Who would have thought I'd get such a wonderful one? An ever-smiling, ever-understanding, ever-supportive one? ... And who would have thought she'd be taken away from me at such a short notice? The person who probably knows me better than anyone else- my deepest confidante, and staunchest friend. Someone I've grown to love so much, I almost don't notice it. So many times I've felt like we were one soul in two bodies- like we could read each others' minds... like we could communicate without words... Maybe it happens with living together so long... You become one.

So its no wonder that her departure feels like someone is coming and severing us into two- ruthlessly. Maybe its good for our development as individuals- to be forced out of our somfort zones and to be forced to take on the world on our own... But the mere thought is so painful- it gives me a heartache.

I try to make most of the remaining few memories- tp not spoil them by thinking of what's gonna happen in near future... but its hard. Its hard not to feel so heavy in my heart, to stop my tears from swelling up every time she leaves my presence.

I'm going to miss her so so much.... she takes a part of my soul with her.

If only...

Its been a good four weeks since I got home. Good enough time to sit back, soak in my experience and move on with life here. I have learnt, in the past year, to live in the intensity of the moment- think about the past and future, yes, but not get lost in them. I have tried to live each moment for what its worth... I've tried my best to give each one its due. And I've been proud of what I could achieve with it- another whole life, another set of friends, and family that I love with the same intensity...

But I cannot help but question now if I'm quite capable of balancing two lives- doing two sets of friends and family justice. And I quickly realise, that to live every moment of my life in the past year, I compromised on this life here- At most times, I convinced myself to live only one life-the one I was leading there- and to no do injustice to both by trying to live each simultaneously.

Now, try as I may to convince myself that it is the same situation turned on its head, the fact that I'll never be leading the previous life like I did the past year makes things so much harded. And I also realise that I find it increasingly difficult to detach, and reattach. I've made the cardinal sin of combining both, trying to live both simultaneously.

I find it hard to accept loss- and I find myself asking myself the proverbial question time and again- 'Is it better to have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all?' The pain of loss, sometimes, is excrutiatingly painful, and I find myself alone each time my mind runs through the fact that somethings are lost- forever- and the others will never be the same again. At such times, I make the common mistake of busying myself with work, shutting my mind to the thoughts- only for them to return stronger, and with more bitterness.

If only I can sit and let them take over for a while, give my mind enough time to soak them in- and ultimately, accept them. If only I can begin to live life, instead of looming around the transition between the two- living neither. If only I could reciprocate the love, and care around- without having my mind trace itself back through past memories. If only...

I have the power to love, but do I have the power to let go? Do I have the power to let things take their own course? To leave some things upto time to decide? Maybe not...

I have a ways to go.

"...And I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep..."

"Like a silk blanket..."

As DJ and I lay on the hammock in Scott's backyard- at an unearthly hour- at a recent sleepover at his place, we both gazed through the vines that grew over the house, at the singular star that was visible. The place was peaceful, everyone was asleep, and the wind smoothly caressed our bodies.

It was rare for it to be so quiet between us. Ever since we've known each other since September of last year, ours has been a wierd friendship- sometimes soft and caring, sometimes loud and turbulent, and other times- just plain silly. But never quiet. We always seemed to have something to say to each other- whether it be words of encouragement to get through tough times, or little nabs at each other in Debate class, or yelling at the top of our lungs to express the anger we felt, or just the occassional deep conversations we had about life in general- we were never quiet.

But for the first time, I realised how golden silence was- and how it encompassed a million words in the matter of a moment. And more than anything, I realised how satisfying it was- how calm, and yet ruffled; how deep, and yet light; how comforting, and yet thought-provoking.

I finally found some words to describe the feeling, "Isn't silence almost like... like a silk blanket DJ? I can almost feel it covering my entire body- ever so lightly..."

For the first time in a long time, he agreed, "That's some deep shit man!"

But it made me think back to the other times- when silence had not been all that golden. The times when it was awkward- when it just seemed like the absence of words; the times when it stung- when some things that just needed to be said, never were; the times when it was deafening- when it screamed out to me to talk.

I wonder if silence changes its personality from situation-to-situation, or from person-to-person. Was it the moment that had made if feel like silk, or was it just my friendship with DJ that transcended words?

Maybe it was just a mix of both. It was the deepness of the friendship that we shared- that made it so comfortable, where the unspoken words were just understood. But it was also the beauty of the moment- the serenity of the night, and the stillness of life that it brought along- that made it all the more beautiful, all the more powerful, all the more silky.

In a way, it seemed like all the words that were actually said, were more misunderstood than this one moment of silence. It seemed like this one moment seemed to heal all- the past, the present, and even what was yet to come. It seemed like the absence of words made it easier for the thoughts to go from my mind to his- without passing though our mouths and ears.

So why is it that sometimes, some things just need to be said? Why can't the words be understood? Why can't the blanket of silk lie gently, and not itch? Why can't the million unspoken words express themselves? Why?

Whatever it may be, it was one of the most beautiful moments of my life...