Happy and... Gay?

It was my first day at Grady High school, my second day in Atlanta, and my fourth day of being in the US on my exchange program. During my first three periods, I had already been overwhelmed by the number of new people I was meeting, and was aghast at how nobody seemed to have even noticed my presence (despite me getting there in time to catch a front seat!). As I walked into US History, my fourth period class, I had learnt my lesson, and went and grabbed the corner-most desk. I was done with 'taking initiative' for the day (as they never tired of telling us at the exchange orientations), and wanted to wallow in self-pity for a while. Just as the class was about to start, in walked Michael- or, to me then, my angel. His eyes searched the room, and he chose the desk right in front of me- in that same corner. He came, slung his bag under the chair, and sat down. I noticed he had the most adorable curly blonde hair, before he quickly spun around and introduced himself.

"I'm Michael. Michael Tallini" He held out his hand as he spoke.

"I'm Arundhati." I said, then noticing the horror written all over his face, I added, "Yeah, you can call me Aru. I'm an exchange student from India"

His kindly blue eyes suddenly shone with excitement, "Wow! That's SO cool! I've always wanted to go to India! You know, I even tried reading the Bh.. bhaag..."

"Bhagawat Gita?" I volunteered, a genuine smile appearing on my face for the first time in the day.

"So is that really how you say it? I always wanted to know!"

And our conversation went on throughout the period, as the history teacher, Mr. Sartor, tried in vain attract our attention. But, for once, I didn't care. I had finally made a friend in this unknown land!

And from then on, I always looked forward to US History, not so much for the story of the gory history of America, but to meet my friend. My only friend.

Michael and I, we talked about everything under the Sun. He asked questions about India, but also about my life back there. These were genuine queries. A sharp contrast to the questions people asked me just because I introduced myself as an exchange student. With Michael, I almost forgot that I was from an alien country, and had a 'weird' accent (as the others would always remind me). With him, I was myself- a teenager- with my very own set of quirks and fancies. He woud always know when I was down, and know exactly what to say and do to make me happier. In turn, I gave him a big bear hug everytime he walked into class. We were inseperable in that class...

And this continued for almost six months. And then came a day that looked as normal as it could, but in fact, was completely otherwise.

I walked into class a little late, and Mr. Sartor had already started passing out the tests. I quickly gave Michael a hug and buckled down to start writing the test. As usual, Michael leaned over and wispered a 'best of luck'. I smiled and nodded. I looked at my test, and got into the whole which-president-was-elected-when-and-against-whom mode. Everything was fine...

...for a few minutes. Then, out of the blue, Michael tapped on my shoulders, "Aru?"

Being used to Michael's random outbursts, I wasn't too surprised, but wondered what it was this time.

"Did I ever tell you I was gay?"

One little question. And the insides of me wanted to scream "WHAT?!!!". Instead, I managed a meek shake of the head.

"Well yeah, I'm gay" He said, completely oblivious to the effect his statement had had on the listener.

For a while, I tried to look back at the test, and suddenly nothing made sense. I tried to act like I was testing, but finally gave up. Thankfully, the bell rang at the same time.

As I managed a smile at Michael, I ran out of the class, his words still ringing in my ear. I wasn't quite sure why I was so upset. Was it because he was the first gay guy I had ever known? Or was it because I hadn't known it for six long months? Or was it because it was a situation I had never faced before, and was not quite ready to react to?

As I went through the day, and finally went home, I looked back on it. I realised one of my main frustrations was that I never knew Michael was gay, despite knowing him so well! And then I asked myself, how could I?! He was so... normal! I mean, weren't homosexuals supposed to be all flambouyant and feminine and stuff? Every gay character I'd seen in movies was quite flambouyant, and I had a reason to believe so! But I hadn't known, had I?!

I was also quite frustrated he didn't tell me earlier. But then, I asked myself whether I ever introduced myself with my sexual orientation. If I didn't have to say I was straight, why would Michael have to introduce himself as gay? The more I thought about it, the more I realised how unfair my anger was. I had always thought of myself as very open-minded, but this made me check my own beliefs. And, though it took a while, I understood.

It was one of those moments of my life that I can confidently point to and say, "I grew as a person there"

Ultimately, Michael and I shared an even stronger bond than ever. I loved and respected him more than I ever had, and I even mustered the courage to tell him about my feelings after he 'came out' to me. With remarkable maturity, much beyond his years, he smiled his kindly smile, and said, "I understand. I should have introduced the idea more gradually. And your reaction was nothing compared to the usual ones. But I'm not ashamed to tell now. How can I be ashamed of myself?" Thankfully, he never noticed the little tear falling down my cheek.

Michael and I went on to bigger things, greater things. We came to the point where he regularly talked to me about all the gay couples drama, and I did not feel, in the least emarrased. I had accepted Michael for who he was: a wonderful human being, funny, curious, enthusiastic, loving, empathatic, and yes, gay. My first ever friend at Grady.


I thought I would share this story in the wake of the whole Manvendra Singh episode. The world is moving on, and how long will we insist on being stuck in old ancient mindsets (in the name of 'maintaining traditions'), and deny such natural feelings? How long will it take us to realise that homosexuals are every bit as 'normal' as anyone who falls for their opposite sex? In the times when a 'normal' boy-girl relationship comes under utmost scrutiny in society, I wonder just how long it'll take for people to accept that even two guys can 'go out'... The world is moving fast, and, let's accept it, we are far behind in a lot of ways. And until we actually accept ourselves- and are comfortable in our own skins- how will we move on?

A Letter To The (So Called) 'Purists'

Dear 'Purists',

This letter comes after reading much of what all of you think of the new 'slash-bang' form of Cricket (more popularly called T20), and frankly, all I have to say is: stop whining.

Stop whining about the fact that this form of cricket is not a fair contest between bat and ball. Because it is. Take the semi-final between India and Australia as a case in point. Or any of the two matches played before or after by India. Especially the final. It was won not by the alleged 'slog shots', but with disciplined bowling- and a sensible innings from Gambhir. And yes, all ten wickets were taken, thank you.

Stop whining about the fact that there is no place in the format for sensible batting. All the match-winning innings played throughout the tournament have been a result of a good cricketing mind, and some brilliant cricketing shots. If the format demanded a strike rate well over hundred, the batsmen seemed to respond impressively. Even the six sixes over Stuart Broad by Yuvraj Singh in that match-changing over were 'good cricketing shots', save one.

Stop whining about how cricket is being 'polluted' with all the song-and-dance, and the like. If a few cheerleaders and lowered ticket rates is what it takes to take the game to the masses, then so be it. Because let's face it- the heart of cricket lies not with the tea-sipping, leisure-loving, rich gentlemen (who like to say 'good shot mate' to the most dubious of shots) from some remote county in England- but with the big-dreaming village lad (with a heart the size of a cricket field) from the remotest parts of countries like India and Pakistan, who likes to work hard and celebrate harder.

Stop whining. Grow up. Times are changing, and cricket- for once- is going along. The bars have been raised- and there's no place for complacency. Bowlers have been presented with the challenge of restricting a team to less than eight runs an over, and the cream of the lot have resonded beautifully. The batsmen too have been under pressure to play good cricket without losing their minds, and they've proved they are up to the challenge. The fielding standards have been raised, and catches that would've been considered near-impossible before, have become common-place. And with that- the pace of running between the wickets, the fitness, the athleticism, the ability to think on one's feet- has gone several notches higher.

Accept the fact that the world cup gone by has ushered in a new era of cricket- and a pace and intensity never associated with the game has now become an integral part of it. It has truly become the 'survival of the fittest'- in every sense of the term- and the faster you accept that, the better for yourself.

Because Twenty20 Cricket is here to stay. Whether you like it or not.

With love,
A 'New-Age' fan :)

My 'flashbulb' moment!

If you're Indian, go ask your grandparents what they remember of the day of the India-Pakistan partition, or your parents about the assasination of Indira Gandhi- or of the time when Kapil Dev brought home the 1983 World Cup. If you're on the other side of the world, ask them about the day of Kennedy's assasination, or for that matter- Martin Luther's, or even of the day when Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon for the first time. Chances are, they will not only be able to tell you what day of the week it was- but even exactly what they were doing in the few moments preceding and following that moment that they found out.

There are few days in our entire lives that we are able to relive almost minute-by-minute, what psychologists like to call 'flashbulb memories', and I lived one such moment not too long ago...

India won the first Twenty20 World Cup. To many, its just a fact. For me, it evokes a string of memories- of each and every one of the events that unfolded in those magical three and a half hours...

I remember just how overcast it was- the sky knit with clouds of gloom- but the weather on the other side of the window couldn't have been more different. As the two traditional rivals lined up to sing the national anthems- one could almost feel history being created. And every little thing that happened afterwards is etched in my memory. The first ball near run-out, to the magnificent first six that Irfan's bigger version launched into the stands and Asif's ultimate revenge.

And all along, the two urges tearing me on the inside- one wanting to stay, to not miss one second of the proceeding; the other not wanting to see- the stress, the tension- almost overwhelming. I remember running into my room, shutting the door, and pretending to read a novel that I now cannot even recall the name of- all the while, my heart in the drawing room- where the TV lay. I remember trying to act nonchalant, telling everyone that India was going to lose with the palatry score they posted- all the while wishing, more than ever, that I would be proved wrong.

I also remember running out every time I heard the faintest of shouts- and then rushing right back in- almost as if by my not seeing, Indian would win. I remember how a friend called, and as I talked to him, a flurry of shouts came from the TV room- I rushed, and can still remember the faces of my father and brother flushed with joy- with my father declaring that it was all over- Malik and Afridi were gone! I remember hanging up on my friend, and wathing every single ball that followed- pacing up and down the room- the excitement not letting me sit. I remember, very vividly, how Misbah and Tanvir almost single-handedly took the game away- I remember each of those five seemingly humongous hits over the boundary that followed- turning the whole match on its head. And I also remember the revenge of Sreesanth- that sweet sound of timber- as Tanvir walked back. But also the feeling that probably it was all over.

I also remember RP Singh's excellent penultimate over, but also the excruciating question just before the start of the last one- who would it be? Who would bowl the last over after Bhajji had gotten the stick in his two overs? Our most unlikely crisis-hero, as it turns out. Joginder Sharma. As he wiped the sweat off his face not being able to hide the nervousness and bowled the first ball- that got nowhere near the batsmen- one got the feeling that it was all over. Twelve runs. Six balls. Only one wicket in hand, but the in-form Misbah on strike. And a nervous Joginder Sharma. Could it get any easier for Pakistan? The six off the very next ball only added to the silence that one could feel in the surroundings- as dismay almost consumed each and every one of us in front of the TV set. Four balls. Six runs. Too easy.

And then came the ball that can probably be replayed at will in the minds of each and every Indian cricket fan... Joginder Sharma's third ball-- Misbah moving across his stumps to play what looked like a pre-meditated shot-- an unorthodox scoop-- the ball staying in the air for what seemed like an eternity-- and then, Sreesanth (and his God!) emerging out of nowhere and taking the catch-- and Ravi Shastri's exact words... "It's all over! INDIA WIN!"-- And the eruption of unadultrated blissful joy that immediately followed-- My father and brother running across the room with shouts of joy-- me, on the floor, crying in disbelief.




Ask me twenty years down the line, and I'll probably be able to live each one of those moments in explicit detail. Ask me fifty years down the line, and it'll still hold true. That moment, and everything that followed- the Indians in a heap over Sehwag; Misbah still at the crease- on his knees in dibelief, agony; the Indian victory lap; Bhajji and Irfan's joyous chest-bump; Dhoni taking his shirt off and presenting it to a fan; the presentation ceremony- and the riot of celebration that followed- in South Africa and on the other side of the TV set; and even Harsha Bhogle's parting words "the most deserving final in the longest time"...

Yes. They'll all live on. Each one of them. In joyous, explicit detail.

This was my 'flashbulb memory', what about yours? :)

Thinking out-of-the-box? What's that?

Recently, faced with the eternal problem of the dismal number of submissions to the school newsletter, we- the newsletter committee- put our heads together to come up with- what we thought- was 'the' solution to the problem. We decided on a few topics that we thought were the talk of the nation- or of the youth at least- and we told each student to write at least a paragraph about what thoughts came to their mind when they heard the given topics. I mean, how could that go wrong? Everyone seemed to have quick opinions about everything, and how difficult would it be to put a few of those down in words?


But somewhere, our assumptions went horribly wrong.


The first problem? "What am I supposed to write?" Quite understandable, I said to myself, as this was the first time that the newsletter was doing something of this sort. As I explained that they just had to put down their opinion, the confusion only seemed to grow- "But... but am I supposed to write for or against the topic?". As I repeated the answer I had given earlier, adding 'it is completely your decision'- there was a marked indifference on the faces.


If the start was dismal, the results were even more so. As we scanned paragraph after paragraph submitted by all the classes ranging from 6th to 12th- we tried hard to mask the disappointment with some humour ("Okay, so let me predict what the next paragraph will start with..." and such). But the truth was, any one could have written those paragraphs (barring a few). Because all of them seemed to have the same opinion- and most of them even started with the same sentence! We had given topics like 'The school food', and 'The effectiveness of the Indian Education System', and 'Live-In Relationships'- expecting, at the very least, some mixed responses from the students. But the first two mostly drew articles unabashedly glorifying the school food and our education system, quite contrary to what one would hear down the corridors, or in the class. And the topic of 'Live-In Relationships', which seemed to attract so much conversation in class and outside it- with people being equally vociferous in defending it as well as opposing it, managed to draw just the one article!


As I took my stock of editing home, and went through more piles of the same things I had read so many times over, my first feelings were those of frustration, and bitter disappointment in the inability of the students to express their honest opinions when given the platform.


It was not until I had a good cry, and the whole house knew about my disappointments, that I realised that they were probably misdirected- and even a wee bit unfair. Maybe, just maybe- they weren't completely at fault.


How can they be blamed when, all their schooling life, they've been told what exactly to write- complete with the exact number of words they need to write it in? What else could explain the fact that most of the students use 'guides' for literature of a particular subject- something that is so purely supposed to be left upto interpretation? How can they be blamed when they've been told all their life what exactly their opinion about a particular piece of literature should be?


How can they be blamed when expressing dissent has never been something that's been encouraged? Afterall, going with the norm seems to have its proven awards- students who seem to be unable to even carry out a conversation in a language have been known to score the highest marks in a paricular exam- especially if it happens to be a nationally reputed 'board' exam. Learning by rote seems to have its obvious advantages. And for people who actually have another opinion? Hard luck mate!

But its not just the board exams that encourage our tendency to 'go with the tide'. An inbuilt fear of rejection- that of non-acceptence- seems to be a commonly known trait of the entire human race. So are we afraid of taking a stance? Are we too used to playing it safe?


And what exactly are we moving towards? A society where our real opinions have been covered with what people want us to think? Or one where there's a complete lack of the former? And why?

In a country like ours- a democracy that thrives on the motto of 'of the people, by the people, for the people'- how can we expect positive changes if we just don't hold opinions, or are too busy playing it safe? Why do we not believe in the fact that voicing our opinions- especially if they are different- can bring about some concrete changes?

Why are we afraid to stand out- to be unique? Will there be a day when we will be as uniform- as indistinguishable- as french fries coming out of a structure with a huge 'M' over it?

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!!