There is something about an underdog sports movie, any underdog movie. You know the plot. The team/ hero/ lead will win against all odds. That is a given. But still, you love it. Because, it is not the story, but the story-telling, it is not the victory, but the fight.

Hoosiers, is one of the best coming-from-back, underdog movie, I have seen. And it is all in the process of winning. It is about a small school, from a small town, winning the Indiana State Championship. It is about a forgotten coach redeeming himself. But, you do not cheer for the super speeches the coach gives, or bite your nails in the finals, when everything boils down to the final second. Everyone is a winner by then. The tension is in the smaller matches, when the town shows up to support a team, they no has no chance of winning. You know, because of the premise of the story that they will win, but still, you mutter a silent prayer for them, you jump with joy with every basket, you cringe when they go down, you cry with the team, and you are not watching a movie, but living it.

One scene really stood out, for it showed how the coach could inspire confidence. The town team had defied odds and reached the finals, which was to be played in Indianapolis. And, they were awed seeing the big stadium and the huge galleries. The coach, however, takes out a measuring tape, and makes them measure the dimensions of the court, and says, it's the same as it is back in our gym. Amazing morale boosting scene.
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It is spring break here now. And the weather is warming up, and so is the mood. The hopeless depression of the winter, is giving way for the warmth and wishful hoping of the spring. And it feels good.

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So, on Saturday, A, J and I, were putting aratai (adda, bantering) in J's home. It turned out to be one of the more memorable evenings here in Madison. It was like an evening I dreamed of spending for a long time. It started with an take away Thai food, a not so great movie (The Holiday), an hour or so of useless chatting about schools and mischiefs and other not-so-important, but funny stuff, that is stuffed in our heads for times like this. Later, late into the evening, we started playing Hangman, but only with Hollywood movies. Another remnant of school days, boring classes spent playing this game. Instead of drawing the hangman, each guess had to be got correct by the time you run out of words in -Hollywood, Hollywood, being to signify English movies. So, we laid out the rule that, we would only play with English movies, and A, the walking IMDB, was guessing movies off, even before J and I could think of it, and setting us, tough, obscure movies. Finally, J decided it is enough, and set us a movie, and insisted that she write ********* instead of Hollywood, just for a change. We went on with it, and found no English words at-all completing the blank words, and A, suddenly jumped up, and said it is Alai-paayuthey, the tamil movie. J, had set us up. And it made my evening. It was cute, sweet, innocent, wicked, mischievous and beautiful. And, a small, nice memory, for other such Saturday evenings of pure fun with meaningless anecdotes and time-pass games.

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Have I changed in America?? I think so, for I visited a temple 250 kms away today, after refusing, all of the last two years in Mumbai, to go to temple 250 meters from my home. And this is the second time in America, I have been to one. But it was beautiful, and the drive was fun, and the whole day great. But, to put a different spin to it, the temple indeed helped me. The past week had been kind-of tough, and I was feeling a bit down, and the temple, somehow helped. I don't know how, but thats why, I guess it is hard to explain God. Amen.

Cheers!
Kaushik

PS: Was supposed to have posted it last night, but surprisingly, there was a power cut and I could not post. But, then, the dark streets and the rain (ya! rain, and no snow) reminded me of Bombay. It was not the noise of a downpour or the silent drizzle, but somewhere in-between, a periodic patter-patter, like a lullaby, which, strangely reminded me of monsoon evenings, sitting in 524, at the Vashi toll-naka, looking at the rain fall into the sea, and waiting to get home to a hot cup of chai. Amen to that thought too :-)

'...And they lived happily ever after'.

He looked into her face, as she slept, a smile on her face. He was sure, he could see her dreams, of a beautiful world, of kings and queens, of talking fishes and flying horses,of evil witches and bad curses, of courageous heroes and great wars, of a blue sky and green earth, and of happy endings.

Secretly he wished, he could be the kid again, and listen to bed-time stories of fairies and everything that is beautiful, and believe, as his daughter now does, that every story, indeed has a happy ending. But, instead, he knew, he was facing the hardest decision of his life yet.

A poor immigrant in a poor country, not many jobs were available to him. And today, the job he knew to do well, was gone. His owner, moved on to the bigger city, to work for another master. Yes, he had to find some work, but he knew the other decision would be harder.

We had never planned for her, he said to himself. Cold logic kicked in. A child was never a good decision, for a poor man, in a country ravaged by war, looking to flee from home. But, the pregnancy happened. They ran away from the war. With no shelter, no money, he could just listen to the doctor in his new country say, that his wife may not survive child-birth. Later, he could just see her live the last moment of her life, as her child, his child lay crying next to her.

No, I never bargained for her, he thinks again, as he looks towards the angelic 4 year old face sleeping next to him, oblivious to his torture, in the dream world of happy endings.

He chided himself. For cold logic to have taken over his thoughts. She was his child. He had raised her. She had given him those fleeting moments of happiness, which was as hard to come by as a good meal in the last 4 years. He had seen happiness in her face. He had worked through long hard days, just by seeing her play all by herself from the corner of his eyes. He had felt the surge of happiness and excitement in her, when he threw her up in the air and caught her every evening. He, once again, had believed in happy endings, when he cooked up bed-time stories for her.

She needs me, he argues to himself. She is living in this protected, magical, beautiful world, that he had made for her. She is not ready, yet, to learn that the world is lot more crueler then she can ever imagine to be now. He has to stay with her, and ease her into the real world, slowly. It has to be him that has to do it.

The mental war of emotion and logic is leaving him, nothing but confused, as logic presents its case again, inside the courtroom of his thoughts. Happiness, you argue, emotion, but tell me how will you give her happiness. So far, you spent more money for tiny gifts for her, the nice frock, the rainbow ice-cream, the talking doll, then for your food. You have not eaten for two days, just so that she has some food. How do you reckon, emotion, that tomorrow, jobless and helpless, unwanted in this new country, you are going to keep her happy and content. How do you even think that you can shield her, as you have, from the cruelties of the world.

Moments such as these come, when logic feels right, but emotions and memories, which have no place in all that is logical, contradict. Decisions, however, need to be taken.

It was getting late, and in a split second, he decided. He had to let her go. It would be hard for her tomorrow, and the day-after, but maybe one day she will realize that father was correct. It was the only logical thing to do. He picked her up, and walked down the road, to the orphanage, that had been tempting him, for quite some time, and which had been his only thought, all evening, after he had lost his job.

He placed her gently, on the stairs, and turned back and left. He knew, that the one last look, he promised himself, when he made the decision, would be the worst thing to do. Fighting tears, he ran up the street, to collect all his belongings, and ran all the way to the railway station.

The train, was not to come till the morning. He laid his belongings down, and decided to sleep. As he closed his eyes, his thoughts only had place for the beautiful smile that he had seen on his daughter's face as he finished the story earlier in the evening. He knew what he had to do.

He ran back to the street, to the orphanage, picked her up, shook her, woke her up, and in a shower of kisses, let her know, that they together will change the story. They deserved a happy ending, and he will find it for her and himself.

I am a hard core Cricket fan. I pray to all the Gods I know on every day that the Indian team takes the field that India win. And, as with billions of Indians, I am disgusted that we lost.

Just keeping to cricket, sure the umpires did us in. But, for a team that had showed so much fight, after the first test mauling, 72 overs should not have been a big deal. Kumble, of all people, could survive that cauldron. A big question mark must be put on Yuvraj. It is one thing, not to perform, if you have a settled place in the team, or even when, you are there because the 'best' player for that position is unavailable. But, to not perform for 4 innings together, when, the team balance has been upset, when the best Indian batsman has been asked to open, which he is not comfortable with, is unacceptable.

Everyone knows that the umpires gave a slew of wrong ones, and all against India. Much has been written about the unsportsmanlike behavior of Ponting and the Aussies. But to me, India is victorious as they managed to remove the veil of the champs. In the past decade, India has been consistently competing against Australia. Barring a match or two, all the matches have gone to the wire. Before this series, the last decade was split 6-8 to the Aussies. Throw an if- in for the rained out Chennai test, it would be 7-8 to the Aussies. And that is victory enough to India (for me). On the performance against Australia alone, India deserve to be a worthy 2nd best test team in the world ( not to forget away wins in Pakistan, Windies, England, an away test win in SA and Australia). The only flaw in the India's test record would be the drawn test series in India with Pakistan and England. If India learn to finish matches, then this record would be much better.

IMO, this is a reason why Australia behaved the way they did. They are scared of the Indian Test team, and as the only team that has stretched Australia to the limit in Australia in the past decade, not once but twice, the ugly side of Australia's professionalism and will to win peeked out. Even, this ugly side to the game would not have helped, if not for the deaf and blind and meek umpires.

They may be the best team in the world, but they do not have the balls for a fight.

The other thing that this test has thrown is the Racism abuse. I (and am sure many others) consider the ban on Harbhajan to be racist ( atleast, on the basis of the news available now, 1/7/08). It was the word of a couple of 'white' aussies against a couple of 'brown' indians, as the umpires and the referee agreed that there was no conclusive video or audio proof.

Given even this to the australians, does a 'monkey' chant constitute to be racism?

What is the timeline of this slang?

It started with a group of Baroda supporters chanting Monkey Monkey at Symonds. The average Indian cricket lover, is knowledgeable about the game, its history, records, consider themselves to be better umpires than Bucknor ( which they may be too :p ), but I am sure, that they will not be aware of the ethinic make-up of the Australian team.

Symonds had tormented India in the series, and for that calling him a monkey seems to be the most meek of Indian slangs that Symonds could have received, given the colorful expletives that Indians can dish out.

The Mumbai pictures of men imitating monkeys may have gone too far, but that too is not racial IMO. These are the same Indians, who dared to call Inzy as Aloo (Potato). Now, had he been equated to some really fat animal, would that have been resulted in racism??? That is a question to ponder about.

I just do not see how 'Monkey' can be considered Racist? Where does this even come close to the horrendous 'racist' acts done by the west on the asians. Even the meekest racist comments by the west would have been more derogatory than a monkey slang. Even Brad Hogg's b******* is more derogatory than calling someone a monkey.

But from a broader perspective, IMO, this looks to be a pre-emptive position, that the west and the developed world is bound to take, as India and China grow more and more powerful.

As for everything else, the regular updates follow :)

1. Had a blast of a time in Vegas and LA and Tempe.
2. Relieved that the first semester in Wisc is over.
3. Have to work. Need an 'enthu' generating machine
4. This trip to the west coast, apart from the fun, has made me think a little, and make me contemplate a bit more. Maybe I will blog about it later.
5. Gambling sucks, if you lose money and your friends have all the luck in the world.