Bleeding Red, Bleeding Gold. But bleeding KingFisher?

Its hard to imagine a trivial misunderstanding because of a guard could give a community an identity, a language holier than thou and pride everytime we are quizzed-”Where are you from?”.

“Karnataka”.

Circa 390-415 CE. A certain MayuraSharma from the Kadamba clan embarked on a spiritual journey along with this grandfather, also his Guru to Kanchi to master the Vedas. Owing to some misunderstanding between a guard at Ashvasanstha (a place of horse sacrifice),a quarrel arose in which Mayurasharma was humiliated. There was born the seeds of revenge against the Pallavan empire. From their erstwhile capital of Banawasi, the flag with Genda Bherunda fluttered for the first time. Today, it occupies a place of pride in every bus ticket, in every government ensemble. Genda Bherunda stands for Karnataka.

It seems strange that I was supporting a team which masqueraded to represent Bangalore without the two headed mythical Genda Bherunda as the logo! Even a very creative logo could have stammered in comparison to The Genda Bherunda but having to contend with a logo which is used by a liquor company? Surely, Karnataka deserves better. The initial excitement of seeing Bangalore play on world stage has surely faded into a steady disillusion with the owners,BCCI and most importantly with the fans. Indeed, its amazaing to watch Chris Gayle tear bowlers to all parts of the park. But taking a step back, not for a moment do I feel He is representing Karnataka. Not for a moment, would I want Virat Kohli to lead a Karnataka team. The state which has nested and craddled the various profound schools of philosophies like Dvaitha(Udupi), Advaitha(Sringeri),Visishadvaita(Melkote) has to represented by a team owned by liquor dealers, captained by a Delhi brat who is'nt shy to flash his middle finger at the drop of the hat.

But wait, dont dismiss me with a simple “Why dont you support your Ranji team and just shut up?” Thanks, I do that. I follow my team. I followed my team last year at Gangothri Glades in Mysore, when the stadium got behind Manish Pandey. Ah, Days! But in IPL, is the world stage. Would not it be wonderful, if there were atleast six players for Karnataka in the playing XI? We would not even care about the results if the team did a decent job of representing us, the true inhibatitants of Karnataka on the world stage. Thanks for all the Washington RedSox cheerleaders from US. But, we would like the Yakshagana artists to entertain us better. And a theme song in “Game for Life”? There is no denying that, unless some other clubs (especially a certain club, whose players wear an obnoxious yellow(:P)), we have never been trying to prove our slum love.

Do this Vijay Mallya, for us. Keep your liquor advertisements out of a team that we love. We love RCB, but with the guilt that it does not represent us. Neither can we hate RCB, for the last name says “Bangalore”. While matches in Bangalore will definitely help you fill the coffers, Mallya Sir, what about our brothers from other parts in Karnataka. A couple of matches in Shimoga,Mysore and Mangaore will surely help build trust.

While, we do want to see foreign players in the league, we want them as players representing my city and not a franchisee called RCB. Not that we expect a Gayle to learn Kannada (of course, it would be pleasant if he tried doing so.), but to see a superstar like him being captained by a Kannadiga would do a world of good to fans. And for a land, which has given birth to Javagal Srinaths, Gundappa Vishwanaths, Venkatesh Prasads, lack of talent is a reason as genuine as lack of funds cited by the government for every charitable work.

By the way, for a name, Royal Challengers? Thank you.

LOL! TTYL, CYA, BYE

After the first week of my college, I made a strong note to myself - “I shall not rag my juniors!” and some more lofty idealistic notions. That was till, when I got ragged. Even amongst the 70 of us crammed into a bus, my senior Raghu could scavenge for the last of the juniors left 'un'ragged. Getting ragged in some senses, was like losing your virginity. There are two phases in a junior's life. Before getting ragged and after getting ragged.

You know a guy is not ragged, if you see him sneaking silently into canteen with a couple of friends and escaping without a trace. He is happy to sit in the front in the company of the teachers whom he despises from morning 7am to 4pm. Again, from 5pm till the next 6:59am, she turns a vixen! But that hour in bus, in the teacher, he finds his comfort, kind safety from the evil raggers! Alas, some day that back seat is forced and Raghu has had his prey. The more difficulty in obtaining the prey, the tastier it is, they say. And yeah, dont they love the caged ones who are more animate! And there I was, on the 10th day of college, I did a simple cut to “I shall not rag my juniors!”. COULD NOT WAIT FOR MY JUNIORS TO ARRIVE.

And arrive, they did. And rag, i Did. Or, so thought I. For two years, I occupied the central place in the last seat, the place reserved for the ring leader. He is supposed to be the rude master, the kind soul if the ragged soul sheds a tear, shoots trouble on seeing the teacher's glance behind, share numbers to help the junior! Yeah, most importantly, he has to VASOOL sweets! Phew!! Happy I was, following some Nitte tradition of “Introduction in resume format”, “Bhaw Bhaw tables”, “Proposing a boy/girl”(Of course, I made the little hotter gals propose me!:P) and “THE NITTE SALUTE” for the kirrik boys. However, cliched it sounds, Years passed by!!

It was the fourth year. The baton had to be passed. I shifted to the window. The folks whom I ragged came to the centre. I could sense the same enthusiasm which had clouded me when I was studying algorithms and datastructures. I was more than happy to bide my time looking at the other buses and casting a passing glance at the ragging sessions. Nothing much had changed. The tradition was much alive.

Until, she came.

Suddenly, I saw a gal who was not scared of being ragged. Neither was she desperate to be ragged. She was not scared. Neither, was there arrogance in her eyes. She was a little beautiful too(:P). I could already see some of my juniors turning pink,everytime she spoke to her. Her English smacked attitude, but her tone, humility. I could sense, she was upmarket. But, her home was near mine. I thought she was a Tomboy. Until, she cried in front of me.

Here was a person, dripping with irony. Yet, unmistakably, she was attractive.

It didnt take long for me to start talking. Thats an advantage a senior enjoys. A junior is usually, obliged to talk to a senior. Soon, we used to walk home together and halt at the last point common to our walk back home. We used to stop for a short while. Just that, half an hour soon became too short for us. And till date, she believes, she jacks me royalllllly!

For the first time, I could see the lines between a senior and a junior blurring. And we were 365*3 days apart each other. And, much much later, close friends later, in another couple of minutes, the person for whom I stole minutes at home to have a quick word is finally leaving her teens. For the first time, there is a tiny feeling of she getting older. To me, she was always the kid. Yeah, she plays the granny too.

Yet, I do not find a better way to wish my beloved friend than this.

“Happy Birthday, Jenny!”

PS: This is what she texts me these days for which I have my complaints.

Nafraat Achcha hai.

India, the land of KamaSutra? Umm,it houses Kurushketra too. One of the biggest wars in the eternity of mankind was fought here. Irony, that it might sound, the land is now considered holy and the spilt blood noble. Haven’t we Indians always celebrated war? Or shall we say,a fight? There are countless Dharmayudh(s), the war between the good and the bad or between the holy and evil, fought with so many people and even with ourselves. They say, you cannot be a spectator in a Dharmayudh. You are either black or white. You will vanquish or be vanquished.

            As a nation, we have always liked to fight. The challenge, sometimes against our self is consuming and the feeling of overcoming it, is more special. Yet, wouldn’t be better if we could fight on TV? Wouldn’t a simulation satiate our desire for blood? Sport, by no stretch of imagination, is war.  Yet, it is Dharmayudh, for there are no spectators. The biggest rivalries are not fought on the hallowed twenty yards of Wankhede or Chinnaswamy stadium. Those are the canvases where the Tendulkars and Dravids weave their magic. The biggest rivalries are fought in the packed stadiums. Have a doubt? Get a DVD of Dada leading PWI in this IPL. Hear Edens roaring torn in heart between its Prince and KKR. For every shot on the ground, there were a million shouts for and a million against. These days of course, we have Twitter and Facebook to rant in.

            And for this, I find IPL more interesting. Switch back to World Cup’ 11, I have watched the match in various surroundings.Nothing seemed to change. We all wanted India to win. Yeah, my friend was a Sachin fanatic. My mom, too. Dhoni was my man.  All the arguments started and ended with players.  It was forgotten if we, yeah WE, won. Losing a match did make us captains, selectors, coaches, cricketing pundits and sometimes an umpire too. Everything apart from a spectator. Still, all my misgivings over IPL nevertheless, it is more FUN. When you have dad supporting CSK,mom MI and myself RCB you know you every 6 from Gayle will be met with a sigh.

            And I didn’t add the main course yet. Welcome to FB and Twitter. The same friends who supported India during the world cup victory, have suddenly crossed swords. Gayle and Kohli might fight for their dollars. For me though, they are fighting for my bragging rights. There is a definite satisfaction, every time I see CSK fail. And to think of it, I dont hate CSK for winning the league a couple of times. Its CSK, which has the maximum presence in Bangalore after RCB. The battle might well be between Dhoni and Kohli now. Kohli,now. Come July, I shall be back to supporting Dhoni. For now, he remains my sworn enemy. I love this banter. Thank you, IPL.

He scores when He wants

If he was a four-legged creature, he would be a leopard. If he could fly, which he does so often, he would be a butterfly. If he did dance, he would be a peacock. Run everybody does, dance everybody does, fly too, many attempt too, but few have done in it style, that this man does it when he wears the red and white shirt, Robin Van Persie.

            Ask a cricket fan, and he will tell you, how much more elegant the left handers could be. To attribute Persie’s elegance to being a lefty would be injustice to the the great man’s talent. Born to artists, Persie’s canvas is the green grass in a football ground and in Emirates, how often he has transformed into something bigger, something more elevating. In some ways, this season the number of goals that Persie has scored diverted the attention from the artistry that he employs to dazzle the opponents.

            Being a part of an artist family, Persie would well know numbers are poor ways to measure success. For a man, who has so well expressed himself on the football ground, he lies on the threshold of a big decision to make. Should he chase numbers? Or, should he chase love? A chance at glory. A chance at living in the hearts of The Emirates faithful for a lifetime. Sports does not lend itself to rational thinking. Sometimes, the most instinctive decisions are the best ones and the heart often makes better decisions than the brain. Persie has two choices now. Either, he could decorate his cupboard with medals. Or, He could be content with seeing his poster in the bedroom of every Gooner and a special place reserved for him.

            When he arrived as a youngster from Feyernood, not many teams bid for him because of his Balotteli like reputation. Even in times, when Arsenal was frustrated with injuries which regularly affected Persie, Arsenal respected his talent. Tonight is a chance for Persie to redeem himself. To repay the faith that Arsenal have reaped on him.  To say no to a truckload of dollars from the oil country is going to be tough. But to earn the shouts of “Persie, Persie” at the Emirates is tougher.

            A chance to remain a good player. A chance to become a legend.

King Persie, Ball is in your court. Gooner Forever.