Six Reasons Why Laxman Should NOT be Picked for the Australian Tour

For a long time, I have wondered why a sword hangs over Laxman's head in the Test team. A little bit of research, and some shrewd analytical thinking has led me to believe that the answer is as clear as my hair is of dandruff after my morning shampoo with Sunsilk (pink).

1. Although Laxman is not out of form, he has not scored a 150 for India since the last Australian tour. His fifty to hundred conversion rate is appalling, and the Indian team cannot afford such mediocrity in the batting order. He has a bad habit of getting out in the 70s and 80s, which will not do for a player in that Indian Middle Order.

2. The law of averages says that Laxman has finished his quota of success in Australia. His heroics in the last tour are more than what most batsmen have achieved there in a lifetime. Therefore, he is unlikely to score there again. Compare this with Yuvraj Singh or Joginder Sharma, who have never played a Test Match in Australia - by the law of probability, their chances are bound to be better.

3. Laxman is ill-suited to modern day cricket. His last century against Pakistan in the ongoing Kolkata Test Match had no 2s or 3s. The Indian team would value a smaller score with more 2s and 3s more than a large score where runs are scored in boundaries. After all, the boundaries in Australia are longer making the more difficult to reach.

4. The Indian team must engage in building a team for the future, and at the same time balancing our current interests. We can achieve the latter by giving the other veterans their time in the sun (and against the fast bowling) and achieve the former by dropping Laxman.

5. Laxman is ill-suited for the current role he is playing at No. 6, and the rest of the batting order is etched in stone. There are enough players who can play at this position better than Laxman. He does not manipulate the strike well enough. He cannot score quickly.

6. Laxman's close catching skills are of no use in Australia. India will have to rely on its fast men, and we need better fielders at point and gully, where Laxman and his unbending attitude to fielding cannot make things happen.

Therefore, drop Laxman. We do have Arjun Yadav, India's greatest prospect, waiting in the wings.

Bollywooded!

People told me a great many things before it was even released - “It is not a movie, it is a product to be consumed”, “It's like Main Hoon Na – some silly shit passing off as cinema”. People told me other things after they'd seen it - “The second half drags”, “Deepika is hot!”, and lastly, the comment that I find most unreasonable – “Leave your brains outside the cinema hall, and enter – you'll enjoy it.”

When I stood in the large lobby of Prasad's Multiplex, waiting to watch the only Shah Rukh Khan movie I hadn't yet seen, I had my brains in my hand – wondering whether I should run back, leave them in the car, or take them in and challenge the Association of Enlightened Critics of India. I'm glad I chose well.

When I entered, I saw Bollywood's greatest film of the twenty-first century – while Hazaron Khwaishein Aisi inspired awe, Rang De Basanti turned bored college students into murderers, Dil Chahta Hai made men hang out in groups of three sporting little triangle beards under their lips, Yuva inspired political parties, Black gut-wrenched away to glory, Maqbool and Omkara chilled, Om Shanti Om decided to celebrate.

And the subject of the celebration was perfect – Bollywood. From the audacity of the opening sequence from Karz to the cuteness of the end-credits, OSO was perfect. The jokes kept coming in a barrage, quick one-liners, and large set-pieces were woven into one another like deft touches and stunning movement in the Brazilian midfield. Deepika showed the world that her misadventure with Upendra in the Kannada smash-hit Aishwarya was a one-off mistake.

Actually, I need to say more about Deepika – she can act. She's pulled off the 70s superstar and college girl from Bangalore roles to perfection. Her chemistry with Shah Rukh Khan is especially brilliant – in that she was able to do both, play the admired and the admirer, and maintain the duality of her two personas (personae?). And, she is hot, very hot. That helps. (She is, hereby cast in the lead role in the movie version of Love Brinjal.)

OSO is not a repetition of age-old formulae, it is a reminder of their enduring nature. Every plot-twist, every line, every word, every action is a tribute to a style of filmmaking. The song with 31 stars evokes unparalleled nostalgia, the mother, the faithful friend, the corrupt-womanising-businessman-villain, gyrations on gaudy sets, excessive melodrama over red powder worn on forehead, all take us back to all those years of balcony seats and channel-flipping. And yet, I was drawn into the plot. I had seen it all unfold in movies before, yet I wanted to see it once more. And this is where OSO scores.

And what about logic? What about reason? What about meaningful cinema? Why was the Universe created? Did we ask for logic in all those movies where reincarnations always resemble their previous life selves? Did we even question reincarnation? Did we ask for reasons when a small-looking hero beat up scores of bald-headed, dunce-faced toughies? Did we ask for reasons when the villain had this missile with three heads aimed at Bombay, Madras and Calcutta? Did we ask for reasons when asshirvaads from maas counted for more than studying for the exam? Did we ask for reasons when NRIs had strong Indian accents and could recognise the smells of Punjab? Did we even ask where most movies were set?

OSO doesn't require you to stop asking these questions – it only celebrates the fact that none of us ever did.

So, take your brains in, and with your brains, your Bollywood sensibilities – watch with awe as Deepika acts like a reincarnation of Hema Malini, cringe at Shak Rukh Khan's ventures into topless waters, laugh, cry, sing, dance and enjoy yourself as you've done all these years, because it is when you leave your brains behind that you ask for reasons. When you take them in, logic and reason are plain for everyone to see.

Not an Interview With The Milkman

I usually don't like allowing guest bloggers on this blog, but Xebo's been asking for a while - he interviewed me sometime ago, and doesn't have any other place to publish the interview, because, frankly, no one wants to read it. For the uninitiated, Xebo has been my closest imaginary friend ever since I can remember myself. He is my staunchest critic, a nasty, unemployed, no-gooder ... Okay, he's not letting me finish that sentence. So, over to him.
***

Xebo: Good day, readers. Today, we have with us a special guest...
Me: Cut to the chase, da.
X: I recently read a report from a psychologist who claims that you are sexually (CENSORED)... and that is why you claim that you do not watch pornography.
M: I'm sorry, I don't want to discuss that report. And I do not watch pornography on moral grounds.
X: Sex is immoral?
M: Sex with milkmen, or on islands definitely is... Especially when you're running a temperature.
X: Are you evading these questions because you agree with the contents of the report, and you do not want them to be disclosed?
M: No comment.
X: Your first interview, and the celebrity lingo is already in place! (Smiles all around) Another report from a close friend reveals that the name...
M: Whoa! NO! NO COMMENT. NO COMMENT.
X: What are your opinions on the question of whether Rama built the bridge?
M: The matter is sub judice, and I wouldn't wish to comment on the same.
X: What can you comment on?
M: Um, the weather?
X: The weather... Yes. Um, I was at your convocation recently, when you were told of the dangers of climate change. You must today be proud that a Nobel Laureate, Dr. Pachauri, was the Chief Guest at your Convocation.
M: That I will never be. I mean, he gave the most depressing speech in history, I didn't see the point of my degree - what use is the degree if we will all die in twenty years?
X: Seriously, you should crack a new joke once in a while - it has been two months, and you crack that one at least once a day!
M: To different people. Nobody's heard that twice.
X: I have.
M: Not my fault that you're always around!
X: Are there any other jokes that you keep repeating?
M: What is the characteristic or attribute of being a lock?
X: That's not even an original joke.
M: Anu Malik said, "Nothing is orginal, everything is inspired."
X: You say that all the time too. In fact, this is a trend. You have some five jokes in your life, and you repeat them at every given opportunity. For instance, let me cite two instances from this blog. In Love Brinjal - Part I, you say "In an interview, Vishwanathan Anand said that no two women can make the same rasam. They might have learnt from the same person and follow the same recipe, but the rasam is never the same." And then, in your Untitled bullshit story, "...on how no two South Indian women can make the same rasam even if they follow the same recipe..."
M: The contexts are very different, lending the jokes their diverse nature.
X: Elaborate.
M: Um...
X: Fucked you.
M: I was just formulating the right response. The thing is, in one case, I am talking of Vishwanathan Anand, and in another case, it is of an old grandfather. It shows how opinions transcend generations. Basically, history is circular. So is morphology. Haven't you read Circularity of History by Bazouki?
X: Apart from the fact that no such book or author exist, I love the way you use names and titles to defend your opinions. You're such a wannabe academic!
M: Academic, I might be. But wannabe?!
X: Then why do you watch movies you don't understand?
M: I understand the movies I watch. Want me to write a review of Persona?
X: Stop getting defensive. I didn't even mention Persona. I've always thought that you overrate many things just because names are attached to them. You're dying to be counted amongst the cool.
M: That's such bullshit. Just because I slept off while watching 2001 for the first time...
X: You're giving all the right examples.
M: Pah!
X: Tell me the name of the last book you read in entirety. In Entirety.
M: Klingsor's Last Summer, ha.
X: Damn. I was hoping you'd mention that other book you gave up midway - I'm sure you'll claim to have read it to everyone.
M: I never do that.
X: Shame?
M: Shame?
X: Rushdie - Shame.
M: I skipped one chapter in the middle. One chapter.
X: And two at the end, and one more somewhere else maybe.
M: It doesn't have that many chapters.
X: Exactly my point - you hardly read any of the book. Getting back to coolness value - I think that is the reason why you're reading that Adam Smith book now.
M: That is so untrue.
X: I mean you dont even follow what you're reading most of the time - you just stare at the page and look intelligent. Just like you do when you download and read articles on the World Bank.
M: Oh, those I read only for effect.
X: You're whole life is only for effect.
M: Maybe...
X: Oh, we're almost running out of time. Thank you for that candid interview. I hope to having you on this show again later.
M: Not on my blog!!
***
And therefore, no guest blogger shall be allowed on this blog!
___

V for Venkatesh

There was a time in my life when it wasn't K for Karan Johar. There was a time when the alphabet K had nothing to do with mother-in-laws and daughter-in-laws fighting to gain control over the kitchen. Because K was for Kshana Kshanam. And V for Victory. V for Venkatesh. There was a time when every self-respecting Telugu filmgoer muttered "Devuda, devuda..." under his breath at times of pressure. There was a time when, "Nenokka donga," (I am a thief) was a fashion statement, and wearing flower shirts with jeans with the top two buttons open was a way of life.

That was the time when Ram Gopal Varma made stunning crime thrillers laced with intrigue and adventure, and had one-liners to kill for. Truly sad that his last four films as director have been Darling, Ram Gopal Varma ki Aag, Nishabd and Darna Zaroori Hai. Ah, digressions from the main topic.

This morning, driving back from the airport, a dull radio announcer on AIR FM Rainbow, who sounded like a college professor on sedatives giving the same lecture for the hundredth time, said "Ko ante Koti!" (equivalent of 'C for Crore'). My heart missed a beat, I went up one gear and increased the volume. Sure enough, Sridevi's slightly off-tune voice sang, "Kingula Kanipistunnadu..."

I was taken back to those times - when V was for Venkatesh, and K was for Kshana Kshanam and Ko was for Koti.

Kshana Kshanam, about a bank employee (Sridevi) who accidentally comes in possession of one crore rupees robbed from a bank and a petty thief (Venkatesh) running away evading the cops and the robbers, is a masterpiece. Venkatesh is stunning as the thief (Chandu, I think his name was), and Sridevi was even better as Satya and the two together rival the greatest screen chemistries in all cinema. For years after watching KK, I wanted to get stuck in a forest with a girl. (I did also, once, but that wasn't really a forest, and we weren't really stuck.)

For years after that, Venkatesh remained my favourite actor, and I watched Sahasa Veerudu Sagara Kanya, Anari, Super Police (which had music by A.R.Rahman - and along with Gang Master, it was Rahman's only two Telugu movies to date) when V started standing for Vidhu Vinod Chopra, and K for Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Many years later, I did watch Malleswari starring Venky opposite Katrina Kaif, and I noted that he had lost none of his original timing or delivery. "No caste feelings," is amongst my favourite lines in Telugu cinema.

But there was a time, when cops, robbers, railway cloak rooms, tribal songs in the forest and a chilling Paresh Rawal created one of the best movies of all time!

"Tandatarara. Tandatararaaa. Tandatarara..."

Two and a Half

If I didn’t respect Fellini as much as I do, I might have made a movie called 2½. No, it wouldn’t concern a harried movie director – it would be about my 2½ sruti, eight holed, bamboo flute – my mistress for the last two years, one who misbehaves when treated badly!

This flute has remained faithful through all my phases – from the time when getting a sound out of it was an achievement, to those days when hours of repetitive scales ensued to today when ragas and kritis attempt to emanate. It has been there through my extended Hamsanaadam phase, my brief love affairs with Nalinakanti, Harikambhoji and Kapi, and my sorry attempts at Mukhari and Saveri – helping me along, giving me ideas, and showing me quirky phrases. It does, although, act up. There are days when the lower octaves are unattainable, and other days when higher octaves sound too shrill and screaming. There are days when the music is punctuated by occasional, inexplicable screeches and unwanted, deep baritones.

I know that in some years, this 2½ will be replaced by a better, uncracked, heavier one providing a richer tone and better handling, but for the rest of my life, this 2½ will remain my most treasured one – because it is not only the first flute I ever bought, it is also that flute with which I terrorized the hostel for two years, and the flute with which I first played on stage.

Worthy Living

In a famous scene in Manhattan (1979), Woody Allen says:

"Why is life worth living? It's a very good question. Um... Well, There are certain things I guess that make it worthwhile. uh... Like what... okay... um... For me, uh... ooh... I would say... what, Groucho Marx, to name one thing... uh... um... and Wilie Mays... and um... the 2nd movement of the Jupiter Symphony... and um... Louis Armstrong, recording of Potato Head Blues... um... Swedish movies, naturally... Sentimental Education by Flaubert... uh... Marlon Brando, Frank Sinatra... um... those incredible Apples and Pears by Cezanne... uh... the crabs at Sam Wo's... uh... Tracy's face... "

What would I say?

"Why is life worth living? It's a very good question. Um... Well, There are certain things I guess that make it worthwhile. For me, um... definitely Woody Allen... and um, mathematics... Mali's Shankarabharanam, um... Ooh - Swami and Friends by RK Narayan... Um, Brian Lara's batting obviously... Swedish movies, naturally... diluted beer at Pecos, A.R.Rahman, Sanjay Subamanian live..."

What would you say?

An update: Disktop has just reminded me of good sweet milky tea. That gets duly added to this list!

Understanding Modern Poetry

Today, we shall study Modern Poetry and its semantics through the interpretation of one of its most famous pieces, Frei De Fisch's Freedom from Early Morning Phlegm.

(The poem is reproduced below for reference.)

***

FREEDOM FROM EARLY MORNING PHLEGM

Nose.

Earmouth.

eyeeyelasheyelideyewash. eye-o.

Yeehaw!!

Bloody bloodsucking swishing swordfighters learnt lapdancing.
Ernest Hemingway wrote, "Yeehaw!!".when will my pretty mama come to me?

before MaMa, i come home?

Yesterday's sufferers are Today's

Underwriters; Underwear understands underlying underlings' under underrated undervaluation.
Yeh under ki baat hai.

Ali Bhai is a Spy.
Sometimes, I look back pregnantly at poignancy and wonder Why?
Old Sailor told Gifted Sundararajan Ramanamoorthy not to cry.
Why?
Yeh under ki baat hai.
Feel fuckin free. FREE!


go
away
today
no?
***

Rhyme and Meter: Few people know, that as a kid, Fisch had this disorder by which he would stress on every third syllable, and to get the inner meaning and rhythm in his poetry, it is essential to stress on every third syllable. It is also rumoured that at the time when Fisch wrote this poem about his traumatic early morning experiences, the Enter key on his keyboard was malfunctioning, giving the poem its broken structure. In an interview, shortly before his accidental demise, Fisch said, "My life mirrors my Enter key. Often, just like the key, I feel pressed."

This poem's third verse is Fisch's tribute to the early years of poetry, when rhyme was considered important. Fisch always maintained, however, that although life is poetry, life doesn't rhyme.

Understanding the Poem: Most Modern poetry, is freewheeling, inward looking and unbound - it does not answer questions, but asks questions of you. Early Modern Poetry, however, has a verse that lays down the broad framework within which the poem will operate. In this poem, the first verse tells you that the main theme of the poem will be the nose - a recurring theme in Frei's work (Frei always thought that his nose was too pointed and often worried that he might injure someone with it.) - and the rest of the verse tells you that it will also involve the ear, the mouth and various parts of the eye.

Crucially, the poem will deal with a problem and a solution - characterised by the exclamations, "eye-o" (Frei's crude transliteration of the Tamilian, "Aiyo!") and "Yeehaw!!"

Note Frei's characteristic style of pairs of words strung together to form a sentence in the first line of the second verse. This line is an empty signifier - it means nothing, and shows that life starts with a sense of nothingness. And then figured start populating it - like Ernest Hemingway, whom Frei shared a close relationship with. He often dreamt of Hemingway as an employee of the Income Tax Department chasing Frei around Portugal's farmlands in a Samurai outfit, screaming, "Yeehaw!!"

After the men, come the women, and lastly, Ozzy Ozzbourne. This poem is set in the time when Ozzy was Frei's greatest inspiration. Photographs of Frei's house with a painting of Ozzy standing like Jesus Christ are widely available on the internet. And while Frei suffered in those days not being able to tell the difference between his obsession and his religion, he took up a job at a company that engaged in underwriting.

His work brought him to India, where the famous ad for Lux underwear led to the landmark trademark decision of the Supreme Court of India on the word "under" - that similarly pronounced words in different languages having similar import in certain circumstances could be used interchangeably. Frei takes a dig at the Supreme Court's undervaluation of the damages in that suit.

This was around the time when Frei met his closest friend, and later greatest enemy, Ali Bhai. Ali Bhai had a running nose for most of his life, and their close association led to Frei contracting the same problem. Ali Bhai alleged, being high on Himesh Reshammiya's music, that Frei had contracted this from Ali's wife. Frei then accused Ali of spying on his bedroom and never spoke to him again.

Just like Gregory David Roberts, Frei was given an Indian name - Sundararajan Ramanamoorthy. Frei's prose consists of only one book - Sundararajan - that sold only three copies - all bought by The Frei Memorial Library in Portgual. Frei often refers to his publisher, Penguin, as an Old Sailor in his poems. The reasons are unknown.

The last verse of this poem, say some Frei scholars was a printing error that crept into only the later versions of his noted collection of poems - Fourteen Feathers and a Football.