My bucket list

I find a lot of people talking about their bucket lists these days. A list of all the stuff they really want to do before they die which usually includes traveling to God forsaken Amazonian jungles, jumping off cliffs or aeroplanes, making uncomfortable conversation with ex GF/BFs & then convincing themselves that they've made up for past sins, driving a Ferrari etc etc. Here's mine(not that I don't wanna do any of the above):

1. Wander into a Lawrence & Mayo store & ask for a jar of mayonnaise
2. Defeat my friend Padma in at least one game of carrom, even if it means tying both her hands & blindfolding her.
3. Find out the color of Karunanidhi's eyes.
4. Figure out why parents are against the concept of young men & women living on the same planet.
5. To be on friendly terms (to at least know the imp events going on in their life) with 1 more person than my friend Murali. He knows everyone!
6. Meet the guy behind AbstruseGoose.
7. Find out what hyper-emotional journo Arnab Goswami is smoking.
8. Live long enough to see politicians being more expressive on TV & with the press in general. I mean, just imagine Dr Manmohan saying "We welcome the decision by the United States to lift controls on export of high technology items and technologies to India. Woo Hoo!!!!" or Obama(not Bush) saying "We will hunt him down & kick his Ass!!!"
9. And the one last question I'd like to be answered before I pop is, what the hell happened before the Big Bang?

Not a bad list eh?

The Whole 22 Yards

Just like 99% of Indian men, I love cricket & everything associated with it. The remaining are those who say things like "I stopped watching cricket after the 1996 world cup" which just shows how hurt they were after that fateful night.

In my house there are as many classes of cricket enthusiasts as there are people (3). My mother, who will watch a match depending on the number of movie celebs in the stadium and hates it when the players dirty their clothes, pitying the poor souls who will have to wash, dry, blue, starch & steam-iron their uniforms to crisp chamakti Wheel safedi.

And then there's my father who will calculate & re-calculate the current & reqd. run rates after every 3 balls accurately to the second decimal & then look at me & smirk. He has also mastered the art of completely failing to distinguish a replay from the real-time pictures & therefore every time they show the replay of someone getting out, he'll yell "Aii Ayyyo!!! innu obba hoda!!!" (OMG another one gone!)

And then there's me. Good ol' me. I started watching cricket since the 96 WC & have been hooked ever since. Neither have I inherited the mathematical acumen of my father(a fact well established in class 10) nor the street smart savvyness of my mom(a fact well established when as a 5 year old I refused to eat street food in Delhi's Bengali market citing ideological reasons. What was I thinking?). I just lap up everything thrown at me by the Tube. And I've lapped up so much that its beginning to feel very repetitive now.

Every single time Ravi Shastri does the presentation ceremony, he starts with one of the following:

1. Ladies & Gentlemen, what an absorbing day's play it has been...or
2. What a cracker of a match we've had today...or
3. We've witnessed a spectacular game of cricket today.

My ears keep ringing with "Its been a quiet period, I just get the feeling something is about to happen" or the extremely prophetic "the last thing India need now is to lose a wicket". How they manage to lose a wicket immediately when anyone, especially Ravi Shastri says it, is a mystery.

But despite all that I remain a loyal, dumb, couch potato cricket fan who is no different from the million others out there. If I'm at work during a match, there will be a Cricinfo browser tab open & will be refreshed like crazy. If I'm driving, my avg speed betn home & office will be at least 5 kmph more than non-match periods. Every morning, the first page I read in the newspaper is the last sports page. I still don't move an inch when India is 102/4 needing 110 from 20 overs. And I will pump my fist every time India wins.

Last year I had gone to an IPL match with friends where we sat next to an old man probably in his seventies who had come alone & would stand up & dance & cheer in his own inimitable style. Something tells me I'll be no different. I just hope I'm not alone even then!

Cheers!

JAD

When the alarm rang today morn, I still hadn't got Aaaar Seeeeee Beeeee, Gayle & the whacking he gave the 11 hapless punjabi boys out of my system (thx Ali, u totally like....rock man). And that match will always remind me of the rasam or shathamdu as its called in my house....o that tangy, spicy Tam/Kan delicacy was simply sublime, and who'd have thought I'd run into such exemplary culinary expertise at the Chinna stadium!

Anyway...um..err... Moving on... I opened my eyes to find texts telling me the ever-punctual Kafi was ready to hit the gym. So I scoot to the gym to find him there with that look which says....."Again?" But Im a master of my art too... All I had to do was give him my trademark disarming goofy laugh and greet him with some hyderabadi "kya miyaan aisa dekh re tum mere ku?" & good times were back again. Once we inside we were joined by Vika & a certain stranger. This guy is a droll I tell you. Never a dull moment when he's around. Every couple of minutes he would yell at the top of his voice one of the following 3....ummmm....what-should-I-call-'ems:
1. "Come on Jockey!" Dont ask me who jockey is.
2. "Come on India! Josh maaa!" Dont ask me why the nation needs to get itself worked up for his workout.
3. "Barli maaa.... josh barli!" The closest I can get to translating that accurately is "let it come... Let the adrenalin flow"

Well all that motivation was a good thing... We promptly folded up & hit the nearest Idly-vade outlet, no bigger than a single room in size but with a huge heart when it came to keeping those streams of sambhar steadily flowing & devoured countless steaming hot idlys with dollops of chetney & sambhar or kozhambu as its called in my house. Which reminds me... I must write a piece on what is the ideal accompaniment to idlys...chutney or kozhambu? And likewise for the more premium..vade or vadeyyy as its called in my house. I have very strong views on the matter. I must also write separately about why I keep saying "as its called in my house". That post will be called iyengar tamizh 101.

Yannyhow, after that spiffing start to the day, with a whistle on my lips I scooted back home expecting a grand welcome....for no reason. But I was greeted by locked gates. Why? Because our hallowed house-maid leaves at 9 & it was now 9.30. Gates are locked at 9 to prevent unwanted people from entering. Everyone except the maid is unwanted in the morning. So i clanked the gate & yelled Amma!......Annnaaaa! & you'd expect the parental love flowing & them running to let their son in, apologizing profusely for making me wait in the sun ouside. Instead there was silence. I was not the maid... I was not wanted. That left me with no other choice. The master mimic in me rose to his zenith... and I mustered the best middle-aged maid voice I could & yelled...... "ANTIIIIIIII!......ANTIIIIII!" its actually "Aunty" but must be pronounced as "Anti" for the correct "maid-in-a-hurry-in-the-morning" effect & it produced instant results. Both my ancestors were at the door before I could say Yepppadi! I had claimed victory. Although all they said when they saw me was "eevan aaaaa?" i was still not the maid you see.

And that was Sat morn!

P.S. Thx Ms Anonymous for those comments on my previous post. Brought the spice back into my life ;)