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Thursday, December 22, 2005 

FORM OF SUBSTANCE


For players, like in any other game, cricket is nothing but an undying continuous, relentless search for form. Every batsman strives to discover the magical formula that ensures that every ball meets the centre of the bat and gets him the desired result. Similarly, bowlers squeeze their shoulders and bend their backs to land every ball in the right spot to engulf the batsman in a web of doubt.

Players have begun to realize that form depends more so on fate than anything else; its arrival is as unannounced as its departure. But given the irony of form and its elusive nature, it is seldom disputed that form maybe temporary but class is permanent. The explanation for the former is no longer the job of an astrologer or scientist.

On the surface level, anyone would agree that form refers to spotting the ball early, stroking it around with supreme ease, picking gaps and sending the ball screaming to the boundary as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
An effortlessly flawless batting style is no doubt an indicator of form, but every player who has taken guard knows that this is a difficult task, tougher than smashing Shoaib Akhtar around or winning a grand slam with a Sania Mirza serve.

To raise their craft, to make what they are doing as natural as breathing, most players adopt the practice-till-you-drop-dead method. They spend infinite hours and mindless energy at the nets in order to fine tune techniques and master shot selection. But why? Because there is no substitute for hard work, no fast-forward button that guarantees hundreds in the days to come!
Examples to elucidate the above need no scanning and searching.

Sachin Tendulkar for instance, despite an unassailable 500 international appearances for India and a mammoth 25,000 odd runs under his belt, practices every possible shot, ranging from his flawless defensive stroke to his daring reverse sweeps a million times. Likewise, Anil Kumble, another fierce competitor and perfectionist, is lethal when it comes to applying pressure thanks to his long spells at the nets, where he drops ball after ball on the same spot as if it were the only thing he was capable of. The ‘golden eye’ Virender Sehwag appears no different. Despite his impulsive way with the bat, he values sound preparation as it takes him a long way when it comes to twisting the ball 360 degrees even when a bowler is hurling bombs at 150kmph.
Perfecting techniques and achieving success comes not with a stout heart; it implies absorbing the intense pressures of competition. Style is inborn while becoming natural is a byproduct of practice; so simply put, every player experiences performance related anxiety but the ones who turn the pressure round to their advantage alone survive the heat.

Thereby, without passion and ambition neither style nor success can be achieved. It takes a burning desire and a craving heart and a chest swollen with self-belief to reach the pinnacle; it is this alone that separates the great from the good. The great redefine batting with a touch of excellence and make this apparently difficult art, appear ridiculously simple and a pleasure to the eye, but don’t get taken in- nothing is easy, nothing comes free; it takes patience and awesome talent and unflagging effort to make it effortless. The mediocre, on the contrary, stick around or eventually just fade away.

Fitness has a rather unflattering history- it was more for good looks than its direct benefits on the field. But in recent times, players realize its direct bearing on performance, as it is essential to keep the body fit and strong in order to generate speed and athleticism. Modern cricket demands the cricketer to be athletic first and a cricketer later- a lesson learnt by cricketers who embrace a lifestyle where the gymnasium is as important as cricket nets.Interestingly, form, which defies all understanding, is a direct consequence of fitness, which in turn, affects performance (which is scientific and can be measured). This is explicitly evident in Kaif’s splendid athleticism on the field; Dravid’s fight against dehydration while carrying on a marathon innings; Laxman’s patience and endurance in spite of an injury in his leg.


11:29 pm | |

Saturday, October 01, 2005 

THE 'X' FACTOR

Cricket!
Cricket is the one game that has a powerful presence in India (for many, even more than religion) and the top stars enjoy recognition and a status that people from other fields find very difficult to achieve. Ironically or maybe not so ironically, every list of influential Indians, role models or youth icons (even some celebrities) will inevitably contain names of cricketers. But isn’t such honor more often than not pyrrhic? Lime light of this nature often brings with it added responsibility that most players are unable to cope with.

Our over-the-top attitude towards achievers in sports often catalyses this. Dhoni makes one big score and Jharkhand goes wild; Yuvraj scores one blazing fifty and the press brands him as the country’s cricketing future; Sourav Ganguly’s form slumps and journalists toss him around the tip of their pen; India is within site of loosing and billing’s gate accompanied by a shower of muscle power in the form of bottles are hurled at fielders close to the boundary. Exalt at the first hint of victory and uncouth anger and vehement criticism at the first hint of failure is now a part and parcel of the game-Indian cricket’s package deal. The pendulum of popular acceptance and rejection changes swiftly- most unpredictable and often, without reason.

Almost everyone (not excluding the layman) would agree that we should be more balanced in these matters, treat players as players, dispassionately as performers and not include this with what they do outside their sport. A cricketer should be judged only on the basis of his caliber display in the field- his goal is to perform and chase excellence.
He needs to perform for his country, shed that last drop of blood(if need be) and strain every inch of his body and put in that extra bit in every performance- all for the purpose of bringing his country to the top and to take cricket forward. Scoring hundreds, taking wickets, ripping the lawn beneath your body weight to save precious runs and seeking personal milestones is undoubtedly an admirable quality; but the true test for a player lies in leaving a legacy and making a permanent mark for many more upcoming youngsters to lookup to.
Ode to a man who redefined Indian batting- Sunil Gavasker. His innate ability to stand up to any kind of pace and his technical perfection will never fail him in the memory of cricketing legends. Kapil dev brought a whole new meaning to one-day cricket and popularized it. His enthusiasm and energy (together with the reach of TV) took cricket to every corner of the country. Then came along the little master whose power play and impeccable technique along with an unflagging quench for centuries embedded in commitment set new benchmarks of batting excellence by scoring 72 international centuries.

In our cricket-mad nation, cricketers play a dual role, be it they like it or not. Which means Virender Sehwag should not only thrash Shoaib Akhtar around the ground, but also be a model citizen. The real problem is while Sehwag trains/prepares for cricket, and has lots of help, it is not the same for his life away from cricket. People expect him, and others similarly placed, to smile into every camera, sign each autograph, conduct himself with poise and dignity, say the right things to strangers, be socially responsible, support charities, shun drugs/underworld, promote HIV awareness and pay taxes.

Isn’t this asking for too much? Perhaps, but why rise a normal guy(but when he arrives at the crease, all normality and sanity take a walk) to such a level he does not belong and then shred him soon as he shows signs of not belonging there? Having your house or flat surrounded by relentless press work force waiting to get a chance to target their camera flash at you and being squarely in public glare all the time(more so with mushrooming TV channels) cricketers face this problem everyday.

Images of cricketers in the minds of the public is generally very unflattering and most grumble that they earn too much, work too very little for it, they’re too comfortably off and do too many endorsements.
In this lopsided view, it’s ignored that Tendulkar works silently for charity, that he is modest, though there is a life time of achievements for him to be immodest about, that he throws his bat around and never his weight. Likewise, Rahul Dravid is a concerned citizen, who is unfailingly correct and copy book from the word go. Others too, contribute in their own way and are never shy of supporting worthy causes.
Summing up, an ideal model player should be a package comprising of the following:
Should achieve sans the airs of it;
Should perform consistently;
Should be humble and polite;
Should be able to cope with any pressure;
Withstand stardom and social glamour;

In contemporary society, where people live in the jargon of the day, driven by commerce and competition, it is rare to find such remarkable individuals. Not denying there haven’t been any in the past but keeping pace with the advancements in social, cultural and technological facets in today’s context along with being the ‘ideal model’ player is more than just a challenge.

We must learn to respect our players as players, enjoy and celebrate their splendid skills, and not look for specious microscopic reasons to drag them down. They are very similar individuals like us excepting their innate talent that’s being put to test and use. Being unfair to them by expecting them to be something they aren’t and over-the-top reaction will not do anybody any good. At the same time, our heroes must know they have to set an example and that there is more to sport and life than merely hitting a ball.


4:57 pm | |

Saturday, September 17, 2005 

TALES FROM A JUNGLE BOOK

Whether it is love for nature, fascination with folklore, lure of the bygone era, the virgin rainforests in Wayanad make a dream destination.
My first ever affair with nature’s abundance was predestined to leave a mark so very intense that I, till today, live with the undying memories of the time spent amidst nature’s glory.
Accustomed to the life in the suburban where the dusty air filled with chaos of day to day monotony rose, the lush green of the Western Ghats revealed itself as seduction personified. It had been raining continually for many days together when we checked into a resort in Wayanad district of Kerala in May.
Without any further aberrations let me get into the part of this serene paradise that I fell in love with.
Wayanad fits the bill in all respects. Scenic beauty, waterfalls, streams and dense forests abound in this microcosm. The comforts and frills for a luxury vacation are a bonus. The trails for hikers are countless while those perambulators and ‘hammock lovers’ need not buckle up their shoes to experience it all. The formula is simple: cut your own trail or follow the conquered path. Nature’s bounty will be a constant companion in these hills, be it you abide by the norms or defy them.
It was our first experience of sunrise in this thickly vegetated part of the equator and we rose to the slating rays of the sunlight that peered into our frozen cubicles. Outside a light satin drape of fine drizzle unfurled its tresses ceaselessly through the dense tree canopy as I sat in the veranda, contemplating the foliage of tall trees bedecked with shiny raindrop jewels. Green branches bowed under the weight of the raindrops, washed lush green, as the zillions of droplets traversed the leafy path and fell prey to the brook that gurgled below. The slender stream was now raging torrent. My friend reclined in the lounge couch, engrossed in the antics of the giant malabar squirrel foraging from tree to tree. The fluffy-tailed brown begum sniffed at one jackfruit after another, carefully evaluating each before leaving them to ripen just a bit more. The monkeys had enough sweet leaves and fresh fruit to pamper themselves on. A tree lizard scampered up a 60-foot tree. Visible only during movement, it merged with the rough bark as it stopped at odd angles. A momentary blink of the eye called for a painstaking search to locate its bearing. The tree lizard’s cousin on the rock equally matched the Houdini act on the dimpled gray surface.

The youngest of us, 14 years of age was out with his umbrella unearthing the mysteries of the newborn forest life. His adrenaline was on an overdrive, having been effusively patted for finding me one invertebrate beauty after the other. His excitement peaked every now and then each time a volley of shots and whirs from my camera targeted his finds. He was back again now panting from the sprint and bursting at the seams.
The joy of eureka gleamed in his smile.
Something in my heart told me that he must have found the green tree frog. Scrambling my lenses, tripod, flash, another umbrella and spare films, I ran up to the pool, next to the reception. Literally above our nose, I stared into the eyes of a large green frog with bright red webbed feet parked like Spiderman on the wooden support that held a roof above the passage. There were several others parked on the roof, as if stationed for display, watching this funny mammalian intruder aiming all sorts of gizmos at one of their sisters. The air was heavy with distrust as I strained to focus in the dimly lit ambience. Her eyes were now fiercely focused on my lens as I took a macro of the giant amphibian. In an instant, she leapt forward and as if to grab my lens away, darted at the camera and with a dull thud landed on my camera lens, sticking to the surface like a vacuum dart. I pulled back toppling the peace of everything under my feet. My retreat had been almost ignominious. She then leapt across into the pool with a splash and I had regained momentary sanity with the space around me.
Life erupted from every crevice.
We clicked mushrooms on the ground, on tree stumps, on bamboo shoots. Not too far away from the stream, I spotted a congregation of mushrooms that reared their heads ‘in sprightly dance’ atop a dung heap. A little further away from these fungi I captured resting butterflies, mating butterflies, mud-puddling butterflies vied with dragonflies,
Damselflies and larvae for top-honours in the pre-monsoon shower fashion parade. Glow-worms flashed their innate torches every now and then and sparkled over the stream down below and gently glided through treetops like rising stars from a magic wand, to enliven the night. The enigmatic fruit bats whizzed around like ‘ghosts in the darkness.’ A fiery red blossom emerging from brown humus interrupted the endless green of foliage. A rocky path led to the abode of Tarzan, with overhanging vines framing a lovely waterfall rushing into a pool before rolling down.

A seven-inch snail, which excuded an immodest silky sheen, wriggled up the path with its strapless backpack. It continued crawling unmindful of the efforts of the photographer lying less than a foot away in the mud holding his breath. The whir of the camera motor and the burst of the flash were shrugged off as mere thunder and lightning. It marched on in search of its El Dorado. We had already found ours right here at Wayanad.

The dream location straddles the landscape of the famed Nagarhole National park, in Karnataka, and the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary, in kerala.
The jungles around Vythiri are home to ancient ruins, Neolithic caves, aborigine tribes and mysterious legends,
At present, this stands as one of the least exploited wildlife getaways in the country.
The gems and jewels of Vythiri are one of a kind and the most diverse. Surely there are many more gems scattered in this hill region of North Kerala, waiting for restless spirits to come and discover.


1:56 pm | |