The Reunion

She was accustomed to tears. This was hardly the first time they had caressed her cheeks. But this time there was something different. Something warm about them. They did not make her insides go icy cold like every other time. They seemed to warm up her heart and as they dropped down gracefully from the edge of her cheeks to the parched cement floor on a hot summer’s day they cooled it down.

“Do….really …you….love…. me?” she choked through the overflowing tears and more obviously through the overpowering emotions. The ‘really’ was one of hope, not realization of reality.

The words were hardly audible but no one needed to hear them except the rather handsome lad standing barely two feet from her and taller though he was, he heard the words as clear as crystal. The question apparently did not merit an immediate answer for all he did was look over his shoulder. He stared long and hard at the wall behind which that unknown guy had left him, had egged him on to go alone from thereon. He hoped in the deep recesses of his heart that he would appear as suddenly as before and tell him what to do but there was no sign of him. After what seemed a long time to him – a time long enough to have made the expected answer redundant perhaps -he looked back.

The time seemed to stretch to infinity to her and yet she looked on , hope still reflected in her glassy eyes , hope still hanging in the air as ominously as the last leaf hangs on before giving up in autumn.

The handsome lad sighed and looked at everything but the eyes. It was nothing new to him. He was the one who had left without a word 5 years ago, without so much as a reason and here he was 5 years later facing a question that he had answered so many times without really thinking. Something told him, this time he couldn’t get away with that trick.

She had grown prettier. He decided to take his chances.

“Yeah… that’s why I came back”, he said staring at the top of her head.

There was not a moment’s delay.

Like a thirsty soul seeing a mirage, like a hungry soul hearing the melodious sound of raw ingredients being gently dropped into the boiling oil, like a tired soul seeing a bed of thorns, her soul rushed at him locking him in an embrace after what seemed like eternity.

He reciprocated by putting his hand on her hip and looking over his shoulder. This time he couldn’t believe his luck. He wanted that unknown guy to appear as suddenly as before and witness their joint victory.

That unknown guy however had no intention to come out from behind the wall. For the tears on that side of the wall burned the insides and set them on fire – a fire that would never be doused. He was not used to crying. He was the one who took everything in life with a smile but the law of averages had finally caught up. He hadn’t realized when he had slid down against the wall. He got up from the cement floor. It was scalding hot anyway. He wiped his tears and walked away trying to get the unseen conversation out of his head. His ears were buzzing with repeats and the inside of his head vibrated terribly.

His phone vibrated against his leg. He took it out and punched in the password. He knew who had sent it and what it would say. He read it anyway.

“He came back!!!! He came back!!! I <3 him soooooo much. He said yeah too :D :D I wish you were here to see it all BFF !! God knows how he found me here though :P :P guess its destiny !! ttyl“

He stared at the screen on the palm of his hand. He had a lot to say. But he had a feeling that it won’t be heard like his “Yes, really” hadn’t been from the other side of the wall. In her defence, he thought, I had been crying and could barely be understood. He wanted to tell her everything. He looked at the screen he was staring at. It had gone black. He saw the silhouette of his face and swiped the screen. He had a lot to say.

Barely twenty feet away another cellphone vibrated against another leg but this time a girl punched in her password and clicked on the icon shaped like a little envelope.

It said “(y).”

He likes it , she thought and put the cellphone back.

Twenty feet away the tears were returning. Good guys are meant to come last….well someone has to lose …. Especially if the competition is from handsome guys. With this last thought and a heart seared by tears, the BFF walked away Becoming Far Forever.

The Tendulkar Phenomenon

My first memory of God is switching on the television, surfing to ESPN and watching a short diminutive man hit a red ball with an absolutely straight bat and a still demeanor, back at an onrushing blonde who had run in at 150 kmph, with the utmost composure and simplicity. 

Needless to say no one moved in the rest of the field. As Mathew Hayden would later go on to elucidate what traversed my mind that day, “I have seen God. He bats at No. 4 for India.”

If we consider an Economic Times report to be true and consider cricket to be India’s third most defining religion (although according to me it must rank much higher) after Hinduism and Islam then Sachin Tendulkar is undoubtedly the Zeus in the pantheon of cricketing Gods . As that dreaded day in November 2013 edges closer when he will let the curtains fall down on an illustrious 24-year old career , indeed not only cricket but all world religions will be poorer by a God.

Indeed such is the enigma called Sachin Tendulkar that even in a nation like USA where cricket is a poorer cousin of baseball, barely known of in most parts, the president Barack Obama once said, “I would like to watch Sachin play, not because I particularly understand the game, but because when he bats my country’s production goes down by half.”

Yet surprisingly if cricketing technique had been the only parameter of judgement then Sachin Tendulkar would most definitely not have been placed alone atop the divine cricketing hierarchy for players like Brian Lara, Shane Warne, Wasim Akram, and Sunil Gavaskar among a few others definitely  compare quite magnificently with The Little Master in terms of cricketing skill. What sets apart Sachin is his approach towards the game, an approach that is iconic of him and him only – an approach where he never assumes himself to be the master of the game that he loves so much but always remaining a student, a student who learns something new after every ball even after 24 years in the cricketing circuit, a student who is not afraid to rediscover himself, a student who prepares for every match as diligently as he prepared for the very first one , a student who places the game above all else never for once considering himself greater than the game. That is the Tendulkar Phenomenon.

In fact ad man Prahlal Kakkar , once while shooting an ad film with Tendulkar had asked him to swat a fly with a cricket bat . Tendulkar put his foot down, refusing to do anything of the sort which projected himself as greater than the game. The cricket bat was replaced by a fly swatter in the ad. In his 24-year old career Sachin has never once promoted any item of intoxication or any item with health hazards although undoubtedlty deals with McDowells or Kingfisher or even Wills would have made him richer by more than ten times of what he is worth now. Many powerful messages through one simple action. That is the Tendulkar Phenomenon.

When Gavaskar retired many proclaimed that his 34 centuries shall never be eclipsed. When Kapil Dev retired many proclaimed that his 434 wickets shall always remain a world record. Both stand shattered today. Perhaps Tendulkar’s numerous records will not stand the test of time. Perhaps each one of his records will be ceremoniously displaced from its lofty pedestal but undoubtedly, Sachin himself can never be replaced, nor can he ever be displaced for the simpler reason that Tendulkar was not only about cricket , he was about so much more. Perhaps cricket was more about Tendulkar.

Indeed the crowds outside television showrooms watching their God, the crowds at the roadside tea stalls hearing the commentators describe their God’s actions, the crowds well past midnight at airports to welcome their God, the crowds in the midday heat outside ticket counters waiting vociferously to get their hands on the prized piece of paper allowing them to view their God, the Indian crowds at stadiums all over the world cheering the fall of an Indian wicket because it would mean their God would walk in and the foreign crowds sighing in anguish and the entire stadium giving their God a standing ovation on his walk back to the pavilion (making it difficult to discern an Indian stadium form a foreign one) all represent the Tendulkar Phenomenon.

All this will not end with Tendulkar but all this definitely started with Tendulkar.

For Tendulkar has for more than 2 decades not only carried the hopes of more than a million people on his shoulders but has down it humbly and with utmost diligence. Never has Tendulkar disrespected an on-field or off-field official for a glaring mistake, never has he disrespected a fellow opponent for anything said to him, never has he disrespected the thousands to come to watch him play, never has he in any way disrespected the game and it is this love for the game that sets him apart from everyone else. Never did Tendulkar fear to stand up for what he thought was right, even turning in his own team mates Ajay Jadeja ,Manoj Prabhakar and Nayan Mongia for betting and match-fixing . The real victory however came for Sachin when the same Jadeja gave him not one but two guards of honour in his last Ranji match against Haryana. As JK Rowling had once written, “It takes great courage to stand up to your enemies but even greater courage to stand up to your friends “.That is the Tendulkar Phenomenon.

Sachin Tendulkar, in short transcended cricket without for once letting himself rise above the game, keeping his feet firmly on the ground. The young Sachin, with long locks always wanted to be a fast bowler so that his hair would fly when he ran in but being shorter than average he was advised against it by Denis Lille and Sachin immediately directed all his efforts towards his batting. Indeed it’s not easy to hear someone squashing your dreams but it’s even more difficult to have the heart to dream again. Sachin not only recognized a lost cause but dreamt again and by God, if not for Lille and Sachin’s will to make it big in cricket, we might have lost a God to arrogance. Tendulkar’s life teaches us more lessons than an average day in school. That is the Tendulkar Phenomenon.

Perhaps there will never be another Sachin Tendulkar to grace us with his presence and if that turns out to be true , I’m immensely proud to be of the same nationality as The Little Master for no on epitomizes “Great things come in small packages” more than him. I will tell the future generations with pride that I was once religious, that I have seen magic beyond cutting up people and making them vanish, that I have seen the most complicated of things done in the simplest of willow flicks, that I was a witness to the Tendulkar Phenomenon.

P.S. - I will tell them with pride that the God chose Kolkata as the venue of his penultimate test and I was there to bid him goodbye.

A Threesome With Hrithik

Before walking into PVR Cinemas on Saturday morning I had read and heard a lot about Rakesh Roshan’s latest offering – the 3^rd film in what has been widely publicized as India’s first superhero franchise. Most of it was unfortunately negative – I say ‘unfortunate’ because most of the criticism stemmed from comparisons to other superhero franchises (mostly Hollywood) and a vested prejudice against Mr. Roshan’s sudden shift from emotionally charged masala flicks to films that literally left you astounded. After 153 minutes, I can gladly say that neither my money nor my morning was wasted.

Sachin Tendulkar, the yardstick for all comparisons in our country has a hundred hundreds to his name and being witness to any one does not necessarily mean that the remaining 99 do not deserve the same level of attention. Similarly, just because Batman wows us with the story, Bale and Nolan’s vision and Ironman with his charisma, Superman with his hairstyle and his physique and Spidey with his ‘wet kiss’ don’t give our desi superhero a miss because trust me, you might not be missing out on something new but you will definitely miss out on something astounding that is closer to our Indian hearts that any Gotham skyline.

If Krrish 3 astounds, the credit, or most of it anyway, should go to the man who helmed this 7-year project Mr. Rakesh Roshan. The special effects are astounding and the scene where Krrish jumps up to an airplane and supports it’s faulty front wheel will leave you asking for more no matter how many Hollywood movies you have devoured. The action sequences deserve special mention too as the punches and the kicks draw all the right noises from an Indian public. The rather devastating imagery of falling buildings and erupting roads portrayed very realistically onscreen helps.

As to the performances, Hrithik Roshan impresses as the pot-bellied genius Rohit Mehra with his convincing old-man act although he does slip into emotional Bollywood mode at times. Hrithik oozes charisma and brawn as Krrish and the brain and brawn combination works well. However it is as Krishna Mehra that Hrithik loses the plot a bit and overacts in the emotional scenes. For those who give a damn about acting skills, Hrithik’s Greek body is on display too pretty early into the film as are his silky smooth dance moves.

Priyanka Chopra has limited scope to act and balances her role between a few long emotional moments and a lot of short dresses. Kangana Ranaut as mutant villain Maya impresses hugely with her menacing act as does Vivek Oberoi (for a welcome change) with his role as the unforgiving Kaal. The other mutants don’t have much to display in terms of acting skills but put up a ruthlessly evil act nonetheless. A spunky young boy who mouths dialogues like “Kyu Kaal, phat gayi kya?” with utmost confidence deserves special mention.

The music by Rajesh Roshan is a huge letdown compared to the first two films especially Koi….Mill Gaya, which gave us one of India’s most popular disco numbers. None of the songs make a lasting impact but Alisha Chinoi’s voice in ‘Dil Tu Hi Bata’ will haunt me for the rest of my life. The image of Kangana gyrating seductively doesn’t help either.

The story is not a masterpiece ala The Dark Knight films but it doesn’t lack substance either. The writers have tried to balance science and fiction and highlight a very important real-life issue of pharmaceutical companies suffering from god complexes, which is commendable but the success is restricted by the emotionally charged dialogues which intercept the fast-pace script quite abruptly. Nonetheless a commendable effort.

The common connecting thread between all these is Rakesh Roshan and he deserves a huge round of applause for the magnum opus that he has gifted us for Diwali. Indeed some scenes in the film will leave you astounded and wanting more, the action is very realistic for a superhero movie and although Vivek’s suit could have been better, the costumes and sets deserve a special mention.

In short Krrish 3 is a Hollywood-esque film in an Indian envelope tadka marke. Go for it not for a sentimental reasons but because it deserves a watch but don’t go expecting a Nolan masterpiece or a Robert Downey Jr. oozing flamboyance, you’re be sorely disappointed. Krrish 3 is nothing new but it’s something worth your time. So do give it a watch.

Rating: 3.5/5

A Letter To My Father

Respected Father,

“The darkest places in Hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis” – Dante Alighieri

If Dante is to be believed then we Indians have been living in the shadows of a fake “Father”. You were the Mahatma; the “great soul”; then how did you remain notoriously silent during the most devastating instance of moral crisis in Indian history- the partition of 1947? 

You were the one who lambasted “moral weakness” as the worst ailment of mankind throughout your life, then why did your morality not cry out in anguish like thousands of other Indians then?

Whether, despite commanding immense respect from a population of million or more, you couldn’t or didn’t persuade Jinnah and Mountbatten to cancel the orders that prescribed the partition of India as a cure for her religious maladies, shall forever remain the most painful unanswered question that single handedly shaped the future of two nations. As two newly born nations tried to helplessly adjust to the rawness of religious turmoil , the blood of both Hindus and Muslims scalding the divided earth and the earth itself reeking of hatred , you chose this improper moment in history to respect silence as golden. As an Indian who was born exactly 47 years after this event, who still feels the cataclysmic reverberations of your silence in the pathetic existence of one brother amidst daily terrorist attacks, growing old amidst suicide bombers and drone attacks; of the other brother amidst religious atrocities and political scams, as an Indian denied the opportunity to see Wasim Akram and Sachin Tendulkar sing the same national anthem before ripping apart the cricketing world , as an Indian who thinks Jinnah would have been a better and more far-sighted Prime Minister , I ask you why ?

Perhaps you didn’t want the blood of a few rioters to stain your “great soul” and your khadi dhoti. Perhaps you feared speaking out would reduce your support base. Perhaps Nehru had been pulling the strings. Whatever the reasons your lack of ability or lack of desire in keeping India united showed and the signs were picked up by disappointed Hindus and Muslims alike , who in the absence of an able leader followed Darwin’s Laws of Survival to the t. This was definitely the moment when India needed the demigod that you were to stand up more than ever before and run a healing hand through the subcontinent which had been so brutally ripped into two. But you chose instead to fast. As a young boy confounded and pained alike by the decision more than 50 years later, I ask why?

You, my father, told all of us, your children, to not practice violence, not to fight fire with fire but instead to fast and actively protest against the cause of the fire while we allow the fire to rage on, allow it to burn us. Admirable teachings, indeed father which made the world gasp and take note and continue to charm many even today. As a confused son, I therefore ask of you this- when a rapist disrespects the dignity of my sister or any of my girl-friends, then should I push another into his path representing the other cheek, should I at that moment choose to calmly explain to him the depravity of his sinful act or should I proclaim that I will not consume any food because of what has happened?

You , father talked of principles and righteousness yet when a younger and more able leader won the Congress Presidential Election in 1939 you proclaimed it “more my loss than Bose’s victory” . Did such comments reflect the principles you treasured, the saintly image you projected or did it betray the very same and reek of jealously? Was refusing to work with the man who had the same dream as you once did, the best way forward for the nation desperately seeking direction? Was that the legacy you wanted to leave behind for young leaders wishing to emulate their “Father”?

You dreamt of an India, father that few dared to dream at that time. A dream that was later shared by many- a dream of an independent India that had her foundations in peace and Satyagraha. Indeed it was a brave dream, utopic some may call it but a dream nonetheless. But father, did you yourself lose sight of the ultimate aim when you suspended the Civil Disobedience Movement in light of the Chauri Chaura incident ? Did the dream of a “Gandhian India” supersede the dream of an “independent India”? Did you start relishing your dream while it was yet to be achieved, perhaps a little too ambitiously? Is this the legacy you wanted to leave behind – to destroy everything for one’s selfish needs? Is this what you wanted the future to inherit from you?

Your teachings of non-violence greatly influences me, father. It is only pride that fills my heart when the international press lauds your impact on the American Civil war and other world movements. When stories of your resilient march to Dandi to make salt in a non-violent betrayal of British laws are told in history classes even today, they make me feel proud. Yet father, as a confused child, I fail to understand how , you who sympathized with the downtrodden in society –the Harijans , you asked the Jews to submit themselves to the power of Hitler , to allow themselves to be slaughtered like sacrificial lambs at his foot to cleanse the human race ? How could you be so hypocritical and support this purgatory act of Hitler’s? 

My father, the reports of your alleged homosexual relationship with German bodybuilder Kallenbach doesn’t bother me .Neither do the stories of your sexual experiments with your nieces because I live in a world far more receptive of a human being’s sexuality than you did. It may be all rumours and news bites, all lies and tales but one can’t help but trust them considering the sources are the victims themselves. What, however does bother me is why you chose to hide all of this in your autobiography? Why do I have to hear all of this from someone else? Did you not trust your children enough to reveal the truth, “Truth” being the cornerstone of your life? You could have been the idol for thousands of people who faced humiliation in their workplaces in the coming years due to their sexualities. You could have been a beacon of light in the dark world of repressed sexualities. Yet, again, you chose silence father. You could have stood up for the truth but you didn’t. Why, father, why?

You are the closest thing to God that your “children” ever knew and yet you hid so much from them, betraying them in times of need. Was the need to be God so great that you forgot at times to be human? Was following your own principles so difficult, Father, that you yourself often betrayed them? Were you, Father, yourself a true Gandhian? Or did you like many others fall along the way to salvation as did the Pandava heroes on the way to theirs?

More than half a century has passed since you left us with the name of Ram (perhaps the most cynical God in Indian mythology) on your lips and yet you left so many questions unanswered. Sometimes I just wish for a human Father, o Mahatma, rather than a demigod one. Atleast he wouldn’t be, misanthropic of his nation and his children. Atleast he wouldn’t shroud himself in a cloak of lies and secrets. Sometimes we don’t need a God, we need a human being. Sometimes all one needs is the truth.

“Satyamev Jayate”

Yours truly,

A son.

Apocalypse Now

For all those students who have been pained in the past by the extremely tedious Environmental Education syllabi that our “Indian” education system served on an ill-planned platter, “Inferno” by Dan Brown comes a bit late. But as the adage goes “better late than never” and true to the adage, Brown drives home the point that the sophomoric environmentalists had been droning on and on about for the past few decades with surprising and ruthless clarity.

In a heady mix that could only have been brewed by the “master” of conspiracy theories and controversies, “Inferno” by Brown is an intoxicating cocktail of art, ancient history, world literature with more than a splash of the great Dante Alighieri, genetic engineering, biological advancements and one of the greatest and most serious conundrums faced by the world today. In fact through the adventures of the protagonist Robert Langdon, Brown manages to seamlessly merge the past with the present as well as the future, and at the same time stressing on the Armageddon that faces the human civilization.

As is characteristic of a Brown novel, “Inferno” too is set within a time span of 24 hours within which Langdon must beat the clock, locate and decipher codes which more often than not bear a connection with the works of Dante , decide whom to trust and whom to avoid all to save the human civilization from annihilation . Brown manages to capture the attention of the reader from the very first line of the story when Langdon wakes up from a slumber with his memory worth two days missing. The story hence keeps flitting between the past and the present as well as different locations, a branched narrative as is characteristic of a Brown novel. 

Set mainly in Florence, the story traces Langdon’s journey from the hospital bed in Florence with nothing but a groggy memory of a white-haired woman, a pile of dead bodies and the ominous Biblical phrase “Seek and ye shall find” to guide him to unearth the truth behind his missing past and decode the future with the help of Dr. Sienna Brookes. Langdon’s adventures take him on a fast-paced and edgy ride to old Florence, through churches and museums, to tombs and palaces all the while being inexplicably chased by an army which seems to be baying for his blood. In a narrative that could have gone horribly wrong, Brown admirably manages to stitch together all the acts of the drama without for once revealing the true intentions of the characters ensuring that the reader keeps on turning the pages. In fact, through the extensive and effective use of deceptive writing Brown lends an edge to the story that propels it from being an ordinary mystery story to a novel that manages to thrill, all the while not forgetting the message that is alarmingly made crystal clear through the story. 

The settings are immaculately and extensively well-researched and the descriptions of the various cathedrals and churches, tombs and mosques, piazzas and museums and all the small anecdotes associated with them lend credence to Brown’s fast growing reputation as a lover of the fine arts , In fact even the most ardent hater of school-taught History cannot help but feel impressed by Brown’s work.

However to think even for a moment that “Inferno” is all about history and Dante will be a huge mistake because intertwined with the past lies the future as is made clear by Dr. Bertrand Zobrist and all those who make the mistake of ignoring either are in grave danger of being engulfed by both. In fact genetic engineering and the advancements in the biological sector form a parallel, if not ‘the’, plot-line of the story. In fact the questions that Zobrist poses to Dr. Elizabeth Sinskey , director of the WHO , and hence to the reader deserve food for thought and definitely more importantly immediate and drastic action. The future that Brown paints in “Inferno” through the “eyes of death” is a scary one and indeed the novel transcends being just an adventure story to a commentary on the inability of human beings to control themselves , resulting in the earth turning into Dante’s Hell , as Zobrist puts it. The truth is hard to accept even when it is staring us in the face, Whatever Brown says in “Inferno” is nothing we don’t know yet but so far we were walking through a dark tunnel towards the light at the end of it but now the light at the end of it rushing towards us at breakneck speed as should the headlights of a train. The end is coming and it’s coming faster than anticipated and we can do little to stop it. But Brown’s message is very clear; our “little” might make a “huge” difference in the end….

“If not you , then who? If not now , then when?”

The Gentleman's Game

 Undoubtedly if you’re Indian, cricket is something that gets you to the TV screens as surely as a melodramatic Bollywood film and more importantly keeps you glued to it till it’s over. And why shouldn’t it? As Shashi Tharoor puts it, although cricket was brought to India by the British yet it is more inherently Indian than any other sport (for details read Tharoor’s “The Elephant, The Tiger & The Cellphone”) and indeed Indians took to it like a cat to milk that has culminated into 7 World cup successes (including 4 u-19 World Cups).

However notwithstanding the romanticism that the simple act of smashing a red sphere with a wooden plank into a crowd of people or hitting 3 wooden sticks down with a red sphere evokes, cricket has changed a lot from what it’s founders possibly envisioned. Watching a match featuring young Indian turk Virat Kohli or the slightly more experienced Gautam Gambhir is not too different from watching an expletive laden Tarantino movie with a generous sprinkling of references to mothers and sisters dominating the respective players’ mouths. In fact the use of fingers to alter the grips on the ball and hence spin or swing it is comparatively lesser than the use that “one of them” is regularly put to, to allow the tension building up throughout the body to escape miraculously through one raised finger aimed at the worthy opponents or in some cases even the paying spectators. 

Sledging is not new in cricket or for that matter in any other sports and without sledging the game would perhaps not be what it is today where winning the mental battles are as important as winning the physical battles but today sadly sledging today consists mainly of the rampant use of the four letter word beginning with ‘f’ and ending with ‘k’ (for those who still don’t get it, it’s not “fork”) and colourful Indian language that would make even Bollywood scriptwriters blush with shame. 

Now, agreed that on the cricket field during a cricket match, cricket should take centre stage but a little banter never hurts, does it? Or maybe it does …but breaking down the opponent mentally before destroying him physically is not an altogether bad idea in today’s extremely competitive world. And the fun lies in the fact that not always does it work, sometimes leading to a rather interesting repartee on the cricket field like this little gem from the great Sir Vivian Richards.

 In a county game against Glamorgan , Greg Thomas attempted to sledge him after he had played and missed at several balls in a row. He informed Richards,” It’s red, round and weighs about five ounces, in case you were wondering." Richards hammered the next delivery out of the cricket grounds and into a nearby river. Turning to the bowler, he commented, “Greg, you know what it looks like, now go and find it."

 

Sir Vivian Richards was a ruthless punisher of those who sledged him but that did not deter him from having a go himself!

 

To ease the pressure on himself, Gavaskar had decided to come lower down the order and bat at No. 4 for a 1978 Test match in Kolkata but Malcolm Marshall fired out Anshuman Gaekwad and Dilip Vengsarkar for ducks, setting the stage for Gavaskar to walk in at 0/2. Richards cheekily remarked, “Man, it don’t matter where you come in to bat, the score is still zero.” 

Although debate still rages as to the origin of sledging, yet one can be fairly sure that the Australians the one of the best exponents of this art, a factor definitely that played a major role in their rise to cricketing power in the 90s.One particular Australian who used his acerbic tongue to great use was Merv Hughes, known more for his moustache than his on-field exploits. His banter with English batsman Robin Smith during the 1989 Lords Test is now a part of cricketing lore.

Continually beating Smith’s bat during the match Hughes remarked “If you turn your bat over you’ll see the instructions on the back.” following it up with a more sedate, “You can’t bat.” after Smith had missed again. The next ball however Smith had his answer ready, both with bat and mouth. Hitting Hughes to the fence for a boundary, he wisecracked, “Hey Merv, we make a fine pair. I can’t bat and you can’t bowl’”

Another particularly vitrolic exchange took place during the 2001 Ashes between Mark Waugh and little known English batsman James Ormond. Upon his arrival at the crease during the match, Waugh had a go at the youngster, “….look who it is. Mate, what are you doing out here? There’s no way you’re good enough to play for England.” Without missing a beat, Ormond casually turned around and said, “Maybe not, but at least I’m the best player in my family”

This list of interesting exchanges between players who tried their best to replace brainless jocks as poster boys of sports through their wit cannot be complete without a final incident which marked the beginning of an enigma called Tendulkar. In an unofficial match against Pakistan, a 16-year old Sachin was constantly jeered and mocked by the Pakistani supporters with placards :”Hey kid, go home and drink milk’. Tendulkar in his inimitable fashion chose to answer with his bat as he sent Mustaq Ahmed hiding for cover hitting two sixes in one over. The legendary Abdul Qadir challenged Tendulkar, “Why are you hitting kids? Try and hit me” Silently, Tendulkar answered Qadir’s request with four sixes in the over. The over read 6, 0, 4, 6, 6, 6 by the time a legend was born.

Whether the answer is with the bat, the mouth or with mere actions (who can forget Dada removing his jersey and whirling it over his head with utter disdain on the balcony of the Mecca of cricket as an apt answer to Andrew Flintoff doing the same in Mumbai after scripting an incredible English victory!) repartee surely spices up the cricket. Unfortunately witty interactions between cricketers are virtually non-existent in today’s age and sadly sledging has been reduced to a much-maligned act after the Monkeygate incident.

Perhaps the Gentleman’s game has been corroded beyond recognition or maybe when winter’s here can spring be far behind? On that hopeful note, the cricketing world awaits another Merv Hughes or Sir Vivian Richards. Sadly, a Sachin Tendulkar it might never get again!