Freedom of Choice

  Last week my family celebrated the 6^th birthday of my niece. I missed the celebration since I moved to the UK. I have seen my niece grow from day one. She is a super smart and lovable kid. To me, she is an ideal kid; the epitome of how much a kid should be mischievous, talkative, fun-loving, caring, and disciplined.

When she was barely 2 years old, we had been to our aunt’s home. I was getting into the bathroom to take a shower. I was in my shorts and my niece asked me, “Are you.. are you gonna take off your chaddi before the bath?”

I nodded.

Then she said, “Chachu, don’t forget to take off your chaddi before you bathe, else it will get wet!”

When her 3rd birthday happened, I was in Bangalore, and then too I had missed her birthday celebration. I visited our home a few weeks after her birthday and took her shopping along with the family. I wanted to give a birthday gift to her. We entered a Trends store and moved to the kids’ section. I told my niece to go around and pick a dress that she liked the most. The kid moved around the aisles and returned in a few minutes with a purple-colored frock and said, “I like this”.

When I checked its size, it was for 7-year-olds. Then I went to the section from where she had picked it up and took the one with an appropriate size for her.  She looked so happy with the gift in her hands.

Then in a few days, my vacation ended and I left for Bangalore. The usual life commenced.

[After 2 years]

I visited my hometown. My niece was 5 years old then and was studying in UKG. She had learned so many rhymes and songs. She never missed her favorite ‘Anupama’ serial every night.

One evening, I heard her howling non-stop. I came out of my room to see what was happening. There was a fight going on between her and her mother. I inquired as to what was going on.

Her mother said furiously, “We are going for a wedding reception. There are so many new dresses. But this girl is hell-bent on wearing her old frock. It’s been like years and she wants to wear the same freaking frock for every festival or function. It doesn’t even fit her now. This is crazy!”

Then I went to check which frock that was. It was the same purple frock that I had gifted to her on her 3^3rd birthday. My goodness! she was wearing the same dress for over 2 years!

My brother, her father came and took her in his arms and consoled her. Then he asked her why she wanted to wear the same dress all the time.

She said wiping her tears, “Because Pappa.., I bought it!!”

 

 

Antakshari

 

Back in the day, during my childhood, we often played a fun game that is extinct now. It was called Antakshari. 

 

It was our favorite pastime in the dormitories whenever power cuts happened or when we used to have free periods in the classroom. 

 

One of the songs that was always contentious was the mother of all item numbers - Ek do teen from Tezab. 

 

Once, when we were playing Antakshari, a team got the letter ‘A’. They started off singing, “Ek do teen.. char panch che saat…” 

 

Then suddenly one smart ass from the rival team abruptly interrupted shouting, “Stop! Stop! This is a wrong song!” 

Now, there used to be a few smart asses in either team. Smart asses didn’t sing! In fact, they never sang. But they had great knowledge about all the songs. They were like lawyers. They would catch the incorrect songs, contest them, argue vehemently and win points for their teams. That’s why they were smart asses. When they had to sing a song for their team, they just read out the lines of the song; like, “Hum. Tum. Ek. Kamre. Me. Band. Hon.” like prose. Then the dumb singers would pick it up and sing happily and earn a point for their team. Teamwork, you see.

 

 If somebody just remembered the first line of the song, they used to repeat it like 10 times. This was where the smart asses came into the picture again. A smart ass would argue, “Not allowed! 0 points! You should sing the entire mukhda. Or at least sing a minimum of 2 lines!”

 

Typically, there are quite a few different characters in the game of Antakshari. Some shy types sit in the back row. They don’t know any songs; they can’t sing anything; they are just the cheerleaders applauding and laughing.  No one would notice even if they take a break for a piss.

 

There will always be a character who will be eagerly waiting for a particular letter so that they could sing their favorite song. They will be all quiet until they get their letter, say ‘L’. Then they suddenly jump in and start singing, “Likhe jo khat tujhe.. o teri yaad mein..” with all their feelings by closing their eyes. They even sing both the antaras lol. 

 

Now, let’s get back to the Ek do teen story. So, a smart ass of the opposite team stopped the song and argued with a smirk saying, “Wrong! This song doesn’t begin with ‘A’. It begins with ‘D’. It actually goes like, “ Ding dong ding.. ding dong ding dong ding ding.. ding dong dong!” 

 

“Kya pakda hai re!!”, cheered his team. Then, a smart ass of the other team stood up. I already said there used to be quite a few smart asses overall. 

 

Smart ass 2: That is Alap. Alap is not allowed!

 

Smart ass 1: Hell, no! That is not Alap. It’s very much part of the song

 

Smart ass 2: That means, this song doesn’t begin with ‘D’ but with ‘N’ !!

 

Smart ass 1: How? 

 

Smart ass 2: Check out the song. Madhuri starts with, “Namashkar! Kahiye, kya sunenge aap? Main kar rahi thi kisi ka intezaar.. bla bla” 

 

“Yes!”, yelled his team in unison claiming victory.

 

Smart ass 3: Wrong! The song actually begins with M!

 

Smart ass 2: How? 

 

Smart ass 3: It literally starts with the crowd chanting, “Mohini! Mohini! Mohini” 

 

“Oh fuck! Yes man”, surrendered all the other smart asses.

 

Fed up of all these altercations, the captains of both the teams unanimously declared that Ek do teen will be banned from all the antaksharis going forward. 

 

And the game resumed. 

 

Not sure why I wrote this. The point I was trying to make was 2 things. First, I love Ek do teen, and second, I miss Antaksharis! 

 

 

Hope Farm

Sometime last year, my school-mate Deepa had called me. The call went a bit philosophical and she asked me, 'What makes you happy?'

I wasn't expecting that question though. I thought and said, 'Well, not big things; of course big things do make me happy but I seek happiness in small day to day things of life' 

'Can you name one?' Asked Deepa clearly not accepting my vague answer.

I didn't know what to say. I just closed my eyes and scanned my day to look for that thing in a day which makes me happy. I got it.

I told her, 'When I'm going to work on my bike at noon, it's usually the scorching sun hitting my face. When I cross Hope Farm junction, the silky smooth road with trees on the either side not only gives shade but a soothing cold breeze hits my face. The fragrance of the gulmohar trees take me to trance. That gives me the maximum pleasure in a day. I just wait for it everyday and can not stop smiling and humming songs the whole mile long route from Hope farm to my work place' 

The call ended. Then I went to onsite to UK for few months. 

Six months later, I was back in Bangalore. The next day I got my bike serviced and took out to work. Hope Farm arrived. And I continued riding. There was no wind but uneven road and lots of traffic. The scorching sun still hit me. There wasn't a single tree on either side of the road. Thanks to Namma Metro project !

English Bottle

Last year I was on bench for 4 months and most of that duration I was at my native. I have a huge family, thereby many cousins, most living in my hometown. Most of them work at the chilli market and had a huge 6 month off season. I noticed that during the off season, they mostly did lukkhagiri, roaming aimlessly, bitching about people, chasing girls, picking up fights etc. I decided to indulge them in positive activities.

One day, I told them that I would conduct a quiz. I had to explain them what actually a quiz was. Since most of them were school drop outs, I had to carefully choose the domain of the quiz to interest everyone.

“The quiz will be about our town Byadgi. The questions would be on its history, geography, politics, demography, people’s nicknames, important spots, events etc.”, I wrote in the family what’s app group.

All my cousins plus my brothers were hugely excited to experience this competition first time in their lives. The teams and captains were made and the quiz would be couple weeks later. I announced prizes too for the winning team.

Then, I had the real task at hand; that was, to prepare the quiz questions. I didn’t live in my native since the past 25 years, so I knew little. I spoke to my uncle but to my despair he had a bad memory.

After struggling for a week, I came to know about an old guy who knew almost everything about the town. His name was Mohammad Gous.

Gous was a slum dweller. I had seen him before but had never spoken to him. He was a drunkard living in a hut and must have been in his mid-seventies. His wife had abandoned him and his kids had moved to cities in search of jobs. He was probably the least respected person in the neighborhood.

I took some courage to speak to Gous thinking if he wasn't sober. He had ruffled hair, wore dirty torn clothes and wore no shoes. I went and told him that I needed his help in framing questions for a quiz and requested him to keep our discussions secretive so that questions shouldn’t be leaked. He asked me to come the next day

The news of me meeting Gous reached my Mom. She reprimanded me and said, “Now you are sitting with slum guys huh? Do you have an idea what would people think of you and us?”

I turned a Nelson’s eye to her cribbing.

I went to Gous the next day. He lit his local beedi, took a deep puff and said, “The first bus service in the town was laid in 1960. The bus used to make 2 trips per day to Ranibennur town”

He continued, “The first MLA of the town won with just one vote difference in 1968; The guy whose nickname is ‘bear’ actually got the name because he wrestled with a real bear in the local durgah when I was a teenager; The famous doctor Kendadmath’s real surname is not Kendadmath. His maternal grandfather’s surname was Kendadmath and he was a big doctor back then. This guy used his grandfather’s surname and clinic to ride on his popularity”

Gous went on and on with his stories of the past and present. I felt his brain could give super computer a run for its money in remembering each detail to precision.

Well in time I had got wonderful trivia questions from Gous for the quiz.

The quiz happened and was a blockbuster. There were about 15 participants with 3 teams and the competition was cut throat. I had never seen such fist pumps, adrenaline rushes and crazy participation before. Couple of guys cheated as well. They were caught and their teams were penalized.

After the quiz, one of my cousins came up to me and said, “I feel sad that we wasted our lives thus far. I never knew that a quiz could be so thrilling and is also a source of knowledge”

One more cousin from the winning team proudly held his medal and said “This is the first thing I have ever won in my life. When I showed it to my mother, she couldn’t stop smiling”

I was ecstatic that everyone loved the quiz. Everyone was on their toes to know when would be the next event. I promised them that I would conduct a treasure hunt in the next couple of months.

My brother asked me with raised eyebrows “Where on earth did you find those terrific questions?”

“Thank you”,  I told Gous sitting next to him the next day

He gave a half smile.

"This calls for a celebration", I said

He didn't respond.

 “Dada(brother), have you ever drunk branded liquor?” I asked him

 “haha.. how can I? I have been drinking only the local liquor worth 50 rupees. One of my friends had been to Goa and he had whiskey once and he was boasting about how incredible it was. It’s rich people’s drink you know. I can’t afford to often drink even local liquor now”

Few months later(early this year) I got a chance to go to London for an onsite visit for 3 weeks and while returning I bought a bottle of finest scotch from the duty free store.

I took the bottle to Gous and said “The knowledge you gave me, I couldn’t have found that in any book or with any scholar. You have become my favorite Guru. I couldn’t have thought of a better gift for you than this. I bought an English bottle for you from foreign. Please accept”

He looked at it as if he saw a dinosaur. Then he took it hesitantly as if he was receiving holy water

“Wish my sons respected me like you”, he uttered with moist eyes.

 After that I didn’t get leaves for months. I visited home after 3 months. I was curious to know how Gous liked the scotch.

I met him in his usual place. And asked about it.

“I did drink that bottle”, he said.

 “I couldn’t believe that alcohol can be so smooth, relaxing and mesmerizing. It felt like heaven, as if I drank nectar. Seriously, I don’t have words to explain”, he continued.  Even though he wasn’t used to words such as ‘thank you’ or ‘sorry’ before, seeing his body language I understood he was profoundly thankful to me.

“Wow, I am glad you liked it”, I said smilingly

Gous finally said, “I want to go away with its taste. I have quit drinking after I had your English bottle” 

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Roger Federer - Not for the faint hearted

It was precisely after the loss against Berdych in 2010 Wimbledon that Federer started facing words like decline and retirement. Add salt to injury, he lost both 2010 and 2011 USO to Djokovic after having match points. For the first time he didn't win a major in a year in 2011. He did comeback to win Wimbledon and secure number 1 ranking in 2012 but nothing after that. 2013 marred with injuries was his worst year. Now almost everyone including his fans believed that he would never win 18th.

But when the new stick came out in 2015 along with new Federer, I believed he could destroy any player just with his little finger. You call it bad luck or whatever he couldn't win a slam in spite of playing so well in 2 major finals.

2016. A major injury followed. It required him to undergo knee surgery and a 6 month layoff missing USO and his favorite Olympics. By then his critics(no, not the likes of KRK but the tennis think tank) had sword hanging over his head. If he was a team player, he would have been sacked!

Happy new year 2017. Yes, miracles do happen. But I prefer to call it restoration of world order. Federer comes to Australian Open with zero expectations. His fans prayed he should not go out in first round.
But to everyone's shock, he reached finals beating 3 top 10 players with 2 five setters. Thanks to faster courts this year.
Now the final was with none other than Nadal who has made him literally cry before. Fed had no grandslam final wins with Nadal in the last 10 years !! Nadal was the heavy favorite going into the match after his brilliant showdown against dimitrov in the semis.

The final match was tense. Both stole 2 sets apiece. 5th set. Federer was suddenly down 1-3. Deja vu ! Haven't we had seen n times before Federer surrendering meekly in the 5th? One more aaya ram gaya ram. Nadal was mercilessly attacking Federer backhand like he did in all the past 12 years. At this point something got into Federer. Don't know what it was. He stood there like a injured, tired but determined bleeding hero of our movies challenging the villain 'hit me as much as you can. But at the end I'll punch you one last blow'

It also reminded me of Arjuna's brahmastra that he had preserved over years and used only against his arch rival Karna. For Federer that brahmastra was well his backhand itself. He started hitting bullet like backhand winners, even the best athlete Nadal couldn't move an inch. Fed won 5 games in the trot and then finally he cried. He had conquered the elusive 18. Aah! The first expression was relief. Then the face of his wife Mirka loomed over fedfans. Poor lady has gone through so much. She needed this more than Fed himself.

I'm not even getting into how fed is the best human, most attractive off court or him being the GOAT in tennis, but this win scripted multiple stories in the history of tennis. It's easy when you say 'seene pe goli maro saheb' but when someone shoots at your back(read backhand) time and again to strangle you to death, you say enough is enough and turn your weakness into strength and crush the same nemesis to glory. This win of Federer in spite of 6 month injury lay off, in spite of a family of 4 kids, in spite of his old age(35 of tennis is 45 of other sports) has brought back the faith of current generation in fairy tales. The faith that we all have in our movies that the hero always wins at the end. Roger Federer is the ultimate hero of our times. If there is one other profession I'm allowed to suggest to Roger then it has to be of a movie script writer !

Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke

Sometime in the winter of 2010 I was travelling back to Bangalore from my native Byadgi. The bus stopped in the wee hours at the final destination near Anand Rao Circle Bangalore. It was still dark outside. With little or no sleep, the thought of going to work on a Monday away from the comforts

of home wasn’t a good feeling which most must have experienced. 

I generally wait till all the passengers disembark from the bus. When I thought all had gotten down, I lazily moved to pick my bag up.

My sight went to the last rows of the bus where a girl woke up from sleep stretching her hands and yawning. Her hair untied, she was fair, little on a chubbier side, wore sleeveless kurta and was looking very pretty. Ask about scanning a girl in a second that too with half sleepy eyes.

“Which city is this”? She asked still sitting in her seat tying her hair.

That surprised me.

“Where are you going?” I asked

“Bangalore”

“This is Bangalore; the final stop. Please get down” I said and got down from the bus.

I waited outside for an auto rickshaw. My thought went to the girl in the bus who seemed to be a naivete. It wouldn’t be safe for her in the dark if she didn’t know the city, I thought.

Then I felt someone coming closer and standing next to me. I turned my head and it was the same girl. She looked at me and smiled. I felt that made my Monday. She looked surreal.

“New to the city?” I asked pretending not to be over enthusiastic.

“Yes” she nodded.

“Do you know how are you going to your home or wherever you have to go?” I asked.

“No. I thought of asking. Are there busses here?” She asked confusingly.

“No. You have to take autos. Where do you have to go?”

“Maruti Nagar”

“Aah. That’s just couple miles away from the place Wilson Garden I’m going to. If you don’t mind, we can share an auto and share the fare as well” I sounded honest.

She nodded gleefully.

The next moment we both were in an auto zooming in no traffic. She wasn’t one of those who sit at the extreme edge of the seat just to be safe. She sat comfortably.

“Alright. Where are you coming from?” I broke the ice.

“Belgaum”

“Your purpose of visit?” I was curious.

“I’m doing my M Tech in Belgaum. I came to do a 4 week internship in Bangalore. My friend lives in Maruti Nagar. She actually works here. I’ll be staying with her” She said in a breath.

I saw that she crossed her hands and held her shoulders, shivering in cold. I took out my jacket and offered her. She took it thanking me and covered herself.

“Actually I’m from Calcutta you know” She said.

“Oh tomi bongoli ! tomi khob bholo logolo baba. Mishit doi”

She burst out laughing hearing my broken Bengali.

“Your laughter is better” I said looking at her.

“Better than what?” She asked.

“Than your smile”

She blushed.

Then I told her that I was living in the city for over couple years and was working in an IT firm.

.

“Bangalore is a lovely city you know to hang around over the weekends. But just make sure you don’t travel on weekdays. Traffic sucks here” I was giving her gyan.

She was worried looking at her cell phone.

“What happened?” I asked

“Gosh! My cell battery got drained. I’m supposed to call my friend at Maruti Nagar” she said.

“No issues. You can use my phone. Hope you remember her number?”

She took my phone and spoke to her friend, asked for the landmark and said she was coming in an auto.

Wilson garden stop almost neared.

“The meter is around 100 rupees. It would hit around 150 till it reaches your place. And here is my share of 75 rupees” I took out my wallet.

“You are paying more” she blurted.

“That’s fine. Let’s share the journey” I said.

There was some silence.

“You are very nice. I don’t know how to thank you enough for all your help” she sounded sweet. I could see the sparkle and gratitude in her eyes.

I had liked her casualness and her carefree smile. I wanted to help her genuinely.

 “You can. By saying something” I told.

“Something? What is that?” she was puzzled.

“I’ll tell you when I get down” I said.

“You are funny” She laughed.

The auto stopped at Wilson garden. I grabbed my bag and jacket and got down from the auto.

Standing out, I bent over and told her,  “This probably was one of the sweetest journeys of my life. I want it to remain in our memories this way. You don’t know my name and I don’t know yours. Let’s just make it memorable by… probably never meeting again”

She looked baffled.

“And to make sure.. I’m deleting your friend’s number too." I took out my phone and went to the dialled numbers and deleted her friend’s number showing it to her.

She was quiet.

“And as I have told you, can you please repeat something after me?” I reminded her.

She nodded.

“Hum hain rahi pyar ke. Fir milenge chalte chalte”

She burst out laughing.

“What is this?” She asked.

“Just say it please. Hum hain rahi pyar ke. Fir milenge chalte chalte” I was adamant.

She said still laughing, “Hum hain rahi pyar ke. Fir milenge chalte chalte”

The auto zoomed away and I didn’t look back.

Antakshari

Late last year I returned from the US and was still struggling to settle down in Bengaluru. Sometime in November, I saw an ad about Library week in office. There were Dumb Charades and Antakshari competitions planned. ‘This is my kinda stuff’, I thought.  

I went to the Library on the specified date/time for the Antakshari competition as much excited as a kid running to a newly opened Six Flags in its neighborhood. And as expected, all other participants were freshers.  The guy, my partner who I had dragged along was a 2 year experienced who cribbed, “I would be feeling terribly awkward to participate along with all those freshers”

The competition began. There was a team of two girls who were giggling all the time; they were eccentric, arrogant and over confident. In one of the rounds, I sang Ram Leela’s ‘Anga laga de re'. These girls objected that I skipped one word, so I shouldn’t be awarded any points. The judge snatched away our points for that. I got really annoyed because I believed when you sing a song, there should be leeway for one or two mistakes. Then whatever song those girls sang, I proved to the judge that all those songs either had different beginning or they had missed one or the other word. Then those furious girls walked off in the middle of the competition. May be they wanted to kill me if it wasn’t office.

Then after that incident, whenever one of those girls, the shorter one, saw me in Cafeteria, at Library or at parking lot, she gave a nasty stare. I somehow liked that; the competitive spirit, the burning desire to win, the pain of loss and the momentary hatred for your opponents. A much much younger person taking panga with me was so endearing. That's how it should be in corporate world, or rather everywhere. All should be equal; no hierarchies whatsoever. At least that's how it is in my utopian world in my mind.

About 6 weeks later or so, I saw that girl in my ODC. Someone said she was one of the few freshers the HR had promised us to allocate to my project. That evening I conducted an induction meeting to those new joinees. After the meeting, this girl came to me sheepishly and said, “Sorry sir. Sorry sir”

“Don’t be” I said smilingly.

“I’m sorry for my behavior sir”

“That’s fine. I like you. And please! Don’t call me ‘sir’”

“Ok sir”, she said gleefully. She continued, “how about we two forming a team for the next year Library week competitions?”

“I would love to, but I know one thing for sure. After one year, like everyone else you would grow serious, and you would say that you would be feeling terribly awkward to participate with all the other freshers”, I said, this time with no smile.

The Car

My car broke down this Sunday couple miles away from my apartment. Life comes to a standstill without a car in this ridiculous winter. How I wished I had a spare car to drive.

It's been four months since Panyot, my friend's girl friend oops, his ex-girl friend had abandoned her car, apartment and Panyot himself and left to China. No contact since then. Her car was stranded in the parking lot. He had a spare key. 'But this loser wouldn't give it to me', I thought. I had asked him several times that let us go and explore the car; there could be interesting stuff in there. He had declined. He said that he had too many memories with that car and didn't have enough courage to approach it. Once he had tried but started crying half way through and returned back. Love sucks

We had a doubles tennis practice that evening. I asked Venkata to pick me up. We picked Panyot up too and played doubles in ASPEN. After the practice I told Panyot about my car tragedy. I asked him to take a look at it and if he couldn't fix then I would get it towed the next day to Tiresplus.

He said, "Tomorrow is too late. The car isn't starting means could be the battery problem"

He asked Venkata to take a right turn. He got down and opened his car and grabbed the jump start cable and some tools. He was back in a minute and then we went to my broken car.
Panyot fixed my car in minutes and we drove it back home. He was smiling and high fiving me. I was happy like shit. I didn't have to worry about commuting to work the next day-Monday.

He asked me to call him if the car gave any problem and left. I grabbed a beer and sat down on the chair and then something struck me suddenly. From where did Panyot collect the jump start cable and the tools? Gosh, it was in Sun Prairie Apartments and it was his ex-girl friend's car !

I hadn't noticed in the night !

David vs Goliath

 It would be blasphemy if you are an Indian and haven’t played cricket even once. Guilty as charged, even I have played lot of cricket since my childhood till my late 20s.

As I vividly remember, I used to visit my hometown during school/college vacations in my teens. I, my brothers and cousins, our uncle and few family friends used to play cricket matches in the evenings. Those matches used to be as competitive as hell. I used to captain one side and my older brother (one year older to me) used to captain the other side.   

What can I tell about my brother; he was strongly built, athletic, short tempered and very intimidating; while I was slender, passionate but very calm. While we both bowled quick, he was quicker than me. Since we used to have just 12 to 15 players, we used to play only-offside cricket. 

Well, my brother’s only mantra was to win; by hook or by crook. He used to cleverly set the field on the off side and he used to bowl around the wickets all the time. Every single ball he bowled was precisely on the leg stump(body line), so that  the batsmen would never get any room to play the ball to the off. If the batsman moves across thinking the ball would be a wide, often he would see his leg stump flying off in air. If the ball missed the leg stump, my brother never agreed that it was a wide. He would argue that since he was bowling from around the wicket, the ball went over the leg stump and was no way a wide ball. He made every possible attempt at misusing the rules. He often took the bails off whenever he was about to deliver a ball and the batsman happens to leave the crease at the non striker’s end. When the other bowlers in his team were to ball, he always used to run from the boundary line, come to the bowler and whisper some strategy. He did that to every single bowler and every single time. I wondered, what new he had to whisper every time. And when he batted he always played this reverse sweep so that he could even connect the balls which were on the leg stump. To all, it looked as if he was more of a left handed batsman than the right.  He also always used to shuffle across the stumps or come down the track and then go back to confuse and threaten the bowlers.  If a decision didn’t go in favor of his team, he used to pick fights and threaten to quit the game. He would also say that he would dig up the pitch so that no one could play from the next day.

While on the other hand, I believed in fair play. I used to believe in variety in bowling. I sometimes tried a yorker, or a slower delivery, or a bouncer. I preferred to beat the batsman from outside the off stump.  I always used to convince my team saying that we would win fair and square, with our talent and better play.  Our uncle, being neutral, considered me as a better cricketer than him.

 Evidently, my brother’s team used to win two third of the matches, most of them close finishes.

After losing, when I used to lay in my mom’s lap, mom consoling me, used to yell at my brother saying, “what kind of teams have you all made?. All nice and decent guys on one side and all the cheater cocks on the other?” 

Hearing this, my brother used to laugh wickedly. He would come close to me, and taunt in his usual inimitable Gabbar Singh voice, “Lagta hai Thakoor ne hijdon ki fauj bana rakhi hai” 

Guess what? We both grew up. As my friends know, I am a loyal Federer fan today. And my brother is a die- hard fan of Rafael Nadal !

When I go home next, I will play cricket again. And I believe I will beat my brother because I believe goodness always wins at the end; no matter what! Federer will beat Nadal in a grand slam sooner than later; no matter what !!

Year 2013 Wasn’t Too Bad

When you set the expectations high, the failures do hurt but there is always a positive side to it too when you realize that you haven’t actually lost anything but have only gained so much.

I didn't win a single tournament in 2013 but as I said above there was a positive side which kept my faith and hope alive of winning this year. It’s more like a movie thing

I came to Des Moines in 2011. I was young, fit; had money, time, energy and importantly was single.Then I decided to pursue this little childhood fantasy of mine, to become a competitive tennis player (at whatever level possible)

I had played tennis in Atlanta for about a year in the apartment courts just for fun.

One day I met a desi tennis player in my apartment courts at Cambridge Court. I asked him who was the best desi player he knew in Des Moines.

He said, "Ravi Akkineni. He plays tournaments across Iowa. He must be in his early 40s now"

I took Ravi's email id and contact number from him

“Sir, I am Sajid, sort of a beginner in Tennis. I am your fan from what I have heard about you. Could you please help me know which rackets, strings do you use; how to register for tournaments; practice tips etc”, I requested him over the phone. He obliged and answered my questions politely

That was it. We did not contact each other for the next two years. We had almost forgotten each other's name. Meanwhile, I devoted myself to tennis in those two years.  I only watched Tennis Channel on TV, I only read tennis books and articles, I only watched tennis videos on YouTube, practiced for hours and hours, underwent extreme physical and mental torture in tournaments, made a hundred tennis friends in the town.  So much so that I even neglected my personal and professional life.  Let me tell you, I think tennis is the toughest sport to learn; just for the fact that you have to change the grip of the racket for every different shot, which comes to you only with the muscle memory. And muscle memory is developed only after hitting each shot for hundreds of thousand times.

Anyway, in the last two years my skills improved considerably taking me from the third division to the first division in the Des Moines Tennis Club.

In the fall of 2013, I got a call. "Hey, this is Ravi. Have heard about you. Can we play a match?"

He must have thought I was someone else. But I had recognized his voice instantly but did not tell him who I was.

The following weekend, we met at Valley Southwoods Courts and played a match. He grew suspicious and asked me several times if we knew each other. I denied every single time. The reason being, I beat him pretty comfortably 6-1, 6-3.

I didn't want any of us to be embarrassed then. I wanted to get out of there as early as I could. As I was heading out towards my car, a voice stopped me.

"Sajid, wasn't it you who had called me couple years back?" Asked Ravi

"Oh.. yes. Is that you Ravi? Sorry, I thought you were not him"

"You can at least thank me for the tips I gave you"

"Oh thank you sir. Actually I..I.. Sorry Ravi"

"Don't be. Actually you are doing really great. I can see that, you must have practiced every single day", said Ravi.

Moral of the Story: Life is short. Don't complain. Work your ass off to make your dreams come true!

It All Ends One Day

Yesterday, when I and my hitting partner Jason were exiting the courts after a strenuous practice we saw that car moving past us.  Our smiles evaded instantly.  

“It’s him. He was here” said Jason. Our eyes followed the car till it disappeared taking a turn at the Ashworth Road. Then there was silence. Pretty long one though. Then I turned to Jason and asked the same question even though I knew the answer, “Any luck?”

As usual Jason shook his head.  We then slowly walked to our cars. I sat in my car. The beads of sweat moved down my neck from my forehead. I didn’t switch on the AC. I was staring at my windshield and then I closed my eyes. As always that flashback scene played like a YouTube video before my watery eyes. 

“Ed, what’s wrong with you?  Please pull the glasses down. Are you listening to me? I called you a million times.   Are you angry or something? Please”. He hadn’t lowered the glasses of his car. He just looked on without blinking an eye or uttering a word.

It was in April 2012 that I first saw Ed talking to Jason on Crossroads Tennis Park. He was 50+ but looked more like 40, fit as a rock. He looked Hispanic and must have been 5’ 8’’ long. He was speaking enthusiastically to Jason while they approached me. 

 “You use your wrist in your backhand. You should not use wrist” he told me in a Spanish accent

‘Who the fuck are you?’ I thought of telling him immediately surprised to see his guts to tell me on my face that my backhand sucks.

“This is Ed. I met him few days back” Jason introduced him to me. I and Jason played for the same club and were good friends.

I just shook his hand and left the courts. That night I couldn’t stop myself from browsing YouTube videos on one handed backhand techniques. Holy Christ! Ed was right. One shouldn’t use wrist or elbow for backhand drive. It’s only the shoulder. Then I realized why I wasn’t hitting through the ball and was finding it difficult to hit backhand winners.

  

 The next day I went and shook Ed's hand and thanked him for his tip.

“I am preparing for Michelob Light Open, an USTA tournament”, he said practicing his serve

“For the first time I am playing in open division you know. I am practicing since 3 months” He sounded lot more confident and enthusiastic.  After his practice we sat on a bench. I inquired him about his past.

Ed was born and brought up in Houston.  When he was in high school he was so bad in Tennis that he was being shooed away from the fellow players. Then he decided to learn the game on his own. He subscribed the Tennis magazine and learnt the game by hitting the ball to the wall for years.  Then he won his first USTA tournament.  He then went on to win many more tournaments and became a lethal player. He worked in the night and all day he would be in the courts.

“I have been playing since the past 30 years. Only thing that stayed with me is Tennis”  He said. That confirmed the fact that he had no family and was living alone.

One day I and Jason asked him if he could coach us. He neither said a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’. We took it as a Yes.

“There are two kinds of players. One, recreational players who don’t care whether they improve or not. They go on playing till they die. Second, those players who want to improve every single day. The moment they realize they are playing worse than before, they just stop playing”  He said.

I and Jason nodded after all Ed was a Tennis guru. 

Our coaching started. Ed used to ask us to hit balls. Then he would suddenly jump on court in the middle of play and yell, “how many times haven’t I told you? Lock your elbow while tossing the ball. And look at your toss, you are tossing to the moon; like Sharapova. Zero gravity! You have to hit the serve when the ball is at zero gravity” 

We used to incorporate his coaching religiously. He taught us many things. The game strategy, How to read opponent’s mind, how to serve depending on the match situation, high percentage tennis, volleying, rackets, strings, tension and so on.  He used to watch our club matches and later tell us what mistakes we did. Once Jason leading in a match tanked it because he was intimidated by the size of the opponent and his tantrums. Then Ed took us few sessions on Mental Conditioning.

That night he told us how he won his first USTA title.

“I was just out of high school. All my opponents were bigger than me. The key was to never look into their eyes”  He finished that day saying how much he was looking forward to the Michelob Lights tournament, his biggest of them all. 

Then I lost couple of matches back to back.  “Ed, please don’t watch my matches. I don’t feel comfortable” I requested. He nodded.

My next match was with Mark Schmitd at Wavalands. I was playing well as Ed wasn’t watching my game. I had won the first set and serving at 4-4 in the second. Then suddenly Ed appeared. I did a double fault. Then realizing I was tensed he quickly left the stands.  Then I recovered and won the match.

Next day Ed told me, “When the opponent is at the net, and when you are slicing with the backhand, never give any air to the ball. He will easily put it away. Your slice should always be just an inch above the net so that he has to dig down to fetch the ball”

He was pointing at my mistake in the previous day’s match.  Before I could ask him anything he said,

“I was hiding and watching you play”

In the second week of July 2012, Ed’s tournament was to be held in ASPEN indoor courts. I and Jason wished him luck. He smiled and said “Thank you”

And little did we know then that it would be the last time Ed would ever say a word to us or look at us with a smile. 

The following Sunday I got a call from Jason. He asked, “hey did you call Ed?”. I said no.

Then he said he called Ed several times but he wasn’t picking his phone.  I told Jason, “Since he lost his tournament he must be upset. Let’s talk to him in the courts”

For the next couple of days we didn’t see Ed at the courts. We had called him a thousand times already. No response. No reply to emails too. We panicked.  Next day Jason again called me and said he saw Ed at the Walmart but he didn’t stop the car even after seeing Jason. That was weird.

Something must have happened in the tournament.  I and Jason decided to find out the truth. The same day we went to the ASPEN center and requested them the info about the guy to whom Ed had lost in the tournament. It was Alan Reed.

“I am at the Walker Johnson park. Why don’t you come over?” said Mr. Reed on the phone

We went there and asked him breathlessly if anything uncommon happened to Ed at the match.

“Oh that guy? You don’t know what happened?” asked Mr Reed

“No” we said in unison

“He was cruising along well in the first set at 4-1. But suddenly his knees broke”

“What?”

“His knees froze in the middle of the match. He couldn’t move. He collapsed on the court itself.  He had been abusing his knees since decades. Every knee has a breaking point. I doubt if he will be able to play tournaments again”

Then suddenly Ed’s words echoed in my ears. ‘The moment they realize they are playing worse than before, they just stop playing’

I and Jason both looked at each other in disbelief.  We couldn’t contemplate the fact that Ed could have hanged his boots if whatever Reed told was true.

“I think Reed is right. Ed must be suffering from the shock that he wouldn’t be able to play competitive tennis anymore. So he must be avoiding everyone. May be he doesn’t want anyone to sympathize with him which would only hurt him.” Jason explained to me

That night was the longest night of my life. I didn’t get sleep. I kept on thinking. 

Than that scene which I explained at the beginning happened after couple of weeks. Even after my persistent pleading he refused to lower the glasses of his car and speak to me. 

It’s been 15 months since it all happened.  Everyday Ed drives his car to the courts, parks in the parking lot and watches people play for hours. He does that every single day without blinking an eye or uttering a word.  I just wish I don’t become another Ed Vargas. It all ends one day