Monday, November 27, 2006

Facing the music

(Image courtesy: New Indian Express)
L Suresh guides the uninitiated through the intricacies of the Chennai music season.

December – that wonderful month in Chennai when the heavens open up and flood the city with rains, music concerts and NRIs. That amazing time of the year when the streets have no name (because the name boards are all submerged under water), the concert halls have no empty seats and those with NRI relatives have no respite.

If you’ve never been through a music season before, here’s your chance to find out what it’s all about. It may not be of much help, but at least you’ll know that I told you so.

December is when Chennai is divided into two - the haves (those who have passes for the music season) and the have-nots (no such luck). It is also normal to come across have-beens (those who have been to concerts before) and has-beens (has been to concerts before, but sigh, they are no longer as good as they used to be in the good old days).

One of the most important things to do when you gear up for the music season is to brush up on your driving skills. Practice driving in the rain during peak evening traffic because the more you are looking forward to a concert, the greater are the chances of it raining that evening (Murphy’s Law of Musical Dissonance). Have frequent trial runs driving at insane hours of the night to the airport and back - all those NRI cousins, uncles and aunts who refused to acknowledge your presence thus far will stage a grand home-coming (to your home, that is) with a box of Ferrer Rocher chocolates just picked up from duty free. Most importantly, be adept at beating the crowds to the sabha (concert hall) and finding a parking slot.

The next thing you need to prepare for is living in different time zones where you can work by day, attend concerts by evening and then take your newly acquired NRI family out in the night for their capers until they come to terms with their jetlag - a masala dosa at two in the night, a shopping spree in T Nagar for silk saris, dhotis and kurtas, or a drive to the beach after dinner that stretches to ‘let's watch sunrise’ and ends in 'let's go to Woodlands for filter coffee'.

Done? It's now time to figure out which concerts you want to attend. Newspaper supplements and pullouts offer simple, easy-to-follow schedules – so stay away from them. Since you are most likely to be surrounded by people with varied opinions, the thumb rule is – if you can’t convince, confuse. So create a complicated spreadsheet with various rows and columns on who's performing, where, when and what's on the canteen menu. Of these, the first and the last mentioned occupy prime importance, so start by choosing the artists carefully. The next thumb rule for such occasions is - don’t let them know that you don’t know. Just recall all the names that you have heard before in a Harris Jayaraj or an A R Rahman album - Unni Krishnan, Bombay Jayashree, Prasanna, Kadri Gopalnath and others. Whether you understand the music or not, you are sure to see stars.

By the time you have chosen the artistes and have planned your itinerary, you would have realized that most of them clash, what with the heavyweights performing at the same time in different sabhas. That’s where the canteen menus can be of great help. Putting an ear to the canteen table helps in catching the buzz around. It may also give you a worm’s eye view of all the grime that has escaped the waiter’s rag, but on the positive side, you might catch a whiff of what’s on the menu the coming day or week - if you’re lucky, it could be Andhra pesarattu, keeravadai, rava dosa and molaga bajji. Remember, finding a parking place, fighting the traffic, braving the rains, handling the crowds and wet-nursing the NRI family is always a battle and as the cliché goes, battles were never won on an empty stomach.

Just as you think you are getting the hang of things, the unexpected will happen as the weekend swings by. That is when the NRI family will decide to take you sabha hopping. Since concerts typically begin at around 9.00 on a Sunday morning, you will probably have to factor in an hour for the ladies to match their silk saris perfectly with their jewelry and other accessories, another hour for breakfast at Saravana Bhavan and half an hour for some manic driving – that means you’re out by 6.30 in the morning. (Working backwards further will help you figure out when you need to get out of bed.)

The Mylapore Fine Arts Club at 9, Krishna Gana Sabha at 10.45, Narada Gana Sabha at 12.30, Brahma Gana Sabha at 2.30, Bharat Kalachar at 4, Vani Mahal at 6 and the day culminates grandly at The Music Academy at 7.30 pm. By then, life’s a blur and the mind resorts to playing word-building games - making little words like ‘bed’, ‘save’ and ‘pity’ out of complex ones like Begada, Sarvashree and Prataapadhanyaasi. You’ve covered so many concerts, listened to so many artists and crisscrossed the city so many times that you don’t even realize that the car’s stereo is playing “Fear of music” by the Talking Heads. The head spins, the wheat halwa is having a jugalbandi with the Mysore bonda and you are at a loss as to which to hit first, the sack or the loo.

The weekdays are slightly better because you have only the 7 pm concert to catch. But weekdays bring with them a completely different set of issues, like the seating problem. It’s not so much about getting a vantage view of the action on stage as it is about getting away from the vintage crowd that’s there for the networking. The taalams, aksharams and druthams are drowned in a sales pitch of MLMs (multi level marketing). So when you hear conversation punctuated with “I have this exciting business opportunity for you” or “Let me give you my business card” or “Why don’t I call you next week”, make sure you sneeze loudly or get your mobile to beep non-stop. A few glares in your direction will hopefully put an end to the conversation.

Another thing you need to watch out for would be the horoscopes flying around. There are the universal donors, the ones who are trying to get all the unmarried ones in the family hitched. Then there are the universal recipients who liaison on behalf of friends, neighbours, colleagues and sundry. The contest between the two typically goes on and if you’re trying to figure out when it would end, look towards the stage for the answer because it has been said that it is never over until the fat lady sings.

Happy listening.
(Appeared in the New Indian Express Sunday Supplement on 26 November, 2006)

The Trojan URN

(Image courtesy: New Indian Express)
It’s going to take something special for England to retain the Ashes. L Suresh reports.

(Image courtesy: New Indian Express)
It’s going to take something special for England to retain the Ashes. L Suresh reports.

The last time a man named Joyce stepped out of Dublin, he created history with Ulysses, a take on the hero of the epics Iliad and Odyssey who was known for his ingenuity and strategies at battle. Decades later, another Joyce – born in Dublin – has embarked on a journey to the land down under, to fight the oldest cricketing war between two countries. One does not know if there is a Trojan horse strategy that Ed Joyce will unleash, but one fact that will be etched in his mind is that there is an urn to defend.

In the days of yore, the vanquished general had to part with his steed to the victorious general as a token of surrender. The Greeks used this ploy to their advantage when they entered the stronghold of the Trojans and massacred them. Could we be in for something similar? Suddenly mental disintegration seems to be a thing of the past. Both teams have become members of a mutual admiration society, with the English side suddenly getting a lot of respect from the most unexpected quarters – from old warriors like Shane Warne (despite McGrath predicting yet another 5-0). Both line-ups have been loudly advertising the injury list to their sides, hoping to lull their opponents into a sense of complacency by displaying obvious chinks in their armour. Could there be a hidden agenda somewhere in this passing-the-urn game?

There's something about English cricketers that makes them look like they were made on a late Saturday evening, just as God was ready to down the shutters and take his Sunday off. Bend and they pull a muscle, run and they damage a tissue, dive and they break a bone – the latest is that in the English camp, ‘catch’ is no longer a form of getting the batman out, but a symptom for getting a fielder into the hospital bed. Hamstrings, ligaments, backs, shoulders, elbows, fingers, knees - the surgeon's scalpel has judiciously followed the Heineken principle, reaching parts that other instruments could never reach. With Trescothick gone 10 days before the first test and Harmison nursing a side strain, one wonders how long the queue outside the sick bay will turn out to be.

Until the series blazes to its fiery end, it will not be known whether Trescothick's exit will make a difference to England’s fortunes, but as an opener with loads of attitude who could take on the Aussie quicks, his shoes will be hard to fill. Cook will be fondly recalling his blazing 214 against the pace quartet of Lee, Gillespie, Kasprowicz and Tait in Australia’s warm up game against Essex in 2005. At least two of the four are still in the test circuit and Cook will be hoping that his form stays as good as it has been in the warm-up matches. His is a strange tale of being the world's most sought-after replacement batsman - he spent a good half-year last season flying in and out of Pakistan and India as a replacement for Trescothick, Strauss and Vaughan. So it doesn’t come as a surprise that the only way he could have earned his spurs as an opener in the Ashes was as a replacement. Three hundreds and three fifties in nine matches are great stats - for a replacement player, they are amazing.

But in Tresothick's absence, the treadmill starts as the rest of the slots open out and the arduous task of filling them will be a worry to Fletcher and Flintoff, right through this series. While middle order trios like Dravid, Sachin and Laxman, Inzy, Younis Khan and Mohammad Yousuf, and Sangakkara, Jayawardene and Attapattu represent the best blend of solidity, class and style in the Asian countries, Pietersen, Flintoff and Collingwood represent firepower and scrapping prowess - the kind that Miandad would watch from his living room with moist eyes.

But it's the English four-wheel drive pace machine that has become the think-tank’s biggest headache. Ever since Simon Jones suffered an injury in the fourth Ashes test in 2005, things have never been the same again. Half a dozen pace bowlers have been tried out and to say that none have impressed would be euphemistic. Harmison's wides and injuries, and Flintoff's comeback after a lengthy layoff are too serious to be ignored and without any backup bowling, this English team can get stranded at flag-off point should a wheel come off again.

That's where Australia is the strongest, with enough bench strength to provide pace power to every cricket-playing country in the world. McGrath, Lee, Clark, Tait and Johnson have already lined up and the likes of Bracken, Gillespie and Kasprowicz await their turn with little hope of making it to the squad. They can however look to Stuart MacGill for solace and a helpful shoulder to cry on, for he has been the boy wonder who turned 35 waiting in the wings for his turn, which came once a year when Warne was busy sms-ing insults or nursing injuries.

Surprisingly, England has a happy dilemma on the spin front, with Giles and Panesar vying for what could be the sole spot in the team. One, a veteran with a taste of what it takes to be inside a pressure cooker and the other seeking psychological help even before the series began. One, a useful bat at No. 8 and the other a 'can't bat, can't field' bloke who leaves the spectators rolling in the aisles with his unintended antics – while Fletcher has made his choice pretty clear, it will be interesting to see who becomes England’s No. 1 spinner.

All eyes would also be on Flintoff to see how he handles his various responsibilities - that of a bowler, batsman, captain and part of the team's think-tank. His own batting form must be a concern to him as a weakness against hostile short-pitched bowling has been sighted in recent times. The bowling is still being cranked up and nowhere near the magical form that he was in during the last Ashes. There's far too much at stake for him to fail on any of his capacities – more so because in his case, an individual failure could mean the collapse of the whole team.

There is always the promise of Vaughan joining the team before the third test, but for a man who hasn't played any form of competitive cricket in almost a year, the Ashes could be a searing experience. A class act like Attapattu - the man with six double hundreds - showed what being out of touch can do, as he fumbled his way through the Champion's Trophy, being a pale shadow of himself.

Despite all this talk about self-belief, it's actually tough to imagine that this Australian team can be beaten. Botham's advice to his team can possibly come as the only glimmer of hope as he pointed out that the Australian team was now a year older and hence that much easier to beat. Age is probably the only thing that the Aussies do not have on their side, with Langer, Gilchrist, Hayden, McGrath and Warne crossing the 35-mark and Ponting, Stuart Clark, Hussey and Lee going past their 30s. That's nine out of 13 who are past 30, though the Aussies have never let minor things like age affect their performance. Compare this to the English side that has just three players who have touched 30, with Giles being the grand old man at 33.

If you are a hardnosed cricket follower, chances are, this Ashes may not hold anything spectacular for you. The Aussies are back on their pedestal, surrounded by seven other mediocre teams that make them look even better than they actually are. Without a weak link in the team, with in-form players and with their stars fully fit, they look all set to walk all over a debilitated English team that finds itself desperately reaching out for a lifeboat that it can use to get back to the safety of the shores that, not too long ago, were alive with celebrations when a little urn came back home after 16 years.

However, if you are an incurable romantic, you will probably look for those little things that made the Ashes 2005 series so dramatic. Who ever would have thought that England would use only 12 men for the five-test series, as compared to 17 in 2002-03 (with Gough and Flintoff ruled out of the whole series) and 19 in 2001? Who would have thought that the great metronome McGrath would step on a cricket ball and miss two matches - THE two matches that Australia would go on to lose? Or that an inconsequential fringe player like Gary Pratt would usher in the beginning of the end, as he ran out Ponting whose outburst signified that for the Aussies, this series was a lost cause?

These are reasons enough to hope (against hope) for something drastic to happen this series – something like a minor miracle that will hold England in good stead as it battles the world’s best team in its backyard. Perhaps the urn that they have carried with them into their enemy camp has a little Trojan strategy that will change the fate of this war.

(Appeared in the New Indian Express Sunday Supplement on 26 November, 2006)

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Pawar Play

(Image Courtesy: New Indian Express)

L Suresh unearths a daring tale of how the Aussies took revenge on the English – on Indian soil.

The twilight reduced the two weary men to mere silhouettes against the evening sky as they rested on the jerry cans that they had been lugging all day. “Coach, it’s almost a year since we lost the Ashes,” grunted the man they called Punter.

The Coach responded with thunderous silence. His long years of experience had taught him that the best thing to do when one was completely clueless was to keep shut - it would always be mistaken for deep contemplation. After he made sure that he had given a long enough pause, he spoke. “We will get the Ashes back!” Suddenly realizing that it wasn’t said with feeling, he broke into a whoop. “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oy, oy, oy!” he chanted, hoping that it would inspire Shane Warne, who was somewhere in the vicinity, cursing freely and pushing a car uphill.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Punter mirthlessly. “It’s still not enough. How do we get one up on these Poms?” “Whaddya mean?” asked the Coach. “Well, we’ve done it all before. We’ve won the Ashes, we’ve won the World Cup – we need to do something that we haven’t done before.”

The Coach went back to his air-conditioned tent and his laptop. In half an hour, he rushed out, horrified. ‘Crikey, how did we miss that one?’ he thought. ‘Got to speak to Punter about this!’

The light from the bonfire stretched the two excited men to elongated shadows against their tents. “Punter, I think I got it,” whispered the Coach excitedly. “So did I,” grumbled Punter. “Should ask Warney to stop forwarding such lewd stuff.” “No, not that. I figured a way by which we can get even with the Poms!” “I’m listening,” muttered Punter, wondering why men around a bonfire always spoke in whispers.

“One thing that England did was to sweep the Indians out of the World Cup in 1987. We have clobbered the men in blue, pummeled them into submission, bludgeoned them, but never got to sweep them out. This is our chance to do that at the Champion’s Trophy finals.” “Sure, we can do that, so what’s the big deal?” Punter asked.

“Get a load of this – 5th November was when the Indians lost to England in the ‘87 World Cup semi-finals and it was held in Mumbai (then Bombay). Guess when the finals of the Champion’s Trophy will be held?” “5th November 2006!” came the excited reply. “And it’s going to be held in…” “Mumbai!” “Precisely!” “Okay, we’re on!”

The dying embers of the bonfire witnessed a master plan being hatched. Damien Martyn was secretly trained in a three-step maneuver of prod-grab-push. And he would get into the act when he was given the signal.

Days passed. The Champions Trophy began. As expected, the Australian juggernaut rolled on right to the finals in Mumbai, mauling the West Indies and winning the match with a few overs and many wickets to spare.

Then came the time for the prize giving ceremony. Punter went on stage and was all set to collect the trophy when he spotted a lone figure stomping on his cap and simulating a sweep shot time and again. Why was the Coach acting so strange? It suddenly dawned on him. In his excitement, he had forgotten all about the English revenge. India hadn’t reached the finals either. ‘Oh no,’ he thought frantically, ‘what do I do now?’ He caught the Coach’s eye.

The Coach was clueless as always and went into contemplation mode. Punter cursed. “Boy, am I glad we are getting rid of him after the World Cup!” He looked around furtively. So what if the Indian team wasn’t there to be pushed out of the tournament? There was still a lone Indian out there on stage. In a flash he knew what he needed to do. He whispered to Damien Martyn. “Get the boys on stage,” he hissed and beckoned with his index finger.

“Punter, why are you rolling your finger over?” asked Martyn. “That’s the beginning of Pawar Play!” Punter hissed.

The rest, as they say, is history.

(Appeared in the New Indian Express Sunday Supplement on 19 November, 2006)