January 27, 2008 at 9:02 pm · Filed under cricket, tributes
When the cricketing world heard of Adam Gilchrist’s retirement, they went from a state of shock to nothing short of mourning. Many might have even wept. I’m not surprised why - if I was there at the Adelaide Oval, watching the wicketkeeper batsman walking back to the rooms, head held high - the Baggy Green perched firmly in pride on it - knowing fully that I won’t see him wearing it again, a tear of respect would’ve left me too.
Respect. It’s a word a real die-hard traditional fan of cricket would preserve for few. Forget Dhoni, forget Boucher. The world has never - and will never - see an opening batsman, a hard-hitter and a wicketkeeper of such fine quality, both skills coming together to such perfection.
But this isn’t about Gilchrist the batsman. It isn’t even about the ‘keeper. Much has been said and written about his freaky ability to juggle both responsibilities, of ’setting a benchmark’ and whatnot.
It’s about Gilchrist, the magnificent sportsman, whose greatness was only underlined by the humility of his achievements in an otherwise arrogant Australian side. For me, the very fact that Gilchrist walks when he edges, or only appeals for ones he genuinely thinks is out, is a mark of a fine man. A cricketer who has his feet so firmly grounded in the ethics of the game, and if it weren’t for the likes of Gilly and Dravid, one would refuse to associate anything gentlemanly with the game of cricket.
And that’s what needs to be underscored. Australia might look into their reserves and maybe even pick a class wicketkeeper who could match Gilchrist’s record. Maybe they’ll find him to be a better batsman than Gilchrist - no one knows. But it’s perfectly safe to say that, there are very few gems in the game who are so loved even by the opposition.
For that, my friends Down Under, let me tell you that Gilchrist is simply irreplaceable.
January 20, 2008 at 2:20 am · Filed under personal, tributes
Shall we have the facts out of the way, as I’m dying to let you know? I’m an Indian. I love Bangalore. I love rock. Fanatical - I repeat - fanatical about a certain Paki band. The ‘times played’ count on my iTunes for Duur is a number you won’t come across in Math until Grade Eight. Now, Bangalore is the Mecca of rock in India. And Strings were performing.
Brimming with anticipation of an evening with a band whose guitarist I idol-worship. If excitement were fluid, I was first drenched and drowned until Friday evening arrived. Excusing myself early from office to ensure I be there at time, I weaved my way through Bangalore’s unsympathetically heavy weekend traffic and was at the spot about an hour ahead of time. Had the tickets - and the complimentary Colgates - with me, waiting for a friend and two Mutineers to show up at Palace Grounds. They did, although one of them lost her way in traffic and ended up paying a nice little visit to the King in the Palace itself, before promptly making a U-turn and heading for Palace Grounds. But they showed up on time, and after being checked out frisked by a Terrier security guard who mercifully looked far from homosexual, I entered the grounds.
Cyanides, I guess, were playing then. I lost the name in the crowd that were getting restless, and they finally booed the band out of the stage because - and I must agree with them - everyone were here for one reason.
Plunging the stage into darkness, the bloke on the keyboards came up and did a quick sound-check. Keeping him company was the percussionist, a lead guitarist and a bass guitarist. Yet no signs of the Paki duo we all waited for. But a few hundred sound-checks later, they walked in. The vocalist, clothed in a no-nonsense khaki jacket, and the brilliant guitarist wearing a tight khaki t-shirt. Surprisingly, they began with their Shootout at Lokhandwala hit, Aakhri Alvida.
That woke the crowd up, it did.
Faisal took a few minutes for a chat as Bilal fiddled around with his new special red-and-white guitar. Talked about how he loved Bangalore, the Habba, that the crowd were awesome and the usual stuff an artist says at every venue. Before - and we weren’t hearing things - a certain lead played in the background. Anjane had arrived.
That was it. That got the feet moving, the arms in the air and the mouth yelling. Like a Pied Piper, Bilal got the crowd screaming huey, begaaney kyon! almost at will, as Faisal generously pointed the mike at the hundreds of people who had succumbed to their sound. When they were done, the crowd went ‘once more’ before Faisal silenced them.
‘This is a very special song’, he claimed. The lead began, and I lost what he said in the screaming crowd, catching just one word, ‘Spiderman’. Oui, na jaanay kyon it was.
And like only Faisal Kapadia can, when he went dil bhuja gaya, ghar jal gaya, na jaanay kyon, na jaanay kyon, we were with him. Perhaps relating to the song itself, perhaps lost in thought or rock, but we were lost somewhere. A rock cover for their finest song, and if truth be told, nothing short of exceptional.
What now, then? Three of their best songs and we wanted more. Took us a while to figure it out, but next up was probably a song that changed their entire careers. Into it’s sixteenth year, yet oh-so-memorable, Sar Kiyae was playing, and it got Faisal all nostalgic, as he went back to the 90s and talked about the gap of eight years. Enough talk, however, and only one word escaped the audience, before he finally put us out of our misery and struck the right note. With Bilal’s fingers holding F# firmly, and the drums picking up the beat, Faisal walked up to the front mike.
The crowd waited, and he gave us Duur. Enough said.
Zinda! screamed the crowd. Faisal replied, ‘we have a few technical problems, we can’t play that song’. Of course, he was screwing with us. When the interlude began, and yeh hai meri kahani was underway, the crowd were lost again, for the second time that evening. As Faisal set it up Anwar Maqsood’s magically penned monologue, Bilal took it forward with that awesome solo piece.
What followed next, though, was quite interesting. A tribute to Bollywood’s yesteryears, as Strings played - and mixed - rock versions of what are probably their favourites. Starting with meri umar ke naujaawanon, and as they broke into om shanti om, it was all so clear - classics are classics. Koi kahe, kehta rahe followed, mixed with main tera tu meri jaane saara hindustaan, at which Faisal asked us to sing the chorus with pakistan in it. We - of course - obliged, why, we’d even go main tera tu meri jaane saara australia if he wanted.
As the vocals paused and the rhythm continued, Faisal dropped a quick emotional line about how he likes this friendship between countries, even videotaping the crowd’s Pakistanised version for their personal record, before breaking into yeh dosti and the insturmental from Don. And then, three more tributes, beginning with aa dekhe zara, milgaya, hum ko saathi milgaya and finally ending it with yeh jawaani. At the end of the extended tribute, ten-odd minutes of rock where Bollywood was celebrated, we were both tired and overwhelmed in love for music. Unsurprisingly.
Next followed a rock lullaby, and expect Strings to carry it off - Soja, before they finally wrapped up their show - and nearly the show itself - with Dhaani. With Adeel on the lead guitar, Shaakir on the bass, Haider on the keyboards and Yasir on the drums, they gave us an evening I’ll find it hard to forget.
The MC hopped on stage, a Carmelite surely. It’s only at Mt. Carmel’s in Bangalore that they teach you to pronounce the word “more” like the way an American would pronounce the word “mow”. So, when she went, “Bangalore, do you want mow?”, ours was an affirmative response that very nicely asked her to get off stage and have the music back.
Parikrama followed soon after, and after a few zillion sound checks (again), their lead vocalist mercifully went ‘to hell with the technicalities, let’s rock’, before giving us their original compositions. In walked Saif, and as women went ‘ooh’ and guys went ‘wtf’, a rather off-colour Saif picked up his guitar and settled himself next to the lead-vocalist. And as a red T-shirt hugged his short frame with the word ‘Hendrix’ on it, Saif and Parikrama - as they claimed - ‘kicked some ass’.
But after the Strings hangover, their performance eventually turned out to be uninteresting, pepped up by the appearance of Robin Uthappa and Sreesanth who were at the concert for I-don’t-really-know-what but were - and this must be a crime - gifted a guitar each. A Fender, for Haysoos’ sake. Second time I’ve seen Saif gift a guitar and it wasn’t me. Criminal.
Either ways, the cops arrived and the lead vocalist was eventually forced to gesture at Saif to put an end to the show. Which they did, and as Ms. Carmelite read out the sponsor’s name, I walked out of Palace Grounds with an aftertaste of Dhaani, the Zinda lead still ringing in my ears.
Awesome, simply awesome, and I can’t wait for Strings to be back. Faisal and Bilal, guys, here’s a request from your biggest fan: for the sake of Bangalore, yeh aakhri alvida na ho.
September 5, 2007 at 2:51 pm · Filed under tributes
India lost a mother on this day, 10 years back.
Her contribution to humanity is, well, unfathomable. In an era of conflict, Mother Teresa’s compassionate approach without any sort of favoritism is an example and a half for those who build paradigms even when it comes to humanity. 10 years down the line, Sister Mary Nirmala Joshi continues to keep up the good work at the Missionary, but no other name is synonymous with service for the poor. Look at any list of women in India, and you ought to find Mother Teresa right up there. Ironic, that our best representative in community service is of Macedonian origin, but who cares really - that’s what she was all about - wholehearted service irrespective of race and religion.
But this post isn’t about what she has done for the people. It isn’t a tribute to a woman who was a perfect depiction of love, compassion and strength. It’s about a little event that went unnoticed on this day, 10 years back.
‘Acharya’ Giriraj Kishore is a senior member of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad. The VHP, of course, is India’s biggest cover-up of Hindu nationalism, if that’s what its interests are. When the Mother breathed her last, and she was awarded a state funeral for obvious reasons, Giriraj Kishore spoke against it.
His stupid point - she was Christian, she belonged to the Church and as a result, every little act of charity she undertook was an automatic incident as a result of being part of the Church. That, apparently, didn’t merit a state funeral. Besides - according to Kishore - she carried out secret baptisms of the dying.
What kind of lowly filth makes such statements against a women of her nature and achievement? The absurd claims by the VHP didn’t find refuge, not even in Mother Teresa’s critics. I’m not sure which pre-historic India the VHP live in, but that deserves another post altogether so I’ll leave it at that and let the hate-mail pour in.
Back to 2007, her non-political agenda of helping the poor is something that must be referred to time and again, for every cause out there that’s trying to help those below the poverty line. If there ever was a contemporary saint, a biblical Holy Mother depicted in flesh, body and bone - it’s her.
They say Gandhi was the Father of the nation. She, in all certainty, ought to be titled Mother India - the Saint of the Gutters. Calcutta’s streets are indebted to her.
As long as poverty and conflict exist, you shall be missed. Er, actually, you shall be missed forever.
Image source: allindiansite.com
