The case for chase

Dhoni has had a dream run. He has been lucky in many ways with the kind of batting prowess he can rely on and his team has rode a wave of glory with a flavor much akin to the flamboyant style of the man himself. Yet the manner in which Team India crumbled in the face of defending a total of 338 was appalling to say the least.

The captain has made some remarks similar to the ones which we have seen and heard in the post-match presentations of Dhoni’s IPL team Chennai Super Kings- lamenting the hapless quality of the bowling and fielding unit. He almost appeared lost to the whims of the situation and seemed to have lost the plot when it came to some imaginative moves on the field. This brings into question the case for chase.

India’s strength lies in batting. There can be little debate on this matter. So when Captain cool wins a rare toss it is time for him to go the Ganguly way and think about restricting the opposition, banking on the ability of his batters to pull it off. Sourav Ganguly pioneered this idea in the 2003 world cup, going in with as many as 8 batsmen on occasions. Can Dhoni do a Ganguly and reach the finals let alone lift the cup is a question we will gain the answer to in the next few weeks to come. The dice is heavily loaded on the batters and onus is on the likes of Sachin and Sehwag to get the team past the finish line.

 

The Ineffable backpacker

The routine is deadly and deliriously rigorous. The things to be factored in and figured to be taken before stepping out are in some ways countless and ridiculously infinite.  The weather only adds to the woes of a battle weary soul longing for a day of careless freedom and endless nonchalance. Can there not be a morning when you can wake up and walk out in sandals with utter disregard for what weather.com has to say about the prevailing “mausam” or the forthcoming storm that will sweep you off any hope of a strong footing in the steps that you take?

In some ways it makes the usually unkempt too gear up in ways not imagined before. A sense of agnostic emotion overcomes the gray matter of even the most meticulous believers of the existence of a power above,  on the very thought of having to sock up and boot up. Add to it the glossy liquidly potions that needs to be creamed across the listless lips and the dopey frontal facades in no limited proportion to keep them from looking like the summer surfaces of the Rann of Kutch.

The backpack, the ineffable backpack. There is no limit to what it can or cannot contain. The unfathomably long power cords for the notebook whose battery seems to last only as  long as  celebrity marriages or the charger for the mobile which dies at a frequency comparable with the rate at which scams break out in India or even worse the number of times ‘breaking news’ flashes across the screens of the scores of news channels out there. The life saving water  bottle  to seek refuge to when the throats run dry or the infinitesimal collection of inevitably essential items that seem to populate the zippers on the front bulge.

The assortment inside usually ranges from paper to notebook to books, ipods to mp3 players and sometimes gets as eclectic as umbrellas, condiments and candy bars!

The clock starts ticking more rigorously only in the moments that serve as the prelude before the occasion to step out. The race to put everything in its place and pack up is as much a matter of timings and practice as it it is for those in the forces to assemble their weaponry and get into position in the shortest time frame possible.

The pitiable shoulder is the palanquin bearer of this modern day mini lug-gable that is as much a part of the identity of the college goer or the professional on the run, as any other.

Bar Social

I learnt that people who do not have the gift of two left feet gyrate to loud music and fall over each other acting like all hell was let loose, as if they were living the last moments of their life.

When you are in a crowded public gathering which happens to be the “hangout” place for a majority of species in the space you frequent and you do not have the inclination to go for the fermented liquids that send those who cohabit your surrounding into a tizzy, you really feel out of place.

That you feel so out of sorts, your outer self  starts appreciating an alien game being played on a channel you have never seen before so much so that you get engrossed with it, while your inner voice quivers shrieks of ‘Why am I here?’

Manning a desk is less honorable and remotely alluring than “womanning” a desk if some word like that ever existed, but such situations do exist for sure.