Monsoon Madness

The Bombay suburban network doesn't really bring images of beauty to your mind. The overflowing gutters, the garbage dumped by the railway tracks - not too pleasing to the eye.

Sometimes though, the elements and the location just combine to provide the ideal setting. There had been light rain earlier in the morning. The train pulled out from Dadar station towards Elphinstone Road where the two Central and Western lines diverge after Dadar - a great big expanse open land in the centre of Bombay with the illegally cultivated spinach, palak and god knows whatever else growing between the railway tracks. The plants had this wonderful fresh look to them. And with the early morning shower, all the dust and pollution in the Bombay air had been washed out of the sky to leave bright clear blue sky

There on a train in the heart of Bombay you were traveling through this pristine world - the green, brown and blue combine to present this idyllic scene. All to be destroyed by the onrushing train in the opposite direction. The other train passes and you are back in the world where you can almost brush the buildings on the side of the tracks. Back to the real world after a split second visit to a dreamland.

And they tell you that the rains bring only gloom.

Finally, and the absurdity of the Indian supporter

This was written in the week after india won the world cup. Looks like i didn't press publish earlier.
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So lets channel our inner Freddie Mercury and bellow "We are the Champions" at the top of our lungs. We've beaten SL in the finals and finally lifted the trophy after 28 long years. It gives the opportunity to proclaim we are the best in the world. All the leaving work early for the midweek quarter and semi finals has been vindicated.

Surprisingly, I thought there was more importance attached to the quarters than the semis. Maybe its the fact that the Aussies were the defending champions, or the fact that Ponting is the most reviled cricketer in these parts; there just seemed to be much more pleasure in the beating the Aussies. Revenge for the Sydney test, whatever the reason, people were really pumped by the Aussie win. Then on, the discussions in the office boards and elsewhere seemed to take it for granted that the we would win the cup; that nothing could stand in our way.

Obviously that was a fallacy. If not for the generosity of the Pakistani fielders and the absurd batting from Misbah, we could have been knocked out by the superb bowling of Saeed Ajmal and Wahab Riaz. The final too was on a knife edge until Captain Courageous played the innings that will henceforth define him.

After the quarters, the powers that be were forced into a public screening of the semis at workplaces  across the country. In Pune, it was being shown on a projected screen in one of the food courts. Around a thousand people crammed into the open air food court and eagerly awaited the match. This was our own personal stand. Miles from the venue, the voices chanting and cheering could not but help the team.

I have snickered in the past at the stories of Rajnikant movie screenings in the heartland. The seetis and chavannis thrown at the screen when the Man makes his appearances on the screen. Well, there was the other Man, He Who Must Not Be Named, playing. Each time the the camera panned across to him, the gathered crowd went into raptures, looked on the verge of Rajni style worship. Each review of his was accompanied with chants of fervent prayer to whatever you believed in. This Man is the One, bigger than Rajni, with his dominion reaching across the country, hell I'd wager, across the world wherever Indians gathered.

This world cup was about this one Man. But the final has shown that its more than that; a team effort, with a team of the entire nation. For a few days the euphoria of winning - and winning beating the better teams when it mattered - provided a release from the mundane day to day routine of life.

So let's sit back and enjoy the feeling before the IPL bulldozes over everything.