The Three Investigators

I am often blamed for living in past, so much so, that even to the extent of ignorng the present altogether and worse, not looking to shaping up the future. In fact, more than half of my posts are about my past.

However, I take this as a compliment, and continue to be an unabashed past dreamer, so to speak. What to do, when after each passing day, my belief gets even stronger that somehow those were, indeed, the golden days of my life, where life, with all its imperfections, was perfect and that quality of life now is monotonically regressing.

In my convoluted opinion, Standard X Boards is a watershed event in our life, after which all our innocence is lost under the inexpedient rat race of careers, and expectation.

In the same light, today I am going to talk about the - The Three Investigators series novels.

One discovers them after one gets bored of Ma'm Enid Blyton's Famous Five series ( where almost till half of the book the four kids and the dog just keep doing their picnic, eating potato sandwiches, and scrambled eggs ) and before the teeny brawn of Franklin W Dixon's (which I later learnt was just a pen name) Hardy Boys series invariably gets at you, where there is a karate chop here, and a solar plexus punch there.

Might I also add, that in a ridiculous fit of desperation, I also tried a couple of Nancy Drews, which I discontinued in a great haste. This is not to say or do with male chauvinism of any sort, but just that they were just plain bad.

A gentleman called Sherlock Holmes from Baker Street, London, however was a class apart, and there is no age to discover and re-discover him. But more on him in some other post.

The Three Investigators series, which I had then erroneously assumed, was written by Alfred HitchHock, but my disappointment could not but have shown when I later learnt that it was rather written by one Roburt Arthur, who inorder to earn free publicity, used a rather convinient pen name. However, that took nothing out of these brilliantly crafted book series, in which three little boys solved some brain tickling puzzles and unravelled some real flabbergasting mysteries.

They were captained by a plump, but genius Jupiter Jones, who had won for 30 days the use of a Rolls Royce(with gold plated fittings, and an English chauffeur Worthington) after winning a local competetion. The competetion was about guessing the approximate number of stones kept in a jar, and Jupiter Jones was the closest. He was very good with measurement & calculations, and usually used long and complex sentences. He lived with his aunt Mathlida and Titius Jones, and during his free time helped them in running their junk yard.

Next one was tall and atheletic Pete Crenshaw. He was a reluctant detective, who tried to avoid trouble at any cost, but never with success. Brains were not his forte, but sense of dirction was. When ever, three investigators lost their way, Pete was the man to count upon.

Bob Andews was diminutive, studious kind, did most of the research for the team, and kept all the records. He worked part time in a library, and was rather enthusiastic for his appearance.

Together, they formed a formidable team, not to forget the sootradhar - Hector Sebastian an ex-detective-turned-writer who did the customary epilogue and prologue. He also published their stories, and usually at the end of the prologue, gived us a hint about the next oncoming mystery.

The Three investiagtors were headquarted deep inside the annals of Jupiter Jone's junykyard, deftly hidden far from the madding crowd. There were different ways of going inside it. Their motto was - We Investigate Anything! The most interesting part, however, were the puzzles. Every mystery had a riddle associated with it, and it was fun seeing it getting solved and reaching some treausre. The only thing which bothered me was that, though they were fairly young, none of the boys went to a school or college.

Aunt Mathlida was a formidable lady, with a large heart. She was present for the comic relief. When the trio were not solving a case, they were made work hard in her salvage yard, under her strict supervision. When the chauffeur - Worthington - was not around, the two Bavarian helpers of her aunt - Hans and Konrad, helped the boys around with the travelling.

Like in every one else's life, there was one grief in their life in the form of a boy called E. Skinner (aka Skinny) Norris. He was a nuisance, who cultivated deep jealousy against Jupiter. He was a thorn in their flesh, and would give them momentry setback in their pursuit of the case. Pete had reserved some really nice & nasty phrases for this character.

Another ingenius stuff I learned from these books was a funda called - Ghost To Ghost Hookup. If these kids wanted to find something - like a lost car in the town (which was called Rocky Beach, a place somewhere near Hollywood) - to locate it they would call 5 friends of theirs. Each friend will call 5 more in turn. This way they will cover the entire town in just a few hours.

I am not sure how many people remember, way late in 90s, when we used have these series of Ek Do Teen Chaar, Khel Khel Mein, there was another series which showed for a few months called - Super Six. Well it was nothing but a miserable rip off The Three Investigators.

At our school we were crazy for them. We were allowed to issue only two books per person per week but that was too less for our apetite for reading. Since these books were 160 odd pages in all, two early mornings and late nights were enough to get them through. Then we would exchange them amongst ourselves and proceed.

Unfortunately, all good things come to end, and soon all those 40 odd books were devoured.

Later in my life, when I tried re-exploring them, I found that these books have made themselves scarce from the book stores in India(at least Pune and Lucknow - the my India). In fact, I haven't seen them again at any book store since I left school, although those Enid Blytons are dutifully present in scores. The enquiry everywhere invariably provides the same answer each time - they are out of publication!

Can't be true, but everything else I said, I swear, is.

Phir Wohi Talash

I think during 1989-1990 or thereabouts, we had this tele-serial called Phir Wahi Talash telecasted at Sunday noons, and directed by legendry Lekh Tandon.

It had basically two love stories - first one a triangle between a subdued Ashwini Kumar, lovely Poonam Rehani nee Sarin, and a young ravishing Himani Shivpuri( this before she picked up weight ). This one was tense, surreptitiouss love story involving strict dad of the girl. Believe me, in case you don't remember, the by-default nasty looks of this dad would have paled our Hindi films villains in comparision.

But we liked the chori-chori set up. It looked so real similar to our own crush stories. My only grouse was the fact how come a lovely dame like Poonam Rehani could have anything to do with that hopless Ashwini Kumar.

The other was the chirpy & lively open romance between Salim miya and Shehnaaz. Don't remember the name of that dashing guy who played the Captain Salim(he was in the DON remake too), but sweet Shehnaz was definitely Nilima Azeem. She was the best friend of Poonam, and his so lovely father was fellow Lucknowite S. M. Zaheer.

Both the stories complimented each other perfectly, but somehow in the end serial lost its control. It had a lovely tital song sung by Chandan Das which I wanted to share.

न जी भर के देखा न कुछ बात की
बड़ी आरज़ू थी मुलाक़ात की

कई साल से कुछ ख़बर ही नही
कहाँ दिन गुज़ारा कहाँ रात की

उजालों कि परियां नहाने लगीं
नदी गुनगुनाये ख़यालात की

मैं चुप था तो चलती हवा रुक गयी
ज़बाँ सब समझते है जज़्बात की

सितारों को शायद खबर ही नही
मुसाफ़िर ने जाने कहाँ रात की

World Cup

The World Cup is round the corner, and I peg no chance on India this time round. Frankly, they have never been in reckoning in any of the World Cups but they have managed to pleasantly surprise in most of them.

I would love to be presently surprised this time too, but then it would be surprises too many.

I have previously written about the two India Pakistan matches which have been my personal favourites. Incidentally one of them is from 1992 World Cup in Australia. Not sure why, but even as the World Cups as a whole, I have the fondest memories of this one.

And in this post, I am going to talk about my other favourite match in the same World Cup.

One big reason for liking that particular World Cup could be that it was played in the thick of my class X board exams, so though the fun of the tournament was slightly diluted, but the tension of the-first-board-exams got tremendously relaxed.

This World Cup was slightly different than others, with a lot of new things in it - both from organizer's and participant's side. Firstly, it was played in a Round Robin League manner without any pools. That was fun. Next the dreaded Rain shorten rule came into the play. According to rule, it would delete only those overs which had least runs. Side batting second was always in disadvantage. That was not fun.

Then there was coloured clothing and two white balls for the first time, and so was the only two-men-outside-for-the-first-fifteen-over rule.

Last rule gave birth to a new terminology in Cricket, courtesy dashing Kiwi Captain Martin Crowe - the Pinch Hitter. He always was a master strategist and introduction of Mark Greatbatch as the Pinch Hitter, who earlier use to play down the order, was
hugely successful for his team. So was making miserly off spinner Deepak Patel open the bowling, which took most by surprise.

We had our own original pinch hitter in Krishnamachari Srikkanth but (a) he was failing miserably, and (b) Ravi Shastri was diluting his effect from the other side. Gavaskar been gone five years back, and we hadn't still solve the opening problem. Chronic disease, it seems. Desperation was so overwhelming that even Kapil Dev unsuccessfully opened in a match against Zimbabwe!

England tried Ian Botham as the pinch hitting opener with mixed effect, but with his slow swing bowling he created enough trouble for our little master.

South Africa played for the first time, and reached Semi Finals. An airbourne Jhonty Rhodes running out Inzemam became picture perfect for the newspapers and a new dimension called fielding was added in Cricket which could actually win matches apart from bowling and batting.

Rain and Rain rule created a lot of tense situations. First, rain helped Pakistan to reach semifinals. Without Imran Khan, they were all out against England for just 74. England were cruising when rain forced the match to be abandoned. Later Pakistan beat the same side in final to win the World Cup. I still cannot forget that beauty by Wasim Akram that took Chris Lewis' stumps.

South Africa was perhaps laid low by the rain rule in the semifinals against England. They needed some 22 runs of 13 balls, which it self was looking difficult to achieve, and suddenly it drizzled for a while, and the revised target was 21 runs from 1 ball. This was damn too difficult. Dave Richardson and Brian McMillan were inconsolable.

India was both beneficiary and aggrieved party. It lost out to Australia due to this rule in the match I am going to talk about, while it was saved from a shameful defeat against minnows Zimbabwe. Also, India's a sure-win match against Srilanka was washed out in rain.

Zimbabwe however did create an upset when they dispatched England in a low scorer but, England were safe to semifinals by then. Former almost did in Srilanka too by scoring 312, but latter successfully managed a record breaking chase.

Pakistan were benefited not only by rains, but also by the unsporting largesse bestowed upon them by NewZealand. Inorder to avoid going to Australia for playing semifinal, it was believed that they deliberately lost Pakistan in league match. This defeat also nullified the chance of Australia reaching semifinals even though they defeated WestIndies a few hours later. It also snuffed out WestIndies' chances to reach semifinals had they beaten Australia.

See the complications of a round robin league tourney.

Pakistan met the same opposition in semifinal(NewZealand), and this time it was not the case of lady luck for Pakistan. From then, it was the simple genius of Imran Khan till the finals. For the first time Imran Khan must have played one down as a sheet anchor and utilized Inzemam to the best effect in the slog overs. Very traditional Oneday Cricket. NewZealand and England were shocked, and Pakistan was the unlikely champion. Chymes of Allah-Hoo in the dressing room later were nauseating, though.

Gosh! Already such a long post! I will post about the match in next post. Sorry!

Charitraheen

Most of us may remember this serial base on Sharad Chandra Chattopadhya's novel of the same name being telecasted on DD. It had beautiful song sung by one of the leads quite frequently on the harmonium. The song was done by great Salil Chowdhari. Here it is.


शीतल मंजुल कोमल, तेरा आँचल
मेरी सुधियों में लहराया
झल-मल झल-मल
और एक शाम मैंने तेरे नाम लिख दी

हौले, हौले-हौले
पुर्वा ड़ोले, पुर्वा ड़ोले
ढलते दिन की अरुणाई में सपने घोले
सपने घोले, सपने घोले
और एक शाम मैंने तेरे नाम लिख दी

पंछी एक बिचारा, टूटा हारा, टूटा हारा
सुने नभ में उड़ता फ़िरता, मारा-मारा
मारा-मारा
और एक शाम मैंने तेरे नाम लिख दी

शीतल मंजुल कोमल, तेरा आँचल
मेरी सुधियों में लहराया
झल-मल झल-मल
और एक शाम मैंने तेरे नाम लिख दी

The Haunted House Of Horror

Let me make a confession. It won't be a too charitable statement on me, but I am bit scared of ghosts!

Not that I have myself witnessed or experienced any supernatural phenomenon, and not that I make quite an issue about this, but I believe that those who think there is nothing called ghosts are the next one to see them.

Therefore, I keep a balance, and nor do I say about non-existence of the ghosts as an idea, and neither do I proactively advocate about them.

I am not all at blame for this. All my kiddo life, most of my cousins and uncles were ready with one spook story or the other. So be it the Peepal Ka Ped at the backyard, or their Ulte Pair - all had indelible effect on my psyche. The fact that these evil spirits are afraid of fire and Hanuman Chalisa was not much of console.

My little sister knows of this fact. So when The Haunted House Of Horror opened shop in Lucknow, she made me promise her to visit the place along with me whenever I was in Lucknow. Since she shares the same uncles and cousins as me, she too is scared of the spooks, but she didn't want to miss out the sight of my scared face.

Sadist sibling pleasures.

During my September visit - I, my sister, and another cousin went to that place above CCD at Hazratganj. Only two people are allowed per trip, but since I was the only male amongst there , we all went inside together.

The idea was like this - there would be some ghosts inside, who will try to instill the fear of Satan in all of us. It would be short 10 minute trip along a dark, serpentine alley, full of strange voices, skeletons, and ghosts, of course.

Family pressure made me take this trip which I wouldn't have otherwise taken. This is not in my Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid. But, the trip turned out to much different than I had imagined.

There was a pitched darkness inside, with tremendous amount of stereophonic-cum-human yelling. More than the fear of the surroundings, I was more afraid of falling down and breaking my teeth.

The first casualty was my cousin. She immediately chickened out, and doubled back the path she came in. No amount of persuasion by the security guard outside could make her come in again.

The other two brave girls desperately clutched each of my hands respectively. The amount of noise, together with lurking ghosts, took the winds out of them. They were screaming in panicky.

But, I was disappointed. The whole stuff didn't look spooky at all. Once my eyes got adjusted to the darkness, I could see people inside, who couldn't hide themselves good enough. The skeletons too looked a bit artificial. At that moment, I decided to have a little fun my self.

I began replying to their voices all along. I even mocked at them for the bad arrangement, given the good concept. A hanging artificial snake was at my hands reach, which I snapped it off from its thread, and threw at one of the hiding attendants.

Meanwhile, we had reached the end. A person was hiding near the door to open it. As soon he came to open, I just jumped at him. The poor guy thought I was about to hit him. He just ran for the cover, and fell down while doing so.

I came out laughing, albeit with a hoarse throat. It was such a disappointment for my sister. Poor girl thought I would be scared, which never happened. Instead, it was she and my cousin who had hearts in their mouth all along.

I Am Sorry Ma'am

My office is 17Km from my house, so I take the office bus to and fro. Since its on highway, it just takes 30 minutes.

Office buses are usually reliable and comfortable unless there are traffic jams. Occasionally, they are dangerous too, when driver is either drunk, or is a Schumacher incarnate.

My activity on bus includes reading a book or a magazine, or taking a short wink. If I am doing neither, my mind is into dreaming serious, fantastical issues like - when would I be a millionaire, or what would it feel like kicking Sehwag at his butt. Stuff like that give me temporary pleasure.

However, the only part I detest of the whole trip is when I try to get down near my home during the return trip, though, no problem getting down near the office because the bus comes to a halt before I alight.

But in the evenings, one has to move towards the driver's cabin to convince him to stop. While the driver is in acceleration & deceleration mode, it get extremely difficult for a flat footed person like me to keep the balance, more so when one has a bag precariously slouched over a shoulder, threatening to come down.

At this time, hands come to rescue. They try to grope the side seats, the top rods - whatever they can. But hands have a mind of their own, and in the given situation they too get out of control. Some times they land up at someone's hair, at other time they might give a backhanded mini slap to people.

Since this is generally painless, if receiving person is male, they do not mind but females, predictably, do give some sign of discomfort. However, my blushing face and profusely sorry expression usually convinces them of my honesty.

But not this time. That day, a lady was walking in front of me, and there was a person behind me too. I was totally cramped for space, and since the bus was decelerating pretty fast, my strides were slightly longer than intended.

So my shoe hit the bottom of her sandle. She ignored. To my horror, it hit her sandle again. Twice again. She tried to turn back and confront me in the bus it self, but then she gave away the idea because she might have fallen down.

The moment she landed on terra firma, she gave me such a noli me tangere look that I thought she was about take out those sandles and hit me. I was a bit embarrassed, but the scene was averted. Since it was between the two of us, nobody else noticed.

Thinking about the legal and social consequences of that event later in the day, I was slightly perplexed. By hitting her sandal thrice, by no means I had outraged her modesty. I had done far worse things than that as I have mentioned above.

Also, she should have understood that this was totally unintentional. The only logical solution I could think out was probably she was angered that I might have damaged to her costly sandles. By experience, I can say that these things don't come cheap.

If that's not so, then she has an overrated notion about her beauty, and a perverse notion about my integrity. Whatever, the case may be, I am sorry ma'am.

Baal Mithai

Apart from beautiful Joshis, Pants, Upadhyays, Sahs and Nautiyals, the hills of Uttrakhand(which was Uttaranchal till 3 days back) have also produced an outrageously delicious sweet delicacy called Baal Mithai.

Unfortunately, most non-pahadis outside the precinct of Almora and thereabouts are oblivious about it, but not me. This is because one of my closest buddies is an Upadhyay himself. Till I was a resident of Lucknow, I have enjoyed this heavenly sweet after every summer break when Uppadhyas would pack their bags to the cool climes of Pithauragarh, and on the way back will bring this manna for waiting us. God bless them.

The perplexing part is that there are no pretenders to the throne in other cities - the copycats - who will make the Bikaneri Shevs in Calcutta, and calls it Haldiram Nagpurwale, or that junkie in Pune who makes a mess of potatoes, and calls it Lucknow Ki Chat. But probably that is a blessing in disguise because then authenticity remains and consumer is not left with bad taste in mouth - literally.

About ingredients. Its brownish in colour, cuboidal in shape, laced with abundant servings of sugar cloaked Khas Khas seeds on the six surfaces.The sweet it self is made up of roasted Khoya, but believe me folks - this brown Khoya stuff is different from famous brown Brijwasi's(Mathura)Peda, or brown Benarasi Kalakand. It's just different.

Hardish just it may seem, it not just dissolves - it evaporates in the mouth. The sugar coated Khas seeds gives another twist to the taste - the crunchy effect while chewing. The khas-sugar combination also helps in keeping mouth wet while devouring this relatively dry sweet.

I hope I have developed enough interest and awareness about this yummy. If you plan to travel to Uttarakhand, or have a pahadi friend who might have come back from home recently - go fetch it. I am sure s/he may have a handful of same perched safely around some corner. At first sight it may look like fungal growth, but its not. Khas khas is herb and has medicinal properties, which insures long shelf life of this sweet.

Memories Of Midnight

No friends, this one is not as suggestive as it may sound from the heading, but yes it has something to do with the famous Sydney Sheldon novel of the same name.

That day, I went to a book store and saw this book lying unattended there. It reminded me of(besides its characters Catherine Alexander, Constantin Demiris, Napoleon Chotas, Tony Rizzoli etc) a particularly funny incident which happened with me when I came across this book for the first time.

Funny at hindsight , but not so funny at that time. It could have been a disaster.

We had just finished our ICSE(X) exams, and also had our farewell party. Until then, we had read only the goody books present in our school library like The Three Investigators series, The Hardy Boys series, The Adventures Of Sherlock Homes etc, and we had devoured almost all of them. I personally junked The Famous Five pretty early because for half the time in the book, they would keep on picnicking.

Just as we were given farewell party our adorable English teacher decided to present the select few of us some English fiction books which weren't exactly meant for boys. But then we had grown up, so she thought we should grow up on the books we read too. Bless her.

So she bought the books like Memories of Midnight, The Doomsday Conspiracy, The Eagle Has Flown etc and distributed amongst some of us at the party.

The first one I read was Memories Of Midnight. Those were the times when reading English books, and watching English movies automatically brought a stigma along with it. It wasn't exactly a taboo, but certainly a few eyebrows would raise here and there.

As those who know Sheldon, sleaze has always been a definitive part of his literature, and this book was no exception. Contrary to what the name suggests, this is not an out an out porn book. Those memories of midnight are about some nightmares the protagonists goes through, and not sleaze. However, the prologue itself had some adult content.

I had just started to read this book, when one of my maternal uncles came for a visit. He is an English teacher in an intermediate college, and takes his profession a little too seriously. He really couldn't ever come out of the teacher in him even when he was out of classroom. Even today, he talks to everyone as if he is taking a class, even to my mother who is older to him by an year.

He caught hold of the book, and when he saw the heading, he got the same expression which you all must have got seeing the heading of the post. As one would expect, the lecture started.

This book is not for the boys of my age ?
But it has been presented by my school teacher!
I wonder how a school teacher can present this?
But the book's name is misleading.
Still.. ok let me see.

As he started perusing the prologue, I panicked. He finished two pages and until then the book was safe, but the third page had it, and I knew I would be killed. Then suddenly Papa said something to him which distracted his attention, and his grip on the book got slackened. I quickly slipped the book out of his hand, and immediately left the room.

That book was tucked under the Almirah for a good two days. These were my memories from this book. For those who haven't read it, its a good book to read, along with its prequel - The Other Side Of Midnight.

Children Poems

The first one Badhe Chalo is by Dwarika Prasad Maheshwari. This one is from my Class IV Hindi syllabus book called Gyan Bharti. There were five volumes of this book each prescribed from Class I to Class V.

There is a slight mistake at line 10, but still its a nice memory trip.



The next one Paisa Paas Hota is by Nirankar Deo 'Sewak'. I like it for its sheer naughtiness, especially in the last stanza - Daant Toot Jata To Bada Maza Aata .

"What Bloody Buddy ?"

Remember the summers of 1988 ? Remember that cocky Cadet Abhimanyu Rai, Cadet Chauhan, whose Taqiya Kalam was - "I Say Chaps", and was a chain smoker ?

Aha, I see you remember it right. Yes, it was Colonel Kapoor's serial Fauji. Shahrukh Khan's first serial in the troika( Circus and Doosra Kewal being others). The fact that Shahrukh Khan is himself a real life chain smoker is another matter.

Courtesy Ramanand, I came to know about its yet another telecast, this time at Sahara one, which I missed yet another time.

I have fond memories of Fauji - the crew cut, the uniform, the discipline, and the breaking of that discipline. Abhimanyu's crush for saanwli saloni Dr Madhu, on whom he had crash landed while paratrooping(or it was the vice versa?), Parmveer Singh Chauhan's ankhe chaar with a lady during a party, and Cadet Peter's secretly smuggling of his girlfriend Cynthia into the campus.

Then there was this stern-at-exterior-but-soft-at-heart elder brother of Shahrukh - Vikram, who keeps on hurtling stiff training and punishments at Abhimanyu, and falls for General's daughter. Shahrukh Khan has his own revenge when he indirectly calls the poking Vikram a kebab mein haddi while eating kebab with Madhu at a party. Pun was intended.

Immensely popular cadet 'I Say Chaps' Chauhan was shown as lost and dead in the battle, causing many a sad hearts, only to return during the end of the serial with his trademark "I Say Chaps".

I particularly liked that dark, big mustached commando trainer, who at the end of every training drill would bark - "Koi Sawal ?", and when someone actually ask, he would again bark - "Mujhey Woh Log Pasand Hain Jo Sawal Nahin Poonchtey!", of course, without answering.

It was a very well written serial, or though same can't be said about direction.

But this post is not about Fauji, but about my Physical Training(PT) teacher who was a retired navy personnel - Mr Kushwaha.

He was a brusque middle aged man, with a hoarse voice, probably due to much shouting in his previous profession. His many voyages in sea had taken a severe toll on his skin, which clearly had many Sun burned patches.

He was a no-nonsense man, a disciplinarian with a touch of humour. But like a typical sailor, his language was gone for a toss, more so his Hindi. He spoke similar to Bombaiyya Hindi, which was a shocker for us in school and due to his military background, mild profanity had become part his Lingua Franca, which was even more shocker.

Once he pronounced, "Agar Tum Sab Shor Karega To Sabke Buttocks(Hindi) Per Ek Padega". Even the giggling girls and guffawing boys couldn't make him realize what he had spoken in the classroom.

One such event took place, when influenced by the "Buddy" concept in Fauji, one of the students asked him, who was his buddy in Navy. Since this "Buddy" thing was fictional, and evidently sir didn't watch the piece of fiction called Fauji, he barked in his usual fashion - "What Bloody Buddy?" The question died the death it deserved.

Another instance, when we were having a PT Class in the school quadrangle, it so happened that Kushwaha sir's fly got unzipped. Of course, everyone noticed it and all were laughing non-stop, and he didn't know why. I too couldn't myself stop laughing, but with some courage went up to him and spoke in his style.

Me(laughing): "Sir, Ek Baat Kahein, Aap Maarega To Nahin?"
Sir(coming to me and says politely): " Nahin Marega, Bolo".
Me(laughing): "Sir, Aapka Zip Khula Hai".
Sir(looks down, smile sheepishly, while fixing the problem): "Koi Baat Nahin Beta, Ho Jata Hai. Thank You."

Reflecting now, the incident doesn't seem as funny as it was that time, but then it was a differen age and era altogether.

Needless to say, his career in my school was pretty brief.

Easy CAT: Really ?

The CAT( Combined Admission Tests) was out of the bag yesterday for the 6 IIMs. Examinees were elated. They have double reason to do so. First, half an more(total 2.5 hours) for the paper, and then an easy Mathematics paper.

But if I were them, I would rather be not.

In my case, I have found that if the (any)paper was believed to be an "easy" by the junta, I have always fared badly. While tougher the paper, the better I did. I had realized this quite early in my life, so before any exam, I would pray to God to make it tough. Not that God had any say in making of the paper.

And this is not the absolute performance I am talking about; it was my percentile performance which bettered. And think, it might hold true for others as well, though it may not be obvious to many of us.

This is because, an 'easy' paper is just a notion, which might make sense for an interview or viva, but during a competition it is 'easy' for everyone. A weak candidate may feel easier, while a strong candidate would may come home more comfortably, so both will feel happy.

But the real problematic situation is for the fringe players like me who always remain on the edge. Reason - I never did the absolute preparation in my life, and never completed the whole course. This is since I started studying on my own, and luckily my parents believed my half lies.

My methodology was this - after studying the pattern and previous exam papers, I always, prepared what was "important" and had more "probability" to come in exams. If something was optional(like in boards) I would save my energy, by preparing only for one of the options.

Saving grace was that this "important" and "probability" was based analysis rather than instinct. Also, my strong point was speed, especially during the crisis.

An easy paper meant that those who had prepared the complete course, would be at an advantage than me because they would invariably be answering more questions.

A toughie would imply that there is no guarantee the other guy can answer all, even if he has prepared everything, and then my speed would come to my advantage.

Now an easier CAT would have nearly kept me out of reckoning(though there is nothing like a course here), and this half and hour extension would have nullified my speed advantage too.

Sad, I have flunked this CAT even without appearing for it!

Aminabad vs Laxmi Road

It was Dhanterus a few days back. Believers amongst the Hindus buy something, especially the female ones (Here I must add that it is not necessary to be a believer or a Hindu to buy something).

Aminabad and Laxmi Road are the major shopping places in Lucknow and Pune, respectively. Not of the branded kind. It is mostly the local, indigenous, and modestly cheap stuff, which is found here. Both are huge markets, and always have great rush - festival or no festival.

They look similar, but only superficially. Scratch the surface, and you see the difference.

Aminabad is an orderly chaos. In the narrow labyrinths and mazes of its lanes and bylanes which run into kilometers, you will find every item under the Sun. Exquisite chikan work, and amazing food are its specialty. Every shop floor space has been taken, each pavement is encroached.

The place is biggest feminist statement that one can give out. The odds of finding a male specimen in that place are no more than finding the same in a convent. That's one place where the male-female ratio in the country - in favour of females - is something to boast about. Even the most claustrophobic or demophobic female would be at utter peace with the place. They would feign fake reluctance, but throng the place with extreme vengeance.

Not that men aren't there at all. Usually, they are on the wrong side - the utterly demure shopkeepers. Some of them could be found devouring delicious Galawati Kebabs at 'Tunde Kebabi', or enjoying Kulfi Falooda from 'Prakash Ki MashHoor Kulfi'. And if you still find some shopping, rest assured that they are more an observer than a participant.

If bargaining is an art, then Lucknowites are master at it. But beware, they know difference between bargaining and haggling. This amazing battle ground is right here in Aminabad, and its fun to be part of this game. I have been a witness to many such battles since childhood, when I accompanied my parents and at that time I used to a bit embarrassed of all this.

The shopkeepers are incredibly polite and recklessly persuasive. Even when one is passing by a shop, and has no intention to enter to it, every effort to persuade, except physical, will be made to lure him/her to the shop. New relationships like Bhaiyya, Didi, Beti, Beta develop out of blue. Any outsider, would be pleasantly shocked, but locals know it better.

Inside the shop, you can do window shopping or just idle. No bar. Attendants would tirelessly show whatever catches your fancy, praising the customer's eye for good taste. Meanwhile a cold drink or tea would be at your side, many times without even asking the customer. My mother likes this idea big time, and heavily favours such seemingly caring and benevolent shopkeepers.

Once you have selected the item, bargaining starts. That can last as long as both the parties want. At the end of it, you might have seen thousand items, enquired about the prices of another thousand, and still you might end buying nothing. But no hard feelings. Shopkeepers still have kind departing words for you. Sometimes, they even bring back the customer from the door giving another 'fantastic' offer!

Probably, that's why a long term relationship develops between customer and shopkeeper. All in all, an absolute paradise for the shoppers.

Laxmi Road is more orderly than chaotic. The variety is same, except it is Puneri, than Luckhnawi. Items are good albeit very costly, and unlike Lucknow, they can't be brought down to your price by bargaining. And here lies the difference.

The famous 'Sadashivi Pethi' attitude of Laxmi Road, so eloquently expressed by great Pu La Deshpande comes into picture. He had said that most unvaluable and negligible thing found in Pune shops is customer. They are treated with utter contempt.

Shopkeepers are brusque, and seemingly rude. Window shopping is big no. The concept here just doesn't exists. The moment customer enters a shop, s/he starts getting cold vibes. Worse still, nobody will come forward to cater you. In fact, if you decide to walk out, it just might go unnoticed. They simply don't care if you buy or not.

Bargain at you own risk. Problem is not just of no success. You might be outrightly refused business, and rudely at that. Apney Ko Maal Nahin Bechney Ka!

Still, I would say one can do without above. The biggest problem is of choice. One has to be very precise of his needs. They will keep on asking you what 'egzhactly' you want without actually bothering to show you the stuff you can choose amongst. They don't deal in abstract, you see.

I remember, once I went to a very big and famous shop called Abhyankar Opticals for my Specs. When I asked the attendant to show the frames, he straight away asked me the number of my lense which is usually the last thing asked. When I asked him the reason, I was informed the type of frame depends upon the number of lense.

That was news to me.

Then this guy started showing me thick rimmed carbon frames which people used to wear in early seventies. I rejected them in one go, and asked for light, rimless ones. To my shock he flatly refused. With my number, which wasn't much anyway, he announced I can't wear rimless. I insisted, and he refused again.

Felt pity for his customers, including me, I walked off. Its another matter, I later bought a rimless one from the shop of a Sindhi. Pu La Deshpande was great observer and writer, I agreed. The most amazing aspect about these shops is that they are always closed from 2 PM to 4PM, for daily siesta.

Despite all of this, every one seems to be doing great business. This is because of the high disposable income with the people.

I bet if Lucknow shoppers come and set shop here, they will triple the money they make back home.

Dilli Ki Thug

In all my life, till now, I had never come across a female crook. I finally chanced upon one such Femme Fatale at the Delhi Airport.

The lady concerned was at the Air Deccan counter issuing boarding passes. She was young, and beautiful as is usually the case with Airline crew, unless, of course, it is Indian Airlines.

As it turned out, my return luggage was fifteen kilograms extra, and she coolly told me that I have to pay thousand bucks extra!

This latest piece of news sent me into the tizzy. I mentally cursed everyone who gifted extra sweater, extra clothing to Aryan. Their noble gesture had not only cost me extra coolie charges at Lucknow and Delhi Railway stations, this had also turned this no frill, low cost airline into no frill, still high cost airline.

After momentary lapse, I regained my senses and asked her to reweigh the whole stuff and show me the reading. It was what she told.

Reluctantly, I paid the said amount, and waited for the receipt. There was no sign of it. After waiting for long enough, I verbally asked her for the receipt. It was then she murmured something inaudible, as if she was trying to confide some big secret to me. Since, my ears failed to register that I begged her pardon.

This time she was a little louder. After hearing to what she has said, I couldn't believe someone can be so moron to think others are absolute morons. Well, she said that since extra weight was 15 kg, and per kg charge is 70 bucks, it was coming out to be total 1050 bucks. Therefore if I asked for the receipt, and then I might have to pay 50 rupee extra!

She presented the whole thing in such way that it seemed that she was doing me a favour, by saving a fortune that was fifty rupees! Of course, her whole idea was to pocket 1000 rupee for herself.

I told her "Thanks Ma'am, but its a bad day for both of us. Just give me the receipt." On any other day, I might have complained to airport authorities, or given her a piece of mind. But Aryan was in his elements, and boarding had already started, therefore I just moved on.

Delhi Impressions

While landing at Delhi, it was a beautiful sight. A planned landscape presents before us. Roads appear so wide even from half a Kilo Meter up. Apartments look neat, with so many open spaces and parks around.

Truly a contrast view from Pune's skies. Unplanned, and congested.

The promise shown above meets the expectation down below. Roads were indeed wide. Flyovers -so many of them - make the journey hasslefree. Not much waiting at signals which are few and far in between, courtesy flyovers. Decntly green city as well.

And for the first time in eighteen months, I had a potholed free ride, and that too from Airport to South Delhi, at least 20 KM stretch. In Pune, hardly a 100m stretch of road remains pothole free.

Infrastructure at its best. Delhi, matches up perfectly to the billing of a nation's capital.

However ...

However, brazeness of the language hits you hard, especially if one has stayed in places like Lucknow and Pune. Everyone seems to be angry, even when he is actually not.

My friends tells me of an incident, when once he was parking his bike and suddenly someone shouted with a Theth Harayanvi accent - "Oye Gaadi Udhar Se Haataale!!". When he actually looked at the offender, that guy was smiling. He was in fact trying to help my friend since latter was parking his vehicle at "No Parking".

Then I came across the "Ogling men", Delhi is becoming notorious for. And they were no ordinary men. They were poice wallahs on the bike, in posh Chanyaka Puri, bang in front of IAS bunglows. Afsar Logon Ka Bhi Darr Nahin! But then, Delhi is becoming more notorious for its Police force than anything else.

More on Delhi later.

Logging From Home

Finally, got to blog from home.

There is Durga Pooja and Ramjan together, therefore there is a zing in the markets.
Enjoying my fare share Pista Laddu, Gari Mithai, Chat and Kullhad Kulfi. However, not done yet on them and many others.

Apparently, nothing much has changed on the face of it, still a lot has actually changed.

Weather is still the same hot, roads are goodish. Sweets taste the same, and Nakkhas still has those typical traffic jamms. Polite rikshawallahs help you around in getting the luggage loaded and unloaded, and elderly autowallahs still call your ladies or Beti. To cut the long story short, the pace of life is still the same - laidback.

But there are frantic changes as well. The city roads have got new digital trafiic signals. A few days before, city got its third five star hotel - The Piccadily. The swanky Sahara Mall is the talk of the town, after the Eastend Mall. Two more malls and multiplexes - Fun Republic and G-Mall would start shop from October, and the Sahara Apollo Hospital is just about ready.

Aryan (my son) is enjoying the adulation, though the weather change and the travel has made himm a little irritating. That day, some ladies assembled, and folk songs were sang for him. Curious Aryan was the earnest listener.

More on the visit later.

United Western Bank

During past few days, we have learnt about how this bank has become sick, how its loans are getting defaulted, and how its investments have turned into bad investments. And the management had been doing nothing about this!

As a consequence, the Reserve Bank of India has put it under moratorium against any financial activity.

Though all this has happened now, I had smelt the rat seven years ago.

It so happened that when I shifted to Pune, we were particularly awestruck by two phenomenon in Pune - number of banks & number of restraunts per square KM. Arguably, the highest in India.

The place where we(I and my friend Ashutosh Nandan) made our base - the closest bank in our vicinity was United Western Bank.

I had never heard of this bank, but it sounded familiar because the closest bank in my neighbourhood back home in Lucknow was United Bank. Both were just a three minute walk from the respective places.

I and Ashutosh decided to get our accounts open in this United Western Bank itself.

However, the inside premises of the bank was a shock to our banking sensibilities. Not a single customer was to be seen inside, while a two or three clerks were gossiping around at the corner. The place was as spic and span as a temple.

We thought, we were early birds so we proceeded ahead. The moment whatever-little-staff caught our glimpse, they jumped from there seats to greet us and when they learnt about our honourable intentions, they immediately provided us the necessary forms with the guide lines how to fill it.

Like I said before, it shocked us no ends. You see, back home, our banking experience, and for that matter any sarkari experience, has been way different from that.

Bank staff there thinks they are doing a great favour on us whenever we go for some services, and even for opening an account. If you want to get a draft done, it would take a whole day. Draft cannot be fetched before 3.30 PM unless one has a jack.

If one wants to encash a cheque, take a token and go home. Come back after an hour or two, and wait further for fifteen minutes to get the amount.

A new account opening is the Mission Impossible. One has to fetch another person as guaranteer who has an account in that bank. Then those address proofs et cetra.

But here is the most interesting part. Suppose you go to a bank branch for the first time, and you want to know where is where. You accost a clerk at the nearest window, and then ask - "Bhai Sab/Madam, where do we submit the cheques?". No response. In fact, the person wouldn't even look at you. You ask again, and no response again.

After the third appeal, if you have been observing the clerk's face very attentively, that person will give a brief, almost unnoticeable nod, indicating the direction in which it happens but not the actual place.

Obliged, you would go in that direction and catch hold of another clerk, and same process follows. This will keep on happening until you converge upon the actual destination. Looks familiar? Yes - similar to Newton Raphson method!

Then to get the actual job done, it would be another ordeal.

So when this unheard, unbanking, unclerical behaviour occurred with us at the United Western Bank, it appeared somewhat fishy to us. We took staff's leave on the pretext that we haven't brought photographs along, though they were neatly tucked in our pockets, never to return again.

On hindsight, we in fact saved our hard earned money! Thank God for those so customer unfriendly banks back home!

PS: Later I learned that as far as public sector banks are concerned(SBI, Bank Of India, PNB), the story is same in Pune as well, though a little better(Canara Bank).

Babu Moshai

How ironical is the fact that legendry Hrishikesh Mukherjee died the same day another legend Mukesh Chandra Mathur left us three decades back! Ironical because the songs picturised on ill fated Rajesh Khanna in Anand, directed by Hrishi Da, were sung by Mukesh.

Hrishi Da, you did some fantastic stuff for us middle-class-small-towners. We believed in your characterizations. We identified in your natural settings. In your movies rush was less on roads and more in houses. Had less of Mumbai, and more of rest of India. Comedy wasn't loud, slapstick. Pathos was subtle rather than dramatic.

Stars played characters instead themselves. I loved your Mili. I loved the brooding Amitabh of Mili. I loved the way you left Mili open ended. I loved the naughty Jaya in Guddi. There are so many such Gudda,Guddis in schools. I loved that prayer from Guddi.

I cried at the end of Abhiman. I still cry when I see it. I can feel for Amitabh. My heart churns for Jaya. Oh, it is so real! Anand is so refreshing. Rajesh Khanna is lovable. Someone else would have made it gloomy. Again, ending was unthinkable.

Namak Haram gave us a star. Not Rajesh Khanna. He was the waning one. Its Amitabh. He stole the thunder from Rajesh.

Who can forget Parimal Tripathi aka Pyarey Mohan, Sukumar Sinha, Sulekha Chaturvedi, Vasudha and how they together pulled a fast one their "Jijja Ji" - Raghavendra Sharma! Or those lectures in Botany by the Professor of English. And the link between Corolla and Karela ? Not those who have seen it.

Golmaal has even bettered Chupke Chupke. Ek Jhooth Chhupane Ke Liye Sau Jhooth Bolne PAdtey Hain. Sheer magical screenplay and performances of boys and girls next door. A perfect dose against foul mood and related ailments.

Buddha Mil Gaya presented a murder mystery. It also had Aayo Kahan Se Ghanshyam, Bhali Bhali Si Ek Surat, and Raat Kali. Bawarchi was another household saga so commonly found but so simplistically handled.

Khoobsurat, Jhoothi explored the new dimension of Rekha and again so middle class, so identifiable. Sadma brought tears, and Bemisaal was indeed bemisaal.

Your tele venture Talash, where Alok Nath disappears, was excellent too.

But I loved your unheard, unseen Jurmana the most. One of your few movies I saw just once. That's because they never telecasted again. What a story of sin, guilt and repentance! Amitabh with negative shades, and here I must add - you had handled Amitabh the best; better than Chopras, Sippys, Mehras and Desais.

You gave us your fabulous under study in Gulzar. You yourself were the offshoot of brilliant Bimal Roy. Talented artists like Utpal Dutt, Omprakash, David, Asrani found new feet under your guidance.

We will miss you. Like the last line in Anand, "Anand Marte Nahin", people like you would never die from our memories.

Italia :Flash Back 1990

Italia 90 was the first Football World Cup which I had watched, as before that one, I was too young to comprehend, and more importantly didn't have a Television set at home.

With annual exams over, I was excited for Maradona, and so were most of my friends. However, at the end of the event, though the tournament had its moments, we all agreed that both World Cup and Maradona were a disappointment.

Most of the fault didn't lie with him. Poor guy wasn't simply allowed to play. Hardly he stood on his legs, he would be pulled down. At the end of it, his would have been some swollen knees.

Virtually, the whole World Cup was played on defensive. Many Results were decided on penalty kicks. What more, it started with a shock when minnows Cameroon piped defending champions Argentina.

Cameroon were surprise stars, with Roger Mila stealing the show. He returned back from the retirement to become the oldest man to hit a goal in the World Cup's history.

But his performance against Columbia in the pre-quarterfinals was interesting. Columbia's goalkeeper Rene Higuita was a maverick of sorts. He use to spend more time outside the penalty box than inside. He even used to take penalty kicks for the team.

Since Columbia was practicing off side trap, his misadventures outside the box could have proved dangerous. And it did. During one such misadventure, Roger Milla snatched the ball from him, and virtually escorted the ball to the nets with the hopping Higuita on his heels.

Columbia were knocked out despite having star players like Carlos Valderrama. Unfortunately, defender Andres Escobar would be killed by betters(as in bet) after scoring own goal in the next world up.

Cameroon juggernaut came to end in the quarterfinals where they lost to England, after leading 2-1 till last 10 minutes, due to two controversial penalties given against them, both hit home by the star English striker Gary Linekar.

Whenever any Football World Cup starts, English media always declares England a strong contender. This, till recently, was true for Wimbledon and Cricket World Cup too. But they never live up to the hype, at least in the period I have been following sports.

England were in the group of death - having star studded but listless Holland, competitive Ireland, and excellent Egypt to compete with. One would have imagined to witness exciting Football. On the contrary, it was the group which scored least goals, and played most draws.

In fact, Holland was ousted in the round one itself despite having stars like current coach Marco Van Basten, hippy haired Ruud Gullit, and Frank Rijkaard.

Number 3 Italy played exciting Football those days, unlike defensive now. Striker Salvatore Schillachi ran amuck in that event and won both Golden Shoe and Golden Ball. Young, promising Roberto Baggio was in their ranks, and so was Paolo Maldini. Walter Zenga, Italy's fashionable, poster boy goal Keeper had an envious record of not conceding a single goal, that is, till semi finals.

Ironically, the semi final against Argentina was a different story for him. Zenga was eclipsed by the third hero(Milla & Schillachi, the other two)of this world cup - Argentinean goalie, Sergio Goycochea.

Goycochea was incidentally the number two Goalkeeper of the team. He replaced fractured Nery Pumpido for late matches. And boy, what a replacement that was. Goycochea was instrumental in keeping formidable Brazilians at bay and knocking them out in the last sixteen.

Goycochea's heroics helped Argentina beat Yugoslavia in quarter finals in the penalty shoot out, and he was the key again with yet another shoot out
against Italy in semi finals. Fancied Zenga was piped, and Goycochea was the unlikeliest hero.

His luck, however, ran out in the finals against Germany, who had defeated England in another penalty shoot out in their semi final.

Germany had more than their fair shares of stars in the team with Captain Lothar Matthaeus, current coach Juergen Klinsmann, former coach Rudi Voeller, Andreas Brehme, Juergen Kohler, Thomas Haessler and not the least, the legendry Franz Beckenbauer as the coach.

But final was bit of disappointment. Three Argentinean players, including the prolific scorer - Claudio Caniggia - were forced to sit out of the main eleven because of two yellow cards in the previous matches.

In the later half, they were playing with only nine players. And to add insult to the injury, referee awarded a very controversial penalty in last five minutes which was duly scored by Brehme.

That brought some what defensive Italia 90 to the end. However, I enjoyed it nevertheless with the typical kid's exuberance.

Breathtaking Africa

Keeping in my mind the performance in current world cup, and the past ones which I have seen, one thing I am pretty sure about - as Cricket's future lies in the Indian sub-continent, Football's future clearly lies with Africa.

If one would have seen Ghana-Czech match, and the Ivory Coast-Holland match, s/he would agree with my point of view. Why only these matches, or this tournament, I have been seeing this right from Italia 90 days, when I first saw a Football world cup. African's skilled ball maneuvering and passes are a treat to watch.

If Italia 90 belonged more to Cameroon and Roger Milla than Germany, and Schillachi, the last one in Korea and Japan was as much of Senegal as that of Brazil. The whole Nigerian Football team was wiped out in an air crash in the 1990s and still they regrouped and won the African Nations Cup.

Senegal were more impressive in their campaign in 2002. They defeated defending champions France in their opener, and this defeat dented latter's confidence so much that they couldn't put a single goal in the whole tournament and exited in first round. The irony was that the most of these Senegalese players played club Football in France's Football league.

Then they drew with Denmark and Uruguay, knocked out Sweden in last 16 with a golden goal, and unluckily lost out to impressive Turkey in quarter finals with a golden goal.

Having said that, I believe Europeans have the most overrated teams in the world, with England the most. They have never lived up to their hype. I always found them mediocre. Without Rooney, they are just the same.

Holland have never even flattered to deceive, and couldn't even qualify last time. Even with the stars like Marco Van Basten, Frank Rijkaard, Ruud Gullit, they couldn't qualify to next round in Italia 1990. They just have Euro 1992 win to talk about.

Italy have given up on attacking Football. Defense is their main stay now. The style of Roberto Baggio, and Schillachi have been dumped in the relics. Portugal is clearly overrated, and so is Christiano Ronaldo. He needs to stop playing to the galleries, and Fuigo, I am afraid, is a spent force.

Germany, has improved. Certainly from the last Euro and World Cup, in terms of performance. Hope they keep up the performance.

What more, even you can see that key players playing for the European sides are imported ones - be it Zinadine Zidane or Thierry Henry, and many more.

So we need to keep a watch on Africa!

Jab Khuda Meherbaan...

...To Gadha Pehelwaan!

Virendra Sehwag has been declared the captain of India. Nothing personal, but it really pains no end.

I bet if Leander Paes starts playing Cricket, he will do it better than the fatso. A game is not merely about the skill, it is also about the attitude and passion.

A passion, a resolve for anything can overcome any hurdle, be it hurdle of technique, or injury, and if this passion is about winning for the country, then almost everything is possible.

This is just what Leander Paes did yet another time for the country. Down with the cramps and fatigue, he still pounced at the Pakistani in the final set. Of course, he used his brains too, to conserve his energy. This match was for me one of the most cherished ones I have ever seen.

Why only this, I have grown up on the abundant doses of the marathon career of Leander Paes. Each match he won or lose is a cherished one. His passion on the court would ooze out of the television screen. A shout of "Leander" had almost become a second national anthem.

No other sports person in this country shows such fighting skills, when the chips are down, as Leander does. He is always ready to fight his guts out, when it comes to country. Medals at the olympic vouch that. Only Rahul Dravid comes close in terms of commitment.

His passion for the country made him a giant killer in Davis Cups. The first match he played, way back in 1990, was a doubles one, partnering with seasoned Zeeshan Ali. It was against Japan in Chandigarh and we won it despite loosing the first set, and believe it or not the last and the fifth set was won 18-16.

I still remember that match vividly, and this young man was a revelation. Zeeshan, I heard switched to golf, and this man hasn't looked behind since then. That started the era of giant killing of higher seeds which took some time to end.

His first humiliation was of a more-gas-less-substance Jeremy Bates of Great Britain. It was followed by crushing of Jakob Hlasek of Switzerland in singles, and then defeat of Marc Rosset in doubles. Multiple Davis Cup winner Switzerland was defeated in the first round of World Group!

Then came the big one. In the quarter finals, India defeated France. It was my most memorable Davis Cup tie. He defeated much celebrated Henri Leconte, and then went to annihilate higher seed Arnaud Boetsch. Even in defeats against United States, Leander took one set against both Todd Martin, and Jim Courier.

Then came the match of his life, when he took the winds out of Goran Ivanisevic, after being two sets down. That's Leander for you. Croatia was ousted. But story was not over. Now it was the turn of Netherlands to bite the dust. Leander swept past Jan Siemerink.

India did lose to Sweden, but Jonas Bjorkman had to battle for five sets against our hero. Nicholas Kulti could also escape by just a whisker. Against Czech republic, Jiri Novak was defeated, while Petr Korda was given a run for his money.

His other memorable battles includes overcoming of Gabriel Silberstein of Chile, and stretching Marcelo Rios to four sets. Then there was a five setter cliff hangers against Greg Rusedeski, and Tim Henman. What more, even Andy Roddik was made to lose the trademark first set.

Unfortunately, Virendra Sehwag neither has brains, nor passion. And he has been declared the captain of India, when he should have been kicked out. Kudos selectors.

I just remember the song of film Gopi-

Ram Chandra Keh Gaye Siya Se
Aisa Kaljug Aeyga
Hans ChugeGa Dana Ghun Ka
Kauwa Moti Khaiga

So apt. We all know who is Hansa, and who is Kauwa.