Sport is about passion. And when its cricket and involves Indian fans, it is passion laced with madness. Our cricketers are our heroes. Thanks to the unbelievable turn around by Kapil Devils, way back, cricket continued to woo and inspire a lot of Indians. And when the world cup is won on the home turf with the command performance in 2011, as though it belonged to India, #Wewontgiveitback was expected to be coined for 2015. Realistically, though, when the likes of Sourav, Sachin, Rahul could not get it for India, the likes of Kohli, Raina, MSD would have to perform a miracle to get it. And miracle happened once, in 2011. Was it foolishness to expect it again? But, that is the way of the fan. We live with our cricketers ups and downs, with their tantrums of form and no-form. And they live with our admiration and despondence. The cycle goes on and on, the same fan who is throwing tantrums now, will hail their names when the next series begins. Well, at least most of them. And then, there is a sect, that disgraces sports fans in general. I won't go there!
What surprised me in this world cup was that we reached semi-finals. Honestly, with the performance in the Australian tour, I expected us to be fighting to reach quarters, let alone stand as the group leader. And what surprised me even more was our bowlers. Bowlers, who could not get half the Australian team in tests, getting the opposition out on seven consecutive occasions. Their performance masked the troubles in our unit. Our fielding has been something that changed for the better a while ago and still stood on par for an ICC event this world cup. Our batting, which is predominantly world class individually, suffered from a similar weakness of working as a unit. And our bowling, which is below par even than an associate nation pulled off a humdinger. The journey was smooth and the tougher competitors left their better games for latter half of the group stage. When the chinks of top order were exposed, someone put their hand up and delivered.
And the time came, for the knockouts. The hapless Bangladesh could not keep their wit together. We pounced on the chance and steamrolled them to the semis. Without a single win against Aussies on their soil, we are fighting in their backyard on the biggest stage of cricket, with all our open wounds to be poked at. And boy, did they do it? Bowlers were creamed, barring Ashwin. And when batting, we were supposed to be a unit who could chase 300 down. Dhawan and Rohit were standing tall for the opening stand, before Dhawan threw it away and Rohit got bowled. Kohli could not get his much needed start. And within a blink of an eye, the match was done. Three down, two fifty plus to score and we were asking for an unrealistic victory. And it was with sadness in my heart, that I watched the rest collapse. And it hurt. It hurt because of the sense of false security given by our team that they could outperform any team in batting. Though in my heart, I knew, we could not chase down 329, I hoped. I prayed. I said pretty please. None were heard. A hope shattered, a tear dropped. A certain depression set in. Despite everything, it hurt. Despite bravado, it took time to recover. Despite moving on, I still seem to be pretty hung up on it.
If I, an observer, is this despondent, I cannot even begin to imagine what our team must be facing. MSD, the unassuming leader of the pack, Kohli with his passion on his sleeve, Jinks in his quiet laid back way, Raina with his tattooed 'belief(ve)', SRJ with his unfathomable form, Dhawan with his philosophy, Rohit with his records... what must they be feeling? The bowling that was hailed for their turn around, fumbled on the very stage they were expected to perform. What must be going through their mind? SRJ could not get to turn the ball, Ashwin had little support, Umesh bowled with pace unaccustomed to Indian bowler, Shammi's swung the ball, Mohit bowled some length, yet, nothing answered the questions raised by Steven Smith, the nemesis for Indians throughout the tour. And he did it again!
I am not angry, I just am sorry. It is a hard fall from a ninth cloud, isn't it? But, it was not so bad while it lasted, though! Seventy wickets by a hopeless bowling unit, agile fielding, some brilliant batting, seven consecutive wins, MSD's smile at his 'sheer-luck' left-handed dive catch, oh, the so awesome run out by Umesh and heart stopping catch by Dhawan, there is plenty to remember this world cup for. Thank you, ICT for the memories.
For today, I will quietly despair. For tomorrow, I will hope. Bleed blue, all the way!!
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 3, 2015
I am water, I flow along...
Was looking for some inspiration to write anything other than book reviews. Found this interesting writing challenge on Daily Post and gave it a try...
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Water exists in many forms - ice, water and steam. It changes its form based on its surroundings and factors that influence its core. What suits me best, would be water, in that, most of the time, I flow along, whatever the setting may be.
As a kid with working parents and in a joint family, it was necessary for me to be able to hold my tears, anger, frustration. Many a time, despite the feeling of anger or grief, it was imperative to be happy and play along. What used to work for me then, was to draw on a piece of paper, until I could get a handle on myself before being presentable to folks in the house or to run laps in a playground until I could no longer hold breath in my lungs, when I would just settle down and breathe; and with every breath, I would feel lighter. Part of the reason, to hold on to my emotions was pride, so as to not look vulnerable to my family and other part of it was that, I was taught to believe that I am in control of my life and all the answers are within me, if I have the persistence to look within. For me, that control included being in control of my emotions too and to find the balance inside me. And negative emotions wear people down, family included. Was I drawing on a paper or running laps in the ground when I was happy, sure, but I did not mind sharing my happiness, as much as I minded sharing my sadness.
Then I grew up. I realized its OK to show your honest emotions, especially to the ones who can understand. Family aside, trusting to find the one who was OK with my emotions was an altogether different ball game, but when I did, I was OK to bring down the walls of pride, though, surely, not all down. Everyone needs a defensive wall to climb behind, when going gets tough. It was always behind the confined walls of my mind and heart, that the fiercest battles were fought, with myself and with the world around me. This left me sometimes feeling like an ocean, kissing its merry little sea shore with waves of mirth, while holding a volcano that is erupting its hideous vapor into its belly.
Then I grew up a little more. I played the charade a bit more elaborately. I started being what YOU perceived me to me. I realized, being different me, made me feel like a trickle on hot sand, fighting for a chance to survive, yet evaporating. It was exhausting, to fit a mould, to appease everyone. In self-righteousness, I turned inward. I did not care much for anything other than self. I was arrogant enough to feel that I had the right to express myself without a care for the audience. I was free flowing, sometimes a ripple, sometimes a tsunami. Sometimes, that burned my skin, sometimes, that soothed the pain and sometimes, it just came back to haunt me. It took me time, to eventually evolve to the maturity that I cannot be whole, perceiving myself as a mirage of someone else or by being selfish. It took time, to understand that I need to force my way through life, to leave a mark, but I can only do it, if I am me, flowing like the perennial river, jutting through the rocks, collecting pebbles (perceive them to be experiences, confidantes), creating a path for myself to follow.
See, it was then that I realized, the kid in me dealt better with life. She already knew that she was responsible for her well-being, emotional or otherwise. She had a better handle of life than the grown-up me. So I went back to what I was taught and what worked for me before, to finding answers in me than the world around me. I adapted, just like water, to the surroundings, learning to survive, to pave my way through the paths of life, flowing through to the sunset of life...
-------------
Water exists in many forms - ice, water and steam. It changes its form based on its surroundings and factors that influence its core. What suits me best, would be water, in that, most of the time, I flow along, whatever the setting may be.
As a kid with working parents and in a joint family, it was necessary for me to be able to hold my tears, anger, frustration. Many a time, despite the feeling of anger or grief, it was imperative to be happy and play along. What used to work for me then, was to draw on a piece of paper, until I could get a handle on myself before being presentable to folks in the house or to run laps in a playground until I could no longer hold breath in my lungs, when I would just settle down and breathe; and with every breath, I would feel lighter. Part of the reason, to hold on to my emotions was pride, so as to not look vulnerable to my family and other part of it was that, I was taught to believe that I am in control of my life and all the answers are within me, if I have the persistence to look within. For me, that control included being in control of my emotions too and to find the balance inside me. And negative emotions wear people down, family included. Was I drawing on a paper or running laps in the ground when I was happy, sure, but I did not mind sharing my happiness, as much as I minded sharing my sadness.
Then I grew up. I realized its OK to show your honest emotions, especially to the ones who can understand. Family aside, trusting to find the one who was OK with my emotions was an altogether different ball game, but when I did, I was OK to bring down the walls of pride, though, surely, not all down. Everyone needs a defensive wall to climb behind, when going gets tough. It was always behind the confined walls of my mind and heart, that the fiercest battles were fought, with myself and with the world around me. This left me sometimes feeling like an ocean, kissing its merry little sea shore with waves of mirth, while holding a volcano that is erupting its hideous vapor into its belly.
Then I grew up a little more. I played the charade a bit more elaborately. I started being what YOU perceived me to me. I realized, being different me, made me feel like a trickle on hot sand, fighting for a chance to survive, yet evaporating. It was exhausting, to fit a mould, to appease everyone. In self-righteousness, I turned inward. I did not care much for anything other than self. I was arrogant enough to feel that I had the right to express myself without a care for the audience. I was free flowing, sometimes a ripple, sometimes a tsunami. Sometimes, that burned my skin, sometimes, that soothed the pain and sometimes, it just came back to haunt me. It took me time, to eventually evolve to the maturity that I cannot be whole, perceiving myself as a mirage of someone else or by being selfish. It took time, to understand that I need to force my way through life, to leave a mark, but I can only do it, if I am me, flowing like the perennial river, jutting through the rocks, collecting pebbles (perceive them to be experiences, confidantes), creating a path for myself to follow.
See, it was then that I realized, the kid in me dealt better with life. She already knew that she was responsible for her well-being, emotional or otherwise. She had a better handle of life than the grown-up me. So I went back to what I was taught and what worked for me before, to finding answers in me than the world around me. I adapted, just like water, to the surroundings, learning to survive, to pave my way through the paths of life, flowing through to the sunset of life...
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