Goodbye Sachin... Thank you God...

As an ardent Sachin Tendulkar fan, I have lived through many delightful moments over the last 20 years or so. I started following cricket when Tendulkar was already four years into international cricket. I still remember the evening with my family watching the Hero Cup Semi-final match between India and South Africa. This was 1993, and South Africa had just come back to mainstream cricket after the apartheid, while India was taking baby steps towards becoming a cricketing super power (at least off-field!). The match was poised for a tantalizing finish, and South Africa needed 5 or 6 odd runs from 6 balls to complete a memorable victory. No Indian bowler had the courage to pick up the ball from the Indian Captain. It was precisely then, when Tendulkar stepped up, and almost snatched the ball from Azhar (Indian Skipper), and the rest as they say is history. India had won the match. And I started to admire Tendulkar… I had become a fan of the legend. Tendulkar had already won millions of admirers by then. Though, I did not know then that the man I just watched bowl the last over was already a phenomenon in cricketing circles, and was touted as the next big thing in cricket.

A lot has been written about him, a lot has been analyzed about his cricketing skills and techniques (perhaps the most analyzed cricketer ever). Nevertheless, as the great man bows out of the game, which he loves so dearly, I am tempted to reminisce Tendulkar’s greatness. He will not be a part of any Indian cricket team after 18th November 2013, but he will forever be a part of cricketing folklore as a boy wonder, and a boy who just wanted and loved to play the game of cricket. Period.

What will I dearly miss? The straight drive, the upper cut, the whip through the on-side, the off-drive, the back-foot punch... the list is endless. I will miss his mannerisms, his joyful face on the fall of an opposition wicket, his name on the Indian scorecard, or the "Sachiiin, Sachin" chants whenever he comes out to bat. For me the joy of watching cricket is watching Tendulkar in full- or half-flow. Some of his innings (and the things / events associated with them) are etched out in my mind – the 143 in Sharjah in 1998 (the next day in school we made our English teacher describe the innings, as we could not witness it live... But I have seen the re-telecast many a times later. I even once tried to record the commentary of that match in a tape recorder... I still remember the late Tony Greig screaming “What a player; What a wonderful player”); the 176 versus West Indies in Eden Gardens in 2002 (it was a particularly cold morning in Kolkata, and until the hundred I had done nothing. My mother was red-faced with anger...); the 200 versus South Africa in 2010 (the whole cafeteria in office was roaring. Never had I seen such raucous crowd in a professional setting... I bet it will never happen again...); the 98 versus Pakistan in 2003 World Cup (After a delightful square drive Robin Jackman just said “Ah!” and a long pause); the 115 versus Australia in 1999... There had been many instances when I had moved away from the TV set, or switched it off when Tendulkar had got out. At times I had criticized him in public, but in my heart I had a faith in him, like I have in God, which made me believe that he will somehow overcome every criticism, every cynic... Everything.

To me Tendulkar stands for belief, for hope, which inspires me. I remember watching some of the videos or during live matches when he would get standing ovation – my eyes would get moist (at times I have even shed a tear or two...Against Kenya, when he made 140, after he returned from his dad’s funeral; against Australia during the 2011 tour when the Australian crowds at all the venues would stand up to welcome him or when he departed...)

What is that which I like about Tendulkar so much? For me the clincher is his tremendous work ethic, his artisan-like approach to hone his skills, which is already God gifted. And above all his passion for the game. He is supremely talented, yet so humble and works so hard. I think that sets him apart. Sports (including cricket) has been blessed with tremendous talents... But none can match Tendulkar. I am sure none would have the approach of Tendulkar towards the game of cricket, for which he is like God-send. One may argue that with Tendulkar’s talent it is evident that Tendulkar would be Tendulkar. But the biggest point, which is often missed here, is that talent can open the first door, but it will not open the last. And success is not about winning the battle; it’s about winning the war.

There has been legends before and there will be many in future, not only in cricket but across many human disciplines – be it sports, science, medicine, technology... But there would not be a Tendulkar. Never. He has taught Indians to dream, to shatter the shackles and break-free... He has carried the burden of a nation on his shoulders since his teenage years... He has united the whole of India... which probably no politician or a national leader could possibly envision. When in full flow he could make India stop. Literally... He has been an institution of perfection, abstinence and above all he is as clean as a whistle.

Over the years, I always used to calculate how long would he play? How long would I be able to enjoy Tendulkar? I often used to tell myself – another 10 years (when he was around 30).... then it gradually came down to 5 years, to 3 years, and to 1 year. But I always wanted him to continue forever. Like a utopian speculation, I always believed he can defy age, and continue to play for another ten years. If not all the formats, at least test cricket. And now he stands at the cusp of saying GOODBYE for the final time. Another 5 days, may be 4, may be 3... Who knows? He will depart the cricket field, but his legacy will live forever. For many more years. Light years.

 

Bura na mano, Holi hai!

I lost at least 10-15 ‘years’ today and in very quick time – just 3 odd hours in the morning (Don’t get me wrong...it’s akin to losing weight...nothing serious!!)... I felt like the protagonist of those movies, where the hero gets up in the morning and finds him younger... by 15-20 years (although I am not so old to lose 15-20 years, hence I lost less!). It was as if I had been on a time machine, which took me almost 15 years back to my childhood days (or 6-7 years back, even during my college days in Bangalore), when I used to play ‘Holi’ – the festival of colours.

Before today, I think I would have last played Holi in Bangalore, during college. I have been here in Gurgaon for 3 years now - stayed in Delhi for 2 more, which makes it a grand 5 years in this part of the country. But coincidence or misfortune or whatever you may like to call it, I could never take part in the Holi festivities, which I must say is grand – one of the biggest after ‘Diwali’ (the festival of lights), especially in the northern parts of the country. I must say that India is a nice country – if not for anything else but for its festivals – of different hues, shades, brightness, and contrasts...That I got to celebrate ‘Holi’ – makes me even proud of my nationality. Nevertheless, it’s a debatable topic – for now, let’s accept that India is great, and soak in the colours of Holi.

The fun began in the morning. Although I woke up to a normal ‘holiday mode’ morning, but a bit early, I never expected it to take such a drastic turn within few minutes of my leaving the bed. I started the day with my customary glance at the morning daily – which, I must add, got my better half furiously angry. She thought I would soak her with colours the moment she would come out of the bed in the morning. At least I had committed that before, and this being our first Holi together made it all the more special (we missed out last year, we were in Pattaya). But I missed to do that (although in a true sense, I did not miss that. I was actually waiting for an opportune moment and place. I did not want to get everything coloured! But she thinks that’s just an excuse... Marriage can change your life, you know. Albeit for good...my wife will also read this blog!!) and she was furious at me. But it did not take much longer for her to be sombre and for our fun to begin, for things took an unexpected turn the moment we took the colours, which we (she; I missed out here again! Last few days have been unusually hectic at work and I have been getting late for almost the entire last week) had bought to celebrate Holi, and went downstairs... a flock of 10-15 year olds were waiting for us (and of course our landlord, his extended family!). Equipped with water guns and canons, buckets and balloons, they hurled the first colours at us and that was the start... Aah!

For the next 3 or so hours we were smearing colours at each other, smashing balloons on each other’s backs, bullying each other with bucketful of colourful water and of course, cannoning and gunning (with water) our way to glory. I must also add that the water cannons and the guns these days are much more sophisticated, powerful (to handle the torture) and robust, unlike what we had those days when we were kids. We even did not spare the passersby – some got their cars coloured, some got themselves wet and some volunteered to get themselves (and sometimes their cars) soaked up in coloured water. Some gave us stern looks; others were scared even with the windows of their cars up, while some others had a big smile on their face and some may have even cursed us. We wished there were more auto rickshaws on road today. I need not tell you why. We did a lot of damage to the privileged ones travelling in an auto rickshaw on a Holi. But then, who the hell cared! It was a riot of colours and water. North Indians have a nice way to calm the people who are not-so-happy when you put colours on them – “Bura na mano, Holi hai!” (Don’t feel bad, it’s Holi).

It was plain simple fun. Sometimes these simple things in life make you so much happier than a lot of other ‘complicated’ things – like for example losing 5 kilogram weight, or may be reducing the waistline, or getting the yearly bonus, or the promotions, or making your boss happy (At this time, I am unable to think of any other suitable example to fit the bill. Excuse me for that). So until next time – be happy and enjoy life, as it comes. Let this Holi fill your life with colours. Cheers.

N.B. I wish I could shed some weight like the way I shed years from my life today. I know it will take time and I will keep trying. ‘Where there is will ... ...’ you know it!!

The Goal of Life and Indian Reality Shows

That's a million dollar question. I bet everyone of us has our shares of confusion on the above question. Though some might have figured it out already (I would have said I have figured it out, but as I write confusion creeps in my mind, slowly...). This is that 'one' thing which makes everyone of us uncomfortable when asked/discussed about. After all, everyone of us wants to live in a utopia, but none of us are sure about building one. Sure enough, I may sound philosophical about the issue here, but I am absolutely sure when I say that it takes a humongous effort to figure out an answer to this discomforting question about the goals in our lives...But I have absolutely figured out my priorities, if not my goal, to say the least.

I have set my priorities, and, slowly and steadily striving to achieve whatever I have set for myself in my life. That is what I call a goal for myself. But it utterly displeases me when I see youthful exuberance lost in all activities unproductive and unyielding. The 'bone of contention' here is a bunch of boisterous youth, with whom I share my paying guest accommodation in Gurgaon, touted as the new India's millennium city. With all due respects to everyone's sentiments and "Goals", I am helpless but to discuss about the sheer wastage of time involved in watching boring/loud/disgustful reality shows aired on Indian television. I am not trying to prove a point here as Mr. Perfect or as a messiah reminding people of what to do and what not. But I am absolutely sure of the fact - nothing great can be achieved by just wasting time watching loud mindless shows on the idiot box...especially youth. Young minds and heart, at the zenith of youthful exuberance, watch these reality shows aired during prime time on Indian television (are the youth only to blame...Indian television is also to blame to a lot of extent). 

The plethora of shows just grows on an on, like a juggernaut, and have reached a tipping point(1).  The reality shows are gaining TRPs like a snowball descending down a snowy peak - gaining mass every second, which is supportive of the fact that a lot of people subscribe to such shows, including the young in India. While some shows are knowledgeable an of better taste. But majority of it are mind- and meaning- less. One channel shows a lady (known for all wrong reasons) giving 'insaaf' to the needy. Agreed that the Indian legal system is old and dysfunctional, to say the least, with millions of cases pending (that is a different disscussion altogether...and I will not indulge in that here), but a useless lady providing justice to the needy and against issues such as domestic violence...and what not...I can't take that (I repeat, I also fail to understand how can people watch such shows during prime time). While another, focuses on personal lives of celebrities. Now in India, the celebrity word has a different meaning altogether. Here's an example - the lawyer representing Ajmal Kasab, the most dreaded terrorist and India's most hated person (infamous for the famous 26/11 Mumbai attacks), is a celebrity in his own right and people can go great distance to watch him live on air. Oh my good God! Some of these shows aired on Indian televsion is in a way funny. It is bound to tickle, shake or send chills down your funny bone. Some examples (acquired through over-hearing the loudness with which the shows are heard / viewed by the remorseless audience in my paying guest facility) - the judges fighting with each other, in some cases fighting like street dogs, participants making a mockery of judges or sharing a joke about the judges and the judges laughing at it (I mean this is heights of everything - laughing at a joke based on you! How distasteful can you become to do that?)...In every sense I feel ridiculed as a "peeping / overhearing Tom"...Things get worse on weekends, when the programmes are repeated for the audience who missed it. A weekend wasted on watching reality shows on television. Can't even imagine in my worst of nightmares. At least, I have better things to do in life...like working on my weaknesses and trying to figure out greater things which I wish to accomplish and have already figured it out as a goal for myself. 

Did I just say that I have figured out my goals? Are you lost in the maze of reality shows already?...Wake up or else you will surely lose out...and thats the only plausible reason for me to be happy with the reality shows - strategically, I will be miles ahead in my thought process, free of 'reality' clutter...Long live Indian reality shows...

Note: (1) Tipping Point is a concept and is best explained in the book titled "Tipping Point" by Malcolm Gladwell. It's an interesting read.

Wanderlust

I remember Tagore...

“I went to see hills, I went to see rivers...But I could not find them with my eyes wide open...”

My bad to try and translate Tagore...but those fond of the great poet would know these lines in Bengali and the beautiful rhythm the poem have. My wandering soul remembered the lines as I idle around on this day, a lazy Saturday afternoon with the sun scorching outside...and the fan unable to keep me cool. But nevertheless my mind wandered and took me back to the last weekend – a two-day trip to Haridwar and Rishikesh.

The beginning though was not all that great. I, along with one of my colleagues, started for Haridwar-Rishikesh on Thursday night, after working in office for 10 long hours. The reason to choose Haridwar-Rishikesh was spontaneous and until one o’ clock in the night we were not sure whether we would ultimately reach Haridwar or end up somewhere else either in Jaipur or Ajmer or Amritsar. It was a long weekend and everyone wanted to go out. Knowing well in advance that Delhi-ites always love to show-off, we assumed most of the people in Delhi would travel by their own cars and we can easily get seats if we travel by bus. However, when we reached the inter-state bus terminus, we were a bit surprised. Throngs of people jostling around in a mad frenzy...some trying to bribe the man manning the ticket counter, some trying to grab a quick bite...and some went ahead and started to connect with friends on Facebook (wait, not through Blackberry or a smartphone, but through a laptop connected to the internet via a wireless USB modem...God bless them...Can’t stop myself...I mean how can someone be such a dumb ass to open a laptop at such places, leave alone Facebook...mad, mad world). Such was the scramble for seats that people literally fought for them. I was not very sure that I would be able to catch the mad ‘seat-rush’ and ultimately grab a seat (I am a true peace-loving Bong!!). So I grabbed my colleagues back-pack and his camera bag with a Canon 60D inside worth around INR80,000 (I wish I had one!). And finally, it was due to him that finally we got two seats and were off to Haridwar at one in the night.

Last time when I had a trip to Rajasthan (it was a lovely trip and memoirs of it will be hard to pen, however I would try it later), I never had to worry about anything. But this time around, I was a bit sceptical (after all we did not have a great start to the trip). Taking things into perspective, we decided that when we would reach Haridwar, we would first take a hotel room and then book the bus tickets for the return trip. However, we reached Haridwar around six in the morning and there was nothing that we could do other than looking for a decent hotel. So we took a room in a decent enough hotel and had a nice sleep for the next couple of hours. Haridwar during this time of the year is terribly hot and we never had the idea that it would be so hot...there was no chance that we could go out and enjoy during the noon once we got up from our sleep. But heat or cold, we had to enjoy...and take a dip, like million other fellow Hindus, in the holy waters...So we got up in the noon, had lunch and went out to discover Haridwar...

Haridwar, in Sanskrit ‘Hari ka Dwar’ or Gateway to God and one of the seven holiest places for the Hindus, is an idyllic place with the economy centred on the river Ganges. The Ganges, ‘Ganga’ to the Indians, descends to the plains at Haridwar, after flowing for 200 odd kilometres from her source in the Himalayas. It is the place where the Hindus congregate for the famous ‘Kumbh Mela’. So taking a dip in the holy waters of ‘Ganga’ in Haridwar is considered an ablution of sorts to wash away the sins one has committed. Albeit, we too purified ourselves, but never took a dip...The ‘ghat’ (a place to congregate on a river bank) in Haridwar is known as ‘Har ki Pauri’ and everyday very nice ‘puja’ and ‘aarti’ is performed at ‘Har ki Pauri’. During our stay in Haridwar, we spent the evenings at the ‘ghat’ with our legs dipped in the water, overlooking the ‘aarti’ and the holy waters of the Ganges. The atmosphere was just so mystical (but there was never a hint of silence, with everything around us making noise...the ‘bhajans’, the people, the bells...everything), as if all the gods have descended from their heavenly abode (and we humans were busy making our presence felt through a cacophony of sounds). But I wished that there was at least a little bit of silence...imagine the sound of the river flowing and you are praying, with legs dipped in water, hands folded in reverence and eyes closed...I sometimes wonder, that, why do we Hindus create so much noise while worshipping our Gods?...it can be a silent peaceful process...isn’t it? I cannot imagine myself as God and people worshipping me by creating so much noise.

We went to Rishikesh on the next day. We started early in the morning and took a three-wheeler to travel a distance of approx. 25 kilometres. In this part of India, everything is so reasonable (or may be unreasonably simple)...I was surprised, that the fare for the 25 kilometre ride to Rishikesh was worth just INR25 (and I never bargained with the driver for the fare). Rishikesh, known for its famous yoga exponents, gets travellers (especially foreigners) all round the year. It is located in the foothills of the Himalayas and provides nice panoramic views. The place has also got an assortment of ‘ashramas’ (places where yoga exponents of India practice yoga) with sprawling campuses. We decided to reach ‘Lakshman Jhula’ (a miniature cable bridge over the Ganges) first and then walk our way back to the point from we could travel back to Haridwar. Once we reached ‘Lakshman Jhula’ we had breakfast at a German bakery on the river banks and captured some panoramic views in the Canon 60D which we were carrying. Unlike Haridwar, it was serene and peaceful...On our way back we did some shopping (Rishikesh, of all places), which included a large back-pack (enough to carry stuff for an entire week. A very good buy I would say) and some other stuffs here and there. Post-shopping we realised that we were just left with enough cash to reach Haridwar (and were almost de-hydrated as we could not afford to buy some drinking water!).

The trip was nearing end and good times were soon to be over...that evening we spent a blissful time at the ghat. My colleague experimented with his camera (he did manage to record a bit of ‘aarti’) and I was praying my hearts out for some solace, and many more things in life!!!

Very soon it was Sunday morning, and we had to start again for our return journey...my heart was heavy with the thought of office the very next day...but it was ‘rejuvenation unlimited’...

Scamsters, Gangsters and ...

Not so long ago India was touted as the land of elephants and snake charmers. Not anymore...India today is known as the land of information technology and call centre...or is it truly so...I think India should be known as the land of scamsters, gangsters (and masters). Let me explain in detail.

Scamsters: A dictionary defines a scamster to be one who perpetrates scams (or perpetrates something that invariably ends up in the involvement of lot of money...hell of a lot). But can we define all the scamsters in the same light...Certainly not...In the world of Madoffs (of the infamous Ponzi fame) and dirty US bankers (the ones who brought the world to its knees) Indian scamsters are to be considered in a different league altogether...Yes, no prizes for guessing that I will be talking about the dirty rotten scoundrels – Indian politicians...and not one or two but a plethora of them. The year that is about to end in a few days time, was marked by the occurence of atleast half a dozen “mother of all scams”. Such was the magnanimity of each scams that each one would fight for the coveted “mother of all scams” title. First it was the Commonwealth Games (should I call it common wealth scam), a scam of roughly around INR70,000 crore...then came the Telecom Spectrum Allocation Saga, a scam of roughly around INR170,000 crore. I would stop the listing here, leave alone the superstars involved in these scams...these numbers do numb my mind and boggle mind in drawing bizarre conclusions...Land of Scamsters – hence proved.

Gangsters: Men (or women, pardon me if I hurt the female sentiments!) with dark character and an uncanny poise and charm that works wonders to create the aura of invincibility around them. Contract killing, extortion, kidnapping, murder (and many more) are his watchwords. Such dogged is their determination that it would put the greatest of all determinists to shame. These stars, a breed which is abundant in India, determine the fate of the common man and the politicians (to whom they are close associates) alike. They can control the profits of your business (read extortion) or manipulate the results of assembly elections (read contract killing, murder, kidnapping...). Such is their stronghold that it is quite common in our conutry for many of them to lead political parties. After all they have that innate ability to influence and lead people!I would not tarnish their glorified names here...but needless to say they hold a status quo in the society which is time and again glorified by the Indian media...Land of Gangsters – hence proved.

Till now I have tried to deduce a lot (not much deduction I should say, but applied inferences)...in a fashion similar to Holmesian inference (For the ignorant soul, I would leave it to them to find out the meaning of Holmesian inference). In the end, I would like to deduce that India is also a land of masters. These men are ordinary men with extraordinary deeds. They are masters in their own right...who have actually brought a lot of laurels to our motherland. Once again I would not want to take names (just in case I miss out on any and alas! The media also does not glorify them always like it does for the previous two cases) But nevertheless, these men of extraordinary repertoire deservedly command respect and I salute them. Not for their great deeds, that I deem them worthy of the honour but for the hope that they give me...that hardwork and determination pays and that all things can't go wrong in this great country.

Hail our heroes, whether they are scamsters, drilling a unmendable hole in the Indian exchequer or gangsters, killing and extorting ruthlessly or masters, glorifying India in the world stage. Don't get me wrong...I am just asking you to hail the heroes...laurels or brickbats ultimately they are the stars which defines or lends a meaning to India...the “LAND OF 'STERS''...upto you to decide what should be appended to 'STER'.

Romantic Rain

I am neither a poet nor a romanticist…but I love rains – a conclusion that probably defies logic. My romanticism with rains began since the very early days of my life. No, I was not influenced by the Bengali poetry (It requires a special mention here that lot of Bengali poetry, especially Tagore, has been inspired by rains), I was not influenced by the Bengali delicacy of ‘Khichudi’ (Hotchpotch, an English word which probably can never describe Khichudi) and ‘Bhaja Ilish’ (Deep fried Hilsa. Coincidentally, monsoon also marks the arrival of Hilsa fish, considered to be the most tasty fish, in the Bengali fish market) – an influence of sorts for lot of Bongs to like rains. But, as a kid I loved, and ever since love rains because of altogether different reasons. Pre-NDP days ‘Rainy Day’ – a chance to skip school and enjoy a lazy day at home, was the biggest influence. That actually changed when I went to NDP (NDP is always open – on a ‘Bandh’, on a day when it rains cats and dogs or on other ‘worldly’ holidays). I started enjoying the beauty of nature during rains and enjoy football. The dark skies, white lightning, smell of wet soil, toad’s croak, clean green tree leaves – ah! I love rains. And of course, football. Bongs love their F’s – Food and Football (Or else how do you explain a Hilsa fish as the logo of a football club?). Rain and football is a combination quite awesome. I should say that those who are lucky have had that opportunity to play football in rain. I got that chance while I was in NDP. Nothing is more fun than that. Really, even now I long for those football matches whenever it rains. I consider myself lucky to be born in a tropical country, which receives considerable rains.

Rainfall in India is one of the things which is very unpredictable. Some parts of the country receive record rainfall while others do not receive any. This monsoon probably is a record of sorts for Delhi. It received a lot of rains and ironically when it did not require it. Yes, this time Delhi would have been happy without rains or very little rains – the reason being the sports extravaganza, for which it is grossly underprepared. Even I, a lover of the monsoons, never wanted so much rain this time. Partly, because I love my country and I really want it to save itself from the blushes and partly, because it hurts to see the infrastructure crumbling so badly in a new metropolis (Gurgaon is touted as India’s latest metropolis).

From the bottom of my heart I want my Country to overcome all the challenges – especially posed by persistent rains, and organize an amazing Commonwealth Games. There’s nothing much I can do other than only praying for the rains to go away. The pride of India is at stake and I don’t want the rains to be a spoilsport. Oh! The least said about the infrastructure the better…Gurgaon has potholes a plenty with some roads, skyrocketing power bills without power and plenty of water to waste on its golf courses (golf courses in Gurgaon require a daily average of 300,000 gallons of water; is that the reason why the taps at home dry out very often? I can’t help myself but to believe it is). Apartments are built in Gurgaon as if every Indian will be accommodated in a Gurgaon apartment to live in, with utmost pomp and lavish, and of course at a premium price. But roads are built by misers – one spell of rain and everything is washed away. On one hand, the city dares to beat Mumbai and become the financial capital of the Country and on the other hand, it promises to beat even the modest of Indian towns in terms of infrastructure. No wonder, why it plans to woo the foreign delegates to its shopping malls by organizing shopping festivals. Other than malls it has nothing to showcase (even though I believe malls in other Indian cities are better, but of course Gurgaon pips everybody in terms of the number). I can’t do much myself (as I write this I hear a loud thunder, signaling rain. More rains and more problems…). As long as it rains I don’t how to react…whether to be happy or to be sad…I wish I could sing “Rain Rain Go Away…” Even if my mind sings so, ask my heart and you will get the answer…don’t get me wrong!!! I love India more than the rains…

Teacher's day

This Teacher’s Day I remembered or rather missed Narendrapur (NDP) for two reasons – one, the greatest teacher who taught me, Ajit da is no more and second, it had been ten years since I celebrated Teacher’s Day. A Teacher’s Day would be a celebration in any school, but in NDP it had a different meaning. Like everything else in NDP we celebrated Teacher’s Day differently. On every Teacher’s Day the students used to get an opportunity to teach a lesson or two to their revered and knowledgeable teachers. In a way it was simple role reversal. But it had a lot of meaning to lot of us. Some took it as an opportunity to showcase their teaching skills and some took it as an opportunity to make a mockery of our very humble teachers. To top it all, the day used to end with a football match featuring the teachers and students in two different teams. Mind you, it was no ordinary match – a full-fledged eleven a side football match on an 80x120 yard playing pitch (and not on a ground the size of a backyard) with the teachers and students cheering for their teams. All the cards were involved in the game. But the match was always refereed by a teacher. Nothing big was at stake but the pride was big enough stake to motivate each team. In the eight years which I spent at NDP, I think on most occasions the students used to win the match. Those days were pure fun…

This Teacher’s Day was also a celebration of sorts, which actually had started late on a Saturday evening. The evening was great in company of friends…and later ended with a sumptuous meal at Al-Jawahar, the famous Mughlai restaurant near Jama Masjid. The next day, I watched one of the better movies I have ever watched – Dead Poets Society. Starring Robin Williams at his motivational best, the film actually made me nostalgic about NDP. The story somewhat resembled the life at NDP – a boys hostel, strict time table, a strict principal and above all excellent teachers like Mr. Keating (played by Robin Williams in the movie). I especially liked the last scene when Mr. Keating was leaving the classroom, and his beloved students were standing on their desks. After the movie, it was time for me to say good-bye to my friend…my heart was heavy thinking about office the next day…