The Leadership Paradox

Another beautiful one from coachingtoolbox.net

These leadership commandments were written by Kent M. Keith.

1. People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered. Love them anyway.
2. If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good anyway.
3. If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway.
4. The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.
5. Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway.
6. The biggest men with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men with the smallest minds. Think big anyway.
7. People favor underdogs, but follow only top dogs. Fight for a few underdogs anyway.
8. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway.
9. People really need help but may attack you if you do help them. Help people anyway.
10. Give the world the best you have and you’ll get kicked in the teeth. Give the world the best you have anyway.

Source:
http://www.personaldevelopmenttoolbox.net/leadership/paradoxical-commandments-of-leadership/

The Way to Victory

Victories of life are won not on the fields nor in the marts where the deci­sive struggle takes place, but in the obscure and forgotten hours of prepara­tion. Success or failure lies in the hands of the individual long before the hour of final test comes.

In the higher fields of success there are no accidents; men reap precisely what they have sown and nothing else; they do well precisely what they have prepared to do and they do nothing else well.

The world puts its force into us when we put ourselves in right relation with it: Experience makes us constantly wiser if we know how to rationalize it: Time deposits all manner of treasure in our imagination and memory, if we hole the doors open.

Nothing is lost upon a man who is bent upon growth, nothing wasted on one who is constantly preparing for his work and his life by keeping eyes, mind, and heart open to nature, men, books and experience. All things that he has seen, heard, known and felt come to his aid at the critical moment to make his thought clear and keep his illustration luminous, his speech eloquent and inspiring.

-Compliments of Indiana State University

A Basketball Player

I don't like CCPing..but I had read a wonderful article on who a basketball player is and would like to share it with you guys.

"A basketball player can come in any size, shape, or color. There is no common denominator except a love for the game and a desire to get the most out of his abilities. He is not only proud of his strengths, but understands his weaknesses. He is concerned first with the good of his team and knows that individual recognition will come through team excellence.

A basketball player has the enthusiasm of an evangelist, the discipline of a monk; the heart of a warrior; and never loses the honesty and character of a small boy.

He appreciates the support of thousands of fans, but he is much more aware of the example he is setting for some small boy watching from the sideline. He is happy when he scores a basket but never forgets that a teammate threw him the ball. While he never lets up at either end of the floor, the other team is not his real opponent; it is the full extent of his own potential that he is always playing against. He lets the referees, with occasional assistance from his coach, do the officiating.

A basketball player is made and not born. He is constantly striving to reach his potential knowing that he will bypass other players who cannot withstand the strain of this quest for excellence. He realizes that the challenges and competition of today's game will better prepare him for tomorrow's world. He knows that the true measure of his performance is not recorded in wins and losses but in how much of himself he has given to the game.

A basketball player never realizes when the odds are stacked against him. He can only be defeated by a clock that happens to run out of time. He is what a small boy wants to become and what an old man can remember with great pride that he once was. "

(available at http://www.coachingtoolbox.net/filingcabinet/a-basketball-player.html)

The tangential approach: Kobe Bryant

(As appeared in sportskeeda.com)

Sports writers have waxed eloquent about him, yet Kobe Bryant continues to be hot property for continued dissection. A reason for this is perhaps because Kobe’s personality is like an onion- nobody has quite managed to peel through its many layers. He still retains that enigma which makes him very attractive to journalists.

I have told myself to desist writing about NBA greats because there are more competent people already doing so. I ought to rather focus on the development of basketball and its players in the Indian subcontinent. But like many others, I too have succumbed to the charms of the “black mamba”.

People have tried to understand Kobe Bryant- the person- through a number of ways. Some document his work ethic, others look at the injuries he has suffered throughout his storied career, a fewer still attempt to deconstruct his personality by analysing his sexual assault case. My attempt is to understand Kobe using what I call the “tangential approach.”

On 4^th December 2009, the Los Angeles Lakers played host to the Miami Heat in a regular season tie that went right down to the wire. With the Lakers trailing by 2 with 3.2 seconds to go, everybody in the arena knew that the ball would go to Kobe to hit the game winner. He obliged in remarkable fashion.

In the Brownian motion unfolding in the seconds before the inbound pass, Kobe managed to break away from a very persistent Dwayne Wade to receive the ball. Turns out (as he later admits in the post game interview), he got the ball farther out then he would have liked- at around 26 feet from the basket. A jab step to the right and a couple of dribbles to the left later he found that Wade was still stuck to his hip. With time almost running out, Kobe has no choice but to pull up for an off balance three pointer falling away to his left. Miracle of miracles, he banks it in and is soon engulfed by his teammates.

A lucky shot perhaps? Well, Kobe conceded as much immediately thereafter (“It was the luckiest shot I have ever taken”). But a few of days later he was heard singing a different tune: “I used to do a lot of mountain biking as a kid…so I had to learn how to balance myself on my left leg while in motion.”

A bizarre explanation don’t you think?

Logic. According to Wikipedia, the study of logic asks the question: “how do we know what we know?” Central to this study of logic is the ability to make logical links. These links vary from the straightforward to the seemingly absurd and help us rationalize the apparently unconnected events that take place in our lives.

Kobe Bryant can make these links. If you dissect his mind, rather than swirling thoughts, you would probably find a highly ordered catalogue of experiences, failures, successes, learning, videotape, memories, criticism, newspaper comments, praise and historical events.

Even if he was wrong about the mountain biking as being the reason behind him making such an impossible shot, he sure as hell wasn’t wrong in trying to find such a far-fetched connection.

Great players are known for eccentricities that few others like us can comprehend. Kobe Bryant is one such mastermind. His brain is like a pensieve (if you’ve read Harry Potter you’d know what I’m talking about) which has the ability to sift through millions of different ideas and thoughts and extricate the exact reasons for his actions. Again I could be talking in the air, as I am reminded of Derek Fisher’s remarks in one interview. Fisher, who along with Bryant have formed a potent 1-2 punch winning 5 championships along the way- knows his two guard better than most and says that people always think they “know” Kobe Bryant when actually then don’t know “s**t”.

For Kobe Bryant, the sub conscious and conscious have merged into what is now one cohesive memory. It’s almost likes he “googles” his own brain for a viable answer to any question that defenses may throw at him.

To further elaborate: If you were to ask Kobe “how do you somehow always manage to find a way to the basket weaving around several opposing defenders to take that perfect shot?” or “How is it that your game is almost like a choreographed dance where you seems to know exactly when to do what?” His answer would probably sound something like this: “Read more books.” Again this would seem like the weirdest response- but that’s Kobe. To him this is as obvious as two plus two equals four. After all he is known to be one of the brightest minds currently playing the game.

The reason Kobe is able to explain each and every move or action of his is because he plays the game so consciously. Nothing happens by chance in the land of Kobe. So when he says “read more books”, he probably is referring to how reading can cultivate an imaginative mind which in turn enables him to visualize all the possible situations that he may encounter in a game. These situations he then practices until he achieves near perfect muscle memory. Not exactly two plus two equals 4 is it?

The perils of the playoffs

(As appeared in sportskeeda.com)

Game 1 of the NBA Finals 2010. No, this is not a summary account of who won or lost; nor is it an in-depth analysis of what went wrong for the Celtics (they were the ones who lost btw). Rather, this is a heart wrenching story of a boy who is still searching for that one elusive chance to watch an NBA Finals game live on television. Yes, I have never witnessed NBA Finals action live, but this is not for lack of trying. It’s not my fault really- following basketball in India has historically been difficult!

Problem 1: Half the games are not even telecast on TV (ESPN STAR arbitrarily decides what matches to show and which to chuck).

Problem 2: Cricket, cricket, cricket. We have the good old cable operator at home and no Direct-to-Home (DTH) Service like TATA Sky or Dish TV. At my place the cable guy allows only two sports channels. I had called him last year- the night before the NBA Finals 2009 (and I am talking here about the NBA Finals- no less!) and asked him to make sure he puts ESPN the next morning. He tells me that there is some random cricket match and he would get lynched if he removed NEO Sports. The sad part was that there wasn’t even a cricket match happening at that time (since NBA matches in India are telecast live very early in the morning and get over no later than 10-10:30 a.m.). I tried convincing him but the logic fell on deaf ears. He has got so bugged with me that he doesn’t even pick up his phone nowadays.

Problem 3: Watching TV in the morning is a strict no-no at my place, indeed in many households, where mornings are meant to be quiet and peaceful. The only allowable sound to break the tranquility is the rustling which accompanies the turning of pages of the newspaper. One of my old habits is to wake up and immediately rush to the TV without even brushing my teeth, to catch whatever is left of NBA action. If there wasn’t a game happening I would immediately switch off the TV- mindful of old traditions of morning silence and family breakfasts. I usually wake up in time to catch the last quarter of any game and pray to the basketball Lords that the game will go into overtime (for the selfish reason that I will get to watch more basketball).

Problem 4: College. In college, following basketball presents its own difficulties. 2/3rds of the year I am away in college. While this means that there are no regulatory parental controls on viewership (see problem 3), it also means that there is no TV at hand (yes I belong to a college where hostels don’t have common rooms with television sets).

Also we have classes that we have to attend. My college has a 70% attendance requirement, the rest 30% I consume in the following manner:

(i) Taking part in basketball tournaments -15%

(ii) Falling sick from all sorts of diseases normally afflicting the stomach- 10% (hygiene and hostel are two irreconcilable terms you see- the only thing common between them is the “h”)

(iii) Last minute assignments and projects which I could have done earlier (but who are we kidding here…its college- nobody does their work on time) so another 5% gone here.

The problem with the above is that it leaves no margin for bunking classes for “other” reasons. You know what these “other” reasons I’m talking about are: yes- Watching basketball matches! By a stroke of good fortune, a floormate of mine managed to get a Tata Sky connection on his laptop. The very next morning we were watching game 1 of the Lakers-OKC first round playoff series and were so engrossed in the game that we ended up bunking the next class. The ramifications of succumbing to such temptation were immediately felt: we were now on the wrong side of the dreaded 70% attendance line.

Current status: My mom, using her enviable social networking skills found a neighbour who happened to have played basketball for Delhi and more importantly had a Tata Sky connection. So I went over to their place at 6:30 in the morning to watch the first game of the Finals. As luck would have it, their TATA Sky connection wasn’t working. We tried fiddling around with the antenna in the vain hope that it may suddenly decide to pick up some signal. Not surprisingly, this didn’t work. I trudged back home and made a last ditch attempt to watch the game online. But a slow internet connection put paid to any hopes of watching Kobe and the Lakers dismantle the Celtics.

Monday 5:30 am on ESPN. Game 2 for you guys, game 1 for me.

The game happens here: What it means to play basketball in India

(As appeared in sportskeeda.com)

The Supreme Court…. No it’s not in Delhi. It’s in every courtyard of every school of the country. Or at least that is what hoopsters in India would like you to believe. For many of them, playing basketball is like being cast under a hypnotic spell from which there’s no escape. It’s wei wu wei of the highest order- there is no fear or anxiety: just peace, love and happiness. There are people here for whom every dribble makes them come alive, where they feel a tingle down their spine, every time they step out on the basketball court. What is it about two hoops and a 28m by 15m rectangle that engages and occupies ballers for their entire lives? This infatuation is all the more extraordinary if you consider the circumstances in which a desi plays basketball.

Playing basketball in India is actually tougher than playing in the NBA. Every court is different: cement, tar or clay. Every ball is different: COSCO, NIVEA, SPARTAN, NIKE or SPALDING. Every ring is different: some are double rim, some are single rim. Every ring is at slightly different heights and some rings are more loose than the other (meaning there is no consistency in where the rebounds may fall).

In fact, where you are playing basketball in India also matters. The courts in Rajasthan are constantly dusty, with sands blowing across the surface of the court making it extremely difficult to grip the ball. The courts in the south are always wet, with puddles of water during most part of the year (weirdly enough always near the freethrow line or under the basket, making it practically impossible to play; you need to have gunny bags or mops to drain the court). I dunno about the courts in the east, because I haven’t played there yet, but I can pretty much imagine them to be of some peculiarity.

No Indian has made it to the NBA yet (although there are some contenders- see I and II), but folks here are still passionate about playing, and overcome a remarkable number of hurdles to do so. Women ballers fight their traditions and parents, guy ballers fight the impulse to get settled and find a stable job and kids fight persistent pleas from their friends wanting them to play cricket instead.

I salute all these people. These unknown heroes who are now not so unknown anymore, thanks to the pioneering work being done by sportskeeda and select others in popularizing the sport of basketball (among other sports) in our country.

The game truly happens here- right here in India, just as much as in the US, where the NBA playoffs are happening in controlled air conditioned arenas, where they can practice their shots in the comfort of not having to take their own rebounds, where they have stacks of basketballs lined up by their side and money is not a problem.

Playing basketball in India is no joke mind you. Especially when you are concerned with winning: when you genuinely want to improve and not merely play as an evening past time. Indeed a person playing basketball in India has to face so many problems each day, that he is forced to scratch his head and wonder whether it is worth all the effort. So much so, it is said that a person becomes a philosopher or a thinker in one of two situations: either when he comes out of a bad relationship or when he is an Indian who is basketball obsessed.

Who is a leader?

Who is a leader? It is said that a leader doesn’t have to be the best player on the team, or the most outspoken of the lot. A leader is simply one who is willing to make the most sacrifices every day for his team. He is like water: fluid and hence capable of taking on any shape or any role that is necessary for his team to win. He is a leader not out of any thirst for power or authority, but simply because he knows that he can take the team in the right direction. He accepts the responsibility of every loss, yet realises that any victory is because of the team and not because of him. A leader knows when to pass, when to be more aggressive on defence or more assertive on offense. A leader is not afraid to take decisions. A leader clarifies the role of each and every guy on the team and ensures that each player realises their significance on the team. A leader is willing to accept mistakes and never makes the same mistakes twice. He is not afraid of failure and learns to improve with every step. He is conscious of the need to keep moving forward every day and taking his team forward. He is willing to lose today for a more permanent victory tomorrow. He knows how to push the right buttons on each of his team mates. A leader has the ability to inspire. A leader is one who is constantly in search of finding “the leader” within others around him. Once he does find “the leader” in others, he realises that his job is done, and he fades away from the spotlight just as silently as he came into the spotlight in the first place. A leader speaks from the heart, otherwise he chooses to remain silent. A leader knows that he has to lead from the front, and set an example. A leader is the most passionate, at the same time he is the most calm. A leader knows the importance of winning the right way. A leader is the one with the most burning conscience. A leader is one who trusts his teammates to a fault. A leader is one who is never tired, or even if he is-knows he shouldn’t show it. A leader realises the importance of every moment as an opportunity to make people around him improve. At the same time he understands the delicate need to not be too pushy and letting people make mistakes and learn at their own pace. A leader is one who prays for you even when you sleep. A leader is one with no ego distinct from that of the team. A leader is one who is the heart and soul of the team. A leader is one who realises the importance of continuity- of having a system in place even after he has long gone. A leader is the one who is the most sincere. A leader is one is normally of the opposite mindset of the rest of the team. When the team is nervous, he is calm. When the team is happy after a 20 point lead at the end of the third quarter, he is alert: knowing that the game is not over until it is over. That defeat is always most likely when victory seems imminent. A leader makes even the best player realise “you need the team more than the team needs you”. A leader is one who becomes better with increased responsibility. A leader feels no pressure at crunch moments. A leader is logical. A leader is a risktaker. A leader trusts his instincts. At the same time he ensures that his instincts keep developing through constant study. A leader is like a sponge- he imbibes the best qualities from those around him. A leader doesn’t demand respect- he commands it. A leader makes inspired decisions. A leader doesn’t wait for things to happen, he makes things happen. A leader shakes the collective conscience. A leader gives people hope. Contrary to popular perceptions, a leader is not flamboyant or flashy. Left to himself, a leader is a very simple and boring guy- who simply wants to play ball because he loves it.

Learning Sargams in the City

I had written this sometime in the middle of third sem (over two years ago). Just regurgitating it as I realised that this blog is named "Money, Music and NLU" and I have written nothing about music yet! Here it is:

Music is coming out great…I go across the city thrice a week and sit cross legged along with Pd, playing the sargam. Our Tabla guruji, Satish Ji charges 400 rupees a month and I should say it’s worth it. Every evening after coming back from college at 4:30 pm we sleep for an hour and somehow wake up in time to catch the college bus to Paota. Then we take a public bus to Jalori Gate. We have ganne ka ras at some tiny juice corner and walk into the old city. The street is narrow and very crowded. It is the main road apparently and we wind our way avoiding the bicyclists and the scooters; bikes and cars haven’t made their entry into this part of Jodhpur. The first three days, we always got lost. But we loved it nevertheless. This was the real Jodhpur with the blue houses and strong smell of cement and sand mix.

Satish Ji’s house is near the baori (water tank).Our guruji is tall and slightly on the heavier side. But his speed lay in his nimble fingers. In our first class, he spoke to us about music and what it really meant i.e. its universality. He explains eloquently:

“Right from the time when a child kicks in a mother’s womb, our love for rhythmic sounds grows even beyond our lives. There is music in everything we do. Our steps are in succession: left, right, and left again. Our heart beats 72 times a minute for years together. All the genres of music; be it western classical, rock, jazz, Hindustani, Carnatic or Hawaiian, they all have the same fundamental beats to them. The differences are merely variants of the same. The moment we realise these superficialities, music becomes part of our soul.”

He then told us about how he was a state level football player for Rajasthan and described the holy trinity of all round education. Indeed, academics, music and sports are primary requirements needed to achieve the balance we all crave for.

My Tryst with Poetry

Anybody who knows me even a little bit, knows that there is a basketball bouncing in some part of my brain at any point of time during the day or night, even when I'm sleeping. I have had dreams on countless occasions which have involved ten sweaty guys, an orangey brown sphere and two hoops. Piyush told me the other day that he dreams about sports cars. I guess all of us dream about something or the other that we care about…

Anyway, on one such idle moment when I was thinking about basketball, I remembered an incident in 9th (or was it 10th?) standard. We were all supposed to write poems for publication in the school magazine. Of course only the best entries would be chosen. In other words, entries of sincere students (aka toppers) whose poems generally went along these lines: I had a cat, it slept on a mat, ate a rat, played with a bat…

Girls around me immediately put pen to paper. Most of the guys were playing pen fight (a game where two guys face off with their ball pens on the table, and the objective of the game is to knock the other guy’s pen off the table). But I was at a loss at what to do. Poems are not cool. When you are a teenager in school, image is very important. Unfortunately, I had only one pen which I couldn’t afford to break, so left with no choice, I made my first (and only) fledgling attempt at poetry. Not surprisingly it was about basketball. In hindsight it was and continues to be an extremely lame poem, and I am still embarrassed by it. More so because it actually got carried in the school magazine, replete with my name and a black and white photo- just in case anybody who happened to read it and did not recall my name would be able to recognise the photo. So anyway, it goes something like this:

Basketball is the name of the game
Shooting baskets is the way to fame

If you are tall, you can dunk the ball
If your aim is true, then your team is through

Pass and play, its not you all the way
But you’ll have your say, unless it is a very bad day

Even Jordan was not a child prodigy
“I practised and practised”, said he

I may not have won yet, but I still play ball
‘coz I know one day, ill be in the famed hall

on advice to young players

The thing that I tell them all the time is consistency. If they watch me train, running on a track, it doesn't look like I'm over-exerting myself. It's a consistency with which you do it, in other words, it's an every-day-thing. You have a program, and a schedule, and you have to abide by that, religiously. You just stick to it, and it's the consistency that pays off.

-Kobe Bryant

on conditioning

Whatever your program is, the key is to push yourself to a level where you're hurting. You can't gain conditioning without going through it. You're going to have to feel some pain, you're going to have to feel like your lungs are burning, and you know, you want to spit up blood, that sort of thing.

-Kobe Bryant

Unless you breakdown everyday, you are not going to improve

on motivation

the best players are those who work the hardest.. and that is true for any sport or anything that involves competition. When Im tired i think of Kobe and Lebron and tell myself that you have to keep going because these guys are working. The key is to keep improving and setting goals.

-Brandon Roy, Portland Trailblazers

You arent playing ball??!!!

Basketball in India is poised for tremendous growth. I won't be surprised if it becomes one of the most popular sports in the country. I was reading an article by Ayaz Memon, a blogger on NBA-India, and he points out the sociological changes that all point to the growth of the game in our country (here's the link to his article).

Basketball has everything going for it: played over 40 minutes(the international game and not the NBA), consisting of 4 quarters, with time outs and unlimited substitutions and on a small-enclosed court under floodlights. It is already the most popular sport at the college level in India [apart from my university which is football crazy, but then again, it's only a matter of time before we get there!].

It is extremely fast paced [second only to handball, or ice hockey (but this is played on ice and the guys wear skates so can be discounted)] and considering India's growing fondness for T20 as a preferred version of cricket, we seem to be showing all the characteristics to take to basketball like fish to water.

And these are Ayaz Memon's predictions-a reputed journalist keenly interested in sports in general and cricket in particular. A journalist for over thirty years, Ayaz doesn't seem to have any serious connection with the game of basketball, not having played at the school or college level. I guess that's unfortunately because he was a product of his time, a time when the game 'never actually happened here'.

I speak so much about him because he seems to be following exactly the same career path that I would want for myself: A lawyer by profession who went on to become a journalist and now blogs for NBA.com!! He was also invited to cover the All-Star game in Phoenix! DAMN!!!

Coming back to the point. I couldn't agree with his predictions more! The game is definitely poised to become huge, if not huge already. I was playing at home the other day and this 11th standard kid happened to challenge me to a one-on-one. As a 20-yr old college guy, I was not the kind to back off, more so because I thought it wouldn't be much of a hassle beating him (he was a good 4-5 inches shorter than me ;) ).

He beat me 11-9 or something. Brilliant Handles-he could control the ball with both hands equally well, apart from being virtually ambidextrous in the paint. I later found out that there were 3-4 others who were equally good.

Kids these days are phenomenally better than what we were in our school days, at least much better than what I was as a kid. I could barely dribble with my weak hand, let alone attempt a lay up or a left hand hook shot. It is only in college where I had access to the internet that I started following the game more seriously and am slowly learning the finer points of the game. It only speaks of how much the standard of the game has improved in our country.

I'm gonna go all out here and forecast that it is only a matter of a few years before there's an Indian in the NBA rubbing shoulders with the likes of Chris Paul or Lebron James (assuming of course they haven't retired by then. But LBJ is indistructible and CP3 isn't too bad either, so I guess they'll stick around for quite some time!).

NBA revolution in India on the horizon. You heard it here first ;D

THE LAST RIDE HOME (contd)...

(For those of you who haven't read the first part yet, here's the link)

Months had passed after that stinging one point loss. I was in the eleventh now. It was time then for the Amarnaveelson trophy- the memorial basketball tournament held by our school. The name derived from Amarnath, Naveed and Wilson, three of my seniors who sadly drowned in the Arabian Sea one wet monsoon night. This was a district level tournament with teams from in and around Udupi and Mangalore.

Obviously there were bigger and more coveted tournaments. But playing in our very own school courts in front of our own classmates was something special. Being on the school basketball team brings with it popularity. Kids looked up to you, they wanted to be like those tall guys who could jump so high. And of course the girls, well that doesn’t need any explanation.

D-Day arrived. The stands were erected with plastic Manikchand chairs on both sides of the two courts. Mattresses had been tied against the pillars so that nobody whacked their heads during lay ups. There was a separate enclosure for the teams and the dignitaries. Speakers had been set up to blare out songs at halftime and during timeouts. All in all, the stage was set for an adrenaline pumped evening.

Two students with good English were given the task of commentating:

WELCOME!

The Saturday crowd that had gathered roared in response.

WELCOME TO THE 4TH ANNUAL AMARNAVEELSON TOURNAMENT!!!!

(Cheers again)

IT’S A BRIGHT DAY TODAY AND WHY SHOULDN’T IT BE! ALL THE TEAMS MUST BE KEYED UP FOR THIS OCCASION…..

We were touted as the favourites to win. Home advantage coupled with solid exposure at the South Zone level meant we knew exactly what we were supposed to do. This time there would be no one-point loss. We won hands down. Finally we had a winner’s trophy to our name. Bandu, our Captain took the trophy from our principal with a huge grin on his face. We posed as the cameras flashed away. This was our moment of glory and we cherished every bit of it.

Twelfth standard brought with it the expected work load. The board exams were nothing. There were entrance exams to give. For me the first law exam for NUJS was drawing closer. It meant one thing. I had to choose. And basketball had to go. And just when I had made my decision, it happened. It was the physical instruction class on a Wednesday. I remember it was a Wednesday because that’s when we wear the sports wear, instead of the normal cream shirt.

We were in 12th…but we looked forward to the PT classes just like any other kid from the lower classes. It meant getting away from the dull science lectures that we had to sit through, throughout the week. We started off with a full court game as usual, 11th v. 12th. The 11th guys had one 6ft 4 inches chap by the name of Prasad, a.k.a Hoary (a Kannada word which means bull!). I tried tackling him, it was the ultimate mismatch. He faked right, turned left. I unfortunately didn’t get faked and stood still. So his elbow came crashing down on my upper lip. I could see stars dancing in mid-afternoon. The game continued as I went to the bathroom to check in the mirror. It was an awful sight. There was a huge gash on my upper lip with blood steadily dripping down onto my Tshirt and into the sink below. I turned on the tap and hurriedly tried to wash away the blood. Not a good idea, as it just got worse. One of my friends, Nishan comes up behind me.

“Dude are you ok? We were wondering what was taking you so lo-…” his voice trailing away as he sees me stooped over the sink which was now splattered with droplets of red.

“WTF!!!”

By now the others had turned up. One by one they saw my face and grimaced. Very diplomatic indeed!

Prasad was kneeling against the wall with a dazed expression on his face, unable to fathom what he had done.

Dude..I’m so sorry man!

“Iddok doo… id dappens” was all I managed as I spat out blood with the effort.

“Shit dude!! Don’t talk!” exclaimed the guys as they jumped back in alarm.

I nodded ruefully in response.

I was taken by the PT instructor to the Vice- Principal’s room pressing the wound with my soaked handkerchief. Kids going to their school buses stared at me in their usual unabashed way. Not exactly the kind of attention I wanted. When I reached the Vice Principal’s room, Ms. Lali A Mathew asked me to remove the handkerchief to see what she was dealing with. She grimaced too.

Damn it wasn’t that bad now was it!!

Apparently it was, as she directed the PT instructor to take me to a clinic which was down the highway. Once there I was made to lie down on the examination table as the nurse scurried around preparing for the doctor to arrive and take a look at me.

The moment he saw me, he decided that stitches were needed on the upper lip. He told the nurse to clean up the wound first. As the nurse scraped away above my upper lip with a blade I realised through the pain, that I was getting the first shave of my life. Certainly not the way I dreamt this moment. 15 mins of “this is going to hurt a little bit” later I was dropped back home by the PT sir in his Indica.

As I got out of the car an hour later I tried to say thank you in response. I found that the words simply refused to come out. He smiled genially at me and I realised that he had got the message. I turned towards the gate and find my mom at the door. Apparently the Vice-Principal had already called home and informed her of my exploits at school.

My mom was trying hard to control her laughter. As I got into the house, my dad burst out laughing. I didn’t get it. What was so funny?

I stood in front of the mirror. It took me a moment to realise that what I was seeing was actually my own reflection. To put it simply, I looked like Santa with half a beard. The right side of my face was swathed with cotton bandages crudely stuck in place with cello tape. Half my face was as if paralysed.

That night at dinner I realised that I could only barely open my mouth. It was liquid diet from then on. After two weeks of soup, I’ve ever since developed an aversion to it.
The next day I had to go to school and I dreaded it. Right from the bus stop to the class room and corridors, even the teachers didn’t spare me. I can’t blame any of them, I certainly looked a sight. But my spirits were severely dented and coupled with constant hunger I was in a murderous mood by that evening. My mother as usual had to face the brunt of my displaced aggression.

Finally the day came to remove the stitches. Finally I could eat solid food, and despite the scar on my upper lip that I was going to carry for the rest of my life, I felt great…

While all this was happening, our school basketball team was in Hyderabad playing the CBSE cluster level tournament. The winner would be selected to play in the CBSE south zone level. We won the clusters that year, thanks to some really exceptional play by Prasad and some outstanding team work in general. For the second time in two years we would be playing zonal ball. I was kicking myself through out this time, cursing my luck on getting injured at the wrong time. The team it seemed, didn’t need me any more. They were doing perfectly fine without me. Heck they had won the goddamn thing for the first time ever!

I was happy for the team, but went into depression for not being a part of the success. The victorious finally got back to school and I congratulated them. The south zone was a month away- ample time to practise and have a realistic chance of winning.

I was in a big dilemma now. Should I go or not? The NUJS entrance exam was just around the corner! Add to that, its not like I was needed or anything. So I went to Patil Sir, our Manager. He was very supportive:

" Listen, don’t worry. I had already put your name on the list. You are there on the team. Just practise for the next month and you can come with us."

That was very considerate.

However, that wasn’t the end of the troubles. I had completely lost my shooting. For some reason I could not convert a single shot. My elbow used to be in an awkward angle and I missed open shots. Air balls became frequent. As such I was turning out to be a liability. It seems I was on the team only on the strength of past performances.

The rest of the winning team from Hyderabad were brimming with a new found confidence which I found hard to replicate. A month later we set off for the CBSE South Zone Tournament in Kottayam, Kerala. Incidentally this picturesque place was also the backdrop for Arundathi Roy’s A God of Small Things.

The first game was against St. Thomas, a school from Trivandrum. I featured in the first five. A wrong choice as we lost that game 41-42. I had missed all the shots I attempted. Even if I had scored 1 basket we would have won. Patil Sir who had been confident in my abilities couldn’t digest my failures any more. What ensued was a scene I will never forget. As we made our way back to our room that day with a towel over my head, I felt like I had let everybody down.

“Gopal how long have you been on the team?” Patil sir asked quietly.

“This is my third year on the team.” I said flatly in response staring at the classroom floor (which was our makeshift room) unable to look into his eyes.

“Was it that difficult to score even one single basket?”

I couldn’t say anything to that. It was true. I had failed. This was supposed to be our year. Our last chance at winning and I had messed it up in the first game.

“I trusted you. I put your name on the team even though you didn’t turn up for the cluster tournament because of your injury. I could easily have given the opportunity to another person who would have gladly made use of it.”

“Sir enough! Leave him alone!”Our captain Sanjeev had spoken up from one corner of the room.
A couple of the others stopped untying their shoes midway.

“Dude its ok man. I deserve it.”

But I don’t know what had come over him. Sanjeev continued, his voice growing louder with every word.

“Cant you see that he tried? You think he intentionally missed those shots?”

Stunned silence.

“Sir ever since you started coaching us you’ve been pushing us. We have been doing our best. YOU CAN’T KEEP SHOVING US AROUND LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME!! WE’VE F*^&*NG HAD ENUF!”


More to come...

money, music 'n' NLU is back!!

its been a year n a half...my co-blogger n i had a tiff a year n a half ago...n so i felt it was insensitive of me to carry on without him...but we are bonding more than ever lately n he has given a go ahead with all his blessings...

so the time couldnt be more ripe for a new beginning...after incessant requests from my ardent blog fans (yes i have two in total..forgive the use of the phrase 'fans' i know you'll probably think it is derogatory...the egoistic self-obsessed bastards that we all are!!)..i finally believe im back to blogging for good! Thank you Hakuna, Tahir.. you were definitely one of the motivating forces...

so WATCH OUT PPL! blogs n blogs coming your way soon (or at least i hope!!)...been in an extended bakchodi mood lately..so need to get it out of my system, so you hapless souls will be the innocent victims..

P.S 1 may especially be significant for NLUites. The reason, you might ask? Check out the title of this blog account if you havent already..it'll answer your doubts!

P.S 2 haksa, i need your help in certain aesthetic departments..ill talk to you about it in class..remind me

love all you guys

G

sometimes you need some time..on your own

Why is it that we never seem to be alone…be it physically or mentally…I'm in my room now….even assuming theres nobody banging on my door, there’ll be somebody buzzing on Gtalk (with a sup!)….if not that then theres always the cell phone which beeps a message or else a phone call from the person you just spoke to a few hours back. But apparently that’s not frequent enough. I mean come on!! A whats up and in reply a nuthin much..gimme a break..! we just chat for the heck of chatting…where’s the peace of mind…. Where’s solitude..sometimes I just wish I could go back in time and not have to be answerable to everybody all the time, 24 hours of the day.

End of the Road...

Hey guys...

Well, this is jus' to inform all u guys that this blog "Money, Music 'n' NLU !!!" will henceforth be carried forward by only one person (till now 'my fellow blogger', and that is if he wants to!). I regret to inform that I am no longer interested in being a part of this blog (and blah blah blah...).

Nice bein' with yeh fellas,
Adios!

The Last Ride Home

THE LAST RIDE HOME:

The little rock basketball team composed of members possessed. Created in the eighties, it has now evolved into a cogent unit of semi professionals. Patil sir then took over the managerial post. That is when we really began to see what we were capable of. I became part of the team in 10^th grade. I was a small chap back then, in the team only because I had the uncanny ability of shooting three pointers, never missing. The workouts were intense. I had to leave home early as there were morning drills that could not be missed. So my mum used to drop me at the udupi bus stand 5 kms away, as there was no bus to Udupi until 6 in the morning. I used to take the first express bus then to brahmavar, a further 15kms or so and then another bus to school a short distance away. I made it on most days by 7. It meant that I missed the first half hour of practice. I never enjoyed the morning sessions much. Lots of German relays/suicides, push ups, ab crunches not to mention a variety of offensive and defensive manoeuvres. Nevertheless the draining routine every morning left us all feeling very alive and ready for school which began at 9:30 every morning. I brought a towel, soap and the school uniform with me daily along with the school books. So every morning after practice we had a bath, ate breakfast and went to class. 4:30 in the evening we used to rush to the mess, have the usual tea and snacks, change our clothes and pick up a basketball each from the sports room. Keep shooting and generally fooling around till the coach came and blew his whistle to make us line up at the base line. The evening drills were much more fun. It was the time for match practice. One hour full court games were what we looked forward to. The purpose behind these games was to put our drills into practice, play a set game and to convert most of the baskets. I used to enjoy the feeling. The school buses used to leave around 4:40 every evening. And I was there playing, trying out stunt layups and the little kids who used to poke their heads out of the windows were left impressed. After two weeks of drills we were in for a pleasant surprise. Patil sir came to the court with two big plastic bags in each hand. Our school jerseys- bright blue with white borders and red numbering. I wanted the number 8, because that was Kobe Bryant’s jersey number. But I was beaten to it by somebody else. But nevertheless I was immensely pleased to wear no.12. We played our best game that day, all of us, in our jerseys. I didn’t change back into my uniform after practice. I still vividly remember my dad’s face when he opened the door. There was pride in his eyes, something I know he feels but rarely displays. He did that day and I suddenly felt that all those mornings of thankless drills were worth it.

In that year we took part in the CBSE Cluster level basketball tournament. The top two teams made it to the South Zone and the top two from there went on to the Nationals. We were a young team then. We didn’t have high expectations. All we wanted was to play a hard game and stick to the basics. Our lack of experience cost us dearly. It was a close match and we fought hard throughout. The score was neck and neck right till the end. The match went into overtime. That’s when our defence fell apart. They had a spree of fast breaks. We lost that match 38-34. We were knocked out of the first match of the tournament.

This defeat only spurred out desire to win. Intensity was reaching its peak. Next up was a college level tournament celebrating the Dushera festival. We were scheduled to play MIT, the engineering college team at their home court. A lot of factors were against us. We were kids, they were big guys- brash and to hell with the rules. Moreover the crowd was hostile. The audacity that a school team had the arrogance of challenging the might of a college.

The match began at a fever pitch. I did not figure in the starting five. I guess the coach thought I was too small and would not be able to play such a physical game. Being underdogs helps and our first round loss in the clusters was still very alive in our memories. It was a violent game. The opposite centre elbowed into our shooting guard. His nose broke and he bled buckets. That meant a substitute. This was the chance I was waiting for. I rushed in and the entire opposition and crowd sniggered. I had turned up in an oversized sleeveless banyan which was green in colour. Add to that I was also wearing green shorts which went down below by knees. Hell.

The game renewed. I will never forget what happened thereafter. The job assigned to me was simple. To score those threes. So I ran up and down the court well out of the way of the big guys. I didn’t want to get hit for no reason. The ball came to me. Immediately my marker leaped towards me. He was around 6 feet tall. Out of sheer alarm I released the ball. It was a swish, straight through the basket. Phew! A surge of blood ran through my entire body. I knew right then that it was my night. I scored three more baskets that night, all of them in similar fashion, once with my defender actually jumping clean over me.

We were leading by one point again. 13-12, with 20 seconds remaining. All we had to do was to hold the ball and wait for the final whistle. Our ball handler brought the ball upto the 90. Two defenders rushed to him. He managed to pass to the 45- me. I held on the ball for dear life, not knowing what to do. I was surrounded by opposition players. I closed my eyes and did the unthinkable. I threw the ball straight up in the air. The ball looped high. Everything had gone in slow motion. Even the crown screeching itself hoarse till now with “Mighty Mighty MIT” fell silent.

Trust my luck. It was the star player of the other team that gathered the ball. Immediately he rushed for a layup and got fouled. Two freethrows. If he scores both, their team win and we go back home again.

He took the first shot. It went peerlessly through the basket. The scores were now tied. He lined up for the second throw. His knees bent and eyes narrowed in concentration as he released the ball. The sphere zoomed through the air. It bounced on the ring, once, twice unsure of its destination and perilously close to deciding our own.

It dropped into the basket. The crowd burst out and converged on their victorious team. I walked back dazed to my bench, not uttering a word, and wishing above all that I was anywhere else except there.

The coach said just one thing, that still haunts me, “So Gopal, from hero to zero, eh?”

He said it jokingly, but it hurt nevertheless. Tears swelled up in my eyes. Were we always going to lose? Was it always meant to be so near yet so far???

all i can say is that i guess its all in the game. the tide had to turn, our best was yet to come...keep reading the blog to find out!!

(The second instalment is here)

In Search of Sand Dunes: 13th Jan 2007

Well, it was to celebrate Vishnu’s birthday. The bugger turned 18 the other day. Damn it, it means I will have to hear that “you are still a minor” joke for the next eight months. Anyway, we decided to go to Osiyan. The real desert is in Jaisalmer. Osian though had its own miniature version of Jaisalmer’s sand dunes. We thought we would stay there the night, drink, talk around a cosy bonfire burning merrily all night under the starry sky on the dunes….

Piyush and Virmani have driving licences. So that meant Vish and I was to be pillion. We needed bikes and there was a rent-a-bike, in the city on station road. The deal seemed ok. 200 bucks for 24 hours. We got hold of two pulsars-a black one and a deep purple, Piyush and I on the first. Initially we thought of going in the morning on Sunday i.e. today, but then Vish on a sudden burst of adrenaline decided to leave immediately on Saturday evening. I was assigned to fill up the out passes for the overnight journey. but the assistant hostel warden refused to let us out.

Why not, sir?

Because too many people seem to be going on trips.

But please sir, it is just for sight seeing, we’ve never been to Osian.

So what? Out passes can be given only for going home. If Osian is your home, I’ll give you the out passes.

Well, I guess you got the point; we were not going to able to go.

But with people like Virmani, Piyush and to a lesser extent Vish, one learns never to accept defeat, at least not in non-academic pursuits. Piyush recommended forging, Virmani for a second attempt.

So with some deft licking of boots, we managed to get the permission we much needed. We ran then, right outta the university, within minutes we had packed-4 mattresses and an empty bag (to be filled up by booze en route!!). We didn’t know what we were in for then, never realised how cold it would be. The bike rental guy didn’t have helmets that could actually protect your head. They were all cracked. But he said it’s only to evade the police. Also it was evident on the face of it that the engine had been modified to give more efficiency. Safety had been sacrificed for performance, and that’s the only thing that mattered to us anyway.

We rode then, hi-fived just before we started the engine. Finally it felt like we were in college.

Piyush zoomed through crowded Nai Sarak manoeuvring around camel carts, startled bi-cyclists, and a host of other vehicles which I couldn’t make out in the haze of speeding. His long hair billowing in the wind all over my face. This guy could drive.

We stopped for petrol at the nearest bunk. After filling up and checking for air, we moved on. This time faster, as we were out of the city and on an empty stretch. Piyush pushed the vehicle, which willingly obliged its master, although making a curiously echoing sound in the process. We stopped enroute at Chamunda, a highway side Dhaba. Rich food, loads of butter. But we ate light anticipating a strenuous ride ahead. We also bought booze- a bottle of RS half and another quarter of RC. Also we got hold of a bisleri 2 litre bottle and a thums up 1.5 L. Evidently we intended to drink quite a lot…….it was pretty enlightening for me. I have never bought drinks before. All of them were being referred to in their short forms- RS Royal Stag, RC Royal Challenge.

We zoomed off then into the dark desert highway, Hotel California on our lips. It was like The Eagles had actually composed that song for us, for today. I unlike the other three guys didn’t have gloves. And as we rode on, all of us froze in varying degrees depending on the number of layers of clothes we wore. Piyush and Virmani realised that they had lost their feeling below their knees. For me it was my fingers, it felt as if they had to be amputated. They were a pair of lifeless driftwood, cold and dense. But then again we weren’t sissy to complain. We were here to have fun, and we had it no matter how chilly things got. Who gave a damn!!!

The guy at the back bent forward and yelled into the bikers’ ears. No body heard the other, yet all four of us used to nod in agreement. We decided to race.

“One, two three...!” I shouted at the other bike.

The pulsars fled into the night, with the headlights piercing through the veil of darkness.

Whoops of joy escaped from our mouths, the sound already left far behind as the two wheelers accelerated.

Piyush shouted into my ear, “DUDE, I THINK WE’RE DOING A HUNDRED! DAMN THAT SPEEDOMETER, WE CANT SHOW OFF”

Thankfully the road was entirely deserted, not a soul in sight. Not that we could’ve seen them anyway, the night was such. I looked around on both sides. Ha! The advantage of being a pillion. Piyush though was staring straight ahead, his eyes tiny slits, and the better to see. On both sides there was nothing but emptiness, seemingly stretching till infinity. Now and then there were lights on top of some hill, those orange specks, so irrelevant at such a distance.

There came a signboard asking us to slow down. It was a railway crossing. We stopped, waiting for the train to move on. We decided to take pics. So with 50 odd people staring, the four of us took snaps of each other, against the bikes, against the railway crossing, using the streetlamp as the camera light. We reached the Osian temple complex at 10: 30 p.m. It took us 15 minutes to start walking. Only then did we look around. We removed our helmets and tried to rectify the damage to our hair, using the rear view glass as our mirror.

The place was deserted. It was like a ghost town. The temple gate was open though and we walked through. We needed directions to the dunes and some firewood to realise our dreams. We found a group of five men who were huddling around a fire, sitting on their haunches. They didn’t have a clue why four guys should want to come all the way from Jodhpur to spend the night freezing on the dunes. Obviously they were of no help. We asked others outside. Curiously many people turned up, all of them young men. This led us to believe that Osian was a gay district, and I have to admit, we were quiet unnerved at the thought!

We drove off then to the market place in search for wood. Got lost, stopped near a banyan tree, fell off the bike and still no people. That’s one thing about this place, people either come out of nowhere or else disappear equally mysteriously. We kept driving on. Saw a few lights in the distance on top of a hill, never realising that’s where we needed to go. We stopped at a Dhaba. The same old story- No firewood and no recognisable sand dune. But this time Virmani and Vish suggested cutting some dry branches off some bushes by the side of the road. They were horribly enthusiastic; I knew the idea would come to nought. I didn’t say anything though, for fear of being abused and being called a pussy. Piyush though was busy, talking to his girlfriend.

There was a minor problem though. The ass was using my cell.

“DUDE, DON’T SPEND ALL THE MUTHERFUCKING BALANCE!!” I yelled after him as he walked off to get some privacy. As if we cared though, about the gooey conversation he was going to have with his girl.

“What the fuck do you need balance for anyway, you just got dumped. Who are you going to spend it on?” Vishnu teased from behind my back. Virmani snorted in agreement. I looked back. Both of them were deeply engrossed in the job at hand-literally. For I could see only their upper torsos. The lower half was lost in the thorns. Virmani the bulkier of the two was doing the dirty job. By holding one end of the branch in his right hand and his left foot as a lever, he managed to price out three ten foot long branches. Vishnu was holding the torch overhead to prevent their throats getting slit. Virmani then proceeded to throw the dried branches javelin style on to the road. Piyush too was done by then. I had lost just 30 bucks. Not bad considering his average per call was nothing less than 120 bucks.

We had to move on now in search of the dunes. Vish and I held the reward by our fingertips to prevent getting pricked. It was a sight to see. Piyush and I followed the other two. He couldn’t control his laughter as we saw huge branches trailing the pulsar moving awkwardly ahead of us. We stopped 200 metres ahead. Virmani had seen something like sand on the right hand side of the road through the beam of his headlight. We decided to send Piyush on his bike to investigate. The side road though was sand upto a foot or so. He couldn’t get far, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. The bike swayed perilously on both sides, but at the end of the pendulum swing he managed to strike his foot out to break the fall. But defeat was inevitable. Virmani and Vish decided to explore on foot instead. So I waited there with Piyush. He got a call again:

“Airtel sucks!! The bastards are everywhere. How the fuck am I getting a signal even here? I realised that he probably had a fight with his girlfriend and didn’t want to talk to her, so I didn’t pursue the matter.

So we waited hopefully for the other two to get back. We could see the torchlight bobbing in the distance. May be they had struck gold after all, in the form of dunes of sand!!

They came back fifteen minutes or so disappointed. We had to move on now. It had been more than two hours since we started the trip, with no luck.

The four of us stood around the bikes, the pulsars being our round table for discussion.

“I suggest that we ask for directions, otherwise we’d end up getting lost.”

We ended up sleeping by the road. After cleaning up the shit of camels and dogs, we spread out the blankets: two on the ground and two to cover us. The branches we had cuts and the two bikes forming our enclosure. We looked up at the star lit sky. It was brilliantly lit, almost as good as Jaisalmer. Our feet became numb. A truck stops midway on the highway. We wonder whether the driver saw our cigarette lights or the reflection of the headlights upon the shining armour of the bikes.

We woke up in the morning to see curious faces of half a dozen villagers. Looking around, GEES, we had slept in the middle of nowher. And there it was in the distance, the dunes. How did we miss it last night I have no clue!!

We went there after all and wow, it was so amazing. We sat on top of the highest dune and looked around, the scenery was breath taking to say the least. While Piyush and I dozed off Virmani and Vish decided to do what they know best: fight!! So they had a good dog fight with Virmani coming trumps…although Vish will never admit it….;)

We left the place then at around 12:30 p.m. We went back to the temple gate where our bikes were parked, this time though we realised that Osian was not that dead a place after all. The temple complex was abuzz with activity. Our tummies rumbling, we had a lousy thali and went up the temple. The first thing you would notice are the steps: stretching right up to the top of the hill where the temple was situated. We had to remove our footwear at the entrance itself. It took us 15 minutes or so, there was so much sand in them! There was one Reebok, one Nike, a woodland and some other fancy brand I don’t remember. No way were we gonna risk leaving them without supervision. I volunteered to wait there while the other three went ahead. It was a rewarding decision on my part, for I got a direct peek at all the hot foreign tourists coming and going!!

Later back in college we found out that a bunch of fifth years were planning a trip to Osiyan in two jeeps. the four of us glanced at each others our eyes sparkling with anticipation.

We' ve done that already, WHAT NEXT!!