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...