Monthly Archive for November, 2008

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The Terror Of Hypocrisy

What Sadhvi Pragya Thakur and Lt. Colonel Purohit have done (if they were indeed involved in the heinous attacks they have been accused of) is that in addition to dragging the name of the One and True God Prabhuji into their agenda of hate,  they have handed to the apologists of Jihadi terror, Pakistani media and the Arundhati-Sabrang crowd a Diwali-and-Christmas-gift-for-all-eternity-rolled into-one which will keep on giving for years on end.

The involvement of Hindu right-wing elements in planned acts of urban mayhem will now be used, ad nauseum for years to come to support the central thesis of their arguments—-all acts of terrorism in India are done by Hindus and blamed on innocent Muslims and on Pakistani agents. The presence of an armed force officer in the list of accused is the proverbial icing on the cake, providing great potential to be spun as the shadow of a darker government conspiracy, sure to throw Arundhuti Roy into paroxysms of delight and the Arabic media, which once accused the Indian and Jewish government of having triggered the tsunami, into absolute hate-filled delirium.

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Soft Victory

In an effort to put all speculation to rest as to whether he can still keep it up as the captain of the team, Ricky Ponting has announced “I haven’t gone soft” (headline: “I haven’t gone soft, declares Ponting“). A certain man in India who once kissed Ricky Ponting because “he is a great captain and our culture is to kiss him” must be able to go to bed in peace after being thus reassured of Ponting’s ever-enduring rigidness.

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Curtains

When Dada announced his retirement under obvious pressure from the selectors, my first reaction, as a long-time fan, was a sense of disappointment. Once again in his life, Sourav Ganguly was being given a raw deal more so as  he has been playing some of his best cricket over the last few years and so should not have been the first in the firing line. (A small numbers argument here) Once the inevitability of the retirement sunk in, there were a wistful reminiscence about the defining moments of his career  and a grudging acceptance of what was to happen. His retirement was only a matter of time, if not this series then the one down the road. Given that reality, he deserved the chance to leave with his head held high and if indeed his neck was forever going to be on the chopping block, no matter what he scored, then at his age there was no need to let himself be subject to humiliation.

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Yes We Have

Woh a gya. Dekho woh agya…

Ah ha Aa Aaa Aha Aha…[Helen-ish moaning]

Obamaaaaaaaa You are my darling.

Obama is the President of the United States of America.

Flowers will now rain from the skies.

Pigs (with or without lipstick) will fly.

Good will prevail.

Shakti Kapoor will take sanyas.

Now that aaaya aaya Toofan, expect  bhaga bhaga shaitaan in the caves of Pakistan.

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Leaving On The Jumbo Jet

The match had been set up in the way that it used to be in the 90s.

Home test.

A strong Indian batting display.

A 600-plus score.

A slow spinning track.

As per the script we Indian fans were used to, Kumble would bowl about a hundred overs of sliders, top spinners and fast yorkers with an intense studious expression on his face. He would occasionally twist his face in frustration as the cover fielder would let one of his preys get off strike by being slow to bend down.

The stump mikes would pick up  shouts of “Aigaaaa”, “Is baar jayega” and “One more boys, one more”.

A few close leg befores would be turned down.

There would be deafening appeals every other over.

One dodgy bat-pad would be given.

Or perhaps two.

What however almost never changed, as per that 90s script, was that the opposing team would lose their 20 wickets, worn down by the grinding stone that was Anil Kumble and the next day’s newspapers would have a picture of Jumbo’s smiling visage with a stump in hand.

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