The News That Wasn't : Ishant blames it on the hair; vows to donate them to Tirupati

In a candid moment, while speaking to the media, Ishant confessed that it was the long hair that crowded his vision while bowling the 48^th over against the Aussies in the match in Mohali. The fast bowler gave away 30 runs in the second last over which clinched the match away from the Indians. Till the 47^th nothing looked to be working for the Aussies. The celebrations in the Indian Camp, although quite mistaken, were on, with the skipper regrouping his team after every over, to decide the venue for the after party. Our sources tell us that the youngsters in the team had not fully concurred with skipper’s choice. Dhoni had looked tense thereafter.

When asked about the details, the bowler volunteered to imitate his run-up for the media and prove his point. “Usually I try to throw the ball very fast randomly on any part of the pitch. I never needed to see where I was bowling. By the laws of probability, I would always bowl some good balls. But in that over, MS, all of a sudden, asked me to pitch it in the right areas. That’s just not how it works with me. Now if you ask an experienced bowler to change his bowling strategy in like 10 minutes; Aisa thodi hota hai yaar. But still I tried.”

Ishant imitated himself rather skilfully to illustrate how as soon as he had to release the ball after the run up, spaghetti in coal sauce type hair would completely block his eyes, which he was so desperately dependent on ; now that he had to see where he was bowling.  When asked what he was going to take back from this match, Ishant said – “One, I’m going to sue our team hairdresser, who is ultimately and totally responsible for our loss today. Two, I’m going to Tirupati to donate my hair for the greater good of mankind and cricket.” When asked if bowling to James Faulkner will give him the hibiby-jibies in the coming matches, Ishant in his signature style rebutted that he didn’t really give a ‘faulk’ about him.  

The 7ft bowler, still seeming to be recovering from shock and paranoia, refused to comment any further. “We’re still having that party. I have to go.” – He is learnt to have said before leaving.

The Girl in Pink Shorts : Part I

If I hadn't seen it for myself, I would not have believed it; a girl wearing pink shorts praying in a temple.

Let me start by illustrating how I came to witness this aberration. My mother has always been a super religious person. So much so, that I can totally see her featuring in God’s 99+ percentilers list ordered by faith and devotion. And call it my ignorance or lack of faith that despite such figures to look up to in my own house, I could never adhere to submitting myself to the lord almighty. The one interesting thing that I learnt was that if you’re not an atheist – then you’re in a state of constant faith flux. You just cannot predict what you’re going to head into; which, in my opinion, may not necessarily be bad thing.

The last couple of months haven’t been the best ones. And in hard times, one necessarily finds oneself vulnerable to new ideas, even faiths. The act of giving religion a chance came as a consequence. In a way, maybe I wanted religion to give me a chance. But whatever.

So it was the fourth of seven Saturday nights, I had pledged to go the temple to. It’s an ancient and renowned Hanuman temple, right in the heart of Delhi’s colonial imprint - Connaught Place. It’s the kind of temples that makes you feel that for some families visiting a temple is their chance of getting some time together; like the kind of time a family spends on the dinner table, or watching TV together. It’s bonding time for them. A picnic spot so to say.

A place of worship is the most representative sample of a country’s population which is going through one dilemma or another. It cuts through the social status and wealth. I see the vehicles parked outside; you name it and it’s there. Cars range from Tata Nanos to Audi S3s, two wheelers range from 1980 Bajaj Chetak Scooters to brand new Avengers. I saw the parking spread and realised that rich people have problems too. Call me a sadist but I always find it moderately gratifying to know that.

I stood in the queue outside the temple, thinking what am doing in this place, and simultaneously trying to make the best of the visit, by reinvigorating faith, if any, inside me. And despite best efforts God did not fancy my imagination. People did.

A couple of people ahead of me in the queue was a family of four; dad, mom, brother and sister. The parents were a subtle caricature of middle class parents; siblings looked to be in their teens, the girl being elder. Everything about that family was extremely normal except one (as you’d have guessed); the girl wore pink shorts; the kind of shorts that were certainly not more than three fourths of a foot below the waist. By the power of instinct vested in guys towards spotting such anomalies, it caught my attention.

Not particularly the kind of wardrobe that would suit a temple – I thought to myself. By some telepathic sense, I could hear my mental thoughts resonating among a few others. Prejudice makes one think not so well of a girl who misappropriates her wardrobe selection.  

To Be Cont..