Indian Ameri

There is a certain strong hesitation that prevents me from contact, though I want to make the call. The terrible history supports the hesitation part. I should NOT hope to believe on the belief of hope. Hope the idealist in me gets murdered pragmatically.

Yesterday's game won the new "Best repartee" from self and from the team. Last year's finals showcased a smart tit for tat with a broad smile to the opponent captain, for his fortune to make into the finals. This year's punch in the air followed by the aggressive repartee brought the biggest cheers from the fair UKCC team.

With a heck lot of running really tiring out my soul, I had no other option but to stand loose and wait till the last microsecond to tense up my body and whack the ball. Unfortunately, with Sardarji 'Sam'arjith throwing all his anger at me with bouncers, and beamers, I couldn't place the ball outside the ropes. Then after a cheeky two run stolen from his anger, Sardarji yelled in his genetically altered aggressive voice, "You can't even walk in the pitch. Go back a$$hole"

Showing a stern face of anger, I waited for the next ball lazy and tired. As he released the ball, I walked down the pitch and whacked him for the biggest and longest six of UKCC's innings. I punched in the air, looked at Sardarji and agitatedly spat, "I still can whack you for a six.........." followed with my dry mouth accenting his name as "Some Singh" instead of "Sam Singh". With the umpire walking between us to calm us down, I turned to the bench and yelled, "Pappu can't dance with me.. Saala" and they all jeered and cheered at my offensive pun.

And thus Samarjith Singh became 'Some Singh' to 'Pappu who can't dance' in a matter of seconds. The team rarely sees me going for a sledge coz am against it. But, if I am twitched then I can really flood and drown the opponents remarks. Though, I should be ashamed of my remarks, am happy that I stand strong against such non sportsmanship strangers who try to play with my mind. I can be real mean too. But, it's just that nobody prefers to be like that.

There are some ungracious moments in life that make you believe that coincidence is mere 'Bull-shit'. Whilst on the other hand you also believe that fate is a fabrication of the denial towards failure. And finally there is the third kind - the ominous fateful coincidence. And yesterday, 11 people witnessed such an event.

Briefly before even getting into the event that brought an unanimous "F#$%" from ten people's mouth at the same microsecond, let me give a pre-event update. After the tournament poll shooting another possible encounter of UKCC vs CCC in the finals, we set forth in our prequarters to play the bowling attack filled Everest Cricket Club. 9 overs into our innings, we lost all our three powerful yet sensible hitters and a rotater for 46 runs. The new captain 'darling Tesa' who on the pitch, pushed the 'old work horse - a.k.a Musaloda', me, at fourth down. With an average of under par 10.5 from four games with an average strike rate of under 95, and being the first away game of the season, I knew that this is a critical game. There is no margin for error being a knock out game.

93 runs of partnership later, darling walked back to the pavilion with his first 55. He - the new captain and the I, the ex-captain together scored 22 of the 93 partnership in boundaries. The rest of the runs came in running between wickets in 7.4 overs. Well, to be lucid, we ran five three's and fifteen two's during the innings. 18.3 overs down, my chicken run buckled under lactic acid accumulation in my calf muscles and I died running. I was retired hurt at 35 huffing and puffing as I walked back with my shivering feet. We finished at 154 in 20 overs. The youngsters knew what running between the wickets meant after seeing the old me and the active Tesa.

Our bowling was meticulously beautiful making us believe that we've won the game comfortably after the first five overs itself. Then came Larry - the mercenary from West Indies. With 13 clean sixes clearing the ropes by at least a 20 yards finished the game single handedly (more like Sachin in Sharjah) by the 17th over. This might well be my last T-20 game of my life :(.....

Anyways coming to the fateful coincidence, when Larry was batting with the equation stating 39 to win with 5 wickets in hand, I sustained a dislocated finger injury on my left hand. With pain filling my mind, I halted the game by a minute kneeling on the field pulling my finger to relocate the metacarpal. Another wide delivered by the fastest bowler, dived and hard stopped on the finger just exacerbated the injury. Chotu seeing my agony said, "Pads nikhaalo. Mein karoon keeping!" With no hesitation, I removed the pads and gave him the gear. As I walked to deep square leg, I was worried on the decision to give the pads to the child prodigy. I was not happy about not thinking twice though I was in pain. I was uncomfortable coz I know I can still keep behind the wickets coz I was budding with confidence. Yet, I settled on the decision and waited for the next ball.

As the next ball being edged hard by the plumeling Larry, slowly dropping towards Chotu's hands, ten of us jumped in excitement believing that we are back in the game, and then we witnessed the most horrifying moment of the season. The ball just popped out of his hands and fell down. Larry dropped, and the next microsecond shock waved an unianimous "F#%#" from the field. Seconds followed after the curse with me throwing the cap on the field, cursing everything the way fate had played the coincidental part, how stupid I could have been in giving the gloves to Chotu at the most important phase of the game, etc. After I gained my composure, Ted Mosby ranted, "1 ball late Hari. If only you could have beared the pain for 1 more ball" to which I replied, "I know Sri. It's all f#$@en fate." and both smiled at each other the way we were failed by fate.

With captain darling watching the skies losing hope in spite of his hard efforts, and the team's vice Sri stopped encouraging the team, I had no other option but to break the promise of not guiding the team during the game so that the new captain and vice can learn the strategical art of reading a batsman. I ran from the ropes to darling, shussshed everyone else, and pulled the ball from his hands, threw it to my favorite yet inexperienced spinner - Rohit Jr and asked him to wait on the bowling crease. When everybody lost hopes, I had a word with Rohit Jr, asked him to close his eyes and replay the two balls I guided Kachra Karan to bowl by being behind the wickets. A personal joke brought a wide smile from the youngster, a nod of confidence in him and I knew 13 runs can be turned into a victory lap. I went back to the ropes, moved Ted to another spot, and yelled, "Roh. It's our day. Do as I said and we are towing the Lorry out."

Dot ball from Larry, followed by another dot ball. Roh looked at me. I yelled, "Just smile and bowl" and gave him a nod to go for it. A short ball angled by my smiling favorite spinner from middle to outside leg was enough to set the playmaking. As I had expected lambu Larry swept it towards deep square leg. 'Two steps to the right, and I covered the swing of the ball. My hands turned to buckets ready to get the catch. Confidence surged up like adrenaline and my ears stopped listening the yelling of a Caaaaaaaatchhhhhh from the few hopeful players. All my focus saw only the red ball coming towards me at a really fast pace. And from nowhere at the exact moment, the background cloud moved an inch and I was blinded by sunlight. There was no time to think about the playmaking strategy being ruined by the sun. I jumped blind, caught the ball one hand using my left. In the air, I felt the pain pulling from the stretched hand to the toe of my body. I landed with disbelief. I had my foot on the rope. Aaaarrrgggghhhhhhhhh yelled through my mind.'

Everybody knew that I had master-planed the whole process into making the clean hitter lose his wicket. I trapped him perfect. I read him good. There, I was squatting on the ropes smiling at Ted, Roh, Darling, Chotu and the rest of the team. Everyone laughed coz they knew that they were tricked by fate and not by bad playing. And they all knew how bad they missed me early in the game with their good mannered promise. Fate played its part in terms of sunlight and the injury. The whole team couldn't believe the way they lost today. A few players couldn't control their emotion. The next few hours of food and driving was crucial to keep the guys have their hearts back. By the time I reached my friends place, I knew that I did a good job in keeping the team smiling at the end. Now, with 20-20 done, we are taking a week break before practicing for the regular league. And for the first time in four seasons, I have a gut feeling that this team has all the fire and ammunition to run over the other big teams and names in the regular league. :-)

Just moments ago, I recieved an e-mail from the tournament organizing committee for being fair in blogging about the polls in their website. Now, with the loss, they want me to umpire the finals of the tourney. Yikes! the ice pack glued to my left calf muscle is leaking. Got to tape it and get ready for the next tourney. Wish me luck and wish that fate doesn't play make our future games. :D (PS - in spite of losing the game, I am happy to have witnessed such a magnificent player on the field. Good luck to the West Indian Larry too)

After sneaking out of the shared hotel room at half past midnight, as I worked on the presentation edits sitting beside the San Antonio river walk, I couldn't stop thinking about the strange encounter I had during my lunch break. My mind still could not process the fact that I had a casual tourist-interaction with a short and much more chubby look-alike of my dad. Fortunately this Mexican retiree had nothing outside the looks common to dad. He had to wait for his wife to finish shopping and commented that he would be ready to exchange two 20s for his 40 year old wife. He sung "Dust in the Wind" in his Mexican tongue and got me a flying kiss from a cute chicitha el bonito by teaching me how to say, "Senorita d'hermosa" (which by the way is our home's wireless name for nearly 6 months). Then I cheekishly wished, "if only dad was like him".

With the Texas breeze gradually imbibing my senses, I lost focus on the work at hand and gazed at the Fiesta couples and Latinos walking/dancing around the mall area. Don't know how long I lost contact with reality, all of a sudden my neurons fired up the feeling of extreme pain in my left thigh to notice that my advisors lap (burning) top just roasted my skin out. The agitated reflex action scared the harmless du du du pigeons, which flew in shock to hit the nearby dancers. And the whole night-life crowd started laughing. It was interesting to see some change.

Two more days later, with Ballsy (The friendliest senior who ragged me first in UG) trying his best to get the patrician laid, and the festive city-mood, I overcame all the unfortunate misrepresentation of myself, my work, and of course the humdrum presented in the not too great conference, with some magic dust thrown over the crowd. Thanks to John, a new post doc contact from a big shots group, I overcame the misery of the overrun presentation and rejected dump of the paper with ease.

Oh yeah! Talking about big shots, my powdered memory gave rise to a firm hand shake with a big time faculty - I preyed upon his solitude situation devoid of other hyenas and gave him a handshake. "Nice article in Scientific American with Langer Doctorrrrrr......... (Oh Shit! I forgot his name. I just remembered it as I walked. How can I forget this guy's name? Process u stupid, miserable brain)......" The faculty, ".......(bends his face waiting for me to blurt his name)...... (Finally gives up on my sincere efforts and...) Thanks Hari! and it's Dr. XYZ" Me - "(He knows my name?? huhhhh. smile now instead of the surprised look...)" and the handshake went strong with a sense of knowing.

The return journey was mournfully sulky with boredom and hangover reeking from the sloppy conference. But, interestingly, in spite of the lean patch of sleep, I managed to see patterned amoebic cities with dead red and green alive cells and other biomolecules from the dusky city lights as we flew over the cloudless 3 hour flight. Good thing, I reeled my ever so sumptuous colleague-cum-friend into the idea of viewing cities as a biomaterial surface packed with living tissue/matrix of cells. (Now that's finally something productive out of the conference).