Insignificant nobody

Her feet touched the white line. She stood alongside the others. She was barely five feet. The others towered over her. She was a dwarf.

Her heart pounded much faster than usual. The air was thick with nervousness. But more than anything there was a sense of calm. This was an escape from everything else that engulfed her mind; her soul; her existence. The pitch, the wet grass, the long hours of torture ahead. All an escape.

It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough of torture already. Almost every day she awoke to the yelling and screaming combined with the overwhelming stench of alcohol. It began with muffled voices but no longer were there attempts to keep it quiet. Over time they kept getting louder and more violent. It became an everyday affair. She was unwanted there. Sleep helped her escape most of it. Closing her eyes transported her to a world where everything was quiet and peaceful. During the daytime however, she usually bore the leftover brunt of the previous night’s wrath. Either in the form of abuses and taunts or the occasional physical onslaught. Such matters are seldom confined within the sanctity of a home. The entire neighborhood obviously knew and they made it obvious too. She was even more of an outsider now and again for reasons she had no control over. Looking her best wasn’t exactly her priority and that brought more ostracism.She anyway wasn’t one to be identified by what she wore owned or came from. She couldn’t care less.

Here however, she loved pain. Looked forward to it, in fact. For the first time she had found solace with her eyes open and while listening to everything around her. She subjected her body to much more than what the others could endure. Every day made her stronger. Her fragile and tiny being gained confidence with every passing session. She began to look forward to the toughest of challenges. She wanted to overcome them all. And overcome them she did. Over time the others began looking to her for strength. Drawing from her resilience.They knew who she was and where she came from. They loved her for what she was and the best she inspired in all of them. 

Many a season later. The walls still failed to keep the discord at bay. The doors failed still to stop the stench of alcohol and hate. She didn’t need to pretend to sleep and find peace anymore.She found it with on the wet grass. Yet again she stood with her feet at the white line; stood side by side with the others. She was still the tiniest and most fragile. And there she was towering over all of them. She was a giant. She was invincible.

Unhappy winners

After the 1992 Barcelona Summer Olympics, researchers from Cornell University studied the facial expressions of all the athletes who won gold, silver, and bronze medals. They analyzed footage of ceremonies and television interviews and found that gold medalists seemed the happiest.
What a shock, right?
But they also noticed something surprising: The bronze medalists seemed much happier than the silver medalists.
How could athletes who finished third be happier than athletes who finished second? The answer lies in understanding what psychologists call counterfactual thinking, or what the rest of us call, "Wait; if only..."
In simple terms (handily enough the only terms I understand), counterfactual thinking occurs when we imagine how things might have turned out. When something happens -- especially something significant -- we think about alternatives to our current reality in order to place that event in context.
Counterfactual thinking sometimes makes us feel good about where we are in comparison to where we could be. And sometimes it makes us feel worse. Either way, we do a lot of comparing: Between where we are and where we could have been... both positively and negatively.
So take the silver medalists: They used an upper counterfactual, meaning they judged themselves in comparison to the gold medalists. As a result their, "Wait... but what if?" questions fell along the lines of, "Wait; if only I had just trained harder... then I might have won a gold medal," or, "Wait; if only I had just gotten a little better start... then I could have finished first."
Silver medalists tended to dwell on what they could have done differently to win the gold.
Contrast that with the bronze medalists. They used a downward counterfactual, meaning they judged themselves in comparison to all of the people who didn't win any medal. By comparing themselves to what could have been -- no medal at all -- the bronze medalists felt thrilled just to be standing on the podium.
And that made them seem happier than the silver medalists.

Passion's search for destiny

Passion's search for destiny.

She was haunted by a man whom she had never met.  He came to her in her dreams.  It was not just a reoccurring dream about some random Prince Charming archetype.  This guy had flaws.  He was just as mixed up and lost as she was.  She would wake up from a dead sleep to the sound of his voice whispering in her ear, "Look out the window."  She would argue in her half asleep stupor, "Be quiet!  I'm sleeping!"  Again, he would whisper, "Look out the window."  She would eventually drag herself up from the cozy comfort of her bed to gaze out the window.  There was the full moon big and beautiful.  It magically called to her from somewhere in the back of her soul's oldest memories.

She could feel him there, her ghostly suitor.  She knew that if she spun around quickly, he would be standing there behind her, but every time she turned, there was nothing there but silence and darkness.  Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she could hear him silently promising, "Wait for me. I'll find you if it's the last thing I do."  She would toss and turn for the rest of the night feeling his intense presence and wrestling with the fact that he was not 'real'.

 As the years went on, she would learn that he did not know her name and that he called her Destiny.  She began to call him Passion.  She was not allowed to search for him.  She was to sit still and wait.  It was part of the game, part of the agreement.  His challenge for this lifetime was to search for his Destiny.  After all, what is Passion without Destiny?  He had to learn how to recognize her.  She had to learn how to wait in blind faith that he would find her.  Both had to live real lives with real mates.  Neither could shake the very real belief that the other one existed somewhere out there.

How many times would she convince herself that the man standing in front of her was her Passion?  How many times would it not be true?  How would she know when it was finally him?  How many women would he mistake for her?  Would Passion and Destiny burn out and give up, writing it all off as just some figment of their imaginations?  Do soul mates really exist?  Or are we looking for an impossible ideal?

A soul mate is not just someone that you love from the depth of your soul.  They are not just someone that you have a karmic connection with.  They are not just someone that you want to spend the rest of your life with.  They are someone you miss hanging out with before you have even met.  They are the one that upon first meeting you simply sigh in relief and say, "Ah there you are, I've been waiting for you."  There is no questioning, no 'getting to know you' stage.  You have known them for all of eternity.  You may want to share the stories of your journeys and how you came to find each other, but you already 'know' them as well as you know yourself.  You see yourself in their eyes.  You understand them on a soul level because you share the same source.

Unfortunately, it is not always a blissful experience.  Most of us are not ready to meet our other halves because we are not even ready to look ourselves in the mirror.  Until you can truly love and accept yourself, then you will not be able to love and accept your soulmate.  They are not some fantasy person sent to save you from the ups and downs of real life.  They will not make your life a magic perfect delight.  They are not sent to rescue you, fix you, or even to make you happy.  They will simply love you on a level that is unlike any other.

If you do not hear the call of a long lost soulmate, count yourself as blessed.  I mean this with all of my heart.  You are the lucky ones, those who never hear the soft whisper of a far away soulmate.  You have the freedom to love anyone you choose.  You get to make any kind of match that pleases you.  Do not try to force a soulmate relationship.  Be content in knowing that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, doing exactly what you are meant to do.

If on the other hand, you do hear your Passion calling, or you see Destiny in your dreams, then my prayers go out to you my dear.  For yours is that path of finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.  Do not ask me to tell you if they are worth the hunt.  Can you bring yourself to give up the hunt even if you tried?  Only you can gauge your ability to silence that cosmic voice calling you to hold out for that certain person that only you will recognize.  Only you know what it is going to take to find them.  Perhaps the angels will smile upon the two of you and help with some old-fashioned happenstance.  Perhaps you will telepathically connect and find your way into each others arms.  Perhaps you were just meant to experience the longing.  Perhaps you will go through some bad relationships first so that when you find your Destiny, she will be that much sweeter and more appreciated.  Nobody knows for sure how it will play out.  But I believe that on some level, deep down, you know.

Did you already meet your soul mate and choose to walk away from each other?  Was the intensity too much?  Did it scare you?  Was it overwhelming?  Was it too hard?  Will you have a second chance with them later down the road?  Will you miss them forever?  Yeah, probably.  Will you learn something about unconditional love from them?  Yeah, probably.

Did you find each other and recognize the fact that they shared the same soul as you?  Did you hold on tight?  Count yourselves as the very rare and incredibly blessed.  Cherish the gift of finding yourself in another's eyes and seeing just how beautiful you are.

The Most Important Question You Can Ask Yourself Today

Everybody wants what feels good. Everyone wants to live a care-free, happy and easy life, to fall in love and have amazing sex and relationships, to look perfect and make money and be popular and well-respected and admired and a total baller to the point that people part like the Red Sea when you walk into the room.
Everybody wants that -- it's easy to want that.
If I ask you, "What do you want out of life?" and you say something like, "I want to be happy and have a great family and a job I like," it's so ubiquitous that it doesn't even mean anything.
Everyone wants that. So what's the point?
What's more interesting to me is what pain do you want? What are you willing to struggle for? Because that seems to be a greater determinant of how our lives end up.
Everybody wants to have an amazing job and financial independence -- but not everyone is willing to suffer through 60-hour work weeks, long commutes, obnoxious paperwork, to navigate arbitrary corporate hierarchies and the blasé confines of an infinite cubicle hell. People want to be rich without the risk, with the delayed gratification necessary to accumulate wealth.
Everybody wants to have great sex and an awesome relationship -- but not everyone is willing to go through the tough communication, the awkward silences, the hurt feelings and the emotional psychodrama to get there. And so they settle. They settle and wonder "What if?" for years and years and until the question morphs from "What if?" into "What for?" And when the lawyers go home and the alimony check is in the mail they say, "What was it all for?" If not for their lowered standards and expectations for themselves 20 years prior, then what for?
Because happiness requires struggle. You can only avoid pain for so long before it comes roaring back to life.
At the core of all human behavior, the good feelings we all want are more or less the same. Therefore what we get out of life is not determined by the good feelings we desire but by what bad feelings we're willing to sustain.
"Nothing good in life comes easy," we've been told that a hundred times before. The good things in life we accomplish are defined by where we enjoy the suffering, where we enjoy the struggle.
People want an amazing physique. But you don't end up with one unless you legitimately love the pain and physical stress that comes with living inside a gym for hour upon hour, unless you love calculating and calibrating the food you eat, planning your life out in tiny plate-sized portions.
People want to start their own business or become financially independent. But you don't end up a successful entrepreneur unless you find a way to love the risk, the uncertainty, the repeated failures, and working insane hours on something you have no idea whether will be successful or not. Some people are wired for that sort of pain, and those are the ones who succeed.
People want a boyfriend or girlfriend. But you don't end up attracting amazing people without loving the emotional turbulence that comes with weathering rejections, building the sexual tension that never gets released, and staring blankly at a phone that never rings. It's part of the game of love. You can't win if you don't play.
What determines your success is "What pain do you want to sustain?"
I wrote in an article last week that I've always loved the idea of being a surfer, yet I've never made consistent effort to surf regularly. Truth is: I don't enjoy the pain that comes with paddling until my arms go numb and having water shot up my nose repeatedly. It's not for me. The cost outweighs the benefit. And that's fine.
On the other hand, I am willing to live out of a suitcase for months on end, to stammer around in a foreign language for hours with people who speak no English to try and buy a cell phone, to get lost in new cities over and over and over again. Because that's the sort of pain and stress I enjoy sustaining. That's where my passion lies, not just in the pleasures, but in the stress and pain.
There's a lot of self development advice out there that says, "You've just got to want it enough!"
That's only partly true. Everybody wants something. And everybody wants something badly enough. They just aren't being honest with themselves about what they actually want that bad.
If you want the benefits of something in life, you have to also want the costs. If you want the six pack, you have to want the sweat, the soreness, the early mornings, and the hunger pangs. If you want the yacht, you have to also want the late nights, the risky business moves, and the possibility of pissing off a person or ten.
If you find yourself wanting something month after month, year after year, yet nothing happens and you never come any closer to it, then maybe what you actually want is a fantasy, an idealization, an image and a false promise. Maybe you don't actually want it at all.
So I ask you, "How are you willing to suffer?"
Because you have to choose something. You can't have a pain-free life. It can't all be roses and unicorns.
Choose how you are willing to suffer.
Because that's the hard question that matters. Pleasure is an easy question. And pretty much all of us have the same answer.
The more interesting question is the pain. What is the pain that you want to sustain?
Because that answer will actually get you somewhere. It's the question that can change your life. It's what makes me me and you you. It's what defines us and separates us and ultimately brings us together.
So what's it going to be?

Mark Manson, the original writer of this piece, is an entrepreneur, author and world traveler.

Chinese Bamboo

I was watching a video of Les Brown. A motivational speaker from a time when, well, a long time ago.

He said this amazing thing about the Chinese Bamboo and then I looked it up on Google. It seems when you decide to cultivate the Chinese bamboo for the first season nothing grows. All you see is barren land, the way it was before you put anything into it. You need to, however, keep watering it and fertilizing it for another year. And still! at the end of the second year, you still see nothing on the surface. For the entire duration. Every day. You need to keep on diligently watering and nourishing the ground because you have for some godforsaken reason decided to grow Chinese bamboo!

And now it gets worse. The Chinese bamboo takes four frustrating years to break the ground.

For four long years you are watering, nourishing and fertilizing barren land or at least so it seems, to anyone and everyone who sees you at the task.

Some might think you've lost it, many others will voice their opinion on how you are wasting your time and effort for an eternity and have nothing to show for.

Now here the amazing thing about this stubborn, patience testing Mr. Bamboo. Once it breaks the ground after a gestation of four years, within the first season itself, the bamboo grows a massive eighty feet. Almost the entire adult size. EIGHTY FEET! in one year.

The point to ponder on, is did it grow that massive size in the one season that it was shooting towards the sky, or did the growth originate over the four years of diligent and disciplined nurturing? Aren't our goals, and targets very similar to this? Would that shoot have even broken the surface if it weren't watered, and tended to, with unquestioning patience?

For the fitness freaks here. The rest and nutrition that follows all the grunting and pushing in the gym is what results in an admirable self.
For the sports nuts, the numerous hours you put in perfecting a shot, getting your footing right, training in solitude in the mud and grime results in that brief stellar performance applauded by many.

For the suit and tie donning robots, the entrepreneurs and hopeless dreamers, how you tend to your goal when no one's watching you, with nothing on the balance sheet and no swanky office yet to show for, through the storm of doubting and questioning looks results in something worthy of praise and admiration from those very disbelievers.

Now that you are done reading this. Pick up that bucket and go water your bamboo.
(yuck, that sounds cheesy)

Better sore than sorry

The only one thing that you can do today to get you one step closer to
where you often wish you were, is action. When you get up change and walk out the front door, your body, that voice in your head that urges you to sleep some more or laze it off, has no choice but to kit up and come along with you.

Its amazing how many of us complain of running out of breath or lack of energy to take you through the course of your week, or an increasing tendency to do nothing and laze off entire evenings or afternoons or day dream about being on the field.
While the solution is well within our reach.
Living in Pune we are never too far away from a hill-side for a jog, or a school/coll ground, or a badminton court to get together and play, or a space within your society to throw some hoops, swim or run.

I'm certain of the 24 hours that we have so meticulously divided and dedicated to dinners, parties, get togethers, roaming around and doing nothing; we can manage to make an hour or two of fitness time to do some good to a body put through much neglect and abuse.

And since all of you have been engaged in sports at some point in time in the past, ask yourself if you have ever been put through a grueling practice session, or ran till sweat drips off your chin, or pushed a few more repetitions than usual and woken up the next day to regret it.
Never isn't it? Maybe a little sore, but never sorry.

So why stop now?
Wake up. Don't hit snooze. Kit up. Get out.

Mind over matter

We are surrounded by naysayers and disbelievers.

People who will enlist a truckload of reasons why you will fail on a chosen path before they can point out one reason why you should go for it. It becomes increasingly difficult to ignore those voices when they come from your close ones. Friends and family especially. But that’s when you reach for and hold on tightly to one inalienable truth. What you can and cannot do depends majorly on what you think you are capable of. The most powerful, versatile and equally volatile weapon at your behest is your mind and how you control what goes on within it. Let me stop before I get too preachy and ask you to retrospect. When was the last time you were up against a formidable task. An opponent on the field, a mountain to climb, a deadline too close, a challenge deemed grueling and too difficult but you decided to take it on nevertheless and prevailed. Try and think about your state of mind then and I’m sure one of the main reasons you overcame was merely because you believed you could. Strongly and firmly. And no matter what happened around you or what people said, you knew deep down you could and everything else followed suit when the moment came.

I stumbled on this story recently of how until April 1955 everyone in the world believed that it was impossible for mankind to break the 4 minute barrier. They believed it was impossible for anyone to run a mile under 4 minutes. And then along came a certain Roger Bannister who proved them wrong. The significance of this story is what happened after that. Since that day till today, over twenty five thousand people have broken that barrier and many of them include high school kids. Twenty five thousand! Do you know what changed?

When the people after bannister stepped on the track, they knew that someone else had done it before them. They knew it was not impossible. They believed that if he could they could too. The key word here is they believed.

This true story exemplifies the power of your own mind. Of belief. When training at the highest level most of the trainers put their teams and athletes through session of what is commonly called visualization. The sportsmen are asked to isolate and focus on what they need to do. Visualize themselves run, or hit a ball, or jump a hurdle. Picture them performing that act and here’s the wonder, when they train after, the body performs better. Its almost like your body has been given a step by step handbook of what it is to do and how and it follows it to the ‘T’.

The point I'm trying to make here, is that we all have a want list of thing we would like own, places we would like to be, how we would like to look and feel, podiums we want to stand on and feel what it tastes like to be the best. Things we want to work out for ourselves personally. Professionally. Materialistically. Emotionally.

What if you were told that everything you wanted was possible, all you had to do was believe in yourself with enough conviction to drown out the doubts of others and more importantly yourself. And when you get there and look back what you've just achieved, you will realize you've just broken a mental barrier and now everything else you deem possible is within reach.

As simple as it sounds, it’s not an easy task to do. But once done, nothing is impenetrable.

Time Travel

The zapateado that echoed in this place still rang in my ears every time I visited it.
As a kid I had, on more than one occasion, stamped my feet to match the euphoric rhythm of the crowd on these very slabs of concrete. It was customary here, since that made more din that the usual clapping. (And also sounded more awesome)
This time around too that all too familiar rumble buried in my memory it had begun playing in the far depths of my mind. I took my place in the orderly formation we usually took. On those very grounds.
In ways more than one, back in time!

Rewind a few more years to a chilly morning. Me and a few close friends that I have played football with for a good part of the last ten years, met at the MIT grounds for a kick about. After our game I see this group of girls trying to kick a football around. A sight which looked more like someone trying to ice skate for the first time. The clumsiness was hilarious. I then see them again, the next day and the next, for the entire week that followed. And they still looked like ice skaters thrown into a rink for the first time. No technique. No skill. But their persistence was overwhelming. So I walked up to them and offered a few tips on how to go about controlling the ball, turning, passing and jogging with it under control. Simple stuff really. I was impressed by their persistence to learn a sport I held so dearly, hence had offered to help.
Oh bull shit! I am no saint. The truth was I saw a bunch of pretty things in shorts and walked up to them hoping to be perceived as a saviour. Simple. But it soon dawned that I had bitten off more than I could chew. They were practicing for a tournament which was a few weeks away and they were miles away from ready. Thankfully there was only four teams participating. Which hilariously meant one lucky win and the team was in the finals! I have no idea how we managed to score and before I knew it the team was playing their first finals. We lost though, by a solitary goal. And by doing so, I automatically became their unofficial coach. I happily obliged. How could anyone refuse so many girls, after all?

All said and done, there I was, coaching them. The next season came a lot faster than expected. But it gave me time to work on their basics. the team could now pass around and understood that there was no need for all of them to charge at the ball at the same time. Players now knew the difference between a free-kick, a corner kick and a goal kick. wow! Even I was impressed at the progress made. Result: There were girls in jerseys and talking football lingo. Could there be anything sexier?

Part of the team from the first year.
A well earned dinner after claiming one of our first tournaments

There are roughly six tournaments in an academic year that engineering college girls teams can participate in. Most of them are small sided tournaments with only the university playoffs and MITs own tournament called 'Summit', which were the standard 11-a-side affairs. Of all the tournaments, I considered the University tournament as the most coveted. Simply since every college that has a team turns up to play. Commerce, arts, physical education, Science students. basically, everyone who can kick a ball and its not just restricted to Engineering colleges only. And some of them are pretty good comprising of girls playing for local football clubs too. My first season, we ended up winning two of the six tourneys. Not bad for a start I thought. University if I remember correctly, was a first round knock out for us.

About the same time, is when I was a regular at Deccan XI football club too (as a player). Deccan has the fierce reputation of only fielding the best from amongst their lot. And their "lot" is a bunch of about 200 odd kids who one day hope to don the team's jersey and the chance of getting a few matches to play each season. I had joined the club a few years back and went for practice whenever I found time from my work and other shenanigans. While coaching the girls and I realised I really had no right to push them to their limits when didn't do it myself. I hence made a conscious effort to make practice more often else train whenever I could find time. Basically; Walk the walk. Before I tell them to run a mile, I do so myself.
And that is when the magic began.

Basking. In goa.
We bagged the Bits-Pilani tourney.
(A national level tournament)

I started seeing a drastic difference in what I perceived as attainable and within reach. I was now able to compete with the best at Deccan. And I did the same with the girls. Started pushing their limits. Introducing them to newer training methods. More complex formations. drills. and making sure every time they stepped on the training pitch, they left having gained something. I had to know what each of the players was capable of and then push that limit.

I was not around for most of the third year. Work took me to Delhi. where i spent most of the season at the time the girls had their matches. My younger brother, Amal and Abhijeet, a very close friend of mine stepped in to help. In the midst of my work in Delhi, I get a call where all I hear is yelling and screaming which I eventually figured was the entire team - phone on loudspeaker - "We reached the University finals!". I was in bliss. University finals!!! The feeling is pure exhilaration. Obviously the credit here goes mainly to Abhijeet and Amal. They were the ones who took them through most of the season. Two girls from the team got selected to play for University-Districts that season.
By the end of the season, other teams had begun to take notice of a certain girls team from MIT. At 8.30 on an unforgettable evening, I get a call from one of the girls. She said, "Akil, I'm in Akola." (I think it was Akola. I could be wrong) "I'm here for the district matches. I just wanted to thank you. I have never played football in my life. I would have never gotten here without you. I cant explain the feeling. I have my first match tomorrow morning" I spoke nothing through the call. For the first time I had nothing witty or wicked to say. I had goosebumps all over. I ended hanging up, after saying, "Best of luck for tomorrow".

The fourth year was insanity! I pushed the team to the limit. They were now playing a level of football that surprised even me. I made them enter inter-club matches hoping they would get roughed up and bashed by the regulars. Surprisingly, they gave even those team a run for their money. And simultaneously, I did pretty well at Deccan too. That is when the obvious dawned on me. It was them, inspiring me. All along. It was them bringing out the competitiveness in me. Prompting me to deliver my best at every task. If I wanted them to reach my benchmarks, I first had to reach mine.

The team from my last year with them.
Just before kick off at the Cummins tournament finals. Notice the lack of an audience. It was a 6-a-side and both MIT teams reached the finals from their respective groups. The finals hence was Mit-A v/s Mit-B.
(A feat never before and never again achieved by any other team) As a result. none of the other teams, including the organizers turned up to watch the finals. How sporting of them!

By the end of the season and my tenure with the team about eight of the girls had played for District, four of them played State and three played Nationals. None of whom had ever played football in their lives before. In the last year, the team played the finals of all six tournaments in the year and won four.
Its not everyday, when someone sitting in an office, going through the grind and reminiscing about college and school, is gifted an opportunity to go back in time and re-live it. I was fortunate enough to take that trip. Through each of the team's tournaments I was reliving a moment in that was buried back in time. Through each of their victories, I was on a trip in a much cherished age. Right in the middle of the chaos, the crowds surrounding the pitch, the chants by your college support, the slurs by the opposition. The meetings before crucial matches like our futures depended on it. Contributing money to make sweatshirts. Unconditional teamwork. Everything that spells "The golden years". Each priceless. And it was my good fortune to chance on a team as inspiring and motivated as the one I had the opportunity to coach. I learnt much more than I coached.

With the highest scorer of the tournament
and the winners trophy at Vincent's

And my season with Deccan coinciding with this year was A-kil-ler. Hah Hah. I was playing the finals of our first tourney of the season scoring nine of the team's fourteen goals scored to get there.The finals were played at St. Vincent's. Another trip back in time!
I was back, playing on the very ground. where I had spent ten years of my life. Watched by a crowd that sat on the very stadium I did as a kid and cheered and screamed as our school athletes and teams demolished opponents. We won and I scored three of the five Deccan scored in the finals. That turned out to be one of the most memorable seasons of my tenure with Deccan. I eventually hung my boots along with my coach's whistle at the end of that year. The last sweet gift I received was when the management of Deccan approached me and said, "Get these girls to register for the club. We would like to start a girls team with them for club level matches." That, was the birth of the Deccan XI girls team. Time travel is a thing of the past for me now. But not in the least forgotten. Those travels back in time laid the foundation to an attitude I still use to tackle 'Tomorrow'.
An attitude that has shown me how nothing is forever beyond your reach and I am reminded of Vince Lombardi's words, "Winning is not everything. Wanting to win is".

My travels lie ahead of me now. Into the uncharted, murky and uncertain tomorrow.
I take one deep breath before I decide to plunge into it head on. Muttering under my breath.
Bring it on!

The MIT-'B' team

The Mit-'A' team

Together, along with a few who passed out, they made up the MIT girls football team.
These were my sources of inspiration.

The Deccan Girls team won their first trophy a few months after the team's inception.

Wada paav over Fish and chips for me

WOW! Milan did it in Italy and got a few responses going. An entire population of ManU fans r now hailing the English champs and in a short while im sure a bigger flurry will be caused by Barca. Wondering when we, players, football fans, followers and the miniature flag bearers of football in India will be equally ecstatic about our own league. The biggest contributor to the success of these leagues and of the level of football as a result, apart from great marketing, is the immense support these leagues enjoy from their own nationals. Citizens who take great pride and interest in their own country's clubs and quite evidently their own national side. Tell me, how many of you can name the reserves of the English national side or even the people who warm the Spanish bench. I am sure there are quite a number of you who can. I'm also sure there are quite a few who will even know which muscle of which player has been damaged in a tackle over the weekend and if he will recover in time for a crucial fixture. Kudos to you! And no, i mean no sarcasm. I am honestly put to shame in the face of such passion. But I, more gravely, put myself to shame when I cant name the first 16 of my own National side. No. This is not one of those write ups which screams, "We need to do something. Let us make a change. We are the future." and blah blah.

All I'm doing is announcing, just like you who scream out about how avid a supporter you are of Manchester United or Arsenal or how your life will end if Barcelona loses Messi and Xavi. I am announcing I will more keenly follow my national side and don the jersey of Dempo/Pune F.c/Bagan with equal pride. I will post, comment and tweet with equal fury my frustration or delight, for the sole purpose of sharing, reaching out, 'networking' with the miniscule number of like minded idiots out there who care about Indian clubs and the few who are aware that a National team exist which actually does pretty well in Asia yet struggles for recognition, almost always swimming against the tide every step of the way. I will express disgust at every loss and look at every promising youngster with anticipation. Hoping that this is the much awaited next generation who can keep up with the pace and advances in the game adopted by teams overseas. Hoping that when "Indian Football" is mentioned a few more credible names crop up apart from an aging Bhaichung Bhutia, who I think should have hung his boots a long time back. Yes. I am firstly mad enough to support a sport in India which is not any form of Cricket and which does not have Mr. Sachin Tendulkar involved and I'm even more insane to hope that there might be a few more like me.

Here s little info I stumbled on, the J-league was formed in '92 with the sole aim of improving the Japanese national sides performance, identify and nurture talent at grass root level and improve their level of play. It is today the only league in Asia to be rated 'A' by AFC and boy what ground Japanese football has covered over this span. Japan is already considered a global powerhouse and a Japanese player pipped the best from around the world (Including THE Martha from Brazil) to take home top FIFA honours recently.
The I-league, started in 2007, is nowhere close. Well it is showing signs of progress steadily since inception. Far too "steadily" frankly, but its movement forward nevertheless. There are more and more European clubs looking towards India as a beneficial avenue to invest time and effort. To my relief there are more youth academies today affiliated with or directly under the purview of clubs like Liverpool, Arsenal and/or Barcelona than mere pubs and cafe's. Kolkatta's new celebrity league, if managed and marketed properly, is definitely poised to be a crowd puller. Bayern Munich's already made its visit for the Audi Football Summit in the same city and Barcelona is on its way. Argentina and Uruguay played a friendly earlier this year too. The point is there is interest galore shown by clubs and FIFA alike. All the sport needs now is for us football fanatics to pass the baton around and get as many footballers to become more aware of who they really are and where they come from. Of the whos' and whats' of their own I-League. Turn up and cheer in the same numbers when JEJE, Raju or Gourmangi Singh don India's Blue as they did to see Bhaichung wave goodbye.

In conclusion, all im saying if I d fake sickness to miss work and watch an El Classico or stay up till two in the morning to watch a Champions League fixture I am going to do the same when Pune FC plays Dempo SC or India play an Olympic qualifier. I will hone in me the same passion for the leagues in my own country as an Englishman has for the EPL, or a German for the Bundesliga.
For me, its Wada Paav over fish n chips!

A present

I have lost count of the number of cleats that I have worn out. The change in colours over a period of time from the standard 'black' that was available back in the day, to the white and then the influx of various colours, designs and patterns. Branded studs were never something that adorned my feet often for one, they were always kinda-out-of-my-budget and two, I always felt I was not all that outstanding a player to wear them. Me and my brother were fans of the sport from days going back to school. It began by wearing out sport shoes made out of canvas. (A mandate in school then) No studs back then. Recently, he moved to Bangalore after getting placed post his masters in business administration. And what he did with his first salary left me spellbound. Sitting at home with the box which screamed Puma! on my lap, all the years came back in a flash. In the box were placed one of the most amazing studs Ive seen. Not because they were the most expensive or the most feature ridden but because and SIMPLY because they were a branded pair of studs gifted to me by my kid brother.
I remember him getting his first pair from my late uncle. Red in colour with a white sole. They didn't last long but boy did they ignite a fire in him. One which lasted forever. The way he played took off. He was always the better player between us. More hungry to win. More aggressive and more focused. I remember us defying dad's "no football-only study" policy. Hunting for cobblers who would agree to stitch the shoes when torn beyond repair. We had to make sure the shoes lasted till we had saved enough to buy another pair. Most cobblers would tell us, "Tumhi ata navin boot gya." Beat that! We go to a cobbler who otherwise sits on the roadside jobless and he shoos us off telling us us to go buy new shoes and repairing it is beyond him. Then came the innovative ways that he came up with to make studs last for a per-match basis. Feviquick! Worked most of the time but more often than not right in the middle of a match your entire foot would leave the confines of your shoe completely. Mom used to periodically try to throw the shoes away saying they looked worse than what the maid wore. It had reached such a stage when we used to discard shoes unfit and keep the one which we could fix and use in case of an emergency. As a result we had a pile of only rights OR only left foot studs of various makes piled under the table in the living room. Then the Oh-so-memorable District league finals! My brother steps on the pitch with one white shoe and the other blue and at the end of the match the opposition leaves half black and half blue. (figuratively) My first league winners trophy and etched in stone.
Crazy days those. Find ways to earn pocket money so that we could contribute for team jerseys buy a ball or repair shoes. I used to roam about on my TVS scooty doing odd marketing jobs and at times selling "raddi". He was still in school then so working was out of the question for him and I was in 11th. But he unfailingly covered my backside whenever needed at home. After all he was studious as well and always managed to score well in exams too. Moreover lets say he had his way to get mom and dad to see things his way. Then came his "HISTORIC" talk after his boards when he went up to dad and said, "Dad, I want to become a professional football player." Legendary event!!! And dad stood mum for a moment however I'm sure in his mind he went, "Why you little %$#@!$#@!%$#!#$@!$#!!!!!! What the f#*# are you talking about." The longest family dinner ever. Dad trying to reason his way out being as civilized as possible even if inside he wanted to solve the issue the old school way: by beating the shit out of the fellow. And "our little man" had done more than just ground work. He had already gotten a place to stay in Goa, a mentor-who was a national award winning coach, a plan of action, amount of time it will take and the returns such a move will bear. Actually now that you think of it. Wanting to become a Professional footballer was quite an upgrade for someone who wanted to become a 'farmer' when he was a kid. And I wanted to become a 'Truck driver'! Mom sat there looking alternatively at dad and him. And I sat there not saying a word but silently laughing my guts out at the situation.
From there, to coming home every third day and bothering mom with everything from twisted ankles, bruised face, broken bones and the rare deep gashes needing stitches to seeing mom's face light up every time a newspaper carried our name or a rare picture. The years are riveted with countless such memories and bookmarks.
I am brought back to me sitting with the Pumas in my lap and the funny situation it is.
The irony of the whole thing is this, just when I was thinking of hanging up my boots and not play anymore, I am presented with this. Playing tournaments neither excite me nor drive me anymore like they used to. And the person who sends me this has many more years of football in him and can play better than me on any given day. He presents ME this but is himself denied an opportunity to even watch an interesting encounter on television at leisure.
So, here s what I conclude. Let me not fool anyone. Football is NEVER going to go out of me anytime soon. Whether in the form of a kick with the old gang or a friendly or seeing if I still have "IT" by training for that one last tournament. For the good times that were and the many more to come, I will don these and step on the pitch. Wear them out. Play to my heart's content whenever time allows me. Play. Sweat. Score! Because a bright red box sitting on my lap reminds me what those moments were, the one that has engulfed me is and each of the countless moments to come are.......A present!

The cursed angel

The rain provided a welcome soothe from the scorching sun that had been playing tandav for what seemed an eternity growing only harsher by the day. The clouds had been having their laughs by throwing an overcast only to blend into oblivion and watch the sun have its field day whenever it pleased. Finally it seemed that they had their share and gave in to the prayers of a population that till then had fallen on deaf ears.

Her skin though was the only one around that still felt parched under the downpour. A skin that was adorned by thread that made every onlooker turn green. Heads turned wherever she went. Showered with nothing but the best wishes of her elders, family and adored by everyone who encountered her. All she had to do to get what she wanted was say she wished for it.

Born blessed. A truly blessed angel. In deed and thought. In physical form and mental mettle. Blessed with talent to conquer anything she put her mind to. With divinity to bring out the best in others. And an angel enough to forgive easier than we can forget.

A blessed angel who against what everyone saw felt cursed within. She was constantly using all her strength to subdue the surge within. The surging mixed concoction of feelings and emotions many of which she herself did not understand. And every attempt to figure out what exactly she felt only led her to free-fall into more uncertainty. So for the moment, there she stood letting the rain calm her nerves hoping the drop in temperature and the change in wind would provide a welcome relief. If not at least she thought it could serve a medium to mask her tears and let them flow. But she had grossly misjudged that feeling of hers as well. Tears would just not flow. Instead they choked up at the edge making her feel it would be better if she burst. Funny she thought. The light at one end of the prism admired the spectrum of the rainbow on the other side. The magnificent colours. The wide array. The multitude of hues and all that lay eyes on the rainbow were but caught in captivation. And ironically, the rainbow looked through the same glass and saw a single stream of white light. Simple. Without too much to deal with. One colour. Not many different shades and hues. One direction that it traveled in. Not many expected wonders of it. Not many, in fact, even gave it much thought most of the time. It existed, in equal importance, but in relative peace. “I wonder what it must feel to live like that.” She quietly thought. The very form which drew envy, sighs and desire from the lot gave her the feeling of being cursed.

The prism was the key. The prism was the reason for her heavenly form. It had bestowed on her opportunities that do not come by the way of people in their entire lifetimes and are the stuff that dreams are made of. Her lineage was her prism. It was the reason she was royalty. The reason why she had wings on her back. A white, gracious, yet extremely sturdy pair of wings which were powerful enough to carry her anywhere she pleased. And she knew no matter where she chose to fly she would always be closely guarded by her lineage and the beings she called family. But she did not choose to lead such an existence. She loved what it brought, mind you, but felt indebted at the same time. She had learnt how valuable it was which she was born with. And she felt it was her duty to never question the direction the prism pointed her to travel in and knew all she could give back out of the immense gratitude she felt was unfaltering obedience. But what she did not realize was not everything was a result of her lineage. She was by far more beautiful than most of the others around. Her physical form as a result of the effort she put into it; stunning. Her composure when faced with testing situations, calm. Her aura, charismatic but beyond everything was her ability to excel at whatever she intended to. From difficult dance forms to physically challenging sport. Not just participating but reaching the pinnacle and being presented as amongst the best. From mentally quizzing tests to never giving up in the face of tribulation. Not just coming up with opinions but permanent solutions. Her ability to bring and keep people together through her words, reasoning and at times manipulation was HER ability. It did not come through her lineage. It was not bestowed. In fact her lineage did not know what all she truly was capable of. SHE honed these talents. It is what made her different.

So what could possibly cause such distraught to someone so complete? The reason for the agony lay on the other side of the prism. A single, simple ray of monochrome. That through their brief entwine had made her feel special. Made her question what she thought she liked all along. Given her more freedom than she had before. Showered her with care and protection from situations that might have drawn scorn if presented before her lineage. The simpleton was in every manner an opposite. He did not have wings to carry him. He trudged his path. His lineage? Well, it was scanty, at best. He had learned to ‘get there’ by conniving, scuffling and seizing. Whenever a favorable situation presented itself he made the most of that opportunity. He was not all dark, mind you, grey maybe. He had rules he lived by. These rules he thought separated the ‘men’ from the beasts. They drew a line between true class and what is commonly referred to as the masses. And the only other precious possession were his words. How he used them, voiced them and played with them was sheer wizardry. Many a times in the past he had uttered spells formed by his words and made people believe things they were not and do things that normally would be beyond them.

A raggedly cloaked, scruffy looking, spell chanter and a flawless beauty, multitalented, draped in the best one can desire with a pair of spotless white wings adorning her back. The wizard and the Angel, together, personified the adage “Opposites Attract”!

But was what he told her and did for her only fables and spells? NO! They were in fact to be counted in the limited times he did something selflessly for another being in his entire existence. Without expecting anything in return. In fact he did not think much of what he did either. All he thought he did was be there when required. Tell her ‘It’s within her reach’. Catch her if she falls. Make her stronger. Berate her when needed. Subject her to a little fight. Only to magnify what she was capable of. Allow her to fly! Unbridled and unafraid. He watched her closely. Ready to use all his power, to protect her from harm, if needed. But wishing, at the same time, that she would be strong enough to overcome setbacks. And with every flight she took, he watched her get stronger and more powerful. Nothing delighted him more than watching her at her best. Soaring. Gliding. Ascending. And holding out a strong yet soft pair of arms, he would be there to cushion her landing, every time with the same embrace.

But two substances of opposite composite only make for a volatile mixture. The tango was always a dangerous one. Explosions were only a matter of time. It was not a question of ‘If’ but more of ‘When’. And like every journey we undertake, this one too had to reach a destination. Weather the destination was the one we intended to arrive at or is one which results from self preserving detours made the subject of another stream of thought. And that was the turmoil within her. The presence of the wizard made her stand at a fork in the road. One, lead to her ensuring she did not let down those who gave her so much but lived with questionable happiness and an incomplete feeling of content. The other, lead to the same. The wizard knew of the turmoil. The decision mattered and would affect him equally but this was one battle she had to fight on her own.

He, meanwhile, had his own battle at hand. The wizard had become acquainted recently of ways that could bring out the optimum from his skills. He had only just begun to use them to acquire the power he always secretly desired. With diligently working on the new found ways he was inching towards the many pinnacles that lay before him. “One at a time”, he said to himself. “One at a time, I will conquer them all!”

This too was not a question of ‘if’ but only a matter of ‘when’.

His talent too was unsurpassed in the land and he found the confidence to say that for the first time in his life after the Angel drew his attention to the miracles he had performed but never thought much of them. For now there he stood watching her. Perched at the edge. Literally and figuratively. She stood at edge of the high ledge looking at the vast expanse and the infinity that lay before her and allowing the rain to drench her. She stood there trying to find temporary solace in the shower. This was not the first time. There were instances before when they tried to each choose one path from the fork. She did spread her wings and soar away. And he pulled his hood over his head to mask any sign of emotion that might show. But every time, she dropped one wing at an angle after soaring for a distance let the wind pull her to one side and rush forcefully over the other extended wing. Bringing her around in a quick spin. A move she had by now mastered through her many flights before. Facing the same place she had left moments before, she zipped through the misty wind and had thumped into the embrace the wizard held out. Each time, both of them, froze in time speechless, not understanding what had exactly happened or why it happened and trying their best to fathom the implications. This time it would be different. This time would definitely be the last. They both knew it. They both knew IT HAD TO BE SO!

The wizards heart was thumping hard as he stood there stone faced with a lump in his throat the size of his fist. He was hoping hard she would not hear them. But she was drowned by the deafening sound her own heart was beating and was using every bit of energy to stop exploding due to the raging surge of emotions swelling within her.

His hood was already drawn this time. But she could clearly spot his eyes fixed on her. She looked at him through the strands of drenched hair that covered her face. Usually she would tuck away even a single strand neatly behind her ear. But on this occasion they did not even register. She looked at him and searched his face but did not know what she was looking for. She could make an all too familiar smile underneath the hood. A faint brisk nod which she had seen a million times before which said, “You know what to do.” “You can do it.” “It will be all right.”

He had somehow found the strength to nod. And when he looked at her he saw the same mesmerizing sight that inspired him to be a better man today. Everything he ever wanted. Always got more than he asked for. Nothing was he willing to fight for more. And yet with that nod he would see it all fly away forever. My Angel.

The rain had mellowed down to a scant patter. The sun had broken through accompanied with a following of white clouds scattering the yellow rays over the freshly washed scenery. The birds burst into a joyous chirp. There would be abundance for them from now. The earth smelled heavenly. What she had to do was anything but. She spread her wings to their glorious width. Got a good grip of the ledge while transferring her weight to the leg behind. Bent at the knees a little and stared at the horizon. At that moment, in unison, their minds screamed, “Our curse.”