The Shastri – Gavaskar Cliche Game

It’s here again. The annual ‘Let’s Screw The Goras’ season is here!

Every year, India takes colonial revenge on countries by inviting them to a Test series in India. For all the years that the country was ruled and looted by the goras, India extracts revenge. Hot, sweaty revenge.

By inviting them to play in temperatures above 40 degrees, in dustbowl pitches like Rajkot and Vadodara. Where they have to toil like slaves on a pitch to extract bounce till the knees. Amidst a crowd that will never clap for the visiting team, even if someone scores a triple century, takes 5 wickets, and slaps Ravi Shastri – all in one day.

Of course, the visiting team then avenges the revenge by inviting us to their country, where we end up looking like clowns. And thus the little world of cricket goes on with its ups and downs.

So as part of that karmic cycle of wins and losses, Australia is here to play another away series.

It’s surprising how the body language changes when we are playing in India. Domestic captains have already made statements about the Australians’nability to play spin. Kiran More has predicted that Bhajji is going to fire this time. Sreesanth has ordered a bullet proof vest.

Amidst this hustle and bustle, sit the two wise men of cricket – Ravi Shastri and Sunil Gavaskar.

Those of you who do not like Test cricket, you have no idea how lucky you are. Your chosen version of the game doesn’t require you to listen to the drone of Shastri and Gavaskar. You do not know the pain purists like me have to endure.

Imagine you are stuck in a room for five days. You are tied and gagged, and in the room there is a tap that is left open. A drop of water drips onto a metal bucket every few seconds – the only noise in the room. You cannot scream, or close the tap, or leave the room. You are just sitting there, the tap dripping onto the bucket, and drilling into your brain.

That’s what it is like.

Ravi Shastri has been doing the commentary since before the time most of us were born. Along with Gavaskar, he has been weilding the mike, dishing out cliches like Himesh Reshammiya delivers hits every year.

A few years back, it was revealed that the two of them, along with Harsha Bhogle, are paid more than 3 crores a year to put forth the views of the BCCI on air. Which is a cheap trick to play on the viewers because as a viewer, you expect a neutral view, not a paid piper. Of course, the two of them are also in the Governing Council of the Indian Premier League, the annual ‘Let’s Screw Pakistanis Again’ extravaganza where the Indian audience catches a glimpse of rare stars like Shamita Shetty and Preity Zinta.

I have never understood why should ex-cricketers only get to be commentators? I know all the shots played on a field, I am aware of the fielding positions, and do not need the expertise of Sivaramakrishnan to tell me if it’s a great shot. Why can’t we have funny, interesting sounding people on air? Instead of listening to what sounds like the AGM of Bhubaneswar Municipal Corporation?

But then, no one tells Shastri and Gavaskar what to do. Lalit Modi tried, and he had to flee from the country.

So what can one do? How do you deal with the torture of the Deadly Duo over five days, without looking longingly at a blade to slit your wrists with?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you with a simple remedy.

THE SHASTRI – GAVASKAR CLICHE GAME

Numer of Players: The Shastri-Gavaskar Cliché Game can be played with two or more players. You can also play it with yourself if need be.

You Will Need: A TV showing the cricket match with English commentary. For best results, it is advised to down a few beers while watching the match, to numb the pain.

How To Play: The players sit in front of the TV and wait for Shastri or Gavaskar to come on air.

GAVASKAR:

Once a stalwart of the game, Gavaskar today seems like the grumpy old man who sits on the park bench and shouts and children for eating groundnuts and throwing the paper on the floor. It’s funny to listen to him talk about integrity and team spirit considering he had quite a few tiffs with other players over captaincy, and once walked off the field with his team because he was unhappy with an umpiring decision.

But then, he is Gavaskar and no one messes with him.

So when Gavaskar comes on air, you have to guess whom he is going to reprimand in this over. For eg, a batsman drops a catch, and Gavaskar will begin – “These young cricketers of today….”. Or if a batsman hits a six and then takes a single, Gavaskar will bless him with ‘That’s a bit of sensible cricket’.

The players playing the game need to watch out for such important life lessons and predict them before the man says it. Every correct answer gives you one point.

SHASTRI:

Ravi Shastri is the God of Cliches. When he is happy, he smiles and dishes out cliches. When he is angry, he spews hateful cliches. When he is neutral, he chews cliches in his mouth carefully and then spits them out.

If Ravi Shastri took a Lie Detector test, the scientists would go crazy trying to find out what he really means – so dispassionate and composed is his delivery of cliches.

For Eg. A batsman hits a clean cover drive. Shastri will immediately say, “That travelled like a bullet.” If you could successfully say ‘Bullet’ before he says it, you get one point.

Similarly, anything that happens on the field is ‘great’ according to Shastri. Batsman hits a boundary? It’s a great shot. Bowler stops the ball, it’s a Great Stop. There is a wall in China, it is the Great Wall. So on and so forth.

You need to sit in front of the screen and guess what he is going to say before he does it. Every correct answer gives you one point.

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So there you go!

With this simple fun-filled game, you can tolerate the torture dished out by the Deadly Duo.

What is that I hear you say? What about Wasim Akram’s commentary?

Please remember this number. 022 – 27546669. Aasra is a reputed organisation that deals with suicide counselling.

Baal Baal Bache

You know how people say they have bad hair days?

I feel like asking them to shut the fuck up. I have had bad hair years. Decades even.

Since my school allowed only half an inch of hair per head, the overwhelming temptation of having long hair took over as soon as I passed out. Partly due to all the wonderful Hindi songs where the hero would serenade his chick in the hills, running his hand through his hair. And partly because I would look like a chipmunk if I continued having half an inch of hair on my head.

And so, I set out on a long, arduous journey of discovering the true destiny of my hair.

Inspirational Quotes 3

The journey began on a painful, heartbreaking note.

It was the year 2002. Tere Naam had released.

Yes, that film where Salman Khan had hair that looked authentic and real, like Rakhi Sawant’s boobs. The hair was parted in the middle, and came down in slimy semi-circles on both sides. The kind of hair that might make you seem like Snape’s second cousin.

Salman Khan Wallpaper in Tere Naam Moovie

Of course, I didn’t think on the above lines back then.

I adopted the hairstyle, and walked around in public for two years. In any other country, I would have been shot. But India, after all, is a liberal place.

The Tere Naam hairstyle can be at once, eye-catching, and gut-wrenching. I had to spend a good twenty minutes in front of the mirror with Brylcreem Protein Cream, a white lubricant sort of hair cream that transformed you from high school teenager to neighbourhood pedophile in minutes.

The result of that hairstyle was out there for everyone to see – I spoke to a total of three girls in two years.

With the onset of college, came a free-spirited hairstyle – The Spikes.

nsync

The spikes would of course, go on to become the most abused hairstyle, till today used in the stereotyping of Yo-men.

But like the tragedy goes, I didn’t know it back then.

I cut off my Tere Naam hair for a cleaner ‘Spikes’ look.

It was disaster from the beginning. My saloon, ‘Lotus Men’s Hair Style’ had photos of Ricky Martin (who I later found, was gay), Hrithik Roshan, and Shah Rukh on the hoarding.

The barbers inside, were like Sanjay Manjrekar. Strictly mediocre, but could managed to mildly surprise you on the odd day. They were trained to trim and cut hair, and then give the customer a nice shoulder and head massage, rubbing and slapping their shoulders, and twisting their hands till a groan of ‘hmmmm’ escaped their lips.

And here I was, telling them of this new hairstyle called Spikes, which only had hair in the front, and very less hair elsewhere. And that the hair in the front be just enough so that it kind of stood up. Not too much, just a little bit.

The blank stare that I got in response was discouraging. It took me at least 10 minutes to explain what I wanted. After nodding like a buffalo, he would go ahead and do whatever the fuck he wanted. After a few times, I carried a photo of Aamir Khan from Dil Chahta Hai to him, and gave him Informercial like instruction and he got it correct.

After getting the hair somewhat upto my expectations, I had another problem at hand. Hair Gel.

Gels were an expensive affair, and my job as a customer care executive wouldn’t allow me the luxury. One day, my serendipity led me to a store called My Dollar Store. Every item in this store cost exactly 99 rupees. Each and every item. The store was dying, and might have had a maximum of ten customers a day.

The items were mostly imported, with pictures of smiling white people on the covers, but somehow didnt seem very trustworthy. One of the things I chanced upon at the store was a bottle of hair gel.

Yes. An entire bottle of hair gel. One Kilo. For 99 rupees.

Needless to say, I bought it. The gel was like someone took a lot of Camel Gum and added some white stuff to it, and packaged it. But my joy at having as much hair gel as I wanted led me to applying a healthy amount on the little hair, I had in the front. Which meant that my hair stood like rock. Making me look like a douchebag. This hairstyle was proudly worn for about three years.

Years of having the wrong hairstyle for years is discouraging. Like sharing a one BHK with Arnab Goswami.

I finally gave up.

If I appeared in a shampoo ad in the next few years, I would be a zombie that didn’t give a fuck. Being a University helped, because most people have given up there. So I just went with the flow, randomly going to Gaylords – the worst salon in the world.

Along the journey, came many shortlived but equally outrageous hairstyles. Like the Ram is a Good Boy Look, the Chutiya Bengali Nerd look – frustration and anger taking over once every few weeks.

Many, many years ago, a young prince had gotten frustrated with the everyday too. He gave up. Prince Sidhartha later went on to realise the truth, and gain enlightenment.

Hair was never supposed to be cut.

Think about it. Who are the people who have hairstyles? Employees, film stars, models in advertisements.

People who are under some pressure to look a certain way because their work demands it. Think of how stupid it is. How does it matter if an employee has long hair, if he is good at what he does?

Having a hairstyle comes when you are under pressure to conform to something.

Now think about the people who have long hair.

Rockstars, footballers, poets, babas. Basically, guys who don’t give a fuck. They dont need to conform to any norms, and dont really care if they are called shabby or junglee or whatever the fuck.

And it doesnt always mean that peope who have long hair are hippies. All you need to tie it, and you have a formal look. People with long hair can also mean business.

arindam chaudhri

More than anything else, I think the guys who let their hair be, subscribe to another school of thought.

There are so many things you could do in a day. Why waste it on trying to look good for someone else, who doesn’t really give a rat’s ass about you.

So as I stood there, at the end of the journey, the truth shone upon me like bright, white light.

So fuck you moronic barbers, fuck you hair gels, fuck you asshole models with sharp haircuts.

I am not going down that lane again.

A Letter from a Non-Intellectual

Over the last week, many people have protested against the decision to hang Afzal Guru.

Most of these people would belong to the category you would normally call ‘intellectuals’. Many of them would sport beards, a kurta from FabIndia, and thick rimmed glasses.

Funny lot, these guys.

Most of them call themselves ‘liberals’. But they wouldn’t even hear out your argument without calling you a blind sheep of the government, or a lesser-intellectual moron who spends his time surfing porn or eating Maggi.

But then, isn’t the definition of a liberal, one who is open to views?

So, to represent all of us lesser gifted people, let me put forth my views to these intellectuals. I hope by the end of it, I am able to convince you that though we might not have your acumen, your reasoning, and your implicit faith in Arundhati Roy, we are after all human beings.

1. We are all bloodthirsty vampires

Anybody who supported Afzal Guru’s hanging was accused of being hand-in-glove with a militant, bloodthirsty state. This is not true, you know.

I mean, yeah, once in a while we do start riots, and then collect all the blood in a large vessel, add some mint leaves, and sip on it. But that’s only for special occasions. On normal occasions, we are not bloodthirsty.

We did not demand that Afzal be hung, we did not celebrate on the streets and distribute sweets. Those were some morons from the BJP, and let me assure you we are not among them.

Some of us believe that it wouldn’t hurt once in a while to send across a message. You see, we have had quite a few terrorist attacks in the last few years. If you took off your intellect-tinted glasses and looked at the world with its real-world complications, you will see that we are surrounded by China and Pakistan.

And as less-gifted people, we make the mistake of going for the obvious.

2. We blindly trust the State for everything

Another of your assumptions, and way off the mark again.

You can certainly not blame the Indian judiciary for being in a hurry to dispose of cases. With a mountain of evidence of proof piled against him, Kasab was given a good four years to prove his innocence. Afzal Guru was NOT tried without a lawyer. Five of the appointed lawyers rejected fighting his case (probably narrow-minded, myopic morons – one of us, you know), and the sixth was deemed unfit by Guru himself.

Also, you speak as if there was a man sitting at home and watching Rangoli, and the State picked him up and started torturing him and mounting evidence against him. No. Afzal Guru went over to PoK to train as a terrorist for months. Upon his return, the saga of torture began. But then, what really did you expect? That he would be given some fine beer, a packet of chips, may be?

And most of us lesser mortals don’t really side with the State.

Forgive us for thinking this way, but we would rather put our trust in the State, than a terrorist who crossed over the border, and received training to kill people in the name of Islam.

But then we are blinded by our own ignorance.

3. We are brutes. Inhumane brutes who get an erection when there’s blood flowing 

We don’t. We get an erection normally. When blood flows to certain parts, not from others’ bodies.
It’s just that we believe no death is justified. And oh, we consider civilians, innocents, police personnel, and soldiers to be humans too. Those jawans who get killed when Maoists attack a Police Station, we consider them humans too.

Remember how you guys cried hoarse against police action against Maoists (for lack of a more intellectual term)? Well, in the last 20 years, there have been 11,709 deaths due to the struggle – 6432 civilians, 2312 security forces, and 2965 insurgents.

While the war has lasted more than 20 years, the Maoists earn an annual extortion amount of 14 billion rupees. The tribal families, whose war you fight everyday on Facebook, have not received their land, rights, or an improvement in basic amenities.

And you support this war. And call us brutes.

If you think about it, we might be more humane than you.

4. We are a brainwashed lot

But then, who is not? How many of your opinions have been created by your own perception? How many of them were not influenced by your surroundings, your choice of newspaper, your friends’ circle, and the books you read?

Not many people have the gift of original thought.

Like Arundhati Roy. The Holy Mother of India’s intellectual class.

Now, as an aspiring writer, I can’t help but admire the woman. Every word she writes is a carefully thought out pearl. She strings such beautiful pearls together, and then adds them in some bullshit, and spreads it across 34 pages on The Outlook.

Have you ever gone back to the internet to validate her facts? There are scores of examples on the net to prove that she distorts, twists, and sometimes fabricates facts to put her point across.

Do you ever check her facts? I doubt.

Would you then, still call me the brainwashed one?

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So, there you go my intellectual brothers and sisters.

What you carry is an opinion, a view. You are as blinded as me, and as clouded by your bias as I am.

The country that you accuse of being bloodthirsty and insensitive lets you voice your opinion, express it, and stage protests.

You have been influenced by your friends, your books, your circles. Me by mine.

And an opinion is like an asshole. Every asshole has an opinion.