I am fatal

I am not the tsunami that will destroy you.
I am not the accident that will maim you.
I am not the bad news that will shatter you.
I am not the twist of fate that will derange you.

I am an infection you catch, unnoticed.
Slowly, I will spread and before you know it, I will be fatal.
I am the addiction you indulge, unnoticed.
Slowly, I will consume you and before you know it, I will be fatal.
I am the curse of all things human – you never see me,
And, unnoticed, I will be fatal.

Glorious uncertainty

I used to gag every time Sunil Gavaskar went, “Cricket is a game of glorious uncertainties.” As if to say the rest of life is a game of inglorious certainties. However, after Pakistan’s victory at the 20/20 World Cup, I am going to have to accept – glorious uncertainty it is.
Never has a more ordinary team outperformed two near-perfect teams (South Africa and Sri Lanka) in cricket. Only India’s world cup winning team of 1983 comes close.
This Pakistan team will be thrashed in the Champions Trophy, but 20/20 offers instant redemption. And Pakistan have that for now.

Pathetic, pathetic

People do not always get the government they deserve, but they sure as hell get the newspaper they deserve. In the Gulf, general reportage is so pathetic, I am relieved to be not involved. In India, language press is powerful, robust, and often, rightly focused. Sure it has agendas. A good newspaper must. It must take a side. The English press in India, however, only looks decent because English news TV there is crap. One obsession they persist with is what a celebrity eats should s/he land in jail. Readers want it, they say. That’s a pathetic reader then.

All dagger, little cloak

The gloves are off. Paulo Coelho is no more cloaking the Christian message in mystical literature. He is standing on a pulpit and preaching, finally out of the closet with his latest book, The Winner Stands Alone.
What made Coelho intriguing was the Marian influence on his devotion to women (or vice versa), and the intelligent subterfuge in which the world’s hopelessness offered the perfect cloak for the dagger of the Cross to strike right to the heart of the reader. With the new book though, you might as well catch a Sunday sermon.
Check earlier posts for context

Angels and Devils

They say children are the most beautiful creatures in the world. Mine are pure mayhem. I guess if you are an anarchist you would find them beautiful.
Don’t get me wrong, they are all bloody good-looking, but boy (and girls), they could destroy a city with a pencil and a sheet of paper. The youngest could bring on armageddon with a bowl of porridge.
Which gives me great hope. You see I have this theory that devilish children make angelic adults. Better devilish when small, believe me. Or ask my mum.
So I am letting them be. For now.

The City, it grows on you

I had a Sex and the City moment. The series is as much about sex as it is about the city – New York.
I live in a city that tries its best to be a Manhattan clone. In Dubai, you are never far from a Cosmopolitan or a Starbucks. I don’t do Cos-politans, but I love coffee. Coming from a more My Name is Earl-type of hometown, I could never order at Starbucks. One coffee please? Uh, oh!
Last week I went in and said, “One latte, strong with skim milk, please.” Damn, I’m ready for New York.

Ass kissers

They say it’s a serious business. And I agree. Ass kissing is serious. So is public relations. I have yet to meet a PR professional who has not kissed my ass to get a press release published.
I realise that is a sweeping statement. Alas, it is true. In my newspaper career, I have been a sub, a chief sub, a news editor, an assistant editor, a night editor and an editor-in-chief. At every stage I have encountered PR professionals and all they have done is kiss my ass. Which is why I will never be in PR. Ever.

A champion

So Monsieur Nadal, welcome to the world of champions. It’s easier to chase them down then to fend of the chasers. Perhaps now you and the many detractors of Roger Federer will appreciate what it takes to stay on top consistently for so long.
Whenever Federer lost to you, it was not in the fourth round, or the quarterfinal, but in the finals. That’s the difference between a great player and a champion. You are certainly a great player. But, he is the champion. Maybe you will be a champion too. Until then, let’s enjoy the reign of Roger.

Footballers' graveyard

Real Madrid is a graveyard for footballing careers. As against Manchester United, Barcelona or even the Milans, to be a Galactico is never to win anything outside Spain.
All Real does is buy the best players from other clubs, mainly Manchester United and whoever is the best Brazilian playing in Europe. Once they go there, they don’t win anything.
So why would anyone go there? Is money such a motivating factor? Or is the lure of the Madrid life and fan following better than the thrill of holding the Champions League trophy? Cristiano Ronaldo is about to find out.

Thank you, Sania

Sania Mirza must retire. She turned us on, let us down, gave NDTV reason to exist, so now, must tie the knot and live happily ever after.
Don’t get me wrong. I applaud her for reaching the level she has – it’s commentators I blame for the hype. I applaud her for being an icon – it’s the youth I blame for settling for less than a world champion.
Most of all, I applaud her for reminding us that Indian women, when toned and in a micromini/shorts, are by far the sexiest. She gets all the blame for that.

Hit back

Indians abroad are too cultured for their own good. Which other nationality would take such a Gandhian route to protesting racial attacks in a country that belongs to all who live there (aboriginals apart).
Who is attacking the Indians? There are no Aussies. There are Brits, Irish, Chinese, Lebanese, Italians, Lankans, Vietnamese and kangaroos.
Australia is different from the US. There was a fight to claim that land. Those who won have every right to decide who gets to stay.
Oz was a prison. Now reformed, it belongs to everyone. So my suggestion is: Down Under, hit back. Literally.