India at the Olympics

Two medals. Disappointed? Yes. Surprised? No.

Time to close our rather bare medals cupboard with a sigh and move on (to cricket). And start writing pieces complaining about the lack of infrastructure, official apathy, cultural/social/gender biases that plague our “system” to feel better at having done something even if inconsequential. Another four years before we feel disappointed by our show in Tokyo. Rinse and repeat.

We must acknowledge that it is a really constricted pipeline that supplies sportspersons in India. “Sachin duck adichaalum avanukku sambalam undu; ana nee noothukku noothi pathu mark vaanganam” (Sachin gets paid even if he gets out for a duck but you must score 110 out of 100) was an oft repeated reminder around our house during the 90s during most ODIs. The emphasis, always, is either on education OR on earning. For the vast majority, sports can, at best, be a hobby; not an avocation.

The enthusiasm to come up with quick fixes is completely understandable. “Catch them young” is a popular one. Give eminent sports persons the authority is another. Educational institutions at all levels should give sports more importance; corporate involvement; people’s mindset…the list goes on. Sadly, there are no solutions readily available today to help us leapfrog to a better position on the medals table. There are many basic issues that will need to be addressed in tandem with higher level sporting requirements to give ourselves a better chance come 2024 and beyond.

To state the blindingly obvious, the majority of the middle class will (should I say rightfully?) always perform the risk-rewards analysis and place an emphasis on academic pursuits over athletic aspirations. Just like for the armed forces, there is the collective thinking that there are “others” that will rise up to the call for sporting heroes. The marginalized folks perhaps view a strong body, fast legs and stamina as little more than a good earning tool. It is difficult to think beyond immediate, unmet needs. And the honest truth is that for every Sachin Tendulkar or a P V Sindhu in the limelight, there are hundreds of thousands that have fallen by the wayside without a security net. However, if we could take sports - region and occupation specific - to the outer fringes of the country and society – both literally and figuratively – we could certainly unearth riches. How many times we have read about the “traveled 50kms one way by bus to play” of any athlete? 

Cast a wide net. Promoting active participation in a wide variety of sports rather than pursuing a full-fledged career in one is perhaps a good first step we could take. But when can that happen? I’m not talking air conditioned, indoor facilities. I’m talking about a clean pavement that will let someone take a jog or even a walk around the block, some green cover on the local sports fields (even if only seasonally) and improve basic amenities around existing facilities (security, lighting, parking, etc.).

Health is wealth. Limit access to tobacco, alcohol and drugs to youth. Easier said than done, one must admit. But putting in place tighter penalties (for sellers and users) and incentivizing cleaner habits can help improve the quality of the population overall.

Security. A soccer player or a hockey player in India will hone his skills knowing pretty well that he will never be able to aspire for the riches of our cricketers. Add to that the risk of injury and the playing careers of non-mainstream (read non-cricket) sports can be easily a non-starter. Avenues for better earning, access to quality sports medicine specialists and the ability to make a decent career in sports after one’s active years are possible motivators.

The education system should take a more forgiving look at sports aspirants. Rigid structures, do-or-die exam systems and (mostly) indifferent staff make it an either-or choice between academics and sports. And given the pressures of typical middle class society, it is a no-brainer that someone would pick academics.

If specialty sporting centers with experts can exist on top of these basic changes, there can be hope in the mid to long future. A rich medal tally is a powerful statement in soft power and helps with branding India on a global forum. With its medal haul at every global sporting event, China, warts and all, only enhances its image as a powerful nation. And a good show will also help tone down page-3 folks like Piers Morgan and Shobhaa De taking potshots at our athletes. 

The trailblazer from Tripura

Dipa Karmakar, the vault, the Produnova and Tripura.

Each word in the above sentence is stranger than the one before it. And that tells on most of us as a nation. I cringed when I typed them; guilty when I googled some. The Produnova, the risk it comes laced with, the grit, determination and sweat behind attempting it, leave alone perfecting.

As a nation of sports fans, we have always remembered numbers. The 10-jersey. We remember the 134 and the 143 from a dusty night in the Arab peninsula from many years ago. We remember the Eden 281 and its significance, the 10/74 wizardry in Delhi, 183 and 145 from Taunton on a grey summer English day from many years ago. Also remembered are a 114 from Perth, a 167 in Sydney. And the 183 in Lord’s. 25 June 1983. 02 April 2011. 100 100s, 6 x 6…numbers held close to our heart.

We have also built and followed a strict hierarchy. Cricket came first, second and third. Headingley, Wanderers and 'Gabba rolled off our tongues just as easily as Eden Gardens, Chepauk and Wankhede did. Durban and the "Green Mamba" and how Adelaide supported spin better than Perth is general knowledge. Space was made for the cricket world Cup, IPL and the Border-Gavaskar trophy on our calendars. And EPL, Euro, Wimbledon, the French Open, etc. filled the gaps.

So many special numbers, places and routines that have meant so much to all of us down the ages. So much that little else has mattered all along. Little else allowed to exist by our collective “sporting” conscience.

Thank you Dipa for giving us a new set of numbers to remember. A new set of numbers to be proud about. New places and people that we must look for and look after. 

15.066 – a number that will now be etched in our sporting memory.

0.15 – the whisker by which a slice of history could have been hers. And ours. 

4 – Fourth best in the world. Not a missed medal.

14-8-2016 – The day when a little known girl from a little known place overcame the tyrannies of distance, barriers of prejudice, inadequacies in infrastructure and the cold indifference of a nation.

1 – One more national icon to be proud of. One more sport to follow and accommodate in our packed sport (watching only) calendar.

Agartala – Sporting hinterland no more. It may not have an IPL franchise but it is just as much a part of us as Mohali, Kolkata or Hyderabad.

Rio de Janeiro – The place where we have been woken awake.

I was following the updates and watched only the deferred telecast later that night. But in the moments that she defied gravity and soared in the air, I felt that the 70^th Independence day had arrived a day earlier.

Dipa did not lose a medal; she may have actually lit a spark. She didn’t lose a spot on the podium; she has captured many hearts. She should be proud of a performance that forces us to take cognizance of the big world beyond the boundary ropes.

Thank you darling!

The two faced sea

The sea is a constant presence in the Tel Aviv city life. From Jaffa port in the South to the mouth of the Yarkon river in the North and beyond, the beach frames the West side of the city.  Most of the big city hotels are along the waterfront, affording the guests with stunning views. As I have mentioned earlier, I hardly get to enjoy the beach or even the views as I usually don’t return in time to catch a brilliant sunset. But the sea does make its presence felt – sunset or not – whenever you catch a glimpse through the windows.

During weekends it is a happy scene with a riot of fun activities when families flock to the beach to cool off in the water. In the mornings and evenings on all days, the athletically minded make the most of the uninterrupted promenade to quietly pack in some exercise. The warm waters and the white sand offer a fun venue for an entire population to unwind and forget life’s grind. The old, the young, the healthy, the infirm, men, women – all of them turn up in good numbers to unwind and paint a picture of joy and delight. To them, the Mediterranean is that old aunt whose home provides fun, succor and recharge to anyone that enters.

Looking out over the beauty of the calm, blue waters, one would find it difficult to picture the grief and sorrow that unfolds across the sea; people dying every day in unbelievable numbers while trying to cross the Mediterranean. Populations fleeing the violence of their homelands. Man-made conflict – religious, social and economic – driving them to seek refuge elsewhere along unwelcoming yet peaceful shores. Life or the lack of it forcing them on a perilous journey that could take them away from their past and towards an uncertain future. Placing their trust and life savings on the hands of ruthless operatives and setting sail on fragile vessels. The voyage across turquoise waters that often ends in watery graves for the tormented travelers. The Mediterranean becomes the bar where people drown themselves attempting to drown their sorrows. Or looked at differently, perhaps deliverance from their sufferings?

One sea, one water but the opposite shores paint two starkly different pictures. And yet the sunsets are just as brilliant every evening. On both shores, I’m sure. 

Stand up comedy roundup

Of late, I’m into stand up comedy. No, I’m not trying my hand at it – God knows that I’m ill equipped to regale an audience. So relax. I meant to say that I have been listening to/watching stand up comedy of various artists on YouTube – that fountainhead of mobile entertainment. I have a long commute and my choice of en route entertainment these days is stand up comedy on the way back home. On the mornings, it is still NPR and Mr. Ilayaraja.

As an art form, I suppose stand up comedy isn’t all that different from the other performing arts. You write material, practice, perform and improve enough over time to make a name for yourself. But unlike singing or dancing, which require years of rigorous and formal training to polish the skills, stand up comedy is largely self-honed. There are no schools or proving grounds, traditions to adhere to or grammar to stick to. The comedian is pretty much his own guru and there are no exams to certify one’s worth. Similarly there are no props to lean on or even hide behind – music, musicians or fellow performers. There is the performer, a microphone and the waiting audience and their appreciation the only scale to calibrate one against.

The comedian’s task is further more challenging because many in the audience think of themselves as being humorous. Not everyone that walks into an Aruna Sairam concert, for instance, fancies themselves as singers or are trained in classical music for years. But every John Doe out there can crack a good joke once in a while. So to provide a fresh perspective on everyday stuff and to bring a sense of novelty to things and experiences that almost everybody in the audience is aware of is a tough ask in my eyes. Choosing a profession fraught with these kinds of hazards is a big decision. Thus my healthy respect for their tribe.

I don’t mind mild (what is mild?) racial or ethnic jokes that play on stereotypes and a casual swear word thrown in here and there doesn’t turn me off either. So I find someone like Russell Peters funny. But I see some guys over using foul language as a comedic tool which doesn’t suit my taste. And for this exact reason, I have growing respect for the ones with squeaky clean content that you can watch with your kids.

There aren’t clear favorites yet as I’m still sampling the fare out there. But I’m beginning to like the work of Louis CK, Jim Gaffigan, Brian Regan from the US and Craig Ferguson and David Allen from the United Kingdom. And much like suffering poets being more profound, I find that guys with a difficult past (based on a few interviews) tend to come up with the better stuff.

A few friends recommended some Indian standup comedy acts in English and somehow I haven’t been able to savor the stuff that I have come across thus far. The comedians adopt English to cater to a wider, pan-Indian audience which is understandable. But therein lies the problem. In my opinion, English simply kills the comedic potential of content that can be better exploited in native languages. And dare I say, stand up comedy in India is still young and needs to evolve a bit – both among the performers and audiences.

Perhaps it is a cultural bias but I still prefer Indian comedy packaged as a track in movies or stage dramas. Between Goundamani’s body of work and S Ve Shekar’s and Crazy Mohan’s older dramas there is no gap in my comedy requirements. I also continue to mine the treasures of the Kamal and Crazy Mohan  combination when I need a good laugh or two. Yes, these are all stuff from the past and sadly, I don’t like very much what passes for comedy these days.