Gaurav Parab Says

This is Sport ! This is Sport

2012-01-29T06:49:00.000-08:00

This is Sport

Rafa Nadal versus Novok Djokovic.

By Gaurav Parab

Watching sport serves no purpose unless one learns from those who play it really well. The lessons are in physical and mental skill and in overcoming challenges. I guess that’s about it.

Recently, I like many others have felt the sheer pointlessness of viewing sport under the onslaught of the cricket team’s performance and the in your face branding around sporting events that make every match a clash between nations, the last chance for redemption, the construction of a legend or battle for survival. Sport is never war. War is when brave people are shot and they die. Sport is people hitting balls at each other.

Yet, as I write this blog the most remarkable match is going on and it is threatening to take me back to my old beliefs. Novak Djokovic and Rafael Nadal are 1-1 in the final set of a match of such a high quality that no one in the stadium or in their homes are moving an inch. Every point is a demonstration of sporting ability and self-belief of the highest order. It is probably going to end up as the longest grand slam final of all time. It is one of those rare experiences when it does not matter if you are Serb, Spaniard or Indian. You know that no matter what one player will do, the other will stand up to it. What Rafa and Djoko’s bodies have gone through in the last fortnight and the last five hours in particular is ridiculous amounts of pain and punishment. Yet, somehow mind is able to make body move. And the body is moving like it is a dancer and doing things to a tennis ball like it was a prop in a magic show. This is war. This is sport. This is the reason why fans believe.

It almost embarrasses me to even discuss what the cricket team did in Australia and England on the same MS word page. But I have to get it off my chest. The score line does not matter. The swinging ball does not matter. DRS can go to hell for all I care.

I wrote many years ago that getting into the Indian cricket team is a triumph of the highest order. We have to support them no matter what. It is not easy to carry the burden on expectations. But the events of the last few matches have reduced the whole thing to a simple fact. The cricket team seemed like it was not interested in playing the sport that defines their life. And the daily lives of a generation of die-hard fans.

India has many like me. When we are not busy running over other Indians on the road, stealing, maiming, paying home loans, and being secular – we watch cricket. We watch cricket because the movies we make are lame, and the sports we love are not shown on television as much as cricket is. Virat Kohli, before the next time you show the middle finger - we watch cricket to the point that if India A was playing India Z today on television- I would probably change the channel from this beautiful piece of sport that is currently going on.

Djokovic breaks back. It is 4-3 in the final set. And yes, Djokovic’s partner in the stands is a real cutie.

Recently, I received a letter about something I created. It basically said that my work is perfect yet there is no

market for it. This is the sort of thing that can take out the air from your body and leave you a hollow shell with no confidence and drive to do what you love doing. In sporting terms, it is KO.

After a 31 shot rally Djoko has collapsed. The crowd is on its feet. Djoko gets up to play the next rally. His racket slips out of his hand. He comes up with a ripping forehand. The ball is called long. Djoko challenges. He is right. The ball is in. Sport teaches another lesson.

I was wrong with the first line of this blog. Sport just taught me that one has to get up and challenge every call. It is about trying every single ball. The old cliche about getting up after you are knocked down, anyone?

I hope that some members of the Indian Cricket team are watching the final of the Australian open. I hope the next time in Cricket too, no matter what happens – we can say that sport won before we get into thanking the sponsors. And truly feel that all of us who watched it won something as well.

Usually, the blogs here are about something. I am not sure what this one was about. I admit is a confused collection of a lot of things. Pardon the errors and the mish-mash that the whole thing has become. I am signing off by writing what I feel while watching Rafa versus Djoko today.

What I feel is simple. This is sport. And it is sport at its very best.

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Me On Other Sports

Penguins In Space and Other Lessons

2011-12-24T03:37:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

I was wrong about burying every kid that calls me Uncle under a pile of Barney Dinosaurs. Not all kids are pesky. Spending time with my young nephews proved there is more to children than messy noses, out of control tummies, and high pitched screams that made one wish that every child was but a Sponge Bob square pants wax statue at Tussads. Dhruv and Yash taught me that some kids are way too brilliant to be wasted by the act of growing up. The two boys dished out the following lessons we can do well to learn.

1) Kids remind us of what we were and what we can be

Most readers of this blog are at the cruel age of relentless compromises with our dreams. Some of us, still clueless about our calling, are learning one thing at a time what we do not want to be. We are dream thrashing machines. One way a dream enters, the other side it comes out crushed. The process is rapid and we don’t even realize the creative journey of hope and imagination that we once undertook so often.

Dhruv is five and Yash is three. Yash’s ambition in life is to tell everyone “You are funny” and then break out into man giggles. Dhruv has a better plan. He wants to be an astronaut. It could be a fleeting fad or something concrete. But today he knows what he wants to be. He is not overwhelmed by his dream.

Dhruv took my hand, asked me to sit and started the reverse countdown. When he saw Yash still stuck at mission control with his magic wand (a toothbrush or pencil depending on the day of the week) he shouted at his younger brother to come aboard the spacecraft. And we were off on a wonderful journey. While I only saw a packet of half eaten chips (tummy growl) and a bunch of sofas looking with fright at an orange false ceiling – Dhruv saw planets, stars, galaxies, and aliens. As he described the scene and the two young ones got immersed in their space man spiff fantasy – I could not help but feel sorry for myself. I could not see what they were seeing. Was it a sudden event, or a gradual de-evolution? When did I lose my imagination? It must have been the saddest day in my life.

Gone are the days when I could see things that were not there.

2) Straight talk, no bull shit.

Kids get to the point faster than adults. If they want to be fed, they let it be known they want to be fed. If they want to do PP, they declare it to the entire world. When their business is done, you want to make sure you are miles away – for they will shout from the toilet that they are done and they expect you to come and clean their bum bum. Their bum bum! They show it proudly, even if they have a rash on it.

If adults talked as straight as kids did, we would have a boring yet peaceful world. Language would be restricted to its functional aspects, and diplomats and politicians will be packed off to where they belong - to deep space, with the planets, stars, and aliens.

We should learn plain speak from kids and not show our bum bums.

3) Dig Deeper – there are layers to everything

The ability to talk straight should not be confused with limited intelligence. The truth is kids are smarter than adults; they just don’t feel the need to show it. They question even after receiving answers. They manage to reach the core issue in a conversation better than any adult can. They are not ashamed to ask questions, no matter how stupid it might sound.

We were driving and Dhruv saw the larger than life cutouts of politicians that Pune is famous for. The road was surrounded by these cutouts and banners – each wishing each other Happy Birthday in cutout language. Each having the picture of men so ugly and so menacing that it is important that their face be put on another cutout two feet away. Even for a child on his first visit to India – Dhruv sensed these people were trouble. As an African guide once described a Cheetah to me “Bwana, he is one with bad habits”

Dhruv had a question. “Gaurav Mama, who are these people?” he pointed at the cutout.

“They are goondas” I replied.

“You mean bad people?” Dhruv’s eyes went wide.

The Indian in me awoke. I wanted to defend these goondas against this good looking five year old child from New Jersey. So what if they are goondas, they are my Indian goondas. “Not they are not bad people” I reply.

“So why did you call them goondas?”

His Hindi was better than previously expected. I tried to distract him by making a King Kong face and beating my chest. “There are no bad people in India” I said and felt a surge of pride run through my chest. I saw images of Anna Hazaare and Sunny Deol in Hero – The love story of a spy flash past my eyes.

“You mean there are no bad people in India?” Dhruv asked.

“Yes, India is a wonderful country. There are no bad people here”.

Dhruv was not satisfied. Hesitantly, as if he knew that this conversation will end with me looking like a fool, he asked, “So, if there are no bad people, why is there police in India?”

Kids. They are one question ahead of you. I do the right thing. I beat my chest again and scream King Kong.

The point is, adults have forgotten to ask questions. The practice of questioning status quo is reduced to a fancy management practice called the five Ws. That’s about it. We never ask Why to our boss, because we are afraid not of the answer but of the repercussion, we never ask why not to our friends because we are afraid of hurting feelings, and we never ask Why cant we have a road without potholes because people with bad habits are running this country.

4) Going up the slide

Yash is three years old. He is positive, charming, and always on the lookout for hugs from beautiful women. I was playing with him in the park. Afraid that the rides were too big for Yash, I asked him to start small. He went through every slide, swing and roundabout till only the big Yellow Slide was left unchallenged. Naturally, Yash wanted to have a go at it. Before I could stop him, he went up the steps and was zooming down with a smile on his face. Next, he wanted to climb the wall that led up the same slide. It was clear that the wall was too big for him. But he labored and finally scaled it. There was nothing left in the park to do. He looked around – half triumphant half disappointed. And then he said,

“GOYAV MAMA, I want to go the other way”

“What other way?” I asked.

“I want to go like this” and then he went up to the slipper slide and started climbing it. Every time he slipped and came back down he laughed harder and his eyes became more determined. And then, he scaled his Everest from the South Side.

When was the last time we pushed ourselves and went up the slide?

5) Every word Means Something

Kids ramble a lot. In the dust and grease of all the small talk, adults lose the significance of their words. I learnt that every single word that a child says has some meaning. They are not random as they may appear at first.

We were on a roundabout in the park. Dhruv was inside one of his space fantasies and describing the things he could see. “Gaurav Mama, I can see planets, stars, galaxies…blackholes” ( I crossed my fingers, praying he does not ask the question about how black holes are formed)

‘That’s great” I said, distracted. My attention was on Yash who was using his magic wand to start a revolution of the swings against the slides.

“But Gaurav Mama” Dhruv said, “I see something that does not belong in space”

“Sure” I replied and continued observing Yash. “Gaurav mama, I see something that does not belong in space”

“What do you see Dhruv?”

“I see a Penguin” and Dhruv smiled.

I had no idea what he was talking about. We started back for home. About a fifty yards from the park, I stopped in my tracks. Staring back at me was a Penguin.

It was a dustbin shaped like a Penguin. I turned back at Dhruv who nodded and looked at the park. The only thing visible was the roundabout. He was not kidding. Dhruv had seen a Penguin from space, and naturally he was disturbed about it.

If only adults were as expressive in their choice of words, every one of them would be worth a beautiful moment.

I am closing this piece with an appeal to stop the act of growing up as fast as possible. We don’t have any time to lose. Being a kid is far more fun than being software programmers, fighter pilots, superstars, and writers. Seriously.

When we are kids we are only restricted by our imagination. Those were the days, oh yes those were the days.

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The Anatomy of a Slap

2011-11-24T06:17:00.000-08:00

Image Source Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

The one's who go hungry

The one's who were robbed

The one's torn apart

By bombs or trains

They sleep well today

The little people

Sleep like babies

You will sleep like a kid

Who got slapped

Flush on the face

For being a bad boy

All that money

All that power

Where's that now?

Slapped like a kid

By a little man

With a big heart

And It felt good

To everyone else

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Ra.One Could Have Been Worse

2011-10-28T01:20:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

This year has been terrible for India- Scams, train accidents, inflation, terrorism, and the devastating John Abraham - Bipasha Basu breakup. There was hope that come Diwali, thanks to Cinthol, Nokia, Champions League, and Videocon – we will have hope in the form of Ra.One. I was even told on TV that Haan farishteh hote hain. Goddamit. I got screwed.

Nothing is as bad as Ra.One. We didn’t see this coming, did we? But here is a sobering thought. It could have been worse. Abhishek Bacchan could have been G.ONE.

Try imagining this, the same overacting and in-your-face nausea – but taller and with a hip hop accent from Juhu. Could we have survived a moron instead of an oxymoron? (This sentence makes no sense and is my tribute to Anhbhav Sinha, the Ra.One director)

Try this simple visual exercise. Look at the image at the start of the blog. Try to keep a straight face for one minute. I kid you not, it is impossible. Speaking of G.ONE, is it me or does anyone else thinks it sounds like the prototype of a G String made by Rohit Bal? Ok, I guess it is just me.

The JHA.TWO, and J.ONE jokes apart, I admit the marketer in me really admires SRK for putting everything on the line and believing in his product. It may be inspired by a thousand movies, and it may be crappy but no.one has worked so hard to get his shit out like SRK has. Which raises another point Shouldn’t he have tied up with Sulabh International? Opportunity lost.

Even if it is shit, creation is tough and SRK has done what no one else has in terms of marketing. The scale and the brazenness is staggering. Here is a toast to SRK and to every man who has believed in his creation!

A South Indian friend, post the Ra.One experience called me up and said CH****.ONE. I have never seen him embrace the national language with more fervor and sincerity. Although, I have only one thing to tell my friend. This is what happens when you take a Rajnikant joke too far. You guys (yeah someone has to say it) You guys! Brought this upon us. Could you not have worshipped Silk Smitha and inspired Bollywood to make a dirty picture?

Now this is the part of the article where I be Chetanisque and write about totally unrelated events, link them together, and then try to sell books.

Paragraph 1: What is our fascination with wastage?

We build the world’s most expensive home, and not live in it. We produce food grains enough to feed everyone but can’t build godowns to store them. We spend 30 millon dollars to make a super hero movie, when we have no culture of super heroes. SRK, the truth is India does not need superheroes.

What we do have is the world’s biggest trove of mythology and Gods that can make Marvel Comics hero quiver like Sheila ki Jawanni in their G.ones. If I had 30 million dollars to spend, I would make a positive, well researched, kick ass version of the Ramayan, or Mahabharath (not an animation, a real movie). Every kid in India looks up to our gods, and you don’t need to spend 10 million dollars to tell the world who Ravan is. Just remove the dot from RA.ONE and you have the world’s ultimate villain. The spinoffs, the sequels, the prequels – every story is already written and no copyright issues as well. But copyright, never bothered you anyways – did it?

Paragraph 2:

This is where I tie in my book with the article. But since I don’t have a book to sell, I am going to pimp a couple of books which could be interesting. Rohit Gore’s A Darker Dawn is out and although I have not read it completely the first few pages are promising. Nishant Kaushik, a prolific writer friend's Conditions Apply, is also out. His first two books are bestsellers and this should also do well.

I have nothing else to sell today. Join me on Facebook , subscribe to this blog and don’t send me stinkers on SRK. He does not need anyone’s sympathy. Although, I do wish Ra.One becomes a blockbuster for he has worked for it. Respect SRK.

Peace . Chitti Rocks.

Four Business Lessons from Steve Jobs

2011-10-07T22:18:00.000-07:00

Steve Jobs on his 1966 BMW. ( From National Geographic 1982)

By Gaurav Parab

The untimely passing away of Steve Jobs united dreamers and doers in grief. As heaven opened its gate to an user experience revolution, lesser mortals are left with the tricky question about his legacy.

It is both easy and difficult to answer. The easy route, taken by many commentators is he made beautiful devices, made computers portable, changed the way phones felt and put the user in the center of the technology revolution.

I have a problem with that.

Such an ill defined legacy stands the danger of being wiped the next time a great product comes along. Truth be told, Jobs did not invent stuff. Reducing his genius merely to the brilliance of Apple products reduces it to their shelf life.

Carnegie is not remembered for the mountains of steel, but for the audacity of his vision and his philanthropy. Ford is not know for the Model T, he is known for the concepts he introduced. Ray Kroc is not only burgers, he stands for changing the way we eat. Walt Disney is happiness, much like Tom Watson changed the way businesses were run. Edison? Well Edison is everything from scientist to salesman. And it is with these titans that Steve Jobs name deserves to be spoken. To define his legacy, we will have to take the difficult route. We will have to dig behind the glitzy Mac World Presentation and understand what his actions stood for.

Whether it is the young dreamer in a studio, or a number crunching geek in his cubicle, the life and times of Jobs are full of lessons for everyone. His legacy stands in these lessons.

Here is my take. And in keeping with his philosophy, I will keep it short and simple.

1) Innovation Has to Come From The Top

Innovation is a nice buzzword. It makes for good ad copy with Green, CSR and Sustainability. It is also a bitter pill to swallow. It involves heavy investments and vague returns. When CEO terms are increasingly getting shorter, and shareholders are to be given orgasmic happiness every quarter - what do companies do? Do they have the maneuverability to innovate?

So they do the next best thing. Act like they are innovative, instead of acting on innovation. They create new Business units 'exclusively' for innovation. They call is something fancy as a Future Lab. The new unit is designed to fill an entire section in the annual report.

The problem with renaming the R&D of yesterday, to Innovation Unit of today is when a breakthrough happens- it is looked from the prism of marketability. Top leadership truly gets involved too late in the cycle. They don't push the innovation through. They don't give their inputs. Death is it getting reduced to a concept.

Jobs and Apple considered thousands of ideas meticulously, before believing in one - and then they would drop everything else.

Management should manage a company. True leadership should be less administration, more taking chances, looking into the future, and getting involved in the detail. Micro managing is not the demon every one paints it to be. A company's leadership should leave the operations to the operations and invest their reputation, belief and time in things that can change the world.

Over his career, and especially during his comeback, he taught how to be nimble like an Apple when you are the size of a Jackfruit. His trick was to take ownership. To sink or sail with his babies.

In the fast moving technology industry where large corporations spawned out of dormitories and garages, end up becoming the very monster they replaced - Apple always seemed to be a young company. Retaining the DNA of a garage start up where the founder took charge of both the lab and the board room.

2) Its Ok to be Number 2

Apple under Steve Jobs was always the underdog. 90 percent of the world was on to PCs. His way or the highway never worked as far as pure sales numbers were concerned.You would expect a lesser man to take the easy way out and make the quick buck. He could have opened Mac to other software.

But Jobs believed in a paradigm. He did not want the entire pie, he wanted to own a particular segment. It was all right if only the artists, writers, painters, and geeks bought the Mac as long as they were ready to pay that extra buck. The housewife and the investment banker could sleep with the PC, as far as he was concerned. It is difficult to imagine the courage it took to stick to a particular line of thought. His success was built on leadership in thought, and not necessarily in the market place.

3) Burn All Business Models for One Gut Feeling

If you are a leader, burn all the models, charts, and templates that interrupt with your gut feel. If Jobs had applied the Porter Model to the mobile phone industry, he would have never introduced the iPhone. The incumbents were too big and experienced, competition was fierce, and customers demanded value for money. Yet, he still sneaked it. And destroyed everyone else.

For his products, he fiercely held on to the distribution channel even at the cost of sales. The fanboys never abandoned him.

At Pixar, he invested his own money and changed not one but two industries forever in the same lifetime.

In most of his business decisions, he took the difficult route. While numbers help to take better informed decisions, better informed decisions do not always work out. He applied sixth sense to science. And the best part is he was honest about stating everything makes sense in hindsight.

4) Don't Hire Geniuses, Inspire Them

Steve Jobs' marketing took sales out of the stratosphere, but it was the worlds best supply chain set up by Tim Cook that delivered Apple its great margins. Then there is Jonathan Ive, the Chief Designer behind every Apple product from 1996 onwards.

Even at Pixar, he was able to inspire a bunch of scientists to create billion dollar Hollywood franchises.

***

Da Vinchi reborn, the boss from hell, the ultimate elevator pitchman, comeback kid, visionary and Geek god.

Steve Jobs RIP. Lesser men are missed. Your absence will be felt.

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Dear Nigerian, Treat this with great confidentiality

2011-10-02T01:58:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

Dear Mr Ali Damrus,

Thank you for always thinking of me. Since our first correspondence, I have always wanted to tell you that you had me with "Hello My Dear Friend".

I am called Gaurav Parab, a senior staff in the Shetakari Bank.

I salute your courage in avoiding Mr Vaoudo Karim in the corner office, Mr Marco Givson the Head of Claims, and my entire expat family in the lobby of your bank to sneak out and write to me in great confidentiality. Due to official restrictions, I am writing back to you and you only. I hope you treat this matter with great confidentiality.

But first, thank you. God be blessed for your finding my uncle's old files for the millionth time in the last audit. We miss him as much as you do. Although it is difficult to alternate between grieving for his departed soul and jumping with joy every time he turns up alive only to die again. My friends at Guruwar Peth sing, “How many times must his Uncle Die?"" Before he is actually dead?"

Ali, but today I write to you with mixed news. I hope you are sitting down and sipping a Coca Cola (which makes you eligible for the annual Promo draw of 100 billion GBP)

While I was searching for the documents you had asked last time, I came across the will of your father Ali Damrus, the Minus One ( Ali Desmarus -1). As you know he worked as the token Nigerian on a Kinetic Honda near Pune University . I am sorry to bring to your attention the matter of his death due to overdoes of CAD B, now Café Chocolade.

Since your father’s death we have been waiting for the next of kin to turn up and start playing for East Bengal. And then one day my computer told me you my old friend are the beneficiary we were all looking for. Nana saheb, Bhau Saheb, and Patil congratulate me on my good fortune.

Ali, your father had complete access to three packs of Chitale Bandu Bhakar Wadi. After proper investigations, we discovered his pending payment to you has been withheld by Kaka Halwai. But with the help of FBI and local Chatursinghi police station, we have been able to track Kaka to Pimple Nilakh, near Rakshakh circle. As you know the package is worth a lot of money, and can be couriered to you only from 10 am to 2 pm (Don’t ask why. The dude at the Chitale Bandhu counter is a real wise guy).

Please share the following information at the earliest, so we can top up your Valid International Master Card at Om Super Market.

Name -

Delivery Address –

Cell Phone Number –

I know you may have received such letters before but I beg you to handle this with all you heart. Aai Shappath. I am not fcking with you.

After you deposit the initial amount in Cosmos Bank, we will send you a ticket to Pune. To prove your identity, you will be asked to say Bhosari MIDC with a straight face. I advise you to treat this matter really seriously.

Thanks and remain blessed

Gaurav Parab

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Route 27

2011-09-30T20:47:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

On the crimson bus

To work and back

Before cards are swiped

After names are typed

Starting row number one

Ending row thirty two

Number eleven thinks of his child

Number six shakes to her song

Number twenty is still on a call

Number eight wants to shout

Is this what life is about?

The driver enters the gate

Brilliance meets its fate

Mediocrity raises its head

Destiny pretends to be dead

Yet, a moment after the bus stops

And before lives become props

Just as everyone sighs

And bodies rise

Somewhere on a seat

A man rises to his feet

And it is sworn

A dream will be born

Once

2011-09-24T02:43:00.000-07:00

Image Source Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

You were not a mistake

Or a piece of cake

Imagine this

A heart of tin

Collapsin

Every day, in my ribs

And it was love

There, you heard it

I said it.

You were not a mistake

And even if I said it

It was for you to think

I am a piece of shit

And make it easy

It hasn’t been easy for me too

If that counts

You need to know

Before I exit

You were pure love

And I was purely an idea

For you

A man child then

A child man now

Yesterday’s gone

Today and always I am in love

I am in love with her
I always will be

And every song you sing

I heard it. I heard it.

And, from my playlist I deleted it

So you could think I was shit

Do you know what it feels like?

To have no song in your life?

And I am sorry

But is it my fault?

There are things

I did not tell her

There are things I did not tell you

There are things

I did not tell myself

I don’t ask you to feel sorry for me

I am cold. Like I said.
So many times. And yes I lied

I am not cold. I am just dead

On a slab

And the folks from the city

Are on their way

They send a reporter

Her name, floats on the waves

I was no angel

I was no black magic

I am not sick

I don’t deserve love

But don’t let

The very idea of me

Stop you being free

That’s all I say

Hold me like a tin

Every second collapsin..

Hollow and noisy

Then keep it away

But not in disgust

With a smile

Like you always have

You were a class apart

And that’s why

You happened

There I go again

A snob. I slap my head.

And that’s why

We happened

Maybe I am bad

But then, when I say it

People say he is faking it

But we were good

And you were four letters

Love. That's what you were

There I said it

The right letters

Not Drug. Like the one

Maria peddles on the beach.

No, you were more than love

You were, my friend

You are my friend

Even if you think

I am not yours
For I still
Dream about you
And write for you

And Marketa

From Once

I never told you

It was not only her

It was not only love

It was death

And there were shadows

And so I smiled my way through

Like the only way I knew

And I am all right now

But I will never forget you

From Once

But forgive me

I have to go

To the sea

From That Man in the Picture By Gaurav Parab

Indian Government Loves Mogambo: Wiki Leaks

2011-09-15T09:01:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

New Delhi: Political circles were abuzz with the release of the latest wiki leaks cable that quote a senior minister admitting that the Indian Government supports evil.

“There is zero evil deficit in the government” the minister reportedly mentioned to a former US ambassador before breaking into an evil laugh and chanting mogambo mogambo mogambo.

“We even have our own evil conference room. The room awaits environmental ministry clearance.”

When asked to describe the evil operations room, the minister replied, “Think Shaan (1980) meets Karan Johar (1998). There is a roundtable with chairs over a shark infested pool. Every time high command presses a button, the chair drops into the pool and Kiron Kher laughs loudly in the corner. With echo effect.”

“Who knows about this room?” the ambassador reportedly asks in another cable of the same series.

“Maran got BSNL to make a direct tunnel from Sun TV, Chennai into the room. And Kapil likes the revolving chair with a skull on the armrest. Sharad just keeps looking at the big world map LED screen while speaking with his real estate agent. We had to ask Manish Tiwari to not come back though. He was overacting evil. Basically everyone except the PM. ”

“What about Pranab? Does he like the room?”

“We don’t know yet. We still can’t understand a single word he says”

The US State Department refused to comment on the latest round of leaks till late evening when they released the following statement. “It is the Indian Governments prerogative to put up evil posters in their room. However, we still can’t figure out who Ravindra Jadeja is and what is his blow up doing in the room.”

The opposition demanded an inquiry into the leak and reiterated that they too should be allowed to attend meetings in the room as a matter of democratic courtesy. “V got evil 2” Sushma Swaraj tweeted. “V need room 2”

When asked on how they plan to tackle the Anna Hazare movement, the minister said, “There is a consensus in the government that the response has been soft so far. We will soon move to plan B. I can’t tell you what it is, but lets just say it involves miniature dolls of Arvind Kejriwal and fourteen pins.”

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Pista

2011-09-09T23:32:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

She is surrounded

By family and friends

Three sighs before it ends

A brave old lady on her bed

A memory in her eye

Cancer in the head

A tear of happiness

Escapes her eyes

Over her cheeks

Around the oxygen line

Till it takes flight

And drops on the ground

Without a sound

She is happy

Everyone's here

Everyone was always here

What else can she want?

Her mind is alert

Pain beats hurt

She smiles

The doctors are amazed

Not yet done

And then she knows

What she wants

A smile flows

Around her lips

Over her cheeks

Into her eyes

Just a thing

But death comes

Defeats it with a word

Everyone gasps

They ask her again

What does she want?

Just a thing

Her eyes have that gleam

Someone…

Please get me Pista ice cream.

RIP J’s BN.

Treat Anti Graft Ideas as Start Ups

2011-09-03T07:40:00.000-07:00

Stop being an Arundhati and Start Being Constructive

By Gaurav Parab

The first step has been taken. The journey has one step less to take. The Anna agitation has given us a sense of excitement, achievement and hope. Its most heartening gift is putting corruption right at the center of our dinner table. No longer are youth accused of ‘pretending to be serious’ when they discuss national issues in the college canteen. Office cubicles are abuzz with as much debate on the Indian Penal Code as the Indian Premiere League. House wives talk about a citizen charter as much as Balika Vadhu. As remarkable as it sounds, a septuagenarian has made fighting corruption sexy for an entire generation.

The nation has to seize this momentum and come up with solutions that address all aspects of corruption from supply to demand, reward to punishment, legal to moral, and redressal to improvement. There is not a moment to lose. This season will not come again. All Indians should see through the ‘You bribe traffic cops so you have no right to take on corruption’ argument and apply their minds to solve the one issue that has held us back.

It is time to stop being an Arundhati in criticizing Anna’s funding, while suggesting zero solutions in taking on the A Rajas. It is time to be constructive. To overcome cancer, you have to outflank it and cut its supply off. A multi pronged approach is needed.

Jan Lok Pall Bill is punishment for being corrupt. Punishment is practical but it is also temporary. In a society as complex as ours, its value as a deterrent will take years to be proven. A more lasting impact can occur through positive reinforcement. Positive reinforcement happens when a reward is given for a desired behavior. The desired behavior is bringing down corruption. The actors could be any person, process, or technology that improves the system.

We need to find anti –graft ideas and reward both the thinkers and doers.

There are many organizations that reward Integrity. Transparency International awards individuals and organizations that fight corruption around the world. In India, there are similar initiatives like the Manjunath Shanmugam Integrity Award. But there is no award that specifically rewards ideas, technology or process that tackles graft. If there is, then the impact of the solution gets restricted to the institution in question and the lesson is lost when the award evening ends. Remember, inspiring individuals like Anna Hazzare are not easy to replicate. But the ideas that come from their minds are.

We need a mechanism that takes innovative ideas, improves them and more importantly helps to take them to a wide audience. We all know this is easier said than done. Even getting a resolution to discuss a strong anti-corruption watchdog took a nationwide movement while it should have been established as a matter of natural course decades ago.

So we can perhaps start small. Or start with the corporate sector. Perhaps Indian business houses will start pilots based on some of these award winning ideas instead of signing nominal anti-corruption pledges and codes of conduct. The Government, like has been the trend in many sectors, will be forced to follow such best practices especially with its increasing adoption of technology and process redesign. An award for innovation in integrity can encourage making ‘anti-graft’ a design principle in any system that government uses to deliver services. In these times, an ‘anti-graft’ design mentality is as important as cost, usability, performance and scalability.

Jan Lok Pal was able to stand the scrutiny of Parliament and a thousand TV debates because it was drafted by people who had worked with Government. Team Anna knew the government - public touch points, system leakages, constitutional challenges etc. Change has to come from within and not forced from top through a law, or shoved up through the bottom by frustrated citizens.

The Innovation in Integrity awards should have a category to reward and learn from individuals within government who were successful in reducing corruption. For example, if an official in the Ministry of Defense implements a transparent auction system (like the one done for 3G) for defense procurement –he should be recognized for not only speeding up procurement but also cutting down on kickbacks. Similarly, if a private company decides to have a system to make electoral funding more transparent, it should be rewarded and the solution should be shared with other corporations.

The awards in Integrity should become as much a badge of honor like the Malcolm Baldridge Award is for quality. An Indian corporate, and there are many who have been able to grow without indulging in graft, can adopt the initiative and sponsor it. But we should not stop at merely rewarding good work. The ideas and suggestions that the committee learns through the exercise should be stored, improved, and made into reusable artifacts that can be applied to other parts of society. That is the key. The Noble Peace Prize never led to world peace. But the X Prize led to affordable space travel, an idea which I feel will define the collective future of our planet in the next decade.

The committee should treat every remarkable idea to tackle corruption as a start up. It should nurture it, guide it, and make sure it delivers as much value as possible. If we can reward Indian Juggad in tacking rural and environmental problems, we can definitely reward our ingenuity in tacking graft. Corruption has left us bleeding, while non performance only hurts. We need to prioritize and focus on this grave problem that has over the years become our way of life.

Ours is a resilient country, and this movement has shown the world that a previously insurmountable problem can be taken on peacefully if the right method is applied. There is no reason why we cannot do it again. Our journey as a nation has been rebooted. It is time to reach our destination. It is time to deliver.

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Just Protest. These Times Will Never Come Again.

2011-08-18T10:03:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

This blog post starts with an appeal to cynics. It ends with a modified Warren Zevon song. In the middle you will find me rambling. When I am just sold to an idea, I burp, ramble and tear my hair out.

If you have been living on some other planet, India is in the middle of a revolution. No, this is no twitter gag, no sms hype, no facebook flash mob. This is not Libya or Egypt. This is India. We are in the middle of a fuking revolution (This is the first obscenity ever on my blog).

I know there are cynics and I respect everyone who at least has an opinion. A year ago, our generation would have said “My Bad, Who is This Anna Thingy”. Challenging Anna Hazzare, even if it is wrong, is at least a start. Let me address you first.

This Will Lead To Nothing, so why participate?

Revisit history books. It always leads to something.

In this case, it has already led to something. Politicians are men and women made of flesh and bone. For sixty four years, rarely has anyone challenged them. Today, they are quivering in their boots and huddled in emergency meetings to discuss the situation. If they spent half the energy they are spending on ‘tackling’ Anna on actually coming up with a sincere anti-corruption mechanism – then we would be a better people.

Their decisions show they are clueless on how to deal with the very people they have manipulated, controlled and stolen from for years. They were all naturally incompetent administrators and public servants, but now their incompetence as leaders is showing in their actions. They buckled once when they allowed the team on to the drafting committee. They will buckle again.

There would have been cynics who could have never imagined the mightiest empire our planet had ever seen taken apart by a diminutive man and his strange methods. It did happen. It always leads to something.

If nothing else, this is the message you send to everyone who has denied you a quality of life that you deserve for working so hard. The message is we are asking questions, we are not being silent anymore. You can stop a man’s body, you cannot stop his spirit. Just turn up ok? These fantastic times will never visit us again.

There are forces behind Anna - RSS / United States / Political Parties/ Loch Ness Monster

Politicians are the last word in marketing. They sell hope and they sell it well. Hence it is more surprising that the communication is so jumbled when they try to put a finger to Anna’s popularity. Perhaps it is not so surprising the communication is so jumbled. When you lie, you cannot keep a straight face.

In the protests I have attended, thousands are turning up at short notice because they believe in something. These people at the protests cannot be bought for a 500 rupee note like they are for political rallies. They make more money in the one hour they spend at the office as opposed to protesting. Then there are people in this protest who make 500 rupees a month. They realize that if something is not done, they will never make Rs 501 before it is stolen away.

If there were forces behind these protests, the protests would have been bigger and not as decentralized. The organizers go out of their way to make sure that no voices are raised against politicians, parliament, or people. The only thing the organizers are interested in is Jan Lok Pal. I doubted earlier if this was apolitical. Having seen the types of crowds, I am certain it is.

To turn the argument around, one question. What if there are forces behind it? Do you shoot the messenger or the message? Is our country becoming unstable due to this protest or due to the endemic corruption that prevents us from delivering to our potential? And don’t you think it would take a genius to not own up considering how popular this movement is becoming. I don’t think any group or party in this country has the ability to resist such a temptation.

From the blog Gaurav Parab Says

And the United States? Good Lord, you must be really dense to not see through the people who are making this accusation. They did it with JP, and they failed. They will fail again. It is the oldest trick in the book. Divide the opposition by throwing as much dirt as you can, and hope some sticks in someone’s mind. Just turn up ok? These fantastic times will never visit us again.

Anna is Destroying Parliament and Democratic Institutions. This is blackmail

A bogey raised by politicians who first hid behind the police and now behind parliament. Ironically, it is politicians who have destroyed every institution they fall in love with every time they are in trouble. The CBI is a government tool. It cannot launch investigations suo moto. The CAG can audit, cannot prosecute. The PAC is made of politicians. The CVC is toothless. State police is controlled by state governments. It is a web designed by politicians to ensure we can steal, and we can show you the middle finger while stealing. And them respecting institutions? Spare us. Take my money, but don’t insult my intelligence.

The Prime Minister says there is no magic wand to deal with corruption. The Prime Minister says we will deal with it in our own way. Well, it took 64 years to arrive at an evening outside Tihar Jail. More than half a century is not enough to come up with a system to punish the corrupt? And so if this is blackmail, what else do you think will the politician be forced to clean up his house? If you think they are going to do it on their own, think again. 64 years. 64 years. 64 years. For 64 years they have done nothing. And now that we ask for it, they say it is the work of parliament. 64 years. Just turn up ok? These fantastic times will never visit us again.

The Protests are not spontaneous, they are managed

Just attend one and you will know. I think Arun Jaitley made a very brave confession when he said that no politician in India could have arranged for such large crowds ‘spontaneously’. Switch off the TV if you think Times Now is so anti-government. Switch off your mind. Just ask the person next to you if this is a good thing. The answer will be spontaneous. I admit candle light marches, and message alerts make the protests convenient. But that should not take anything away from what you and I feel.

Just turn up ok? These fantastic times will never visit us again.

So, what happens next? If I knew, Kapil Sibal would adopt me with tears in his eyes.

The government will probably hospitalize Anna in a few days and hope the movement fretters out at Ramlila. In the meanwhile, they will play good cop bad cop with Anna using their spokespersons as scapegoats.

Just a simple radio button question to The Government and Political Parties. Do you want a strong anti-corruption law or not? If Yes, why don’t you go ahead and do it? If No, Ah! That explains your behavior.

It is a simple argument, and it should be at the core of every doubt that each cynic has. Hate
Anna Hazzare, Hate Sonia Gandhi, Hate God. But just put this whole situation to a simple question and you will understand why everything is happening the way it is. Protest, fasts, allegations, institutions, laws, section 144 are all smokescreens hiding the simple question we all should be asking. Do you want a Strong anti-corruption law or not. If not, why? Will tigers go extinct if you pass a strong lok pal bill?

It will take a leader to not look at Jan Lok Pal as a threat to his golden nest, but as a once in a lifetime opportunity to overhaul the system, listen to the public mood, and create history.
If the Government does not act fast, a real danger is this might turn violent and directionless. There are many issues we face in our day to day life, and you can sense the frustration around. Most of the crowd is young and they were all waiting for a chance to use their energy. This has been their outlet. They have tasted blood. It is not as much about Anna Hazzare and Jan Lok Pal as it is about frustration. Expect large numbers of people to vote the next time. And don’t expect the incumbent to win. But replacing a broken brick with quick sand never works. We need an institutional solution, and Jan Lok Bill is exactly that.

Lastly, I apologize for the poor structure and typos in this post. There are many thoughts that are going in my head, and I can’t find the best way to put them forward. I feel excited, I feel restless. For the first time in my adult life I feel like I can make a change in the collective future of my country. And so can you. Just turn up at these protests and put numbers on the street. Numbers and photo ops work. Would like to end this ramble by a slight modification to Warren Zevon’s iconic song.

Everybody's restless and they've got no place to go
Someone's always trying to tell them
Something they already know
So their anger and resentment flow

But don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long
Anna’s Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Anna’s Radio

You know, the Sheriff's got his problems too
He will surely take them out on you
In walked the village idiot and his face was all aglow
He's been up all night listening to Anna’s Radio

Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long
Anna’s Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Anna’s Radio

Everybody's desperate trying to make ends meet
Work all day, still can't pay the price of gasoline and meat
Alas, their lives are incomplete

Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long Anna’s Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Anna’s Radio

You've been up all night listening for his drum
Hoping that the righteous might just might just might just come
I heard the General whisper to his aide-de-camp
"Be watchful for Anna’s lamp"

Don't it make you want to rock and roll
All night long Anna’s Radio

The next week might indirectly have a bearing on the next century. Even if it is a might , I think it is a chance worth taking. Just turn up ok? These fantastic times will never visit us again.

See How Anna from village inspired GP from FarmVille

Rabid

2011-08-14T11:40:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

Image Wikimedia Commons

I read for I like

To read

About heartbreak

And disease

And I feel

Thirsty

Something to do

With the nerves

You taste like

Wine gone bad

You smell like

Death

And your bite

Is Rabid

You went straight

Through my nerves

To my head

While the others melt

You

You threw yourself

Hard like a doll

Against me

And I can’t breathe

Fever

Thirst

And excitement

You are rabid

And now

So am I

The Only Thing We Own

2011-07-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

This is not going to be pretty. You have been warned.

Society is getting dumber every day. I normally soften my words by saying ‘we’, ‘us’, and ‘ours’, but today on this misty Pune evening, I am not going to generalize. I will be brutal. I will be specific. I may be fatter, balder and slower. I earn less than you. I can never understand balance sheets. But I am not dumb. Like you.

(I wanted to say someone like you, but that would be generalizing)

This is about you. When did you get so dumb? Hold on, you say. Where did this come from? You arrogant little, you.

Why am I jumping out of the screen and giving you the bird? What made me an expert on intelligence? What fantasticity did I pull off? When did I become a rocket scientist and land on the moon.

Never, I reply. Achievement never interested me. It is more fun to imagine how the moon looks like than visit it. It is more difficult too. I think.

I grin because I am sure the point of this article I being missed. But I grin inside. Have you seen a man grin inside? Do you have the imagination?

So why, you ask again? Are you drunk? Is everything all right. It’s the appraisal isn’t it?

No, it’s the mediocrity around me. The words I hear in a conversation and the thoughts that are shared. At the risk of sounding clichéd, I see only clichés around me. No originality – none at all. People have become afraid of themselves. They hide behind accents, borrowed thoughts, and plastic company. My nephews, aged 5 and 3 build Lego castles. The bricks have more personality than people.

I am worried for them. Soon they will outgrow Lego and meet the zombie generation.

Where did you go wrong? Who came first? The dumb audience or the dumb entertainer?

It is easy to blame the Internet or technology. Did it start when emotions became emoticons? When you felt laughter is not an experience, but a word spelt LOL. When you became too lazy to even string a few words together to show appreciation, and simply said I Like. And then you dropped the I Like and went +1. Soon you would just nod your heads. Soon you will just meet people and walk through them. Even if you like them. (I do that all the time. But only because it is a cruel thing to do).

Tell you what. The biggest threat to this generation is not war, terrorism or corruption. The biggest threat is needing a camera to capture an everyday moment, instead of your soul.

I said technology is easy to blame. I did not say correct.

Technology is useful actually. More content, concepts, and ideas are being generated every second than any time in our history. So, what then?

No idea. Why should I even try to analyze this for you? I am not your friend. My friends are smart. Last evening we discussed the pretentiousness of discussing pretentiousness.

I end this with an appeal. The human brain is an amazing gift. Some of us don’t deserve it, but heck we each got one unit. The fact that you can think about thinking is something that cannot be achieved by animal, machine or …water bottle? Why lose this once in a lifetime opportunity by not thinking about how ugly crows look, or how squishy snails are. Think. Think. Think. Think different. Will aliens puke when they see how unnatural a thing the human nose is?

A thought is the only thing you own. A thought is the only thing you will ever own. You are not dumb; I only said it to tow you in. But these days you certainly act like you are. Get smart.

Myra's Essence

2011-07-16T05:23:00.000-07:00

Image Source Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

You held on

Like you wanted to make the boy

A part of your flesh

Juvenile lines

And nothings moaned

Like interest loaned

A back arched

Like it was a bridge

To where I hid

You demanded I write

To reduce you to twenty four lines

Nothing rhymes with Myra

Nothing does

And you thought

I was afraid to say your name

I wrote your name on paper

And smelt it to remember

How you smelt

You smelt like….well

Remember that Kid Rock song you sang?

Here Myra

Here’s your essence

Reduced to

Twenty four lines

You sold your soul

For twenty four lines on paper?

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Gandhi, By the Bridge

2011-07-10T08:17:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

Judgment passed by lesser men

I am unworthy now, I will not be worthy then

I walk with her fingers in my hand

On that bridge next to Deccan Bus Stand

She says something about the sparkling river

I am distracted by the answers I deliver

As we cross the third pillar on our right

I see an old man of around medium height

He is staring at that lone star in the sky

As she looks at me for a reply

I mumble something as we walk along

Something about that old man was wrong

I say goodbye, but she is not on my mind

I rush back to the bridge I left behind

The old man has that look in his eyes

He is sitting now, gazing at the skies

I am hesitant, since this does not happen everyday

I go up to him and speak, “Sir, is everything ok?”

He smiles and says, what is the time ?

I am relieved, and I tell him its almost nine

He clears his throat and says, I am doing great

Though I miss my mum, and her food on my plate

What happened to your mother, I ask the man

She passed away, before this century began

I never married ; she was the most precious to me

I am Gaurav Sir, my friends call me GP

He shakes my outstretched hand

An man of eighty and me by Deccan bus stand

I am sorry Sir, I never asked your name

Second name Gandhi, no other claim to fame

I smile back at his quick little joke

For the next five minutes none of us spoke

I thought something was wrong, so I stopped by

You thought this crazy old man was here to die ?

I shrug my shoulders and smile at him

You know I am a happy old man, I just look grim

I live alone by my house down that street

I keep an hour a day for me to eat

Then when the walls start closing in

I come to this bridge, and he breaks free into a grin

Don’t you have a sister or a friend somewhere?

Yes, they love me but they don’t care

They meet me every now and then

Only they know when I will see them again

Why did you stop by young GP?

I was looking for lessons Mr Gandhi

Lessons from an accountant! he shakes his head

There is a lesson in everything, his mother once said

On mothers and their sacrifices we discuss

God could not be everywhere, so he sent them to us

It has been an hour and I say I have to go

You were the first conversation in a year, you know

Thank you is all Gandhi has to say

As I am on my way

I look back and wave a quick goodbye

As a tear escapes his eye

I look up to nod at his mum in that star

I know I have to go very far

First posted here

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The Birds Take Flight

2011-07-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

As the Sun rises in the bleeding sky

Val, the Lion, opens his one good eye

It was a long night like thousands before

He remains the last to roar

The river pack caught him off guard

Near the last tree of his million tree yard

Seven of them, he was alone

Led by Scottie claiming to be Val’s clone

But he is the last of his kind

An aging monster, led by a clever mind

He had sent a thousand Scotties before

To hell and back through his roar

One by one he killed the attack

Till a lucky claw caught his back

Bleeding in his own back yard

The old hand rose to slay Scottie hard

By mid night he was the last one left

The mighty heart sensed his impending death

He found the strength to open one eye

To pray to his last moon in the wounded sky

The pride in him asks for one more Sun

So he could do what he had always done

And his heart finds a reason to beat

The Sun rises to lighten up death’s defeat

With a few moments of life in him left

Val, the dying lion smiles

As the Sun rises in the bleeding sky

Val, the Lion, opens his one good eye

He moves his head to feel the stillness around

The jungle waits in fear for that daily sound

The sound of pure bred unmatched strength

Unleashing pure fear across breadth and length

The birds take flight from a million trees

And elephants scurry across like bees

For like a thousand days from before

Val, the Lion, lets out his frightening roar

This poem was first published here

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Rahul Ji has the best hair cut in the country, says Digvijay Singh

2011-06-19T08:16:00.000-07:00

Congress general secretary, Digvijay Singh on Sunday said that Rahul Gandhi was now a mature person with sound political instincts and he has the best hair cut in the country.

"I think it is time for me to declare that he has the best hair cut in the country." Singh said, talking to reporters permanently stationed at his house.

"At 40, to have the hair cut that he has and those dimples…" Singh said before breaking into a sigh.

“Like I have told you every morning since the morning concept was introduced by Indira Gandhi Ji, Rahul Ji has the right qualities, instincts and hair to take up the mantle of the prime ministership now, Singh said.

“At forty, he is exactly where Rajivji was when he was forty. And I don’t mean Europe.”

“In fact, we are planning to pass a law called as the Ji Pall Bill which makes it mandatory to add 2 Gs , spelt Ji Ji, after Rahul Ji's name. Rahul Ji Ji will be legal, and that Sri Sri God man person would need to deregister. "

"Rahul Ji also does a mean stubble every now and then. We in the Congress call it…" Digvijay Singh paused before spreading his arms wide and whispering, " The Rahul Gandhi Stubble look."

"I can’t tell you how brilliant it is. But I still will. He should be on that Simi Garewal show. I mean, how many times will Randbir Kapoor come on a Star World interview? He is a thug that Ranbhir Kapoor.”

Needless to say, this interview never happened. Come be my friend at Facebook

Agents of Status Quo

2011-06-11T06:20:00.000-07:00

Image Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Agents of Status Quo

By Gaurav Parab

There’s a road

A leader’s name bestowed

In front of my home

Where the agents roam

But I am afraid

The road was never made

It got stolen along the way

A phantom road to the hospital

Where a young man died

And a father’s eyes dried

As the ambulance got stopped

The journey had to be chopped

For the agent’s fleet passed

To reach somewhere fast

It was a press meeting

Flashbulbs and easy eating

A man rose to fling a shoe

His son died before he grew

And before hitting the agent of status quo

He looked up to the skies

When will you leave this nation and go?

That man was dragged to jail

That same day by the same police detail

That protected agents who had stolen

Lives and amounts that’ll leave fingers swollen

If someone tried to count

For sixty three years they roamed free

Owning nothing, spelt benami

And whatever they really own

Sucked dry to the bone

In banks so far and so strong

Protecting everything wrong

“Jesus! Something’s not right”

Said an old man in white

How about protesting about it ?

These animals will never quit

Guess what the agent of status quo said

Everyone is corrupt, look into your own head

Why do you pick on us?

Don’t you pay a bribe on the bus?

Aren’t we a part of society

Even if we can never be civil?

And a nation was asked to feel ashamed

When it should have been inflamed

And some were called thugs

By thugs, by the very same thugs

Nothing will change we sighed

The opportunity of a lifetime died

From Gaurav Parab Says

The agents sneered and the police crept

Into tents where innocents slept

And voices were taken the same night

By men who auctioned and stole the air

The air! They even stole the air!

Where theft is a political compulsion

And protest is necessary expulsion

The agents of status quo

Why would they bother to go?

My children will have the last laugh

On every old man’s behalf

Who lost a son on a phantom road

In times when innocents were mowed

In this life or perhaps the next

Their souls will feel the effects

Of a billion curses unleashed

In broad daylight, no less

Dear Agent of Status Quo

One day you will reap as you sow

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Sixty Three Years

2011-06-05T09:10:00.000-07:00

Sixty Three Years

Gaurav Parab

Sixty three years came and went

And so did everything we earned

Into the pockets of those around you

And we were asked to be patient

Sixty three is not patient enough

Or does she decide what’s true

For honest men like you

Something’s burning around

While you sit in your palace

A country boils with rage

But you are the honest sage

Just three questions

Forget the shade he wore

Or the law they wanted

Or those who surrounded them

And how they earned what they earned

Just three questions

Are you on a long extended holiday?

Paid by us

What are you scared of?

Or rather

Is there anything that does not scare you?

And last,

When can India get its money back?

Over Everything Heavy, Under Everything Light ( A Beautiful Thought )

2011-05-27T21:44:00.000-07:00

Image Courtesy Wikipedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

In an unnecessary fight

Or somewhere in peace

Before my soul takes flight

Or body thuds into ground

When I am accused

Or released scot free

I am supposed to behave

Like others around me

Who see what they see

While I see what they can’t

But I am chained to share

For their minds are closed

Why then you come

Only to me

Oh beautiful thought

Darn your type

A punch line arrives

Or a joke dies

A song is sung

Or silence overwhelms

A sketch is made

And histories erased

Seduction triumphs

Over every priest in sight

But my mind is gone

To places unknown

Why come to me?

Oh Beautiful thought

Why do you come at all?

Just before

The car turns the corner

Or knife touches skin

A clumsy noose tightens

Before hope is found

And my soul is lost

Pictures are shared

Of fake smiles

While I think

About the thumb

That controls the flash

Why do you come?

Come at all?

Beautiful thought

Go find someone else

The cup reaches the lip

The button is undone

A heart is broken

Or a dog snarls

Before God speaks

And the devil is done

Why do you come

To no one but me

Oh beautiful thought

I miss the fact

That I can’t miss

A beautiful thought

Like everyone else

It is a curse

Of the mind

Or of the places

The body has been

Ordinary minds

Never would get

Why it comes

Comes at all

And it seems

Only to me

A beautiful thought

So I never belong

In a train

Of ordinary thoughts

Or of passionate bodies

Where people are happy

Or that’s what they think

Where people are sad

And that’s what they are

While my soul floats

Above everything heavy

Under everything light

Nowhere close to

Where others go

In blissful ignorance

I still search

For another survivor

Of beautiful thoughts

Of the world

And everything else

In a grave

Or within a womb

In a café

Or in a skirt

In Baralacha La

In an exam

A misunderstood mind

Just like mine

Where nothing exists

Except perhaps

The occasional arrival

Of a beautiful thought

Come, be my friend on Facebook

Book Review – Focus Sam by Rohit Gore

2011-05-20T10:28:00.000-07:00

Reviewed By Gaurav Parab

Focus Sam makes a good case for letting the messenger live and ignoring the message. The debutant author, Rohit Gore, is a storyteller from the classic mold yet his message is somehow force packed into a book meant for today's market. The author is clearly a writer of the future, and one wonders if when he looks back at this attempt, whether he would be amused or whether he would consider it as a natural step towards his destiny.

As a writer trying his hand at fiction, I think Focus Sam is a wonderful attempt. However, as a reader, I find it as a book that has something going for it- yet has something missing. Right throughout, it is here and hereabouts. For a moment if I were to unfocus from Sam, I am willing to stick my neck out and say that Rohit Gore, if he gets his due, would one day become a writer’s writer. A legend, perhaps. And remember, you heard it here first.

It is not the best book out there, but it has its brilliant moments. Take the plot for starters. What is refreshing is that there is one! Now, I know what you will say,

“GP Uncle, GP Uncle. It is a book right. With a story right? Of course it will have a plot”

Unfortunately, the way things stand today, Engineer + MBA is spelt PLOT for a book. So we have hundreds of manuscripts passing out of Engineering college gates every year, when we should have engineers passing out to do the software coding that keeps our banks running and porn websites up. Today’s books are on the first kiss, on the first date, on the second date, and the khadus principal, and how to date behind the khadus principals back.

Forget the plot; even the basic premise is flawed. Has anyone ever dated in Engineering colleges? And kiss?

But then all engineers cannot be story tellers beyond their viva exams. No matter how less we attend our classes, or how bad we are - our heads tend to get wired in a particular way. The bolt is more important than the way it is bolted. Yet engineers keep writing. And the books keep selling because there are a gazillion of us searching for content that seem to take our mundane lives to something more exciting. If you are as smart as Chetan Bhagat, and you are reading this, write your next book about the Indian Railways. The Wheeler stalls would run out of them even before the presses cool down. You don’t even need to be as gifted as Chetan.

And don’t even let me get started on the MBA bit. The only reason MBAs are getting published so much these days is WAC or the Business Plan courses. Idiots, all of us.

Back to the refreshing Focus Sam. Sam or Sameer Sathe is an accident-prone young man. Once every year he is involved in an accident. When a mystic warns him that the next one would be his last, unless he reconnects with every girl in his life – Sam’s journey to save himself starts. Even if at times it is repetitive (how Sameer considers every girl the most beautiful thing in the world and how every girl has a big oaf around somewhere), Rohit Gore sketches some of the characters well. There are real people in the book, with real problems – and thankfully none have to do with an impending exam or pimple. Little mercies.

And Rohit, who seems to have a flair for crisp writing somehow manages to weave the concept of the mystic’s extraordinary warning around ordinary people. It is a difficult trick to pull as a writer, and Rohit does it well. At no point do we doubt what the book is about and if is possible. If there is anything I would like to change about the plot, perhaps one girl less would be it. I can’t even imagine I am saying this, but yes. One girl less would be better.

Sam has a sidekick, called Jai (Nice fanboy touch ) and there are references to lot of good writers, movies and books. There is an old saying I will just make up, and it goes something like “Trust a writer by the book he reads” and it is evident that the moments when Sam mentions book is actually Rohit mentioning his reading list. And one realizes that the author is reading the right books. With every subsequent chapter, you realize that the writing and story improves – which is heartening.

The problem with the book, and way readers would approach it is that it would be very easy to see it through the glasses of it being another coming of age tale. If one can get around to the fact that there is a story being told, then one would enjoy it more. And that is why I recommend it. If you are a movie maker, this will make a darn good movie. It has the right does of taking leaps of faith, and enough excitement to fill 90 minutes of reel. Just keep Abhishek Bachan out, ok? What an Idea GP!

The intended audience maybe an issue though. The book is not really for the market which buys books for a light read, or for the serious big glass, satchel hanging, book-on- steroids type. It is somewhere in between. Like you and me, who often start a book and are unable to finish it.

And I guess that is Focus Sam’s biggest USP. It was the first in the last twenty odd books that I bought, which I could read from cover to cover. It was, for the lack of a better word, breezy. Not still and stuffy like the big books that English professor get all sentimental about, or as stormy as a twenty year old writing on how he got laid (which he never did). It is just right. A good starting point to start reading books again. It is perhaps the Honda Jazz of books. Small but with a big heart.

One senses that there are many more stories that Gore has in him, and perhaps this debut novel is just a sign of more substantial works to follow. I will wait and gladly buy the next one as well, as I burn dozens of chick lit novels that dominates shelf space these days.

You can buy the book from here. or any leading bookstore.

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Absinthe

2011-05-14T06:08:00.000-07:00

Image Courtsey: Wikimedia Commons

By Gaurav Parab

No surprise that you stand in front of me

Green smoke floating across your face

The notches on my table read one, two, and three

And I forget what I drew them for

The times you touched my heart

The times you said it was over

Or maybe one notch for every false start

I forget what day it is today

Three times the idiot played our song?

In this empty lounge somewhere

Before you floated along

And the emptiness gasps for breath

One notch for every girl

Or one for every dozen

The smoke ready to swirl

We long stopped keeping count

Tears swell in my eyes

Yet ,I could not be happier

One day I will die a bitter man

Till then, I draw another notch

Far away this sip takes me

To places that quickly fade away

Love, lust and four notches on a table

Absinthe, I am done for the day

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The Roads of Pune

2011-05-08T06:38:00.000-07:00

I know this blog is about words. And so the tagline screams. But lately, I have been writing something apart from the blog and I am a little skeptical of touching anything that will change my style and tone. The work is back breaking, mind numbing, and time consuming. It is liberating.

To help the mind relax, I thought I would teach myself to draw on the computer. Nothing comes close to drawing in the list of the many things that I cannot do. My fear of heights is perhaps matched by my fear of being asked by Gabbar to draw to keep Dharmendar alive.

"Draw GP draw. Jab tak tere parabola banege, tab tak dharmendar will be alive"

" Let him die, let him die. In a few years he will give us Bobby Deol" I want to scream back.

If you tell me to draw a 'point' i will still manage to mess that up. That's how bad I am. I am the type whose favorite drawing is a sun setting between two mountains and a flock of birds flying across the Sun. ( The trick is to just draw a tick mark for every bird). But by the time I am through the Sun looks like a mountain and the bird looks like perfume bottle. The mountain looks like Bobby Deol.

But i force myself on. After drawing for a while ( eleven seconds) I naturally had to try animating! My favorite movie form is animation - and one long term dream is to make an animated movie or start writing a comic strip. And so last Sunday, when I was absolutely sick of the written word - I tried to make a small animation.

If I thought writing was difficult, ouch. Animation turned out to be a Waqar yorker bowled by an innocuous looking Joginder Sharma. Hours and hours of sketching, taking pictures, using photoshop, selecting the right sound , using a toy car, using a crappy movie maker on an old power thirsty laptop later - I come up with this. A 15 second film which is really shoddy work. Ah, but I love it. It is me losing my drawinity.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The time required to draw this picture..hmmm... I am not sure. But it is mine. And I love every single frame of it. I hope you do.

It also has a social message somewhere. Stop allowing these morons to make killer speed breakers on Pune roads. Every day, one would hear the squeal of tyres followed by a thud on the speed breaker that has been made or rather dumped on the road in front of my house. People are dying, and there is no humor in this. Our country can send rockets to space but cannot make speed breakers.

On the other hand are the drivers in Pune. I dont know what the big hurry is, but everyone in Pune has a meeting to go to. Slow down people. The Shaniwarwada is not going anywhere.

Here you go - enjoy what I will aptly call - The Road to Perdition / My First Non Mountain drawing / Surviving Pune / Learning Rally Car Driving.

Khyber's Reason

2011-04-16T01:47:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

It snows down real slow

Like the clouds are afraid

Of the beasts who roam

The blood soaked mountains

He was named

After an ancient place

With eyes of a wolf

Set on a rogue’s face

A lawless dog

That guarded the law

In a land where

Even the weak were strong

Where wounded men searched

For reasons to draw

Stolen guns and swords

Over a wet bale of straw

Who are we to judge?

or pretend to referee

Wild animals are but

Prisoners of geography

After every cowardly night

had gladly flown

Old Khyber returned

To his bed alone

For eight long years

Not a living thing survived

If with no invitation

An intruder arrived

Such was the legend

of that dog’s patrol

Less dog more demon

A big heart with zero soul

Of all the things

dear to him

He guarded his straw bed

Like it was an old lover’s skin

No one but the chief

Was allowed to approach

About ten yards or so

near Khyber’s porch

Remember that bit

about men in that place

Who killed for no reason

or for no trace

He was but an animal

who only cared for his bed

When people around

killed for reasons unsaid

One day in the chief’s life

They were walking

To his possessed bed

In the morning around five

There in his corner lay

a young pup so sick

That the time in him

was afraid to tick

Khyber did not know

how he had sneaked in

The chief just knew

hell was ready to begin

He looked at his old dog

to see how long it takes

Before the ancient killer

inside awakes

Khyber snarled

At the thief in his bed

The chief looked at a life

about to be dead

But then the old devil

turned around

And started to walk away

without a sound

In mid step he looked back

at the chief

Who stared at his fierce eyes

Wise and free

The old dog shrugged

As if to say

I will let life

live this day

A beast planted

a thought in a person’s head

A reason to kill

should be more than a bed.

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How Anna from village inspired GP from FarmVille

2011-04-09T06:19:00.000-07:00

This Generation's Revolution

By Gaurav Parab

We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

Tyler in Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight club could well have been speaking about us. While our grandparents had the war of Independence, and our parents lived through JP’s Sampoorna kraanti we had no revolution to call our own. Sure, millions of us became participants in marketing campaigns, but a true movement where we bled our emotions instead of a color - was always out of reach. Call it disinterest, a lack of reason, a dearth of charismatic leadership, or simply a matter of inconvenience – the children of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s all grew up to be generously content, and amply cynical. Forget the finer nuances of the Jan Lok Pall Bill, some of the people I met in the last week believed that corruption is legal, if one is not caught.

Till Kisan Bapat Baburao Hazare came along.

A frail man in his seventies, following a time tested patient method that has brought down dictators, money bags and the largest empire ever assembled. Over the last week, the well fed children like you and me – simply got well fed up with what was going on. In our own unique way, all of us who helplessly muttered WTF WTF every time a scam got exposed, now realized that our energy could be used better. Maybe that man, whom for no reason we found it fashionable to dislike was a Mahatma after all. And maybe it was possible that his method of truth can inspire millions to gather and march upon an empire when Facebook, twitter and that smart Android phone was not around.

Did our elders pass chits? Whisper in each other’s ears. Did they cry when JP spoke on Azad Maidan? Or was it a just a case of being present in the extraordinary circumstances they lived in.

Successful revolutions are made up of circumstance, a fuse, and the turning up of a leader who offers a solution.

In our case, the circumstance was the mind-blowing scale of corruption, and an absolute lack of interest to deal with it. The fuse was Anna turning up with his team of activists with a brilliant sense of timing. And the solution was them doing detailed homework and preparing a strategy that could work – for they had pulled it off before.

In the age of 24 X 7 customer service, the leaders of the movement turned up with a draft bill, an awareness about the compulsions of the establishment, and a template of protest where you and me could simply fit. We did not have to bother about being angry and demanding change like caged animals cut loose. We did not have to politicize this as a Congress versus the BJP. We did not have to think about what needs to be done! We just needed to raise our hand, turn up at protest meets with candles, hit the LIKE button on the I AM ANNA page, and give a miss call to that number. We could go to work in the morning and join the protest march instead of the crowd at the pub in the evening. It was a revolution of convenience. It was a revolution tailor made for well-meaning individuals who sensed that our future was at stake. We so identified with the appeal that if a 71 year old could fast for this country, surely this was important. The much reviled and abused media played its part. The World Cup, the IPL and English Premier League combined paled in comparison to the game being played at Jantar Mantar. It was brilliant marketing. To be honest, it was made to be bigger than it was.

An average political rally in a small town gets more participants that the nationwide protests. Thank God, this ineffective and reeling Government got its maths wrong. Thank God it worked. Thank you, we pulled it off.

From the blog Gaurav Parab Says

In our own little way, we fought against no one in particular but ourselves. There was no face to dislike, no effigy to burn, no one to throw in jail. This was not about a temple, or reservation in college. Everyone knew that everyone was corrupt, and something had to be done about it. There were flaws in what the society’s bill was proposing – making the Lok Ayuktas a Superman + Dark Knight combined, but since nothing had worked since Independence – this was our last hope. Let’s try it out, we told ourselves and dragged the naysayers to protest meets.

If after the World Cup Win, we loved anyone in blue. When Anna thundered against netas, we hated anyone in White.

Today, after the first victory - it kind of feels stupid, and amazingly exhilarating at the same time that the establishment with its police, the money bags, and overreaching power had to bend over when a frail man refused to eat. So this is what movements are made of. This is how revolutions take place. This is how we get to spank the big guy. This is how victory tastes like. This is what Gandhi patiently did again and again.

Going forward, the road is tough. The next phase would involve tough negotiations in a committee made of hardnosed negotiators and great individuals. Pranab Mukherjee, a hard working servant to this country will invariably face off with the father-son Bhushan duo. Arvind Kejriwal, an ex-IITian will discuss the nuances of the bill with P. Chidambaram from Harvard. What one would give to be a fly on the wall when these brilliant men get together with their own viewpoints on a landmark bill !

And once the bill is ready, it will go to the parliament. Where men, who thrived in the aura of their own invincibility will debate on a law that will clip their wings and hopefully throw most of them into jail one day. There is no guarantee that our leaders will rise above themselves.

The next few months will be the most remarkable strength of our democracy and we may have to turn up on the street again, away from Farmville on August 15^th at Red Fort. Where we demand change! Where we one once again scream I am Anna Hazzare to strike fear into the hearts of men who have stolen our money. Where we become Mahatmas. Where we delightfully live our revolution all over again.

You may also like Why are we so corrupt? Something I had written sometime ago.

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When We Became World Champions

2011-04-03T21:24:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

Sporting achievement is like a romantic chase. The pleasure is in the stolen glances, the hesitant courting, and the uncertainty of what every action brings. When getting to the kiss is more important than the kiss. A delightful journey into the unknown.

Then lord behold! One day that girl tells you that you have won her heart. A sense of anti-climax. The candle has been blown. You have just cut through the finish line. What do I do now? What do I do with this trophy?

And so with you and me. The World Champions! We always wanted to win the World Cup and on late Saturday night we precisely did that. We reached the sum of all our moments. We always wanted to experience this minute. It was time to celebrate.

Eh… but how? Is there a manual somewhere? What do you do after you become World Champions.

And most importantly, what happens after the customary party in the night.

The party part was easy for everyone. In cities across the nation, people spontaneously moved towards main roads and town centers as if giant magnets were drawing them out of their rooms. Young men, some sick and tired of seeing grainy visuals of Kapil and his merry men win in 1983, were dangerously dangling out of their cars sharing high fives with thousands of complete strangers. I knew how they felt. I was one of them.

We were really in extraordinary times. While memories are vague, I remember shouting at a policeman to stop being so serious about the whole traffic scene, who smiled back and gave me a high five. I called him the Policeman world champion, he replied tear eyed that he had never seen so many Indian flags.

Then there were these women, some ten or eleven of them in a bus who blew flying kisses in my direction. Out of a general sense of never being in such a situation, I confirmed through sign language if I was the intended recipient. They nodded back.

Yuvraj was I the secret person you wanted to win the world cup for? Well, it surely seemed like it when I saw those women bat their eye lids at me. I would have even given A Raja a high five last night. It felt good to be World Champions, even though one was not sure what it meant.

So, back to the question. What do we do now that the party bit is over?

It is a tricky one this. Especially since our generation is now in unchartered territory. I am not sure what people did back in 83, but I am guessing it may have involved putting on Mithun’s I am a Disco Dancer . So, I am not going to ask for tips.

From the Blog Gaurav Parab Says

Strangely the answer lay in front of us as we partied across the country. A sport, nothing more, had managed to inspire and unite us like nothing else could. By some strange combination of joy and commonality, the thousands who were giving each other high fives did not give a damn about race or wallet size. Everyone was plain inspired about something. Or plain drunk – I guess. Let us not forget how that night felt. How we all became one. Maybe we could do this again without being world champions. Without beating Pakistan. Without having to debate whether Ashwin should have played instead of Sreesanth. Without without having a reason. Maybe we could just be a happy nation.

A friend from Hyderabad gave a telling comment that he was not around when India got Independence, but perhaps the public mood was like this then.

And therein is the key. Instead of squandering away this moment of glory on one binge after another, perhaps we can learn the lessons it brings. We have the glorious opportunity of using these positive vibes. Seriously, when was the last time the entire country felt so good? Forget the nation as a whole, and at the risk of sounding extremely clichéd – perhaps we can all be a World Champion?

If Kapil’s boys could inspire Tendulkar, Ganguly and Dravid – then Dhoni and his squad can inspire another generation. And the beauty is, we don’t even need to play cricket to be the next Munaf.

Maybe we can do the little things that we never found the strength to. Write that short story, sing that song in front of a crowd, win in a game of badminton, or dance confidently in front of a packed house. If a boy from Ikhar can play for the Indian team, and bowl the way he wants to - annoyingly slow but god damn effective, then certainly we can rise above ourselves?

As champions of the world, the trap to avoid is the one of increased expectations. Going forward, in the pursuit of more victories, we may not cherish what we have today. Ask fans of dominating sporting teams like Ferrari in the early 2000’s or the Australian cricketing team in the same period. They were never satisfied with second place after they made number one a matter of right. Look at how they long for victory now! And to think they had it for such a long time. Look at how cruelly they ask Punter to step down after all he has done.

Let’s not grudge the cricketers their moment under the Sun. As television channels dedicate 24 hour live feeds to what Gambhir is having for breakfast, soak in the success. The team deserved this. They worked on it for all their lives. This may make for pesky television but it may never happen again. What would you rather have on television all day long? Suresh Kalmadi?

Maybe, India will never have a consistent cricket team. Maybe it is for the best. The reason why the nation erupted the way it did – was because we had seen how defeat feels like. We had felt our heart sink when Tendulkar top edged that McGrath delivery after Ponting had slapped us around. We had died when Bangladesh stole our dream in 2007. We would have not enjoyed it if we had not waited for so long.

Let us truly enjoy this moment and forget what happens next. The Tendulkar century of centuries, the team for the Australian tour, Bhaji’s future, the state of other sports, Poonam Pandey’s promise. Let’s not give a damn. Let the crown rest easy like it did in that moment when Dhoni picked that ball up and it screamed into the Mumbai skies. When our hearts soared like each one of us in hostel rooms, on borders, inside Wankhede, in front of pan bidi shops had hit a six himself. A moment, when we were euphoric! When in that one single moment of pure unadulterated bliss we were Champions of the World. Let’s live that moment, before it is taken away by time.

----------------------------

Some good news. Somya a friend has created a Facebook page for me !!! This is really interesting and heartening because Every Bait - The Poetry of Gaurav Parab ( the existing page on FB ) was difficult to remember and it increasingly sounded like a long winded missing person report.

I hope you Go and Like the Page and make it go Viral enough to scare Dr Irani, the erstwhile indian team doctor. The page already has 10 likes, which must be some sort of record for a monday morning. Come on people! Indian won the world cup. Go like.

The Sum of All Our Moments

2011-03-31T00:12:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

Forget sport, if anyone had doubts on the number one religion in India - Wednesday the 30^th was your answer. Offices closed, roads empty, sidewalks full. A day when old blue shirts were re-found, and every Indian took flight to Mohali – if not in person then in spirit.

For a day, we were all living cricket. On Saturday, we do it again in the mother of all matches. (Funny how the marketers make every contest a mother of all contests. As they say, success has many mothers and failure is a bastard).

On Saturday, daily life dies while we come to life again.

From the blog Gaurav Parab Says

While this amazing run of form belongs to everyone, it is more special for the old faithful. The ones who used to cry over each Tendulkar dismissal, before it became fashionable to count his centuries. The ones who applauded every failed attempt since 1992 with as much fervor as the new lovers criticize every time India mucked up a power play in 2011. Before it became clever to fly down entire star casts to promote movies during a cricket match, we were fanatically following the scripts of nondescript matches like a Dinesh Mongia getting a big one at Guwahati. So while this victory is the icing on a cake on every camera friendly politician's face, only true fans know how sweet it tastes. We know that India has already won the cup. We can just feel it in our bones. It is destiny. Ball boy to World Cup winner, old hands will know what I refer to.

I am not passing judgment on the hesitant mistress' rendezvous with the game ( better late than never) but I am just hoping that the uninformed fan does not criticize an Indian defeat if it were to happen in the near future. Not everyone has to know about the nuances of the game, it is after all a game, but everyone has a responsibility in not being stupid in criticizing what we don’t understand. The new follower, who conveniently turns up when the going is good has no right to pass judgment on a bad performance by the team – just on the strength of a couple of TV hours or a VIP passes. You just don’t. The fan’s don’t own a patent on what victory signifies, this tournament is for the nation, this joy is not ours alone, but they reserve the right to be possessive about the sport. Hey Afridi ! we all cry out in unison- Up Yours.

From the blog Gaurav Parab Says

Admit it. We had fun yesterday, did we not? Imagine doing it for twenty years! That’s what we have been doing. Call us crazy, call us geeks, but we were bleeding blue well before blue was more about a sense of belonging to a cause and less of a brilliant marketing tag line. While the new brothers and sisters amongst us saw only how lucky Tendulkar was at Mohali, this is what we saw:

We saw Tendulkar given out to no balls against Franklin Rose, Ian Bishop, Fleming and a dozen names you may not know about. We saw all those countless balls glancing off shoulders, leg pads and thin air only to be given caught behind. We saw Bacher jump to fame by plucking a catch like none other only because he knew what a Tendulkar dismissal meant. We saw Tendulkar LBW McGrath when the ball.. well… the ball… well…the blood still boils at that one. There were days when Tendulkar could only get out to lady luck, an affair which never worked for this faithful prankster from Bandra. And those days happened again and again. Untill Mohali. We did not say how lucky Sachin is - we just ticked off all the wrongs one by one. Lady luck, well she was finally in love with the little flirt.

You still think Tendulkar was just lucky. Let me use an expression you will understand. LOL.

Why we act the way we do? Why we punch the air, send a thousand litchis to Sachin every year, or pray like a son was in the ICU when Sehwag comes into bat? We do, not because it is entertaining, but because we live sport. Sport is life within a well-defined boundary. Birth, death, redemption – so real in reality are played out in sport every minute. It has been our little secret for all these years, and we gladly welcome you to this alternative life with a disclaimer that you have to be responsible about it. You don't feel the complete pleasure in being a sport fan by cheering in a World Cup semi-final. You feel it because you felt despair when India self-destructed against Zimbabwe in 1999.

Dhoni, you beauty! I hope you are aware of our existence. Those shrill voices that pile up pressure on you to play those booming shouts are balanced out by the intelligent amongst us who totally get what you are up to. It takes a real superman to defend balls in the forty third over when everyone demands a six. It is easy for keen followers to know that 260 is a good score after the match is won, but it takes a strong heart to invest in it in the middle of the innings like you did through your leadership. While others may only see the good run against Australia and Pakistan, we see what you, Gary, the selectors and all the players have been up to for the past two years. Planning, preparing and executing cricket that will get you a shot at a trophy of immortality – as opposed to a loud cheers by the gallery that will die down when spectators leave the stadium. The cricket you and your team have found the strength to play may not be beautiful, but it is damn right effective. It is the old Australian yellow, with a new dash of Indian blue.

Irrespective of what transpires in the final, the old faithful owe the entire team a big thank you. Most importantly, thank you to every parent of every Indian cricketer – who found the conviction to let his child to take up the most competitive job in the world. Thank you every Ramesh in Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. I hope you look down to see what you did when Sachin raises his arms in Wankhede!

And thank you lifelong fans like Phani, a man who took a bat on to his wedding stage while Tendulkar got his fiftieth test century. Thank you Pandit, Piyush, Thakar, Neeraj, Juhi and every friend for nursing a suspect heart through extraordinary times in the last week. Thank you that fellow who could not get a ticket because the movie stars and politicians had a million bucks while he only had faith. The own the seat, we own the moment when ball leaves hand and is about to meet bat.

This is no longer a dream. All that waiting, all those joys and heartbreaks. The sum of all those moments in front of television sets and reading SportsStar is spelt CHAMPIONS. This is that moment. And it is ours. Thank you every single fan, old and new.

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The Pressure of Bleeding Blue

2011-03-25T21:49:00.000-07:00

By Gaurav Parab

After most big sporting events, tucked away in nondescript corners of newspapers are those little bits on sports fans who could not handle the tension. A nameless Argentinian whose heart gave away after a German spot kick, and that hardworking doctor from Kochi who passed along even before the crowds settled in Sharjah. As a rational follower of sport, I would often feel a sense of amusement and loss at how seriously people took sports.

Did they not have better things to do? Could they not have switched off the television? Daughters had to be admitted to college, and sons warned about vice and virtue.

After all, sport is just another part of life. Like that first stolen kiss, that mean teacher in school, the primordial jealousy of a married man. Sport, cricket, television, the story in the morning paper. Little parts of a person’s life. Surely?

Not anymore. Motera changed everything. It is not that the intensity of our love for the game exploded, it is perhaps just the simple fact that we may not be champions yet but we are so close that it is scaring the daylights out of us. We were all close to being little newspaper stories every time that brave heart Lee charged into bowl.

Yesterday, I thought that my heart will quit when Dhoni got out. I called up my friends who too swore that they had never been as tense. Never, they repeated as if to preempt a question from my side about Centurion 2003.

I looked at the screen again. As he walked off, I could see the tenseness in MSD’s body. It was a first. Even India’s calmest cricketer in the last decade felt it. Sure, it was a World Cup quarterfinal and sure it was the biggest match in their lives but this man was supposed to be made of steel right? We had seen it again and again. Nothing could faze him, and here he was another mortal who has had a bad day in office. And you expect us to keep watching the match like nothing has happened?

So, what was it about yesterday’s match? If you look back at the summary, India did win comfortably with lots of balls to spare. India were not even playing that nation. Yet there was this strange electricity in the air which powered millions glued to TV from despair to hope and back again. It was special all right.

For starters, it was Australia. A country we may not have gone to war with but well… that’s about it. Any cricket fan, as a natural part of growing up hates the Australian cricket team while grudgingly admiring them. It is a team which may not necessarily produce the most talented sportsman, but it is one which has patented the invincible attitude. It is a team, which unless you send them off at the airport will keep coming back at you. Again and again. It does not matter if the names on the back of the jersey is not spelt McGrath or Warne. And that was our biggest fear.

Every Indian cricket fan, during the second innings felt that if he moved his bums, or if stopped chewing that éclair, or if he looked at the painting in the corner – the Australians will sneak back. If one closed his eyes, nauseating visuals of the men in yellow jumping up and down flooded the mind while two Indian tail enders squatted slumped in a pool of despair. It would happen. It had to happen. Ricky Pointing always had the last laugh. Harbhajan will knick one behind and Zaheer will be caught by Michael Clark.

From the blog Gaurav Parab Says

And then, unlike a grenade that blows you away, a targeted sniper act followed. Yuvraj and Raina kept their heads, like they exactly knew what needed to be done. It was not calm heads prevailing, it was gradual training over the past few years. It was as if they were waiting for this moment. The IPL, the NCA, the sports physiologists, the words of a South African born Incredible India coach, the stubbornness of a captain willing to believe in his theories, the wisdom of Tendulkar, Laxman and Ganguly, and Kumble all came together to inspire one young man and one middle aged prisoner of history to finish the job. This match had to be won. Jo Berg had to be buried.

Watch out Pakistan, seriously watch out. We are coming for you.

But that did not help with the tension did it? We should have got a hint when Tendulkar nicked one and calmly started to walk back. He was not dragging his bat back like he would in a big game. When at the back of his mind, he realized that any chances of victory were following him to the pavilion. Yesterday, he was almost nonchalantly walking back. Like he knew. Like he sensed that the little kids who have grown up idolizing him will make the biggest tournament of his life the most memorable as well.

Not that it helped with my heart beat. In the years gone by, one could so easily switch off the television after Tendulkar’s dismissal and snuggle silently inside the worn out blanket. But now, we have other champions. The TV powered on. It is the duty of a cricket fan to keep believing. Could they not just throw a coin and decide the darn thing ?

The normally tough Gambhir saw his mind turn all noodles, and the dreamy eyed Kohli scripted a nightmare. When asked on when did he believe that they could win, Raina commented that when Tendulkar came and gave him a high five before he went into bat. If this man believed that he could do it, maybe he could. Talk about stress busters! I wish Tendulkar had walked into my drawing room and given me a high five. It is going to be all right son. This is our moment. Relax. Viru breathes deeply after every ball, maybe you should too.

Did Sachin start planning the Pakistan affair as soon as he was back in the dressing room? We will never know.

During the post-match conference Yuvi confessed that the pressure was something else. Dhoni, a man who can see beyond the present, almost pleaded with the nation to be realistic. He spelt out the two scenarios. Now, people will say we don’t care if you win the world cup or not – you can’t lose against Pakistan. The second scenario, more scary, is we lose and then all the good memories are thrown to the dustbin. If we win against Pakistan, then we will all drink beer and demand a victory in Mumbai against New Zealand (My bet is on the kiwis). We are not only tense, we are demanding. The 800 just won’t do anymore. We need the fully loaded Benz.

Did the Indian players sign up for this? With all the millions, with all the adulation, with all the opportunities that come with an Indian Jersey - these men – made of flesh and bones are now dealing with pressures unimaginable to the rest of us. The advertising build up, the call of history, the responsibility of doing it not only for a resurgent country but also for yourself must make a dangerous Molotov cocktail when your mind, body and fingers freeze. But they still stumble along. Them beauties.

Each man his own. Sehwag says he took to Yoga to deal with all of this craziness, while Dhoni looks like someone who knows his place in the universe. A man who could easily walk away from sport like Bjorn Borg if the game overshadowed the larger scheme of things. Whatever they do, could they drop is a suggestion or two? My email address is gauravparab@yahoo.com Thanks.

And Tendulkar, well he feels no pressure any more. With every passing day this whole tamasha is making him look more like Destiny’s favorite child. He has often funneled this pressure, using it to cut pull and drive men free of any expectation to the boundary. He is living a fate scripted by himself. The beautiful journey that started as a ball boy at the Wankhede will come full circle on a glorious Mumbai night. Everything fits in perfectly.

Yet, we feel tense. Some of us lesser men freeze in front of television sets. Some scream at mothers and fathers who scream back. Some call up their girlfriends, warning them to not call their number again. Good bye. Tell them I was devoted till the last ball.

A study says that the US President’s job is the most stressful in the world, guess what? Come Wednesday, an Indian fan would take it any day. And so I end this one with an awkward appeal. Let the chaps play on Wednesday and let us applaud them not only for the great moments, but for the fact that they are out there! Playing for a country and soaking the stress that we cannot handle. Over the years, we have become a matured country and lets not go to those fanatic times when player’s houses were stoned and families threatened. Let us leave that to the Pakistani’s. It suits their style.

As a true Indian sports fan we should know that If Pakistan wins, it does not mean we have lost. It is just a game. We still have Katrina Kaif and the Delhi Metro. If we win, let all hell break lose. WE have beaten Pakistan! Of course we need to juice it for all it is worth. The karma of a sporting fan will expect nothing less.

And if anyone knows good stress busters, drop me a line I can so use them. I don’t want to be the newspapers statistic from Pune whose heart stopped ticking when a Sehwag top edge sailed up into the sky.

One Tip One Hand and Other Cricketing Rules

2011-03-10T04:20:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

Image copyright Micah Parker

Recently, I came across a post by a passionate cricket fan complaining that Shahid Afridi was cheating when he bowled those fast deliveries to the Canadian batsmen. The argument was not that Afridi was doing any of the biometric – elbow arching doosra degree grouse that is usually thrown about, but the problem was Afridi is a spinner, then how was he allowed to bowl those fast deliveries? Shouldn’t the batsman have complained? Boom Boom Shame Shame Afridi.

Wasn’t this a fit case for breach of trust?

Holy DLF Maximum! I smiled as I read the post again and again. The doubt was naïve, yet it was so fresh. The dark art of cricket has escaped infecting one and all. There still exists Indians who believe that maidens are not bowled; they are scored (Eyebrow up, red rose in mouth)

Spinners bowling illegally fast! What was next, that criminal Harbhajan Singh not spinning the ball?

So being a generally cruel person, I replied to the post that spinners are allowed to bowl fast if the terrace roof is 2.5 meters from the popping crease. Or if one team has 2 players less. You know tongue-in-cheek stuff from your regular know it all. Haw Haw.

Once I was satisfied that I had juiced it for all it was worth, a humbling thought stuck me. It really was an innocent doubt. A straight answer could have settled the issue. Why was I being overtly middle aged and wicked? Bad on you Gaurav Parab, and My Bad. Or whatever the kids say these days.

How could I forget inserting the bit about spinners being legally allowed to bowl fast when one tip one hand is applicable for the first 18 balls?

Before all of us became cricketing experts, we were at the same point as the young man weren’t we? That period in time when backyard rules applied to the playground, and subsequently to the TV match.

Papa, how is Nayan Mongia scoring runs? Isn’t he a lousy wicketkeeper and not a lousy wicketkeeper-batsman?

Those were the days! The days when cricket was pure fun, and you made most of it up as you went along. Like first dates when you pulled chairs and said excuse me every time you accidentally tripped the waiter. When lack of space, players, and sporting equipment made Cricket a game that never had enough rules to be played. It was simple so it could be fun. It was fun because it could be complicated. Bat, Ball and the Neelkamal Plastic chair. Countless amendments to the constitution each open to countless interpretations. So, we made up rules. To fix things so they could be broken and open to fixing again.

I give you some of the rules and cricketing highlights from my childhood.

From the blog Gaurav Parab Says

Who were the Players?

There was a clear hierarchy in terms of equipment owners. Note that there were no players involved. When you were young, there were only equipment owners. The term ‘ players’ was only thrown about when scandalized aunties started objecting to ‘equipment’ owners.

Player # 1: Ball Owner: Universally disliked but acknowledged as God.

He could be out, but you had to let him bat till his Brilliant Tutorials courier arrived. And trust me; no one in those days saw the irony inletting the ball owner bat. For starters, no one knew what irony was. We just screamed out Fe in the periodic table whenever somebody brought it up.

The guy who owned the ball would always get the benefit of the doubt. If he got angry and left with the ball, you were helpless. You were de-balled. At the age, you didn’t even see the teen humor in being called the ball owner. You were the ball guy. You had earned to right to scream I Have a Ball! And you could do it with a straight face.

Player # 2: Bat Owner: Not quiet God, but angel enough.The thing is boys can fashion cricket bats out of random objects like tube-light holders, a mom’s purse, the mathematics notebook or a drainage pipe. The bat owner is naturally not as important as the revered God of the Ball.

But if your friend has a real bat men squealed like women squeal on seeing that thing called a real Jimmy Choo. Men with bats deserved respect. Especially if the bat had a label like Power / Boost / Datsun / or anything masculine sounding like Khandala.

Player # 3: Stump Owner: Known as the expert. A suave man who likes attention to detail. The electricity pole is not good enough for him, he wants stumps. To hear the timber being disturbed by the ball god’s gift to mankind. So he can mentally freeze the sound and spit it out with the wine on Sunday.

In our days, if you were in the group that played with stumps, you had truly arrived. If you had bails, the other boys would even offer that older sisters to be seen with you.

“She wears earrings! You can have her!”

“Go scram. What do you want with our stumps?”

“Can I just sit behind them and live the orgasmic pleasure of stump vision? Please.”

Player # 4: Gloves, Pads, Wrist Band Owner: Called Padaku Keeda. Which loosely translated to gay in those testosterone filled marddays when Anil Kapoor’s chest contributed 3 percent to India’s forest cover.

What was The Universal Rule?

The one single piece of genius that has been responsible for India’s fascination with cricket and movies with long names. One Tip One Hand. OTOH.

With this rule in place, everyone could play cricket. It did not matter if the local Tendulkar was getting ready to bat. You can get anyone OTOH by not telling him and sneaking the first ball in quickly. OTOH also explains the look on Kamran Akmal’s face as soon as the ball is edged.

I got it, I got it!

Mother -swear I caught it with one hand. The other was just supporting the air below the first hand so that the hand did not fall off” was the usual precursor to a hundred arguments over the OTOH.

Anyone who could consistently pull off OTOH is either working for NASA or is dead.

What was the Code of Behavior?

Mainly consisting of a thing called Mutual Respect

Anyone who could bowl a slower ball, or a wrong one, or play the late cut was given mutual respect by everyone else. This involved nodding intelligently and saying things like, “It felt like Chandrakanta meets Rangoli when you bowled that slower one Nishant”

No one knew why, but some things always deserved mutual respect. Which was always delivered with a chewing gum in your mouth.

What was the Inspiration?

Everyone did the ‘Tendulkar” shuffle before every ball. If you could do the box squat well, you earned enough mutual respect for generations of your offspring.

“ His grandfather would touch himself! Before every ball!”

“Wow! He is the man.”

If you were a fast bowler you had to wear the head band like Waqar or leave the field. In some mysterious way, a head band gave you amazing powers. Ask Ajay Devgun on how he could do a leg split on two motorcycles at the risk of being critically de-balled and he would point to his head band.

Doing a Paul Adams was allowed for eight balls or till your torso came off your hips.

Who were the Umpires?

The UDRS or the Uncle Decision Review System was in place a long time ago in India. The elite panel usually involved The Sabzi Wala or anyone with a bald spot.

All third parties were thought to be neutral. They could be called upon to judge nicks, and run out decisions (only if the Ball God was not involved).

When a college girl was crossing the street, she would invariable called on for the final say.

“Mam, wasn’t that out?” followed by a Tendulkar box squat.

And murmurs of mutual respect.

Where Did We Play ?

The thumb rule in choosing the playing field was if you could not annoy anyone by playing there, don’t play there.

Each field had different rules. Scoring was differential too, depending on which side of the batsman the dog was tied. Off side hits usually fetched more runs because even Rajesh Chouhan could wallop it on the leg side.

Left handers were treated with general protest and disgust, since rules had to be changed and magnetic compasses arranged at short notice. Overall, it was a game well played. I am sure today’s generation of equipment owners have their own way around the simplicities of the sport. As long as they don’t say LOL instead of Howzaat, I am all right with it. I blog at Gaurav Parab Says. Drop in some time, and we will have a ball.

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The Commentator’s Curse

2011-02-26T00:58:00.000-08:00

A list of everyone’s favorite cricket commentators

The face which inspired the logo

By Gaurav Parab

Let’s get this straight right at the start. I have the highest respect for commentators especially since Charu Sharma’s face inspired Doordarshan’s yin yang logo and Nikhil Chopra cut his hair to look like the intelligent version of Hello Kitty.

Years ago, my English teacher had recommended commentary as an easy way to improve one’s vocabulary. So I hesitantly started watching cricket, learning the nuances of global language and behavior like how Jamaican women only marry ‘maaans’ and young Australians dreamt of playing for the Australian team so they could have a shot at becoming a full time professional commentator.

I also learned (finally) that:

Oxymoron: Is Arun Lal giving batting tips to Ravindra Jadeja.

Quintessential: Is a word invented by Sidhu to rhyme with a flabbergasted tunnel.

Over the years, with my interactions with leading commentators, I also learned that this profession is a thankless job. Apart from comparing every ball bowled to incidents that may have happened in the 1960’s, commentators are expected to compile lists of all-time greatest cricketers, all-time greatest batsman, all-time greatest batsman to have played cricket, and top ten ways to call Sachin Tendulkar master blaster.

This list is my thank you note to every commentator who has said WG Grace at the dinner table.

Arun Lal

Arun Lal holds the record for being first alphabetically and height wise in every roll call he has been part of. It is apt that we start with him.

Before joining the commentary panel, Arun played for India as Ramu Kaka (with a lantern) in every Hindi movie involving a haunted mansion.

He is smart, witty, and scientific. On an unforgettable pre-match show, he explained reverse swing using Bernoulli’s (Same chap who invented the Godfather) theorem to Charu Sharma. It was India’s Marlyn singing Happy Birthday to Kennedy moment. Charu was smitten, and Doordarshan went off the air that day because they could not find a replacement logo for the top right corner of the screen.

Navjoy Singh Sidhu

Siddhu was never born. He flowered and blossomed like an aeroplane out of a brooding cycle stand’s egg.

His ability to spit at long distances when excited while commentating, led to the invention of the sight screen strategically placed between the media room and the pitch.

Ravi Shastri

For reasons best known to Ravi, his favorite phrase is “he is built like a big unit”.

I will give you a moment to ponder on that. Go on form a mental image that will spoil the rest of your living days.

Apart from this, Shastri undeniably is a lucky charm for Indian fans. He has been on air on all our memorable moments including the T20 win, Yuvi’s sixes, Sachin’s 200 and Ravindra Jadeja’s birth.

As the only man to have hit six sixes in an over bowled by himself, he deserves respect.

Gaurav Parab Says

Sunil Gavaskar

When Rohan was born the first thing he learned before saying Ma was how to ground the bat in. This is Sunny’s favorite piece of advice. Even if the batsman is on a tea break. Even if it is football. Ground the bat in. Ground the bat in.

Sunny has also observed that Australians catch with their fingers pointing upwards and Indians catch with their shirts not tucked in. His contribution to the English language include the phrase

“It does not matter how you get them, as long as you get them” now adopted as a motto by the Shane Warne Foundation.

Jokes apart, we love him for standing up against the most fearsome battery of fast bowlers ever assembled and the obvious discrimination against Asians by administrators and match referees.

Mike Atherton

Mike speaks like he used to bat. Slowly, and with a no-nonsense approach. To best describe it, let me leave the next line blank.

And another one.

Atherton, fondly called Cockroach by his team mates ever since they realized that they could fondly call him Cockroach, is a respected author and sports journalist. His words are measured and un-biased and every sentence scores world record scrabble points.

Sanjay Manjrekar

Ever since Sanjay called Tendulkar the elephant in the dressing room, followers of the little master refer to him as the weasel in the commentary box.

He has played multiple roles as an opener, commentator and technical user guide for a washing machine. If you were following cricket in the nineties, you would know that Manjrekar is the only person to know where the off stump is.

Sanjay, to his is credit is also the only stereotypical Marathi in the whole world. It’s not Tendulkar – it TEN dool kaaar. It’s not Manjrekar – its MAAN ZREKAR (Note: No connection to Jamaica).

Pommie Mbangwa

Even with the commercial handicap of being not allowed to spell his name on the microphone, Mbangwa has found a space in the hearts of most cricket and spell bee fans. He was initially created in Geofrey Boycotts lab as the commentator’s answer to Lasith Malinga’s curls but now has carved a special niche as the missing William’s brother.

Laxman Sivaramakrishnan

This small yet wily leg spinner who burst on to the cricketing scene in the eighties is also credited with a major innovation in commentary history. His arrival made it legal for Three commentators to sit on two stools – provided a big unit like Ravi Shastri is not present.

Siva actually makes a lot of sense. He usually does not criticize players or hustle Idli Wada’s as was previously thought.

Russell Arnold

The only man alive to have inspired two Hollywood actions heroes to change their names, Arnold is surprisingly soft spoken and has the underrated ability to state the obvious.

He reminds one of Discovery channel documentaries where the narrator mentions in his voiceover, “The Tibetan Fox eats the mountain Paiko” Each word followed by an intelligent pause.

Often causing the Tibetan Fox to look at the camera and say, “Who me?”

“And they are playing cricket” Arnold often observes, reminding viewers that this channel is not where the American Idol auditions are being broadcast.

Charu Sharma

Charu Sharma reminds one of that tricky interviewer everyone comes across during a job interview. Well dressed and highly accomplished, he is the guy who is not interested in the Drawing competition you won at school and is in unconditional love with his own voice and that cleft on the chin.

“They were caught in a compromising position when the doors were broken down. On being questioned, they confessed that it was stupid to remain in the position till our camera’s arrived but that is the way they were found. What are your views on this Mandira?”

“He He. Charu I think..”

“Right, interesting. But what about the commentator’s curse. Mandira, do you think it exists in Cricket? Like this mythical cleft on my chin?”

“He He. Charu I think..”

“Right Mandira. What about Sphagetti tops? During my diving days, a Sphagetti top was what you did after a 360 back flip.”

“ He He Charu I think..”

I would like to end this piece by the breaking news of Sharad Pawar announcing a world cup final ticket to whoever figures out the lyrics to Shankar Ehsaan Loys World Cup song. Provided the winner is a former corporator / mayor / bureaucrat or is from Mars. Shame on you and every cricket administrator for not letting true fans see a World Cup final.

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The Myth of Home Advantage

2011-02-18T08:36:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

Home Advantage. While the origins of this sporting term are unknown, one imagines it started as a motivational term deep in a damp trench when nervous soldiers waited for a keen enemy to advance.

Superior equipment, years of training, and a thirst to conquer foreign shores were swept aside by natives who knew how the ground felt underneath one’s feet, and at what angles the Sun played hide and seek. The answer by any Russian Spetsnaz on how a ragged force of Mujahideen defied their Migs and Kalashnikovs’ will mirror a football fanatic’s explanation on how South Korea managed to reach a World Cup semi-final. Home Advantage.

Does home advantage exist any longer in One Day Cricket, and can this blanket term be applied to the fortunes of India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh in the Cricket World Cup?

Statistically, India has won around 55 % of its home matches in the last ten years. During the same period away, the percentage is a shade below 50. Sri Lanka has a better success rate away and a terrific record of 60 % at home. In fact, for most nations except Australia and Bangladesh, the term home advantage loses its aura because the teams only show a maximum change within 10 percentage points in their success rates home and away. Australia has been astoundingly good both home and away, while Bangladesh has been universally disappointing, although its home record is significantly better than when the team travels.

Can we then throw away the bogey of home advantage especially over a multi-team cricket tournament? Is it just another starting point for reporters and their stories? The history of the World Cup certainly indicates so. Except Sri Lanka, no home team has won a Cricket World Cup at home. Even Sri Lanka won the Final, Semi-final and Quarter Final outside of Lanka in that tournament. In 2011, we all know that it will ultimately boil down to these three key matches with the other games being an exercise of routine.

Gaurav Parab Says

So, for all purposes no team has won a Cricket World Cup at home in the previous nine attempts. Compare it to the Olympics or even the Commonwealth Games and you see a remarkable difference. In Football, the term home advantage is not a misfit for 6 of the eight World Cup winners have won one of their titles playing at home.

Why the striking difference between football and Cricket? Why do teams enjoy a numerical advantage when scoring away while a game of cricket is considered same in Barbados and Bangladesh?

Commonsense may indicate that with cricketing results so dependent on that volatile 22 yards as compared to the type of grass on a football ground – the practice would be the other way round. Especially with each host nation having its unique brand of pitches. Yet, history has shown that things do not work according to plan. Teams like India traditionally suspect to pace, bounce, and swing managed to win in cold England and reach a final at bouncy South Africa, while losing in a semi-final in front of fanatic support after winning the toss and taking two crucial wickets before everyone had even settled in.

The key, one believes lies in the nature of the game. More specifically, the sheer number of variables that overshadow fiery home support. For starters, unlike football – an ODI game at any given moment boils down to the contest between two individuals. The bowler and the batsman. It is an individual dual in the context of a team battle. The rest are supporting actors, their moments of glory heavily dependent on the way ball leaves bat. A rogue batting performance or a freakish spell can take things away in the shorter format irrespective of the Mexican waves in the stands. Compare this to the co-ordinated nature of football, where the movement and confidence of players swells with supporters and disappears when the crowd is booing you.

If anything, the home team in an ODI can draw inspiration from the crowd during their bowling stint, when all eleven players are on the field. Opposing batsman can be distracted by deafening noises while bowlers can manage to find that extra yard of pace, or tweak of wrist when the wind of the crowd carries them on. When batting, crowd support more often than not does more harm than good – as concentrations are disturbed and batsman start behaving as immortals in front of worshipping yet fickly minded crowds – who at any moment can turn their opinion and start criticizing every attempted shot.

As to the pitch, unless one encounters real mine fields of spin or demons of pace – most ODI teams are full of pseudo – specialists well prepared to tackle home bred opponents if the duration of the duel does not extend over days like a Test match. One would expect this to increase in this edition, with increased exposure due to the IPL. So a Pollard would know a Mumbai pitch as well as an Ashwin. Scary thought that.

No pitch. No crowd. Is home advantage then the X factor which results in certain players doing well at certain venues? An Azhar at Eden or a Kallis at Centurion? At their base, home team players are more likely to have more favorite grounds due to frequent play. Yes, it is an advantage when Tendulkar lands in Chennai due to the romantic affair between the two. But, what about an South African who always performs at Nagpur? History has shown that one is as likely to have a favorite ground away from home as within it. Ask Laxman, who would gladly apply for a dual Australian – Indian passport if the Australian team comes bundled with it.

Does India have a home advantage? If anything, one would expect pressure on India and if the battle hardened team has a moment of weakness – then things can fold up at a crucial quarter final or semi-final. A batsman’s arm may freeze during a routine flick, or a fielder may drop a catch knowing that millions of eyes are tracking the trajectory of the ball as it nears his hands. As supporters we have to be careful and forgiving. As supporters, we have to support.

This year, when the enemy advances in waves – the Indian and Sri Lankan troops know that it will take more than the hidden traps they have laid, and the land they have to defend. This year, the killing fields are open. This will only make an Indian victory sweeter.

Gaurav Parab On Sports

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How we forget - The German Bakery

2011-02-12T01:51:00.000-08:00

Last night I attended the Bryan Adams show ( or as the hoardings screamed Bryan ADAM show) and it was a memorable evening. Beautiful date, a pleasant evening and an earnest performer who sang his melodies with all he had.

Apart from the music, one thing that really stood out was a moment's silence observed for Pandit Bhimsen Joshi. Nearly twenty thousand people, some of them still trooping in, stood in silence for a great son of this country who dedicated his life to his art. It was touching for many in the crowd had probably never heard the late Bharat Ratna sing, but everyone knew about the impact he had on music in this country. It was a moment dedicated to art. Good on you Pune. Lets hope we never forget Pandit Ji. Like we tend to forget everything.

It has been a year since the German bakery incident. A year. How time flies.

A year on, there is talk of re-opening the bakery but predictably nothing on bringing the accused to book? And I do not mean the minions and cowards who plant bags laden with explosive under tables or to their bodies.

What about the planners?

Juvenile argument one may say, but I repeat. What about the planners? They take lives! Real flesh and blood, and destinies cut short. They destroy universes, yet somewhere in the complex argument of geopolitics, history, religion and ground realities we forget who caused the blood to spill and forced mothers into a state of eternal despair. We just forget. We make peace deals and we move on as a nation of grieving mothers.

But that is another story.

I forgot about the bakery, like everyone else. I fold the newspaper and move on like everyone else. And I am not proud of that fact. But I am trying to be more sensitive and less immune.

Here is my moment of silence for every victim of terrorism in this country, and beyond. This is my bit as a writer. I think about the families of victims, and I assure you you are not alone in the pain.

Last year, I wrote the Indian Bakery and some people who lost family and friends to terrorism wrote back with their views. Some emails and responses were personal so I did not share them. Some comments I did. But the common thread in all the responses was that we need to lose the immunity that we have for the nonsense that surrounds us in the name of leadership of this nation. We are ok, if it does not happen to us.

We are being led by blood thirsty, greedy politicians who would not think twice before cheating people out of their money, food, and their lives. Slowly, we have to kill this immunity and start demanding performance.

Hope we get there. Hope there are no more Indian bakeries that cook up this attitude of in-action.

Here is the link to the poem

http://gaurav-parab.blogspot.com/2010/02/indian-bakery.html

Thanks and Regards,

Gaurav Parab

God in a Cocktail

2011-02-09T07:51:00.000-08:00

Painting Copyright J. D. Harding

By Gaurav Parab

I should be attending mass

And you should observe fast

This world is a cocktailed place

Religion, borders and a dash of race

Leave Shiva alone for some time

Immersed in hymns that rhyme

Or go find a temple today

When lost, each direction is a way

Like Ram saying Amen after he prays

And Sam praying five times all days

Ben trying that book to start

While Ali learns to cross his heart

Juiced up Gods mixed in cocktails

When desperation thrives and hope fails

Accidents of birth and symbols to carry till death

The burdens of Gods in every single breath

With beliefs separated by continental drift

Values are stones designed to shift

I could pray five times a day

If no one gets to die today

I could cross my heart every second

If bombs shirk family and friends

An Aarti till my throat runs dry

If mothers run out of reasons to cry

We could drink God stirred and shaken

Or spit him out of every person

The Indian Advertising Review - 2

2011-02-01T06:00:00.000-08:00

The Curious Case of Mahindra Two Wheelers

By Gaurav Parab

Shakespeare once said, “The attempt and not the deed confounds us,” after mulling over a thousand beer gulps, I gave up and moved on to simpler Paris Hilton words, or as she would call it ‘wrds’.

“BFF forever. Wait a minute. The Second F is forever right? My bad.”

Yet Shakespeare sounds Shakespearean and academic enough to discuss the confusion that seems to be Mahindra Two Wheelers. So we will use it.

Mahindra Two Wheelers – Good deed, bad attempt.

First the context in a deep voiceover.

The 7 Billion dollar Mahindra group has morphed into a dynamic animal. It is trying to acquire iconic brands, invest in new verticals (aircrafts! Beer gulp) enter new geographies and be at the edge of business – as close to the customer as possible.

They understand wheels like few do, so they naturally entered the two wheeler market. Perhaps a tad late, but better now than never. Kinetic was cleverly acquired and distribution was put in place. Anand Mahindra, aka Vijay Mallya in a business suit, even bought a MotoGP team. Unlike Mallya though, the racing team is not about vanity, national pride, or a love for the sport – it just makes pure business sense since the MotoGp travelling circus goes around the world and to places where Mahindra can build a brand and hopefully sell a few bikes. It is after all a sport of the big boys, defined by technology and innovations that eventually filter down from race track to the cul-de-sac. With its fan following and a lifestyle that promises thrills, speed, competitiveness, overtaking, and spills - it is indeed a brave and visionary decision.

Now, the confusion.

Enter the Stallio – an entry level bike with Amir Khan as its ambassador. The message is safety, and not taking chances. Drive well, and go back safe to mother who probably bought the bike for you. Amir, in spite of his talent, surprisingly comes across as an irritating Smart Alec who looks down at competing campaigns that promoted masculinity, reaching places on time, and trying to fetch caps out of a hurricane for no particular reason.

We are different. We are sensible. We are damn irritating. Instead of talking about our new bike, we are taking potshots at others. And beta please be careful when you ride.

In their defense they could have done worse. Imagine Abhishek Bacchan telling you to drive safely.

See the disconnect with MotoGP?

Even if the Stalio is targeted at the 18-25 age group and the juiced up Mojo is for a slightly older customer - a message that is so different only damages whatever campaign the group has planned for Mojo. Unless they can pull off what Hero Honda has done with the CBZ or Passion, and built different bike brands instead of building a bike maker brand. Which they should start ideally start with.

The foray into MotoGp to establish the Mahindra brand is a good step. A technology demonstrator can create an identity for the group that is ingrained into the Indian mind as a maker of jeeps and quality SUVs. You see Anand Mahindra’s touch here.

Make no mistake about it. As of now, Stallio will become a dud. If no correction is done, the customer might even do to the Mahindra’s what they did to LML. Remember the days when the biggest joke on the road was the Adreno rider? Mojo when it comes along may meet the same fate.

Will I be willing to buy a Mojo for a premium, when I can get a Bullet which stands for something? Or better, a new CBR with proven technology and a history behind it.

And that is the key. History. Legacy. Track record. Not the racing track record – at least for the first few years unless Mahindra can pull of a stunning first season and juice it for all its worth.

When the informed Indian buyer goes to buy a motorcycle, he knows his stuff. It is not an impulsive decision. He has dreamed about the motorcycle he would buy for months, even if it is a 100 cc puppy – he is still in love.

When the uninformed Indian buyer wants to buy a motorcycle, in any market – rural, semi-urban, urban, Mars – he asks his friends, his uncles, and anyone who knows bikes. Even the greasy mechanic looking for an extra buck puts in advice. With the burden of history, family and friends will always recommend the build quality of a Hero Honda, or the improved performance of a Bajaj.

The rebel would buy a second hand Yamaha two stroke or a Bullet if he wants a girlfriend real bad. He may not get dinner for a few days, but they will come around to it and forgive him.

Which brings us to what can new entrants do? History cannot be made overnight, can it?

TVS, which had a Suzuki behind it initially, took the simple way through Victor after some iconic bikes like the Samurai and Shaolin. Smooth ride quality, assured performance and value for money. A well thought about campaign riding on India’s most trusted brand – Tendulkar. They were clever to use the next pan India superstar Dhoni in the Star campaign. Apache only happened later.

Bajaj had the Kawasaki name and the timeless Hamara Bajaj message to sing out loud. It was new to motorcycles, but it will forever be the king amongst two wheelers for an entire generation. When it really got serious about bikes, it made the Eliminator to show technology and invested heavily in R and D. It made some mistakes along the way, but it even gave the Baap Hero Honda a run for the money for some time.

All is not lost for Mahindra though. They can actually go the Bajaj way and leverage their tremendous success with four wheelers. For starters, get some four wheeler hands to identify gaps in the market like they did with the Scorpio and Xylo to catch the Tata’s and Toyota napping. Talk about travelling distances with Mahindra, instead of travelling them safely on a Stalio.

Use the aspirational value small car customers have for a Scorpio to sell your Mojo. In rural markets, ride on the Mahindra tractor wave. And more importantly, for Stallio create a simple value proposition like Hero did for the Splendor with their Fill it Shut it Forget it message. Petrol prices are going vertical so do a Discover.

Remember men or even today’s Facebook boys don’t like to be preached – if they wanted to be safe and all that, they would have bought an Activa or an Access. A motorcycle is a part of growing up and even if they are sensible, men cringe when they are told about being sensible. Especially if a woman is around.

To close this, the mind goes back to the old CBZ ad when a young man sneaks out with his elder brother’s CBZ at night. He does it for the experience, carefully parking the bike after he is done. An emotional connect. Now, that is what you want with your bike! That is what men want. A good bike as a partner. How they ride it is up to them.

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The Indian Advertising Review - I

2011-01-15T21:17:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

It has been a good time for advertisments on Indian Television recently. In addition to the heartening development of the missing Ravindra Jadeja from TV, some really clever and well executed ads are doing the rounds, and more are set to follow with the baap of all events – The World Cup of Cricket.

Here is my take on some of the ads:

The Pepsi Change the Game TVC

I am not sure if this will be released when this blog is posted, but I had a peek a few days ago. Finally, after more than a decade of nauseating advertisements each ending somewhere between Ranbir Kapoor’s stubble and the Youngistan curse – Pepsi has managed to pull of something worthwhile. The MS Dhoni starrer is irrelevant, young, rustic and tongue in cheek. It is finally so Pepsi. The execution is great and it is the type of ad which might just become a part of pop culture like the Aila Sachin masked act.

Good job by Taproot who have the Sehwag’s Upper Cut, , Harbhajan Singh’s Doosra, and Pietersen’s Switch Hit as part of the Change the Game Campaign.

Well a thought, the Yousuf Pathan defence could be… well there is no Yousuf Pathan defence.

The Micromax Island TVC

In spite of all things Akshay Kumar, the Micromax ads over the last year have all been characterized by great production and execution. Lowe Lintas was bang on with the Android TVC and the island skit also strikes right at the audience, which in this case are the potential investors of the Micromax IPO. It speaks of innovation, a great future, has scale and propels the path breaking outfit right into a tempting buy. I especially love the last shot of Akshay Kumar trying to kill the bear with a mobile and failing. The voice over “That’s why we keep trying” is timed brilliantly. When was the last time one saw self-depreciating humor in an Indian Ad?

You just have a great feeling about Micromax. About ten years ago, Airtel with its marketing came across as a company bigger than its actual size, and it is no different from Micromax which is increasingly becoming the big Indian marketing story.

The Reliance CDMA Eating Out TVC

This one catches the eye for its execution but raises serious doubts about recall. A large family in a car discussing the biggest issue with Indian households. “WTF do we eat and where?” Its made well and I especially love the little girl helplessly saying, “Aree Uncle..” The whole deal with choices is done naturally.

Then there are shots of multiple handsets and what you can choose.

Now the problem with Reliance mobile. With all their TVCs, one can never remember what it was about? Sometimes you see Hritik Roshan prancing around, sometimes there are youngsters, sometimes there are things which I don’t even remember. But you always remember to forget that it was a Reliance ad. And this confusion has nothing do with the fact that Reliance has to live with CDMA and GSM at the same time. If Airtel, Vodaphone and Tata can eek out distinct identities for their various offerings from 3 G, VAR, and set top boxes, what is wrong with Reliance?

Reliance Mobile is going to be facing bankruptcy soon, and when the daggers are out and the inquest has started please someone look back at all the campaigns over the past few years and try to see the damage they have done with inconsistency, lack of a single message and the value proposition on offer. There is none. The only definitive Reliance Ad one can remember is Sehwag ki ma and that is when Mukesh Ambani was in charge.

Compare Reliance with the irritating Do Co Mo jingle, the Idea fetish with the Bachan baba, the Vodaphone doggie - Zoo Zoo onslaught and the general cleverness of Airtel’s ads before they made a noodle out of their logo. All the other telecom players are consistent in their campaigns, and you know what the ad was about and whom. With Reliance, the only consistency is the inconsistency. Sure, they try with the Reliance logo at the bottom and the jingle in the background but for some reason one can never remember a Reliance TVC just like one can’t remember most insurance ads. Perhaps Reliance should try sticking with a low profile character that appears across TVCs like Matrix calling cards did. There is too much of churn and too much variance in the style to really stick in the mind.

The Impatient Vivek TVC

WTF *(*)(*. Thats all I can say.

On another note, the soundtrack of the latest Aditya Birla Group commercial seems to be suspiciously like a modified Yani track. Surely, a conglomerate of such a size can do better. I hope they have the rights to the song.

Compare it with the GE Today TVC which uses a Goo Goo dolls track and does full justice to the company and the band. Inspiring music, well edited visuals and a great message.

I look forward to your comments and views. Reviewing ads is perhaps more a function of perception and personal choices than movies. So do write in your views and ads you would like to be reviewed, you like and the ones that make you want to steal songs from Pritam.

The Death of a Tramp

2011-01-13T22:07:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

Artist Doré, Gustave

A nameless drifter grabs his chest in terror

A life, less trial more error

Opportunities were few, so he naturally took none

Maybe a priest or maybe he was a party member’s son

How does a roof feel over one’s head?

How do you sleep in your own bed?

What joy does a kind word bring?

The tramp felt nothing, he knew nothing.

He sneezes; perhaps he has an hour to go

Under his last moon at eleven below

He wraps his frail arms around the stolen coat

He hears his last sighs escape his throat

Does he feel even a moment of regret?

His missing existence, like a friend never met

His eyes look out in peace, it now seems

For the tramp lived his life in his dreams

The most colorful dreams with palaces around his head

The wisest words that were loudly read

Courts of justice, and beautiful friends

In his dreams, the tramp did what he intends

The Standing Car of the Running Man

2011-01-01T01:24:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

Image Copyright: Lesser Ury

See you at the tree where good don’t come near

The almanac screamed I was still in that dangerous year

The one in which the gypsy woman claimed I will be dead

But under the shade we’ll be ourselves, you wickedly said.

It was a dangerous time. But a moment I dare not walk by

I saw the joke when I reached the tree under a burnt out sky

Was this another moment I am destined to collect?

I knew why they kept away; the good in me felt the effect.

I waited. The whisky swirled with the time

I looked at the dashboard. That cheap digital watch chimed.

Outside the car, the dark clouds huddled to meet

I waved at the blind man cursing in the heat

It seemed as if he may never leave

He looked at me. My friend, complexity can be so naive.

That blind man who patiently waited there

Then even he looked away at some place in despair

I kept the car engine running, like a movie I had once seen

It had eager guns that clung on to hesitant jeans

The slow beat of drums got closer with every second.

An entire village followed you, as you appeared around the bend

Temptation prevailed, and one finger finally gave in

A shot rang out. Burning your name across my skin.

You jumped in the car, and screamed drive as fast as you can

I looked at you, welcome to the standing car of the running man

The car was old, but the wheels surprisingly held their nerve

But I saw them smiling. Like I got what I deserved.

As the mob disappeared in the rearview mirror

The flash of steel in your hand made things clearer.

Come to the tree whispered faces when I dreamed

This is your year, a group of gypsies screamed

Run away, the smiling blind man appeared

The flash of steel and my mind cleared.

Happy New Year Everyone! Go get your dreams this year.

Laughter is the Best Medicine: Top Five Humor Books

2010-12-10T22:26:00.000-08:00

By Gaurav Parab

Making a list of favorite books or music is a tricky exercise. Great works of creativity may exist for all of time without end, but the audience and its environment changes. Even if a part of us tries to hold on to old favorites as a link to our past, a work so compelling sometimes bursts through that our list morphs into a different form.

The old sentiment is replaced by the new experience. As readers and listeners, we grow and learn, we forget and discover. We live and we live more.

Then a Justin Bieber comes along, making you want to crush delicate butterflies and grow your nails for the sole purpose of introducing them to a blackboard.

What was so nice to read ten years ago is so lame now. What was so lame ten years ago is a Thoroughbred today. To add to the confusion, the way content is delivered is rapidly changing. Stillness and reading divorced and remarried as movement and reading. The world appears unrecognizable and favorites churn and churn, spitting old entries out while attracting new ones.

Favorite lists are works in progress. They change with the reader, his tastes, and if he is smart- his boss. Interestingly, another trend worth noticing is all time favorite lists are loaded with entries from recent times or the farthest past, leaving the middle periods dark and without representation. Coldplay becomes a favorite as it rubs shoulders with that Neil Diamond LPs– leaving Michael Jackson dead and buried in Neverland.

The point being that a list of favorites can never be the last word even in the creator’s mind, let alone trustworthy enough to be used as a guiding light for others.

So right at the outset, I state that this list will not be a favorite tomorrow. It was so different even yesterday. Each entry exists here because when I read these books, parts of them sprang outside of the pages and found a home inside of me. They etched a place in my mind close enough to be available when I searched my memories for the funniest books I have ever read.

The books in this list just made me laugh and feel good like nothing else.

Before I share my list, a few words on why I pick a list of funny books.

While writing has many genres, variations, and period influences, good writing has one. It’s called Good Writing. A well written book cuts across time, style and audience because it acts as a magical mirror to the reader. A mirror to how he identifies his existence with the characters, the conflict, and the end. Occasionally, the book lifts him to ‘how’ he would like to identify with the reflection –propelling his mind to a dimension of the unknown, full of pure delight.

And good writing is especially tough to achieve when you write humor.

Humor is a tough joke to pull because a writer has to work double hard with the timing when words are printed on paper. The placement of the sentence on a page full of sentences has to be exact, more than even a live comic act. While a standup can sense his audience during a performance and time his words, a writer cannot. He writes, he writes, and he writes. He throws jokes at the wall and he prays that some stick. That people will ‘get it’. That the human eye will not miss the carefully crafted build up to the punch-line that started a paragraph or three pages earlier. Personally as a writer, I find creating tearjerkers more uncomplicated than making a simple toilet joke. It is so much easier to sketch drama queens than to describe a guy walking into a door of glass.

So funny books are difficult to pull off. Here is the list of my favorite funny books.

Right Ho Jeeves by PG Wodehouse

Picking a specific Wodehouse out of his vast body of work is like remembering how you felt when your daughter first placed her tiny hands in yours. Especially, if you have no daughter.

Each Wodehouse is a gem, an escape hatch to the idyllic life of the Berties and the Ukridges - where the biggest crisis in the world involves escaping evil Aunts and scheming spinsters. Wodehouse’s plots are liquid and change every moment, and you realize that if he had ever written a murder mystery or so called ‘serious’ book , it would be just as great. The man was simply a master of the clever twist of phrase, and describing people and places with a fine comb.

Right Ho Jeeves is probably his finest work. It makes you laugh so hard that stuff comes out of your nose and arranges itself in a giant smiley. When you read Gussie Fink-Nottle’s prize distribution affair in the book, you wonder if it is the funniest string of words ever put to paper.

I am kidding. You don’t wonder. You know it is.

Ah, PG Wodehouse should have lived for ever. The milk of human kindness and all that would be in abundance if he had. If you are still to read a Wodehouse, go get yourself one on www.tenderleaves.com You will feel like a better person right from page one.

Note to Tender leaves editor: Product Placement. Check

The Hitchhikers Guide to Galaxy by Douglas Adams

It is surprising how HHGTTG found its way to a mainstream audience. The humor is so out there and wild that one can’t help but feel amazed at how this book has changed writing in particular and the world in general. Thank God for Douglas Adams.

The series is so outrageously funny that we have fallen into a trap of treating it as only a humor book. In my mind, it should be counted as one of the great epics of all time with Ulysses, especially since Ulysses is so darn difficult to pronounce.

The merchandizing industry made billions with HHGTTG –games, television, radio, and even that horrible movie - but at the core it remains a delightfully simple story of discovery, told in Adam’s unique style. Some versions of the book’s cover scream that Adams is the greatest comic writer after Wodehouse. They could not have been more right.

R.I.P Douglas Adams. You make me want to read books over and over again. You make me want to be a writer who writes for himself, and not the publisher.

If you have lived on another planet, and have not read a HHGTTG – do so now! It is mostly harmless, but really really funny.

Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris

The honesty with which this book is written tends to linger with you for a long time. While Wodehouse and Adams create imaginary worlds with their words, Sedaris talks pretty funny about his own upbringing and efforts to live in France. Very few can do self-depreciating humor like Sedaris can.

If you are looking for some warm laughs, this one will not disappoint. David Sedaris writes pretty funny.

Don’t Stand Too Close to a Naked Man by Tim Allen

There is something earnest and innocent about Tim Allen’s eyes that makes one want to hug him. With that lost and glazed look, he reminds you of the neighborhood drug dealer.

Not surprising, because he was a drug dealer.

What a comeback this man’s life has been! And Don’t Stand Too Close to a Naked Man is his own funny story. Hugely successful, the book on its release slammed to the top the bestseller’s list, making him perhaps the only person ever to have the highest grossing film ( The Santa Claus), the highest rated Television series (Home Improvement) and the bestselling book out in the market at the same time.

The book is written from the heart and that is why I love it. Also, if there ever was a book title which gave great advice, then Don’t Stand Too Close to a Naked Man is the one.

Any Dave Barry Book

I insert any Dave Barry book to round off my list because it is so hard to say what his books are about or remember the titles of his individual works. Dave Barry is like an automatic gag generator, some make you laugh while the remaining make you laugh harder.

He writes and writes, often repeats jokes, bends to the slapstick (Bends to the slapstick will make a great name for a rock band), yet always brings a smile to your face.

It does not matter which Dave Barry book you read, it will be funny.

Do drop me a line about your favorite funny books.

Gaurav Parab is the author of The Sacrifice of Every Bait. He is currently looking for publishers for his second book. You can visit Gaurav Parab Says, or Join his Facebook page.