Vacation Highlight

This fall saw us make a trip to Wagah, the village that sits astride the border of India and Pakistan, to view the spectacle put up by the forces stationed on either side.     And an impressive spectacle it was.     While the soldiers marched around in a very aggressive (almost warlike) manner, an announcer on both sides exhorted the assembled crowd to shout out patriotic slogans.     A veritable competition was in progress with each crowd trying to out-scream the other.

While watching the proceedings it was hard not to notice the differences between the Indian and Pakistani sides.     Differences that illustrated India's more secular position when compared to Pakistan's religious stand.     For instance, men and women on Pakistan's side were made to sit separately.     While the Indians shouted out the standard 'Vande Maataram' or 'Hindustan Zindabad', the Pakistanis would intermittently break out into frenzied chants of 'Allah... Allah'.

All-in-all the "show" was very impressive and I walked away with a sense of awe and deep respect for the troops that guard the border.

Pictures here

Red, White and Falafel?

January 2007. B and I attend the naturalization ceremony that makes us U.S. citizens. B claims she has bittersweet feelings about the experience. Frankly with her busy schedule, I wonder if she has time to reflect on the import of switching sides.

We are invited to assemble at St. Dominic's school in Delhi (the one in Cincinnati, that is) to receive our certificates. It turns out to be quite an affair with a large number of new citizens, most of them from, you guessed it, India. The school's choir sings patriotic songs and the judge waxes eloquent on democracy and extols the virtues of freedom. Bit of a waste on Indians, don't you think? A colleague from work in attendance describes the ceremony aptly as being corny. The Enquirer's coverage just reinforces that.

Since we had taken half of the day off we decide to celebrate with lunch. One would think that having just been indoctrinated into Americana we would be inclined to go for hamburgers (ok, a veggie burger for B, a chicken sandwich for me). Instead we head to Andy's Mediterranean Grille. After all it is a free country.

I want to move.

Thanks to B's largesse I was in Barbados in April, sans family to take in a couple of games of the cricket world cup. Yes, the games were a PR nightmare for the ICC, what with the low attendance, the high ticket prices, major teams being booted out in the earlier rounds, mismanagement of ticket sales, pricey hotels... the list goes on and on. On the flip side however, the low turnout prevented the island from becoming a tourist trap. Entering/leaving the stadium was a breeze and there were no lines at the beer stands or restrooms. The island and it's beaches were amazing. I absolutely loved it. I want to move there.

Thanks again, B. I owe you big time.

Pictures here.

Proud and Dismayed by the Family

I have known for a while that my family has royal connections. Connections to what passes as royalty in India. I am, of course, referring to the Kapoors and Bachchans of Bollywood fame. Abhishek Bachchan, you see, is my father-in-law's cousin's husband's sister-in-law's grand-son's brother-in-law. I truly feel the kinship between us.

So naturally I was pleased and proud to see his engagement announced recently in Time's milestone section. Pleased, because the announcement in Time reinforces India's new found place in the world, and proud, well, because he is family.

And now to the dismay part ...

Aishwarya Rai, his bride to be, is a Manglik.

No, I am not disappointed by that fact. What vexes me is what she, at the behest of her future father-in-law, Amitabh, has been doing to de-Manglify herself. Besides offering prayers at various temples, it is now rumored that she'll be marrying a tree, too! And I am not sure I want a tree to be part of my family er, tree.

What?!

Two Thanksgivings ago I was on a cruise ship en route to the Bahamas when I decided to try my luck at the 3-card poker table at the casino. After all, I thought, how different could it be from good ol' teen-patti. My luck alternated between good and not-too-bad for most of the session till I was dealt a hand with three queens. Whoa! a trail (as we Punjoos call it) - surely I was really going to rake in the moolah with this one. However, a fellow gambler with a straight flush walked away with the big pot. I was sure the dealer had erred, but decided not to protest out of fear I would be thrown into the Caribbean by the casino goons.

To figure out what had happened, I did what any sane person would do - I Googled it. And Google, with its infinite wisdom and mathematical logic revealed that a straight flush is indeed harder to get than a three-of-a-kind when playing the three card version. What?! We've merrily been playing flush for eons, completely oblivious of the true math of permutations and combinations!! I swore the next time I sat down at a teen-patti table, I would enforce the right rules.

..But later thought better of it. After all, the thrill of getting a straight flush is nothing compared to the chills that go down one's spine at the site of a trail.

... And Cricket

As the balmy temperatures of 2006 become a distant memory, I look back at the spring and summer with fondness. After all it was this year that I learnt of my becoming a father all over again. Vacations to Orlando and London. M turning 3.

... And cricket.

(Hard) tennis ball, make-your-own-rules-as-you-deem-fit, LBW?-what-the-heck-is-that? cricket.

Thanks to the initiative of a couple of die-hards we started playing at the ungodly hour of 8 AM on Sundays. Granted that most didn't make it at the appointed time, matches however began around 8:30. Many didn't make it on all Sundays - hung-over, partying all night, working all night, couldn't get up, spousal reprisal. Despite the odds, the lure of a work-out and the astro-turf at UC drew a core group of players that got a decent game going.


Amid the cacophony of flailing arms, miffed catches, excuses, twisted knees and pulled muscles were moments of fun, competition, exercise and brilliance. Asthma and ulcerative colitis notwithstanding, I look forward to summer 2007.

Need for Speed

A recent comment by the BCCI Vice President, Lalit Modi on India promoting Twenty20 cricket is excellent news . Not very long ago, the BCCI honchos and ex-players passed some very
sarcastic remarks, calling it pajama/underwear cricket and vowed not to be swayed by pressure from the ICC. Finally, the board has realized its folly in not embracing the increasingly popular format.

For folks who would like to watch an entire game, but can't find the time, the new three hour version is a boon. Imagine sitting through an entire cricket game, and that too on a weekday! Personally, I can't wait. Don't get me wrong - I'll still keep an eye on Test and ODI scores - but that's the extent of my involvement with the longer formats - it has been this way for a very long time now. Gone are the days of following every single wide and no-ball of a dull five dayer.

This has to be a win-win for advertisers, too. They will now have a captive audience for a fixed period of time.

Sure the purists are fuming at the thought. "It's just not cricket". Well, they can call it by another name, then. As far as I am concerned, it's still a contest between bat and ball - with speed.