5 Fairy Tales for the Modern Indian Man

At the onset, let me do a Pritam.

This is not completely my idea. A post has gone viral on Tumblr, titled ‘6 Fairy Tales for the Modern Woman’. This is a take on it.

Mind you, I have not copied that post. I have merely been ‘inspired’ by it. Which means that I can take the essence of it and reproduce it for my own benefit, and still get the credit for it.

God bless Pritamda.

Now, being the Modern Indian Man is a tough thing, what with the skewed up sex ratio that begins from 618 women per 1000 men. While the rest of the country on average fares slightly better, there are other issues to deal with – so many religions, so many languages, and so many cultures. In such a scenario, is it possible to have a fairy tale?

If you have watched a Karan Johar film, you will thump your bottle of Gatorade on the table and say an emphatic ‘Yes’. So how would the fairy tale go? I made a few guesses.

So here goes!

 

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(Image taken from: http://www.inkity.com/shirtdesigner/prints/clipArt1/AVP50317.JPG)

How to Sound Intellectual – Stand Up Version

This is the Stand Up version of ‘How To Sound Intellectual Even If You Don’t Know Shit’ at the Punchline Comics Stand Up event. This was the Semi-Finals.

Pop! Goes the bubble.

Back in my childhood, we had an old, black and white television. Konark was the company, and Gitanjali was the brand.

Like a high school romance, the television was not the best around. But it belonged to me, and my heart belonged to it. It had a knob that you could turn to access 12 channels – a cruel mockery that the government only allowed it one. Under the knob, were three buttons – On/Off and Volume, Brightness, and Contrast. It had a red box, but that was all the colour it had.

I was used to it. To its timings, and to its tantrums. I knew what to do if the picture was blurred (run up to the balcony and shoo away the crow on the antenna), and what to do if it rained (pray to God and promise not to think about Juhi Chawla). We were cool friends – me and the television.

So imagine my surprise one day, when I randomly turned the knob, and found there was a second channel slowly appearing on the screen.

DD Metro.

My world opened up. No more did I have to endure the sober, sedated programs on National. This channel looked a lot cooler, the people wore dresses I could see on the streets, and a language I didn’t feel alienated by.

It was on this wonderful channel, DD Metro, that I saw a young girl sitting on a throne.

She was unlike any other actress I had seen. What right did she have to be singing a song if she wasn’t an actress? And what was with those crazy scenes? One moment it was a durbar, the next there was a snake crawling across the floor, then someone doing yoga.

I hated it. But I watched on like a man transfixed.

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The 90’s are often seen as the years when the floodgates were being opened for the rest of the world. But for us who were too young to figure anything out, all the liberalisation and privatisation didn’t make any sense.

Our revolutions happened in our television sets.

Made in India, the song whose audacity I couldn’t take, but whose tunes I couldn’t wish away, was just the beginning. What followed was a hurricane – Baba Sehgal appeared in the Jumpin ad, Daler Mehndi was making the entire country blabber Punjabi, and a young boy with long hair was singing about the pangs of a lonely heart.

Indipop not only changed the way we listened to music. It also changed the way we watched television.

For the first time, there was no heroine gyrating in the rain, or singing out songs of pain about her love. The tone was spunky, the tunes funky. While television was slotted earlier – the mornings and evenings for news, the afternoon for soap operas, Sundays for films – indipop meant you could watch anything you want. And the earth didn’t come crashing down on you if you walked out of the room and came back ten minutes later.

I remember watching television those days with a sense of awe. I never knew what was going to come up. Since these were not films, no one knew the artists, or the genres they were going to play. What resulted was a heady mix of genres and styles.

If there was Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing about Lisa Ray in a bad blouse, there was a gawky Shahid Kapoor saving money to buy Hrishita Bhatt a dress. Dooba Dooba had a band that was slowly sinking into water to symbolise that the singer was drowning in her eyes – tacky now, earth shatteringly profound back then.

And Lucky Ali! That man with the husky voice, and dreamy lyrics, and those crazy, beautiful videos that were shot in locations that made our televisions look really posh.

If there was something about Indipop that made it such a rage, it was that it catered to every category. Tunak Tunak Tun would be followed by Tanha Dil, which would be followed by Ab Ke Saawan. My ears and brain had multiple orgasms on a daily basis.

It also changed the way I listened to music. Belonging to a family that would make a Khap panchayat beam with pride, I had no access to any films or film music. Which meant that I had to wait for someone to get married in my lane so I could listen to songs being played and mug them up. Or go to a friend’s place to watch television or music. Or wait till a kind uncle gave me some money so I could go to a cassette shop.

Oh, those cassette shops!

Side A would have one film, and Side B would have another. You listened to all the songs on one side, and flipped the cassette over. God forbid you left the cassette lying around, and the tape would come out like a snake from Pandora’s Box, and the next few days were spent in screwing the cassette with a Reynold 045 Fine Carbure jammed into it. All this trouble for listening to an Anu Malik song that sounded like two mules mating.

But with Indipop, there was no such trouble. Neelam, or Malaika decided the songs for you, spoke in English, and kept you glued till the song came on. And how they came on!

But obviously, everything couldn’t be so smooth.

For Bollywood, that hydra headed monster was watching. Very soon, it would plan its deadly attack.

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While the Bollywood of the early 90s was an outdated, embarrassingly loud rogue, the Bollywood of the mid and late 90s tried to win back the hearts of the nation.

DDLJ had happened, and India had a hero who did not bash three Pakistanis per second. DDLJ was followed by KKHH, and then DTPH. If the bonfire was slowly dying out, these three films, in one go, put the wood back in Bollywood.

From then on, Bollywood went out of its way to woo the audience everywhere. Songs began to be shot in locations abroad, and the youth reconnected with the films.

Slowly, everybody who was anybody in Indipop started drifting to Bollywood. Shaan, KK, and Sonu Nigam became a part of the Bollywood stable. Baba Sehgal, who had inspired a generation of rappers (even though the elders felt it was gangrap of their music aesthetics), stopped cutting albums.

Hariharan, one half of the beautiful Colonial Cousins, started singing in films. Lucky Ali smoked a lot of pot and moved to New Zealand and married thrice. Palash Sen acted in a film with Sushmita Sen and Daler Mehndi would pave way for his younger brother, someone with such an appreciation of beauty that he had to forcibly kiss Rakhi Sawant at a party.

Slowly but surely, like an octopus patrolling a sea, Bollywood ate up everything that came in its way.

What was a delight on television, slowly became a pain.

Indipop gave way to the Remix Scene. Crappy remakes of crappy songs. With 25 year old girls wearing the clothes of 15 year olds and dancing like 65 year olds.

Magnasound, that record label that started it all, got sued by Asha Bhonsle and filed for bankruptcy. Bollywood started making snazzy videos to entice the youth, who had already been dumbed down when Bournvita Quiz Contest was pulled off air and Derek O Brain went to join Mamta Banerjee’s political party.

Just like that, the dream was shattered.

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So today, when I watch a Coke Studio or MTV Unplugged, I watch it with cynicism. I know that the monster is watching too, with bated breath. It just has to stretch its hands out, and the guy will be lost forever – singing songs for 45 year old heroes chasing their daughters’ friends – till there is life.

Music today is film music.

Alisha Chinai is a judge on a fucked up reality show.

Baba Sehgal is the Snake God in a Telugu film called Rudhramadevi.

And people ask me why I hate Bollywood so much.

Movie Review: YEH CINEMA HAI DILEMMA

Starring: Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone’s Legs, Aditya Roy Kapoor, Ghost of Kalki Koechlin.

Director: Ayan Mukherjee

This post contains spoilers. If your last update was “Ranbir Kapoor OMG! HOT!! <3<3”, and you haven’t watched the movie yet, please go watch it and help it earn some more money. If you have already watched the movie, do not intend to watch the movie, or simply don’t give a fuck, kindly read on.

Director Ayan Mukherjee’s previous film was hailed as the coming of age film of the year. It brought him laurels, and also firmly established Ranbir Kapoor as the next big thing on screen. Now, it is kind of accepted that he is going to be the next big thing, so everyone talks about it in a matter of fact tone.

But if you look closely, you will notice that in almost every film, he plays the same character. He is always the urban, brattish, flirtatious, guy who realises something at the end of the movie. Excepting Rockstar, Barfi, and Rocket Singh, he essentially plays the same character on screen every single time.

Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani is a progression of the same guy playing the same guy. Karan Johar, who took one step forward with his short film in Bombay Talkies, successfully takes three steps backward with this movie. It’s a gimmicky, sell-out sort of a film that is meant to earn 100 crores after engaging in coitus with your brain. And because my brain sometimes fancies a quickie, I walked into the movie.

Now, there are so many things terrible about the movie, but I shall focus my energies towards three aspects that stood out like sore middle fingers:

1.      The Concept of the Geeky Girl:

So amidst appropriately peppy background score, the film begins and we are transported into the worlds of Bunny and Naina. Bunny is the flamboyant extrovert who dreams of travelling the entire world. Naina is a geek who likes to read books.

Now, this is the point that pissed me off. What validation does the girl need from this hipster dude, in order for her to be cool?

Let’s look at the girl. She has consistently been the topper of the class, is well-read, has got a fabulous sense of fashion, and looks like Deepika Padukone.

But she ain’t cool. Why, you ask?

Cos she succumbed to that evil that Bollywood allows not to its heroines: Spectacles.

Through years, Bollywood has used the simple act of making the heroine wear glasses to show her as the geeky loser. Whether it is Preity Zinta in Kal Ho Na Ho, Urmila in Khoobsoorat, or Simran in DDLJ, the specs are supposed to signify that the heroine hasn’t blossomed into a bosom-heaving, melodramatic swan yet. So Boy Wonder comes and reminds her of how cool she is, in real.

Boy Wonder’s claim to cooldom is that he does extremely original stuff like flirting with girls with the IQ of a table fan, fighting with local gundas, and escaping on a pushcart. Kyunki banda jeena chahta hai, girna chahta hai, sambhalna chahta hai. Bhencho Temple Run nahi khelta ghar pe baithke?

Of course, if the heroine is wearing specs in the first half, you can rest assured she is going to get rid of it in the second half, when she ditches the glasses, and starts wearing make up and outlandishly gawky clothes, to fit the bill of the heroine of the movie.

And that is exactly what happens in the beginning of the movie.

2.      The Realisation of the Dream

While Wake Up Sid had at least a fresh Hindi film heroine, it too suffered from the Karan Johar Magic Brush Syndrome.

You see, in Karan Johar’s films, the heroes don’t really work. They have swanky jobs, suave cars, designer houses – the entire package. But no one really knows what it is that they do. In Wake Up Sid, the hero decides to pick up photography, and immediately, as predicted by Paulo Coelho, the universe conspires to bring it to him.

In Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani, the hero dreams of travelling the world, and just like that – Plomp! He lands a job at Fox Traveller. Not NDTV Good Times, or Travel and Living, mind you. Fox fucking Traveller.

And then, just like that, he is selected as the host of a worldwide show. Just like that, even though he was a junior cameraman until now. The perks of being Rishi Kapoor’s son, I tell you.

So does he host the show? God knows, because Karan Johar doesn’t waste precious screen time in unwanted details like showing the hero working for a living. He comes to India on a holiday, and is given a lecture by Deepika Padukone (who, by now, has taken off her specs and become the afore mentioned bosom-heaving, melodramatic swan) about the magic of family, the joy in togetherness, and the sheer thrill of watching DDLJ in Maratha Mandir.

Towards the end of the movie, the boy decides to quit his job. He simply does it. He has apparently been chasing this dream of his, and he is one step away from realising it, and he has an epiphany, and quits his job. Work pressure, how his bosses take it, and other such details be damned.

Wonder Boy want. Wonder Boy do.

Fuck you.

3.       The Usual Bollywood Suspects

Apart from logical loopholes the size of Sreesanth’s jail cell, the film also manages to throw in every possible Bollywood stereotype known to god. Some of them are as follows:

1. Alcohol: Alcohol is to be used primarily to get people to dance. One swig of alcohol is enough to get people to dance, laugh, have a good time. In this movie, C2H6O has a larger role than Deepika Padukone, and manages to pull it off spectacularly, making everyone dance and have a good time.
2. Background Score: After a few inspireding albums, Pritam goes lazy on this one. Which means that instead of conveying a mood, the background score is pimping out the story, telling you what you need to feel. Happy scene? Major chords strummed on guitar. Dramatic scene? Violins and slow, epiphany music. You don’t need to delve into any particular scene to understand the characters, because Pritamda is doing it for you anyway.
3. Women as Doormats: As with all Karan Johar films, the heroines are A-grade doormats. They dance and whimper according to the whims of the hero. There will also be this skimpily clad woman who speaks with an accent and generally wants to sleep with the hero. The women do not really have worries like their careers, or their own wishes and desires. Their lives are entwined around the hero, their love, and their mission is to conform to everything the director does, in order to reach the climax of the film.

All in all, Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani is no different from a Dabbang 2 or a Ready. It’s got Ranbir Kapoor in it, so it wears the aura of an intelligent, thought-provoking film. What it really is, is a 3 hour shitfest.

Avoid at all costs. Think of all the sex you can have in three hours!

Arnab Goswami interviews Ravi Shastri

Hello and welcome to Newshour, the show where the nation finds its conscience. This is Arnab Goswami, and today, we shall discuss a topic that the entire nation is asking.

Are we heading towards a nation of chaos and anarchy? What has happened to our voice as a nation? WHY ARE WE BECOMING A SPINELESS NATION? WHO IS GOING TO GIVE US THE ANSWERS? INDIA NEEDS SOME ANSWERS!

(Assistant whispers): “Psst, sir! Today we have the one on cricket, sir.”

Arnab: (Looks straight into the camera) Ladies and Gentlemen, today we have come to talk about cricket. More specifically, we are going to talk about the people who talk about cricket (smiles). Indian cricket is going through its lowest ebb. What is shocking is that most knowledgable, respected cricketers go on to the commentary box. Which leaves the administration to be run by politicians and industrialists, who squeeze every drop of blood from the board, for their evil, sinister motives. Why is it so? That’s the question we are going to ask tonight.

We have with us the cricketing voice of the nation, Mr. Ravi Shastri, and with the other gentlemen who have graced the commentary box for years, decades even – Mr. Gavaskar, Mr. Sidhu, and from across the border, we have Mr. Waqar Younis.

Arnab: Let me begin with you, Mr. Shastri. As a nation, everyone has been complaining about how India plays the most cricket in the world, but has the most boring commentators in the world. Don’t you think the people of the nation deserve better?

Shastri: “Hello and welcome to an exciting day here at Delhi. The scene seems to be set for an exciting clash and you can literally feel the excitement among the crowd here…”

Arnab: “See? This is exactly what I meant when I said that there is a sense of arrogance in the way you talk….”

Shastri: “When did you say that?”

Arnab: “Mr. Shastri, ARE YOU telling me that you are an arrogant person?”

Shastri: “No?”

Arnab: (smiles) “That’s why I didn’t say it.” (smiles) (Journalism student in faraway Jaipur has an orgasm)

“My question to you, Mr. Shastri, is this: Why is the commentary that we listen to so boring? Why can’t it be made interesting?”

Shastri: “See, the people have to understand that you cannot have realistic expectations. Now where do commentators do commentary?

Arnab: “From their hearts? With their passion? They…”

Shastri: “No! They do it from the Commentary Box. Now, if you are already in the Box, how can one think out of the Box? (smiles and waves to Navjyot Sidhu who breaks into laughter, only for his mike to be switched off hurriedly).

Arnab: “I’m sorry to say, Mr. Shastri, but a discerning viewer would say that you’re skirting the issue here. India provides all the money there is in cricket today. The viewers are paying for it with their time and money. Don’t they deserve better commentary?”

Shastri: “Well, when there is a big match on, you need a big match performer. And that’s where Yuvraj is so crucial to India’s plan of things. ‘Cos when he hits them, they stay hit….”

Arnab: “ARE you even listening, Mr. Shastri? This brings me to the next allegation that people have made against you. That you always speak in clichés? Why do you do that?”

Shastri: “Well you know what they say, “It doesn’t matter how they come, as long as they come…”

Arnab: “There you go again, Mr. Shastri. The people have gotten tired of the stuff you say. Most people also find it unethical that you, Mr. Gavaskar, and Harsha Bhogle are signed for every tournament, even though you’re paid by BCCI to push its agenda. Don’t you think it’s unfair? Let me put that question to Mr. Gavaskar sitting here in the studio. What do you have to say to that, Mr. Gavaskar?”

Gavaskar: “Australians! I hate Australians!! Australian cricketers should be banned from cricket, and from Australia. They have also been the No.1 cause for global warming in the world. We should nuke Australia.”

Arnab: “THERE YOU SEE IT! One man pushing his agenda and the other man who deals with clichés. Is this the best the viewer can get?”

Shastri: The match is nicely poised here….

Arnab: “We’ll take a short break here, and come back with more issues with Mr. Shastri. Stay tuned.

Shastri: “At the end of the over, India 134 for 3.”

Arnab: (turns to Shastri and frowns) “Ahem, see you on the other side….”

Sidhu: …where the grass is green, guru!

Arnab smiles uncomfortably.

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(COMMERCIAL BREAK: A girl is walking on the road, when three men pass vulgar comments at her. She looks down and thinks, “Kab tak main yeh sehti rahungi?”. When she reaches home, her sister gives her a pack of Fair and Lovely. The next day, when she turns her head, her face gets five shades fairer in five days. In two weeks, she has turned into a blinding ray of light. She walks on the same road, the people turn to look at her…Nanana….NanaNANA….she turns to them, and they burn into ash.

Naya Fair and Lovely – Ab Goraapan ko Laws of Nature tak kyun seemit rakhein?)

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Arnab: Welcome back to Newshour with me, Arnab Goswami. We are discussing Indian cricket and the commentary that comes with it. Mr. Shastri, my next question to you is that over the last few years, we have seen Dravid, Ganguly, and Laxman take the mike. But why do no cricketers, with the exception of Kumble and Srinath, take up any administrative positions in the board?

Shastri: That’s the end of the over. Time to welcome Sherry into the box!

Arnab: (Turns to Sidhu) Alright, so let me put this question to Mr. Sidhu. You see, everybody who has nothing to do with cricket, is now running cricket. But Mr. Sidhu – you have judged laughter challenges, become a politician, and a commentator – in short you have done everything except being an administrator. How will you explain that to the nation?

Sidhu: Oye, Guru! A Hard Disk is like Hard Dicks. When it crashes, there is no noise. But the pall of gloom that descends into the ebbs of…

(Arnab: Will you please answer my question, sir?)

…darkness resonates with the fist of the devil in the guise of an angel in the beckoning of the soul in the night of the winter. Kyun ki, Guru! Na maen momin vich maseet aan
Na maen vich kufar diyan reet aan, Na maen paakaan vich paleet aan, Na maen moosa na pharaun.

Bulleh! ki jaana maen kaun…

Arnab: (looks sideways to his producer, nods, and puts his hand to ear) Hello, hello? We cannot hear you, sir. Please stay right there, Mr. Sidhu, we’ll get back to you in a while.

We also have with us from Lahore, Mr. Waqar Younis, who had an accomplished career, but has gone on to become a coach, administrator, and a commentator too (Ravi Shastri giggles at this point).

Arnab: Mr. Younis, what do you see is the difference between the Indian system and the Pakistani system?

Younis: Well, the boys play the fantastic, they bending the backs, giving in 100%, the balls coming on to the bat nicely. As you see, they’re playing up to the potential, side’s looking good.

Arnab: Great! One person who doesn’t stop explaining, the other who doesn’t even start making sense. Mr. Shastri, the recent IPL controversy shocked the nation, yet the commentators went on about their business as if nothing ever happened. There was not a single statement from the most respected cricketers…

Shastri: The good thing about Gilchrist is, he lets the bat do the talking.

Arnab: Mister Shastri, are you even listening to me?

Shastri: Yuvraj, you beauty…!

Arnab: MISTER SHASTRI, I demand you answer my question. I demand an answer. The nation demands an answer. You HAVE to answer now.

Shastri: Exactly! And one just gets a feeling now, that something is going to happen….

Arnab: YOU SHALL GIVE ME THE ANSWER, MR. SHASTRI. That’s what’s going to happen…

Shastri: You know what they say, when you want to flash, flash hard…

Arnab: THIS IS THE LAST TIME I AM ASKING YOU, YOU BUMBLING IDIOT! INDIA DEMANDS AN ANSWER…

Shastri: One just gets a feeling that this is going to go down to the wire…

Arnab: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…..(puts his hand in his drawer, pulls something out, and brings out a black AK-47) Dear viewers, I have never had to take this extreme step, but as you can see, India needs an answer, and I shall get it for India. (Turns to Shastri) So, Mr. Shastri, are you going to TELL ME or NOT?

Shastri: One can’t really tell, looking at this pitch…seems like its going to come up to the bat, but in cricket, one can never tell…

Arnab: I DEMAND YOU TELL ME, MISTER SHASTRI. WILL YOU STOP TALKING IN CLICHES? OR I SHALL HAVE TO STRIKE UPON THEE WITH VENGEANCE…

Shastri: You can feel the tension in the crowd now. No one is moving from their seat…

Arnab: YAAAAAAAAAA…..(starts shooting at Shastri. A bullet hits him square in the chest)

Shastri: (falls from chair) One just gets a feeling… (puts his hand to chest) that went like a tracer bullet!

Arnab: (Adjusts his hair, settles back in his seat, and looks at the camera) Ladies and Gentlemen, when India needs an answer, we will go to any lengths to get it. As the viewers will agree, in the end, it was a victory for truth.

Sidhu: Oye Guru… (Arnab turns towards him, and he freezes into silence)

Arnab: That was all for today. Tomorrow, we shall deal with another of the nation’s problems. Thank you for watching!

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Sreesanth and The Myth of the Patriotic Sportsperson

I found the outrage over Sreesanth’s spot fixing amusing.

For one, I wonder how much of coverage would the scandal have got if it was only Ankeet Chavan and Ajit Chandila who got caught. Last year, three cricketers were dumped for proclaiming on a sting operation that they could fix matches if they wanted to. So it was not really a big deal.

Now, since it is Sreesanth, there is a lot of talk about it. If Indian cricket was a collection of memes, Sreesanth would be the Troll. A lifetime of antics, theatrics, and short balls on the middle stump have given the guy the reputation of a brainless twit.

But I have always looked at Sreesanth with animosity. Right from the beginning.

But for that, you have to go back with me a long way. Into the mind of a scrutinising, unforgiving 12 year old cricket fan.

You see, Kerala had never produced any cricketers, just like Orissa. Almost every other state in the country had produced one or the other cricketer, except for Kerala and Orissa. Of course, Kerala was blessed with other stuff like tourism, backwaters, and Shakeela.

Orissa on the other hand, had nothing going for it. There had been a devastating cyclone, and the only thing super about it, tragically, was that it was named a Super Cyclone.

Around that time, the first Malayali cricketer made his debut – Tinu Yohannan.

I remember the papers and media going gaga about Yohannan – ‘The First Cricketer from God’s Own Country’, and this and that. Nothing was said about Debashis Mohanty, him being the first cricketer from Orissa, and how on an off day, he could at least influence the match in some way.

Orissa, of course, went crazy. For the first time, we had someone out there on a national level. At the time, every person in Bhubaneswar had a Debashis Mohanty story to narrate – “Oh him? He used to play with my elder brother, really nice bloke!” or something like that.

While Yohannan fizzled out, Debashis Mohanty went on to get a few more opportunities. When he was selected for the 1999 World Cup, the entire state went crazy. Mohanty went on to acquire 10 wickets in six matches in the series for India, and yet, there was no mention at all. It was to be the beginning of the end of his career.

After a few years, came Shiv Sundar Das – a dimunitive test opener who was hailed as the next Sunil Gavaskar. He scored one Test century, and was part of the historic Eden Gardens test of 2001. But soon, he had fizzled out too.

Abey Kuruvilla, a Malayali born cricketer who had played for Mumbai had made his debut, but in spite of his 6.6” frame, made little impact on the team. The odds were clearly favoured in Orissa’s side.

Orissa 2 – Kerala 1.

Then, came Biranchi Maharana. It was the year 2003, and Greg Chappel was the country’s modern version of the gora who was dividing and ruling the country. Dada had been dropped, and Chappel was also accused of creating disharmony between Sachin and Dravid.

As it is said in the Bhagwad Gita:

Yada yada hi dharmasya, glanirbhavati bharata,

Oriya fan taketh matters into hands, gives one tight slapaha

When he slapped Greg Chappel, the entire nation rejoiced.

Orissa – 2 + A Gazillion Brownie Points – Kerala 1

Orissa had clearly won the war.

Then, in a few years, came Sreesanth.

The first time I had heard about him was that he had sledged Sachin Tendulkar in the Challenger Trophy. I am sure he got into the team on the basis of sheer balls. The Andre Nel incident happened not long after, and I was glad that the most annoying cricketer in the world was at least on our team and not with the opposition.

For all his brouhaha, Sreesanth could still perform on an odd day, if the Gods were kind, and his Monkey Mind wasn’t clapping away at the batsman after giving away a boundary. He had almost cemented his place in the Indian cricket team, and I grudgingly admitted defeat in the Orissa-Kerala Cricket War.

Over the years, Sreesanth, like Life itself, has provided both pain and pleasure in equal measure.

Pleasure when he pissed the Australians off, leaving Hayden and Symonds red faced with the fact that there could be a bigger asshole than them on the field – and he wasn’t Australian. Pain when he would spray the ball outside the off stump like a 5 year old who wanted a Superman costume but was given a copy of Wisdom magazine.

Pleasure when he bounced out Jacques Kallis in South Africa, giving India one of its most satisfying victories in foreign soil. Pain when, even in the World Cup final, he couldn’t keep his aggression in control, giving away 52 runs in 8 overs.

On YouTube, Cricinfo, and countless other fora on the web, Malayali fans supported him wholeheartedly. The rest of the world, including the Three Wise Men of Indian Cricket – Shastri, Gavaskar, and Bhogle – always smiled when discussing Sreesanth.

Very soon, the entire cricketing world was divided into two teams – Mallus vs. Rest of the World. The Mallus loved Sreesanth inspite of his utter lack of line, length, and charm. The rest of the world was plain annoyed by him.

Some of the comments can still be found on YouTube, where they talk about how it was an Aryan conspiracy that he was kept out of the side, of how he will never get his due because everyone in the dressing room speaks in Hindi, and other such reasons.

It must have been hard for the fans – justifying someone who clearly had the emotional maturity of a caterpillar, but they stuck on.

When the scandal broke out, it was an opportunity for the rest of the world to rejoice and mock the guy. There was a hidden pleasure in calling the guy a chutiya and saying, “I always knew he was upto some crap.”

People accused him of corrupting the religion of cricket, the holy game of the country. Which is all bullshit. No game is holy. Except the games you play on Holi!

Rotten jokes aside, I don’t see why such a hue and cry is being made. Cricket has always been surrounded by controversies. Captains have passed on information and coaxed their team mates to underperform, players have passed on information to bookies, and gotten a mere rap on the knuckle by their boards, and a national coach was once found dead in the dressing room after a disastrous loss to a minnow.

Where is the holiness? What religion are you talking about?

The words used to describe the scandal are also amusing – ‘he has shamed the country’, ‘played with the emotions of the fans’, ‘broken the bond of trust with the fans’ – trust Indians to get emotional and touchy over everything.

And this is where I have a problem with the idea of the patriotic sportsperson.

The newspapers keep saying that it is the dream of every cricketer to play for the nation, to make the nation proud. May be that is not always the case.

It is understandable that the players would want to play for themselves too. Take for example, the ugly incident of Indian tennis players revolting against each other. Now, Leander Paes and Mahesh Bhupati are veterans, having won the Wimbledon, and every major Grand Slam that exists. Yet, after years of experience, they refused to play with each other for the Olympics – that crowning glory for every sporting country. Not only that, they divided the rest of the team and blackmailed the federation into accepting their demands.

There have been thousands of such incidents, in every sport, across the globe which prove that not every sportsperson is out there to make his/her country proud. Gayle brings joy to Indian fans every summer, but he has had a bitter embargo with his own country’s cricketing board.

Not every sportsperson is patriotic.

If you think about it, being a sportsperson is tough. It is a tough choice to make, and it requires the highest amounts of sacrifice and hard work. Of course, if everything clicks, the remuneration is well worth the effort. But there still dangles a big ‘IF’.

And remember, being selected is dependant on a myriad number of reasons – the selectors, dirty politics, luck, timing, the quality of opposition, the nature of the pitch, level of coaching and infrastructure, among the many.

After all this, when the cricketer has final made it into the team, why is it so difficult to understand that he/she might not really want to make the nation proud. That he/she might want to secure a decent life for himself/herself? That he could skip a tour for the IPL, and make extra money selling Rupa Frontline underwears?

I am not saying it was fair to cheat during the matches. Those are ethical issues with a thousand different interpretations. All I am saying is do not expect every sportsperson to lay his/her life down for the nation. They might have other things on their mind.

And as a nation, it will only save us some heartbreak when the next bit of information comes out…