Annual ramblings

I don't know how to write this post. I'm struggling to remember events from last year that meant something to me, but I can't. It's like, and I mentioned this at the end of my last post, that the first 7.5 months of 2011 simply didn't happen. Or belong to another life.

But so much did happen. And I want to get this post out there simply because I don't want those memories to disappear.

I knew, at the beginning of 2011, that one way or another, this year would bring changes to my life like never before. And so it was.

January was a flurry of travel, interview invites, application "dings", and what not. The cousin got married. Things in the workplace deteriorated to the point that I, for the first time in my life, started having panic attacks.

The grandmother fell and broke her leg and had to have surgery. I was sent to Kolkata on work so was able to go visit her. Said visit to Kolkata also showed me how the work culture of Bengal and how Bengalis are perceived by non-Bengalis, and while I could see what they meant, it saddened me. I may never choose to live in Bengal, but it's still where I belong. And it isn't nice to see how we ourselves are responsible for a lot of what had happened to the state.

February was rather dramatic. Some more dings came in, some interviews happened, some admissions also happened. The mother went to spend a month in Kolkata to take care of Mam. I went to spend a weekend with her, and had some craziness as soon as I got back, after which the father went to stay with her. Gave me a taste of living on my own; I wasn't too sure I liked it.

Work got even worse. A massive show down happened at work, after which I tried to resign, but got talked out of it by everyone around me. But given the calm feeling that came over me once I had decided, after all the panic attacks of the last couple of months, I knew I wasn't to last very long.

I turned 26 in March. Far less stressful than turning 25, for whatever reason. Sure, I'm old now, but it didn't bother me. As much. Maybe a little. Oh well. The mother decided to throw a birthday party for me, since this would probably be my last birthday at home. And when I say birthday party, I mean crazy shoes theme (which everyone but me took extremely seriously), back presents, balloons, all my closest friends with me, a "slumber party", CDs with random birthday songs playing all evening, etc. What can I say? My family takes birthdays very seriously.

March also brought the brother home during his Spring break, a visit I had known about since November, but which was a complete surprise to the parents. The best part about his visit? He was home, sitting next to me, the day the dream came true. I had refused to go on the annual office holiday, using his visit as an excuse. SO glad I did, because the admission news that really mattered came out the day my colleagues were leaving, and anyway, I would have missed the freaking World Cup if I had gone.

Geez. The World Cup. So much excitement. My biggest regret remains not being able to go see India play. I only went for the West Indies-South Africa match in Delhi, and that was just lame. But oh, the World Cup. What can I say about it that I haven't already? And how can I express my frustration at how we've played ever since? How sad is it that less than a year after that fabulous, fabulous win, I am *this* close to giving up on Indian cricket for the foreseeable future?

If the beginning of April was about the euphoria of the World Cup, end-April saw me really leaving the job. I put in my papers as soon as I knew I'd be leaving for the US in July, and I asked to be relieved by end-April so I could have time to get things done. In all fairness, they gave me a really sweet farewell, where I may have a said a bit too much, but managed to leave on fairly good terms with the people who mattered at any rate. What surprised me? Given what an obsessed workaholic I'd been for the last three years, I'd've thought I'd have missed the place a bit more once I left. But honestly? Zilch of that.

May was a rush to get things sorted, visa applications, travel bookings et al., and fit in a quick trip to Mumbai for a family function, where I sat surrounded by Calcuttans as they watched news channels breathlessly to see what the election results in West Bengal would be like. And then we left for the US to watch the brother graduate. Visited and fell in love with Boston, and followed that up with a visit to the godfather's home in London, and a loverly family holiday in Edinburgh, before we came back home.

June and July rushed by much faster than they should have. Preparing to leave home encompassed a thousand and one things, amidst all of which I had to make sure I could fit in a visit to Calcutta, get-togethers with friends, and time with the brother who was to leave for his job at the beginning of July. The gal pals, for the second time in my life, managed to put together a surprise party for me without me cottoning on. I'd make a terrible investigator type person. The father and I booked my tickets in a way that I would get to see Deathly Hallows 2, and so on 15th July, I saw movies in one day - DH-2, and ZNMD.

And then, despite all my attempts to stretch time as much as possible, the 19th of July arrived. And I let everything I had know for 26.5 years, and came here.

What do I say about the last 5.5 months of 2011? They've been stressful, crazy, exhilarating, exciting, and maddening all together. I've learnt so much - maybe not much academically, but about the person I am. I've started driving and cooking, discovered I'm more like the mother than I had ever realized, found out that I can be quite a pushover, and realized that I'm a complete hermit. I suck at networking, am absolutely incapable of enjoying myself at a party filled with loud music and flowing alcohol, love big cities and have no idea how to get a job.

I'm far more Indian than I had realized, I'm a lot more Bengali than I had ever imagined, and I am so utterly dependent on the father for any major decisions I take. The BFF is my lifeline no matter where I go in life, time zones suck because no one is ever awake when you have news to share, I hate marketing and love strategy, numbers and HR what really excite me in life, and grades do matter.

They killed GReader somewhere along the way in 2011, and I was more devastated than I had thought possible. Twitter is less of an addiction than I had assumed, and I have struggled to put together any worthwhile blog posts. The urge to write is there, but I simply can't anymore. Which is why this blog post has taken a month to be written, started in one way, and has ended so very differently.

Having the mother visit me for a month over winter break saved me in some ways, I think. Because it made me remember who I am, truth be told. I had lost myself while trying to adapt to this new country, this new life. Having someone from my old life here for a while was like having a totem with you when you enter a dream, in some ways. And I can already see the difference in me in the past two weeks since she left. I'm me again. In the way I talk, the way I interact with others, in the way I behave. And it's helping me cope.

So, 2012. What does it hold for me? I have no freaking idea. The last month has been utterly stressful with the job search taking precedence, and I have no idea if or when this will change. I really need to start saying no to people. I need to apply myself to studies a lot more. I need to hang out with the people I like, instead of shutting myself up at home and lurking on twitter. And I need to find a freaking job.

Here's hoping all, or most, of this happens.

The day we stood on the brink of history

Has it sunk in yet for you? I realise this is how most posts about the win have been beginning, but really, has it?

My twitter timeline, GReader Shared items, FB new feed - they're all full of one thing since the last 48 hours. Conversations at office all of today were all about who was doing what at the moment it happened.

So allow me to recap for you a bit, the events that unfolded on 2nd April, 2011.

1.40 PM: I switch on my TV to see there is no signal. All I can see is a silver haze.
1.45 PM: I call up DLF Cable and scream at them, and meanwhile find a decent streaming link online to try and catch the toss. Halfway through my screaming, I stop to stare at my laptop. A re-toss? What just happened?!? Get off the phone and get onto twitter!!! What are people saying?!?
2.10 PM: Two guys from DLF Cable show up and fix the signal. Hallelujah.
2.29 PM: Zaheer Khan is getting ready to open bowling. Memories of 23rd March 2003 rush back. Please Lord, no. Don't let this happen again.
2.32 PM: Zaheer Khan is the most awesome man in the history of mankind. And bowling.
4.30 PM: This is going well. Nice and easy, people, nice and easy.
5.20 PM: POWER CUT. AND the internet died on me. We decide to go to the club and watch on the big screens they've put up. Family and friend disperse to get ready. I wait, because I'm not changing - lucky yellow T-shirt has been worn.
5.55 PM: Friend reappears, wearing her brand new Team India T-shirt. Identical to the one I had bought. And wore for the first time in the India-SA match. And decided not to wear again for the rest of the World Cup, especially once the yellow t-shirt proved to be lucky in the India-WI match. The India T-shirt was put in the same category as Sreesanth; we could've given it another chance if there were any league matches left, but we're not going to risk it once we're in the knock-out stages. Not that I am judging any decisions any captain may have taken.
Back to my story. I glared at said friend, and informed her who would be blamed should we lose.
6.40 PM: Reached club in time for innings break. Not watching the the end of the Lankan innings in my yellow T-short proved to be catastrophic. Sri Lanka had slammed in the last ten overs, and set a target of 275. Doable? Yes. Would we do it? I have no freaking idea.
7.15 PM: Sehwag out. For a duck. SHIT.
8.15 PM: The lightning that was creeping closer over the past half hour, was now directly overhead. Faint thunder could be heard, occasional drizzle felt.
8.40 PM: The sky burst open. Open air screening comes to an end. WHY DOESN'T ANYONE WANT TO LET ME SEE THIS MATCH?
9.00 PM: Back home. Power's back, match is on. Whew. Online too. Thank heavens. What is a match with no twitter?
10.15 PM: We're inching towards this. We're beginning to realise we're almost there, as evidenced by this tweet. My friend, who hadn't uncrossed her fingers since we got home, looked at me in amazement - this was the first time I had been calm about a cricket match, especially one of this importance. There was a certainty that had come over me once the match started, and nothing could shake it off.
10.32 PM: WORLD CHAMPIONS. TAKE THAT, EVERY OTHER COUNTRY. And so began a state of incoherence which involve me basically screaming out periodically, smiling like a goofball, and tweeting in caps lock for the next five hours.

My approach to this World Cup, back in February, was very simple. Just get to the Quarter-finals, uske baad dekhenge kya hota hai. I was, however, praying right from 19th February that we wouldn't have to play the first QF, scheduled for 23rd March.

When it turned out we would take on Australia in the QF, I was very pessimistic. Yeah, yeah, you don't become world champions by avoiding teams, but just this one maybe?

I think I began to believe we could do this the day we beat Australia. Our league matches had been patchy, to be honest. We hadn't beaten SA, and barely managed to avoid losing some of the other matches. But when it counted, in the knock-out matches, this team really did come together.

The father always says that 1983 was our year not for any individual, but because every single person in that team played a key role. 2011 was no different. Yuvraj hit back at all his detractors, including yours truly, to have a dream run with the bat during the league matches all the way to the QF, and continuing to field and bowl through the knock-outs. Zaheer was brilliant all through, and Harbhajan took his wickets as and when. Nehra brought on the wrath of an entire nation with just one over against South Africa, and then redeemed himself against Pakistan. Raina and Ashwin came in in the QF and SF and blew away the opposition. Gambhir and Dhoni both had a very low-scoring tournament, but then came good in the final, and how!

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. I will admit, my superstitions extended to correlating this man's centuries with India's losses. But this man still played such a big part in our win this World Cup. As he has in our country's fortunes in cricket for two decades. Virat Kohli, whatever his future achievements may be, and Im sure there will be plenty, has written himself into history simply by virtue of his tribute to Tendulkar.

And then the moment came, when those 5 runs were need, and an entire nation thought to itself, hit a six and get there. The father never watches matches; he thinks we lose when he does. So he was listening to the radio commentary in the next room, while we watched. He's keep coming in to tell us what's happening because radio commentary is about 5 seconds faster than TV broadcasts. And then the moment came. He ran into the room, I could faintly hear someone screaming on the radio. And Dhoni hit the ball. And I screamed like I have never screamed in my life.

What does one say that hasn't been said already? Brilliant posts have been put up aleady by @sidvee, @greatbong, @cornerd, @daddy_san, and a host of others. The sheer joy a billion people have been feeling since Saturday night, the smiles that won't go away from our faces - it's hard to put these feelings into words.

As the generation that grew up watching Ganguly, Tendulkar, Dravid, Kumble, Laxman, and even Javagal Srinath and Venkatesh Prasad if I go further back, it was hard to keep away the wistfulness and the wish that they had got this too. As a Ganguly loyalist, the thought also kept coming that he and John Wright probably deserved so much of the credit for making Team India what it is today. But then when you saw the smile on Sachin's face as he ran onto the field, you knew that it was worth everything just to see this man hold that trophy.

We made it here

I started following cricket during the 1996 World Cup. The first match I ever watched was the quarter-final between India and Pakistan. We used to live just behind M-block market in G.K.-I those days, and I remember walking down to the market after the match with the father to buy paan. A Maruti 800 zoomed in out of nowhere, a guy stuck his head out of the window and yelled, "jeetega bhai jeetega," and the crowd which was loitering screamed back, "India jeetega." At 11, that scene made a permanent impression in my mind.

I don't know the technicalities of the game too well, even today. I have only recently really understood what LBW actually means. If you ask me to identify various fielding positions, I will stare blankly at you. I don't have a host of cricket-related trivia at my fingertips the way half my Twitter timeline does.

What I do have are a host of memories. Emotions. Images. Sounds.

Sachin and Saurav beating Pakistan in their opening partnership itself, Sachin outshadowing Saurav with his century. No idea which year this was - is it the Sharjah one people keep going #youremember over?

The 1999 World Cup, where Sachin had to go back home midway and then returned to hit a century in his first match back. And Ganguly, my beloved, hitting 183 in Taunton.

Yuvraj and Kaif bursting out of nowhere at Lords. You remember Saurav for taking off his shirt, I remember the sheer jubilation on his face. For a team that had been shattered by all the match-fixing drama, wasn't this the beginning of the era when we started expecting our team to win? It was for me.

The despair of 23rd March, 2003. The boundary off the first ball of Zaheer's first over, and the carnage that followed. The faint ray of hope we got when the rain started - would we get another day to salvage this game? But no, we didn't. A billion hearts broke that day. Thoughts of the Economics board exam that was four days away took a flying leap from the window.

Pakistan's tour of India in 2005. Mahendra Singh Dhoni announcing his arrival, and how. The commentary I would listen to on the car radio, as I took Kyra to Jeevashram every day to be treated for renal failure. I'd pass the Rajokri village and see crowds gathered outside the mithai ka dukaan, all watching the tiny television in the shop.

The anger we felt in 2008 in that test against Australia. Anil Kumble's dignified press conference at the end of that horrid day. And the vindication when we won.

Is there any team we've disliked more than Australia? No one likes someone who has it all. Particularly when they display the kind of arrogance Australia has. So the match against South Africa, where they scored 434, and South Africa, bless them, responded with 438, was sheer joy to watch. I remember watching the highlights of that match. I knew what the outcome was going to be, but I still had goosebumps all through.

Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar. The first man to score a 200 in an ODI. I was in office that day, not really working, but refusing to leave till he got there. I cursed Cricinfo with all the plagues in the world, but forgave them two days later when Sambit Bal wrote that refreshingly honest apology.

The 2007 T20 World Cup, six months after the first-round exit from the main World Cup. I would stay up till 2 AM every night to watch those matches, pacing up and down in our basement. The shoot out style "Super Over" that took place when we tied with Pakistan, and how we rocked it. The final, oh sweet Lord, the final.

Despair, anger, jubilation, vindication, grief. I've felt it all the 15 years I've been following cricket. Heck, I've felt them all in the last month of following this World Cup. But we've made it this far. After a rocky start, we beat Australia in the quarter-finals, and Pakistan in the semi-finals. Both matches that had me with my heart in my mouth almost all through. And on Saturday, for the second time in my life, I'll see India play a World Cup final.

I don't like our captain; I think he's survived on luck more than anything else all these years. I'm not too fond of several of the players in this team, but they've redeemed themselves on several occasions, I'll grant them that. Some of the players I do like haven't been given the chance to play too much in the tournament. But none of this will matter on Saturday.

If you win on Saturday, dear Team India, this team will get immortalized by us forever. The despair we felt of 23rd March 2003 will get erased forever. I won't say win it for Sachin, like many others are saying. I won't say win it for the billion people in this country; we're too fickle in our affections to deserve that. We decide you've lost much before you lose, and occasionally also decide you've won before you actually win. We blame you, we victimize you, and then we forget we ever said anything to you when you win a match. And when I say we, I mean I.

Just... win it, okay? Please?