Bolt bolts fine enough in 100m
21-year-old Jamaican Usain Bolt is the new 100m sprint world record holder. What a magical night. How freeing to watch this tall sleek man glide through the track at half the effort of the rest of the field. No grimacing, no straining of sinews and wills fighting air resistance in the quest to be known as the fastest human in the world. Bolt only ran. And made sprint look like a jog on the beach. The world agrees that he has to be from another planet. At the least, Bolt did not run like a human. All the more reason to celebrate his naiveity; To celebrate the fact that this young man wanted nothing to do with times and records and aimed only to be champion. For it showed him up to be human after all. Bolt had run his race so effortlessly that he began celebrating his win 20m from the finish. The thump on his Jamaican jersey, the exhortation to the crowd to salute the fastest man in history, the mad jig after his victory – track could not have asked for a better man on its big night on the biggest arena of it all. Hopefully, Bolt’s glee at being champion will do more to inspire thousands of youngsters around the world to feel the wind in their hair. And maybe encourage a lot of us jaded ones to go for a run when life’s weaves get too complicated.
For bringing innocence back to the simplest of all games, for bringing joy to a million hearts watching him that night and later, for making us believe in fallible yet perfect legends and for instilling faith, here’s a salute to Bolt.
One man’s merry flight could yet launch a hundred dreams in my country. For Bolt has shown, faith and hope are not as ephemeral as we sometimes believe.
Oh and bring on the chicken nuggets! Which dolt says I cannot have nuggets and run like Bolt?(Unwittingly, Bolt might just be the new role model for anorexic couch potatoes.)
Olympic Gold Lustre for India, Finally!!!
25-year-old Abhinav Bindra cracked the Olympic Gold puzzle for India becoming the first Indian to win an individual gold medal at the Olympics. Though India has won eight hockey golds at the world's largest sporting regatta, it only has a handful of individual medals: bronze for Leander Paes (1996), K Jadhav (1952); Karnam Malleshwari (2000) and silver for Rajyavardhan Singh Rathore (2004).
Bindra, who looked in shock, during the presentation ceremony, later quipped, "It doesn't get better than this, does it?". He can afford to joke now, 4 years after being savaged for failing to fulfill the promise he showed as a child prodigy. Though he created a new world record at the 2004 Athens Olympics, people chose to judge him on his failure to win a medal. Such was the extent of expectations from this bespectacled soft-spoken youngster who won the Rajiv Gandhi Khel Ratna in 2002 and the Arjuna Award in 2001.
This youngster has an entrepreneurial head on his shoulders: Bindra is the CEO of Abhinav Futuristics, a PC games peripherals distributor based in Chandigarh.
There will be a lot of people who will now claim to have had a hand in fashioning the young man's success. But this Olympic Gold is Abhinav's and his alone. Cherish it, young man! Today, you are the toast of a nation hungry for sporting success. May we talk of you long into the years.
An Old Nugget:
The summer of '96 will leave behind it quite a few broken hearts, lots of beer cans and some unique selling propositions for the Tourism Department - Utpal Chatterjee. So, you too have been grumbling about the heat, have you? Bless you, then, for not being all that much of an odd-ball. After all, how many are there who can take 40 degrees C and more - day in and day out, experience all the drudgeries of a chicken being constantly grilled over a tandoor and still manage to retain one's senses?
In fact, like so many others who never cease to gush and sigh about the ascending mercury levels, one can perhaps take adequate pride in being part of history in the making. In being known someday, with a little bit of luck "as one of the greatest survivors of '96".
Looking back, this story is remarkable. For me, that was the year when my teenage self began recognising the changing patterns of weather. Little variations to be sure but not so subtle to be missed. 12 years hence, this writer will probably concur with me in dividing recognised climate patterns to pre- and post-96 eras, at least in my context.
But the hysterical rant about our desperate hunger fuelling the decadent destruction of the Earth belongs to another post.
FLASHBACK: Because I am in the mood :) Also A Prologue.
Birthdays. A celebration of new beginnings and a time of thanksgiving. Its a day when we recall a year's worth of achievements and regrets. For me, thanksgiving falls as winter slowly but inexcorably sets in. November is when mornings begin to crackle and we dream of evenings spent with a cup of hot tea and an engaging story. November heralds the time of year when my spirit boasts of being unbeatable. I am not a finisher; therefore the setting of the year is a time to anticipate new adventures.
In this context, the last day of October happens to be a favourite. 31 October 2007 began as any other last day of that month to me.
I was a larvae about to glide out of my cocoon; a ship looking forward to a delicious blue sea; a cross batted shot destined for the boundary (all ye cricket lovers :P); an Akramesque yorker hitting middle stump (more for the colonial cousins); a Rhodesian dive for a deciding catch. But that pesky fate paid me a visit: A spray withered my cocoon; a storm lashed my harbour; my perfect shot nestled in gleeful hands; my yorker met a stubborn bat and my Rhodesian catch turned into a Gibbs.
I sit with my fingers holding a pen close. I want to write something. Anything.
I want to write about my current obsession with an unseen television programme. I want to write about the messy puddly road in front of my apartment. I want to write a rant about the well-chronicled callousness of elected representatives. I want to bemoan the sore state of infrastructure; or rather its lack therefore; in my hometown. I want to expostulate on the on-going carelessness and apathy towards our planet and its environment.
I want to write a paen to the soft-spoken King of grasscourt: Roger Federer. I want to pay a homage to the will and wiles of a man called Kumble. I want to salute the bravery of Imran Mirza, an Indian middle-class Muslim father who dared to dream big for his daughter. I want to debate the subtle art of gestures, glances and pauses. I want to wallow in the experience of varied colours and flavours.
I want to write about the magic of words; how words can build whole kingdoms and worlds. I want to write about the slow seduction of words; about the powerful imagery they weave. I want to bow in front of an altar to Tolkien, Asimov and Stephen King.
I want to learn how only words can undo the spell of words.
My thoughts fly across the myraid seas to ride the waves as they fight the moon's temptation. But my hand is still poised over a plain sheet of paper.
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