Winners!
TheBanyanTrees writing contest is over and winners have been announced. From 40 wonderfully creative entries, the editors and readers have chosen the winners.
Editors’ choice – Benjamin’s Home- Aditya Gupta
People’s choice (89 votes)- Shuffle – Nandita Lakshminarayanan
It was a close contest- with just one vote separating the winner from the runner-up. Runner-up prizes go to: I have a friend-Bhavya Balantrapu, Exploding Homes- Tobias Kroll and Uppity Downity- Suchitra Ramachandran.
Wait for the Special Contest Issue coming out on Sept 15!
Draupadi – Manasa
Illustration by Unnikrishnan
Shravana maasye Ekadesi, Budhawaaram (The 11th day of the Shravan month – mid August – a Wednesday)
Dear Kanha,
I am glad that when I was young I did not run away when I was taught to read and write. I must say that, that was not entirely without your influence too. I remember that I would always want to go outside and play with the animals or climb trees, but you would tell me to stay indoors and learn my lessons. You would read out stories and poetry to me. You would tell me stories of your travels and draw maps on the sand to get me interested in geography. You told me that it would come in useful some day. And indeed it has, for today I am able to write to you. I never thought that the day would come that you would be so far away that I have to write to tell you about my life.
I know that you are busy with a million people’s needs to satisfy – it is not for anything that they call you God. But I have nobody but you to pour my woes out to.
Don’t remind me about my five husbands, my mother-in-law, their cousins and that enormous extended family which is now supposedly mine. They are not mine nor am I theirs. I don’t feel like I belong here after all this time.
Let me start by telling you about everything that happened since you left our little hut back in Ekachakra, that was the name of the village where you left us.
We stayed there for a week at the most. My brother came to visit us every day. He would speak at length with Kunti-ma and leave. As you very well know, there was not much love lost between us, and so I did not want to see him at all. Once, Kunti-ma and Yud went back to the palace to meet my father. They were discussing about the ripe time to return to Hastinapur, though this is something I got to know after a long time. All my father cares is defeating Drona, his arch-rival. Now that he has not one, but five sons-in-law to do his bidding, the same boys who routed his own army not so long ago, I hear that he is a happy, happy man. His daughter, of course, is the pawn traded in the process.
Kanha, I may sound extremely bitter, but it is a situation, and I have decided to make the most out of what I have. I am angry that my life was traded over to further the political ambitions of my father and my husbands, but what can I do now? It is only to you that I open my heart to show how truly betrayed I feel. For it is one thing I decided on the first night I slept under their roof – that at no point will I show them anything that betrays fear or weakness in me.
We came to Hastinapur two weeks after my marriage. In those two weeks, I learned quite a bit about my new family, but when I came to Hastinapur, I realized that there was so much that I had not learnt. Everything seems new to me, strange and unchartered. Even I seem new to myself. Can you believe it, Kanha, that it has been six months since I have climbed a tree or watched the sunrise
One thing in my new home, it is not the five men who are important, not so much as my mother-in-law. The first morning after I came, I was sent to the market with Nakula and Sahadeva to buy vegetables. They had a list, which their mother had prepared, and some coins in their pouch, which Yud had rolled out for them. They do everything their mother asks them to – they even refuse to buy vegetables which are not in her list. Everything is answered by ‘Mother knows’. Kunti ma really holds the reins of the family.
But I must describe the market now. It was an amazing thoroughfare, Kanha, would you believe it if I said that I have never been to the market all my life? The people there did not know that I am the princess. I talked to them, and they were so really friendly. Just for a gag, the twins made me bargain at the butcher’s. They thought I would be terrible at it. To their surprise, I got a whole chicken for only three coins. I think I would make a very shrewd businesswoman. If only I could grow and sell vegetables and fruits for a living and not be a princess and a queen. But then I could not have married Arjuna, could I?
The living arrangements were decided once I came to Hastinapura. I would spend a year with each brother, and at the end of that I would live with the next brother. I am not sure why you even agreed to such a thing, Kanha, but I trust you – you would never do something that would not be good for me. So here I am, my first six months with Yud.
The first thing I noticed was the way he calls me. He calls me by my full name, ‘Draupadi’. Somehow I have never noticed my name when you used to call me by it, nor my nanny, but here, it sounds plain weird. I have never really noticed how hard my name sounds. Drau-pa-di. None of these people have asked me what my pet names at home were, and I have never told them the names Shakti-ma and you used to call me by. So to Kunti-ma and Yud, I am ‘Drau-pa-di’. Bhima, for some reason, wants to be different, and calls me ‘Panchali’ when his brothers are around, and ‘Maharani’ when he wants to tease me. I asked him why he calls me Panchali, and he says he likes my land more than he likes my father. Bhima only looks like a fool, but he is a clever man, isn’t he?
Yud does not like it if I am very friendly with his brothers. For all the talk of the Pandavas sticking together like glue, I think it is only an outward façade, the appearances of which are kept up more by the mother than the sons. Arjuna and Bhima, for example, are very close, as are the twins. Nakula and Sahadeva are Madri’s sons, and while no one refers to their parentage, there is a very subtle bias that I can’t help but notice.However Nakula is always absorbed in his music and food and clothes and scents to notice, and Sahadeva, though the youngest, strikes me as the wisest of the lot. No, I do not say this because he was the only one who took my side. He is as shrewd as he is silent. After Arjuna, I think I like him best of the Pandavas.
(You must not be shocked because I write so frankly to you, surely I am not telling you things that you do not already know of.)
But it is Yud that I have had the most chance to observe, because I have been living with him for six months now. And I must say, living with a man is very different from what I thought it would be. For one thing, I get so much lesser time to myself. The customs in Hastinapura are very different from those in Panchala – no one wakes up before the second hour after sunrise. They also don’t bathe in the mornings like we used to, but reserve bath times for the evenings. The clothes are worn in a very different style, at least the women’s clothes. They prefer to wear silk all the time, even when they are in their chambers, and wear it wrapped around their legs and arms in multiple folds, and not like a single robe like we used to. All this takes some getting used to.
Also, there are so many people to meet here, so many new faces to get used to. Each of them should be greeted in a different way according to their rank and seniority. That was one of the first things Yud taught me – what was construed as proper respect in the family and how to accord each of them what was due.
“We have to get our share from these people, but we cannot alienate them either,” he told me in his painstakingly patient way. “Some of these people have known us since we were children, they have reared us and brought us up, they are our teachers. No matter what how unfairly they have treated us, we have to follow the prescribed norms of respect with them.”
I nodded my head dutifully – imagine telling a girl things like this when she is nodding off with sleep – but tell me Kanha, if they treated the Pandavas unfairly, why should anyone be nice to them? When we first arrived in Hastinapura, announced that we were the Pandavas and alive, you should have seen Duryodhana’s face. He refused to receive us, and walked out of the room, with that sidekick of his that looks like a mongoose, Karna. Vidura-ji received us. Vidura-ji is perhaps the only genuine person I have met in the palace here. He spoke at length to Kunti-ma, and then to all my husbands who seem to respect him a lot. Then, he turned to me and smiled, such a warm affectionate smile, that I felt immediately at home. I was rather lost in the middle of all the reception rituals, that nobody noticed that it was not only the Pandavas who had arrived, but they had a new bride with them. Vidura-ji enquired after my health, my father and my kingdom, and said, “Daughter, don’t worry if everything seems new to you. I am sure you have the strength to handle it.” Everybody so far had complimented the strength and valour of my husbands, but he was the first person to acknowledge that I needed strength and tell me that I possessed it.
Then we were taken to meet the old blind kind, Duryodhana’s father, Dritharashtra. He said a few words of welcome, and touched all our heads in blessing. He seemed to try to mean what he said, but I am not sure whether he was being insincere, or just ashamed of his sons. Gandhari-ma, the queen, why, isn’t she beautiful, Kanha! Even with her eyes wrapped with cloth and her graying hair, she is still beautiful. She smiled and ran her fingers over my face.
Later that night I asked Yud about this – why was it that a couple like Dhritarashtra and Gandhari – born in good families and possessing beauty and grace and goodwill, why should they have such insanely jealous sons? Could they have not taken more care in the upbringing of their children, and taught them to discern right from wrong? Yud only said, “Do you think we are any better?”
Yud says he feels sorry for Duryodhana’s parents, and why, even Duryodhana’s brothers. He says that they are good people, but only led astray by Duryodhana’s arrogance. And he also says that Duryodhana’s arrogance is not the only thing at fault – “Arjuna and Bhima are equally headstrong,” he says. Why can’t Yud ever take a side? To him, people are never right or wrong, only circumstances are culprits. Didn’t the Kauravas just try setting fire to them, or was that all some kind of childish game too? Yud irritates me sometimes.
But he is very attentive to me if he wants to. Every night after the sun sets he takes me out somewhere, to a garden or to watch a play, or has some of the finest musicians in the palace playing for us. Else, we sit in the palace and he teaches me to play dice. He is rather fond of such games, though I am afraid he is not very good. But I cannot tell him so to his face without him getting all angry and stiffening up. The thing is his mother and brothers respect him a bit too much and have never told him that he was wrong. So, he cannot take criticism with grace, though he does not know it himself. Unfortunately, I am not able to respect him blindly, and often get irritated with him. I do not really know what to do about this. But at other times, Yud is so perfectly sweet, that it is not possible for me to be mad at him all the time.
I also got to meet Bhishmacharya, Kripacharya and Dronacharya, the gurus of the Pandavas and Kauravas. There is not much to say about them because they were just fearsome old men in their chambers and did not address a single word to me during the entirety of the conversation. I don’t think they talk to women much at all. Like a good wife, I kept standing behind Yud while he talked. They asked Yud how they had escaped from the fire. He replied, “By God’s grace and some good luck.” Very diplomatic of him, I thought, and they seemed to like it as well, for they smiled.
However, I was horrified when I actually got to know how they had escaped. They had dug a hole out of the palace which was set on fire, but they had drugged six other people and left them in the palace to burn so that the Kauravas could think they had died.
“But how could you? Why should you kill those people in the process?” I asked, horrified.
“That is what I meant by good luck. Sometimes, you’ve got to do what you have to do,” said Yud, calmly rolling his dice. Two blanks came up.
Kanha, to be perfectly honest, I am confused in this house. Like Gandhari and Dhritharashra I am blind and spinning on my heels, but while they are content to not see, I am discontented that I cannot see into these people around me.
The only person who seems steadfast and true in this place is Arjuna. While it is true that he has not spoken a word to me so far (I am his brother’s wife now, and not his own – a very confusing state of affairs, I admit) he does not involve himself in any of the palace gossip as well. He goes out early from what I hear, practices shooting, and returns late at night. He has dinner and goes out with Bhima to practice wrestling – Bhima always needs someone to pound. All he wants to do is shoot and that’s all he does.
Now I have to go, dear Kanha, for it is sunset and my husband would be here any minute. I feel so much like the little girl who used to swing on your shoulders, too young to have a husband, but would you believe me if I said I was going to have a child too? See, I reserved the best for last!
Much love from,
Draupadi
Seven vows of marriage
By Priya Venkat
It was a beautiful, romantic evening. I lost myself in the charm of lush green meadows as I was traveling by train from Trivandrum to Chennai. Just then, lively giggles and sweet nothings drifted across to my ears. My curiosity was awakened. I then decided to do something which might make straight laced mortals look down upon me – I eavesdropped!
A young couple on the other side of the aisle were embracing each other. Wow, now that was a spectacle! I could see that they belonged to the new generation of couples who believed in expressing love, even if it’s in public. Keeping a check on my judgmental tendency, I enjoyed their unabashed affection. I came to know that they were Naren and Vidya.
Moments later, after the bear hugs took respite, Vidya fished out an aromatic packet. My guess was… yummy vegetable briyani. Mmmmm….mouth watering. Suddenly something caught my attention. It was not home made food, unlike our moms’ elaborate preparation for a long train journey. It was food from a restaurant, evident from the packaging. So What??!! It was still food! A spoon in hand, and eyes springing with pyaar, she started feeding him. He relished his meal and cherished his paramour.
Full marks to the first vow of holy matrimony.
Their dinner over, they began to chat. And I fine tuned my fleshy receivers.
Naren narrated office stories. Unfortunately, it was more of a sob story than interesting gossip. Not what I expected. However suddenly the unexpected happened. She gave him a slap! A playful one though.
Then she said in her honey-soaked voice, “You duffer, as long as I am here, you don’t have to worry. I will stand by you. Share your problems with me without hesitation or delay.”
Shocked, my mind raced back to similar conversations between my parents. Dad spoke. Mom just listened, attentively though. No advice. No slaps. Silent, yet caring.Times have changed! Yet, love remains the same.
Second vow of marriage accomplished.
He continued, “Yes dear, thanks to you, I saved myself from making fatal financial mistakes.”
She replied, “Of course, what did you expect? Your money is my money. But my money is also my money.”
He burst out laughing. Eyes welling up in rapture, they were having a good time. So was I.
Flash back once again. Dad looked disturbed, even though he was sitting in his favorite easy chair. Mom read his mind, intuitively. She opened her secret piggy bank, walked up to dad and handed him her savings. Dad looked at her, tears rolling from his thankful eyes.
Cut to the present. Independent passbooks, but inter-dependent spending. Modern household, but traditional values. It was refreshing.
Third vow? Undoubtedly successful.
Interrupting my contemplation was sprightly laughter and cheerful screams. Kids!!!
On hearing their voices, Naren asked, “So when will you make me a father?”
Vidya teased, “Well, when you decide to take care of the potty stuff. I will handle peeing.”
He grumbled. But she was determined.
Then he responded, “Ok. But promise me that you will never ignore me for our kid, you know what mothers typically end up doing.”
She laughed and held his hands…in acceptance.
I know. You are now waiting for me to rewind to my memories. Am on it.
Deals were never struck. Things just happened. Mom cleaned us. Dad played with us.
Dad gave us a bath. Mom gave us food. When we argued with dad, mom always supported him. He was her priority! The wheels of time have changed marital equations. However, marital harmony remains undisturbed. Kudos to the young couple!
Fourth vow was fulfilled.
After a while, the young lad surprised his wife with a gift. She opened it hurriedly.
And shrieked in joy. It was a gold chain with a shining pendant. And the words ‘My Best Friend’ were etched on it. He put it around her neck. She cuddled up to him coyly.
I don’t remember dad gifting anything to mom. It was never expected either.
Yet, I knew that she was his best friend. Whenever I found him on his easy chair and she by his side, I knew they were not just talking, but sharing.
Expressed apparently or subtly, love is deep rooted. Good friendship begets a great life partner…then and now.
Cheers to the fifth vow!
At around 9 pm, Naren took out his laptop. Sharing the headphone ends, they watched the highlights of a cricket match (as I figured out from their conversation).
Suddenly she groaned, “Oh! That was a Jaffa!”.
Immediately he stared at her, astonished. Took off his headphones.
Guessing the reason for his bewilderment, she clarified triumphantly, “I’ve been reading up stuff on cricket”.
He exclaimed, “Wow! That’s my girl. You enjoy doing what I enjoy. Thanks a ton.”
By 10 pm they retired to their berths. Dutifully, he made the bed for her. He laid layers of sheets and tucked them under and then placed a soft pillow. Once she laid down on it, he knelt by her, caressed her cheeks, kissed her goodnight and tenderly swayed his hands over her eyes. They closed. Peace reigned.
Dad never allowed us to watch TV after 9 pm. It was mom’s turn to handle the remote.
He gazed at her, treasuring her child-like innocence as she lost herself in the world of mega serials. Peace reigned then too.
Sixth vow?? Well, you know better by now, don’t you?
On reaching our destination, I stood on the platform admiring Naren and Vidya as they walked away, hand in hand. But they left behind an un-uttered assurance that they will live happily for ever and ever. United emotionally, spiritually, physically.
Seventh vow completes this story.
Dude, where is my coffee? – DreamVendor
7 tips for your trip
Are you one of those frequent or long distance travelers hopping from one airport to another like a frog on a rainy evening before you reach your final destination? Here are seven tips for you to kill time during a layover, short or long.
1. Show faces
Security cameras! They are there everywhere in an airport. Places you can obviously see and places you wouldn’t imagine it to be. This is one of my favorite things to pass the time. As I settle down with my coffee in hand and cabin bag by the side, I roll my eyes in a not-so-obvious fashion, all over the ceiling, the pillars, the walls, everywhere trying to spot that black dome which holds the video camera within. Nook and crannies. Above. To the side. Behind. They are there everywhere, just that we don’t get to notice it. It is fun to spot them. Try it, if you haven’t. Say cheese. Swear.
Be creative. Show faces.
2. Be strange
Airports are full of strangers and, most often, strange people. An airport is a place where the world collides and people from all over come in and go out (of course). Some are stranded, some are grounded, some are still drunk on free liquor on board, most are sane, some are jet-lagged, some are plain stupid. Watch them. People watching is one of the best things to do to kill time. Each one carries a story behind them. If you can’t figure it out, just imagine it. All the more fun. If you are super bored, try talking to a few estranged ones. Their strangeness may rub off on you or, still worse, you could have an impact on them. Either ways, doing strange things with strangers in a strange time zone is often a great way to pass the time.
Be creative. Be strange.
3. Appreciate sophistication
Even if your transit or layover is just over an hour, take a break. Each airport has its own architecture, eat-outs, coffee shops, book stores, duty-free shops, terminals, etc. Competitive world it is. Uniqueness. So are the restrooms. Never hesitate to go into one. Sometimes there is a annoying queue outside the loo, but worth the try! The interior differs from one airport to another. Sometimes the sophistication is beyond words. There could be a picture of a fly in your urinal. There could be designer pots. There could be faucets that you never know how to open and, most often, how to close. It is a wonderful land in there.
Be creative. Appreciate sophistication.
4. Shop for free (not really)
Duty-free shops in International airports are a great way to kill time. A great place to window shop sans the real window. Have you just got off a 12 hours flight and have no time for a shower before your next 5 plus hours journey? Walk into the perfume/cologne section and splurge all you can with the samples. Travel in style for the rest of your journey. You can’t do the same with chocolates. Tch tch. Too bad. But for all you know, you might bump into something really cool for a lesser price. So walk through every rack and row of the shop. Look for local products and “I love
Be creative. Shop for free.
5. Be Joe
Each International airport has at least half a dozen coffee shops. It could be their local favorite and/or International chain such as Starbucks. Skip Starbucks. Try the local favorite if they have one. Let the person behind the counter decide the flavor for you. This is not as good as a local guy/girl doing it for you in the streets of the country you are traveling through, but at least you have the opportunity to be local without stepping out of the airport. Tell them your preference and allow the guy/girl at the coffee shop to make you one. Mostly it works and you might like it. If not, suck it up and get on the flight to drink the one they serve on board. Which is better?
Be creative. Be Joe.
6. Stalk ‘em!
Do you have a friend in the country you are transiting? Be nice. Give them a call from the local pay phone at the airport. Some airports give you one minute of free local call. That one minute is worth it. You don’t have a friend but just an enemy? You can cuss all you want in one minute. That works just right. Neither? Then log onto facebook/orkut. Some airports have free Wifi. Some have paid. Find an acquaintance in that country who you have never talked to. Someone who added you because they think you are cute or weird. Hit them up. Stalk them. Get their number and call them. Ah! The joy of being nice!
Be creative. Stalk ‘em!
7. Click! Pose!
Most of the International airports are becoming famous for their architecture, infrastructure and world-class facilities that they offer to the travelers. Taking photographs in an airport is not restricted in most of the airports I have been to. If you are sure that you are allowed to take pictures, go ahead. Be a model. If you are traveling in a group, good for you. Ask the others to take your pic anywhere and everywhere. If you are traveling alone, stalk someone to take a pic of you by that pillar, outside Starbucks, inside a duty-free shop next to a new gadget, besides a water fountain and a dead fish, beneath a colorful canopy that sprays water, or next to a mascot holding its dirty hand. There was this guy at Amsterdam airport during Christmas who stalked people to take pictures of him next to a massive Christmas tree which had small monitors instead of stars and few other Christmas-y adornments. That guy was me. Hallelujah.
Be creative. Pose!
The Other Son of Ganges – Matangi Mawley
Part 3. In a new world…
He also promised her, that he would come back to her. One day. Some day. And he felt her hand pat his feet, gently. His mother let him go…
It all began with water…
Maybe this was why people came to the city. The buildings were so tall that Shravan felt that they could almost touch the sky! Growing up in Kashi, he had never seen anything like this before. He needed two more eyes to see everything.
There were colors in Kashi. Saffron, turmeric, red and gold all around. Shravan was tired of colors. But here, it was white, or black or just grey. He felt better. His eyes needed a break from all the colors. Kashi was a destination. An end. But the city- was a beginning. There was life here. A never-ending rush, a craze to live. There was pulse. And no one here paused to see the next person beside themselves on the road- walking alongside. Shravan felt his space too, as he tried to take in the city around him. He too was infected by the life around. He felt as though it was in his dreams that he was “living”. The fire and pyre of Kashi, was moving away from his mind. They were now- a faded painting…
He wandered on those roads- his eyes, finally getting tired of the things around- could take in no further. His leg carried his dead weight, but it could go on no farther. He soon began to realize that the sun in the city was different from the one back home. It had no sympathy for the weary traveler on the road. Maybe this was why the city moved fast. Maybe this was why the city never got tired! But Shravan was not used to the sun yet. He was hungry, but had no money. He soon found out that people of the big city did not believe in charity.
He lay there for how long, he knew not. He did not remember it. People told him about it later.
He felt the boot kick his ribs. But he had no strength to open his eyes and see who it was. There were strange voices. Suddenly, he felt being lifted off the ground. He was swinging. His hands bearing his weight. He knew not when his body would drop off his hands. He was dead. But no. This was not death. He came from a place where people knew most about death. Death could not be it. Or did people think that he was dead? He could not let this happen to him..
He mustered up all the strength left in him- and let out a moan of help. There were voices again. He felt that now, he was being taken to a different place.
The city was a fair judge. Here, life presented itself- only when one seeks it. There were people, back home, who disliked the city. They did not like the speed- the colors,or the lack of it , the life in there. But they were the ones who did not understand the life or living. This was a place, Shravan thought, where the dead have to prove their death and the living- their living. Else, they were all the same. The city, welcomed him.
There was water, once more…
The sudden chill of disgust and anger! The water slapped him hard. But it gave him strength. Water, he knew, was always with him. But he could not stop wondering that even the water in the city was so different! His mother, though had the strength and power to overturn the the entire city was gentle. She had so much love in her. May be that was why, she was Mother Ganga! But the city- it changes everything. The water of the city, Shravan smiled to himself, felt like his step-mother!
He opened his eyes, slowly. Things were a nebulous wreck in the beginning. But they were coming back to him. The streets- the strangers- the buildings… The police station.
(..To be continued., Part 4: “His death…”)
The Seven Swaras
In the heart of Nature, God dropped a beautiful gift,
And into our lives, let its aura unfold,
A marvel of seven pearls to delight our souls
And “music” it was called.
Seven strings woven in complex ways,
And yet resonating in perfect harmony,
Seven colors combined in myriad shades,
Blend so beautifully in a mellifluous symphony.
The lilting voice of a playback singer,
Or the potent flourish of classical notes,
The relaxing softness of a lullaby
Or the peppy rhythm of a colorful folk song.
The sweet ripples of the flute,
The intricate fine tones of the violin,
The tingling waves of the jal-tarang,
The mesmerizing melody of the mandolin.
Sweet music imparts relief and calm,
To our worries is a soothing balm,
Music can heal, music can cure,
It’s a magic spell that can attract and allure.
Music can unite hearts,
Imbibe a special feeling of joy that penetrates
Stress, anxiety, anger are all tempered,
Where the sound of music reverberates.
Enjoy the lively tempo,
Let your hands clap,
Feel the irresistible beats,
Let your feet tap.
Like a drop of water
To a parched mouth,
Like a cool breeze
On a hot sultry day,
Feel the bliss,
Feel the comfort,
That sweet music brings,
Whether you hear, sing, whistle or play.
And even when all’s quiet, no one’s singing,
No drums being tapped, nothing to hear,
You can still feel the sounds ringing
In your head, it plays loud and clear.
An old melody that you love,
Or a song you got hooked on to just yesterday,
The brain can hum them back merrily
And stun you in its own wondrous way.
Music is a science,
An organized composition of its seven elements,
But it’s also an art, a skill,
Of creative, imaginative figments.
Music is a language,
A channel to express emotions,
Music is a way of worship,
To reveal the mind’s pure devotion.
Music transcends you from reality,
Into a tranquil heavenly world,
Of ecstasy and pleasure immense,
A divine experience unfurled.
Become one with the sea of music,
Immerse yourself in it,
Feel its sweet nectar sink into your veins,
Taste and absorb every bit.
o Shweta Krishnan.
FIFA World Cup -After Thoughts
Last Sunday brought down the curtains on the FIFA world cup, crowning the new champions of the world and leaving several broken hearts in the process. The sheer magic and drama that unfolded over the last month proved yet again why this is deservedly called the biggest sporting event on Earth. I could never understand the reason why football (or soccer as called in US) is so intriguing for us Indians. We have absolutely no history in it, we have never been to the world cup, we have never even been ranked within the top 100 in FIFA rankings and I don’t think that anything is going to change in the near distant future. And in spite of this, world cup is no less of a party for us than the other 32 nations in the world taking part in it.
Just before the start of the tournament I had my bracket ready on ESPN, which I am now too embarrassed to disclose, along with a bunch of my Indian friends who were equally punctual about filling it up in advance. Throughout the FIFA month I had “no meetings” on my calendar until 9am everyday and from 11am – 1pm; my manager smiled at me on seeing my calendar and later on I spotted him on the internal world cup company mailing list. Besides blatantly abusing the super fast Internet and a few TV screens at my company, I saw matches in an open public park and in pubs with Brazilian, German, Spanish and Dutch crowd. Yeah, you might be questioning where my loyalties are, but actually, I couldnt care less. I was counting on Spain winning the tournament and had already given them the top spot in my bracket, but I just love watching the game. And I believe so is the case with my fellow Indians.
Have you ever wondered why is football so popular? What is so intriguing in the game that makes millions of hearts beat? I was discussing this with one of my friends and he had a very simple answer for it “Football is simple.” After one more beer, I agreed! The beauty of the game is that it is free of any complexity. It has rules that can be literally counted on fingertips. In spite of all this technology growth, it has not changed much since the inception of the game. The whole game happens at blitzkrieg speed; a blink of an eye and you might have missed a magical moment unfold on the field. There are no extended time outs or breaks and the whole thing is done within a span of two hours. It is less strategic than NFL and less physical than rugby, but the unique blend of both makes it an astonishing sport to watch. Enough of my blabbering; let us go back to the world cup.
First of all, hats off to South Africa. While watching the games, at no time I could have guessed that this is happening in any other place than on European soil; the quality of the ground and the stadium was absolutely world class. It is really astonishing how small places like Beijing and South Africa have really came on top when they were given a wonderful opportunity to showcase in front of the whole world. And then is the Vuvuzela. It is both fun and annoying, depends on whether your team is winning or loosing. And perhaps the most lasting legacy of South Africans to the world of sports.
With all that hype and craze about it, the cup start was an anticlimax. Only a total of 26 goals were made in the first round. Reporters all over the world were quick to jump on the bandwagon and started calling it the most uninteresting world cup ever. Some people started blaming the ball, some the cold climate and some even the conservative defensive play of lower ranked teams. I don’t think any of this was the primary reason for this. The simple explanation is lack of any team chemistry. Unfortunately, besides the world cup national team players seldom play together. Their schedule is packed with all the club tournaments happening all over the world. They suddenly have to start playing at potentially new positions and with complete strangers. They have to learn new tactics and set pieces, simultaneously unlearning a lot of this stuff from their respective club teams, in a span of a month. It takes time for these players to gel together and as was evident from the second round onwards, football started to flow more naturally and goals started to come at a healthy rate.
Group stages had a number of surprises with Spain and Germany loosing to Switzerland and Serbia respectively and the disappointing performance of African powerhouses – Nigeria and Cameroon, but the shocker was the early exit of Italy and France. Although we are talking about two defending champions, a closer look at their more recent performances will indicate that this was not really that big a surprise. It is debatable whether France actually deserved to in the tournament. Henry had an illegal goal in their last qualifying goal with Ireland, and that became the only thing separating between the two teams. All Irish pubs in SF were offering free shots if somebody scored a goal against France in the world cup; now this is the type of promotion I love. Besides the world cup, UEFA is the biggest football tournament; it is the competition between all clubs in Europe. The most prestigious club in Italy, AC Milan won the tournament this year. You know how many Italians were there in the playing 11. Exactly zero. That is the sorry state of Italian football today.
I actually don’t think there were any surprises in the knock out stages. One of the best game was Germany vs England. Germany clearly demonstrated their new age counter-attacking opportunistic football strategies. They scored four goals with 40% possession in the game. Many might call this an upset, but England was not a great team to start with. They are overhyped and the fanatic hooligans think much more of their team than it actually is. US loss to Ghana was disappointment for the Americans, but Ghana was definitely a superior team. Although US topped its group, I would say they underachieved in this world cup. There was not a single convincing victory, not even against Algeria, and if Green hadn’t botched a ball that even a high school keeper can handle, Americans won’t be even in the knock out stages. The best match up in quarterfinals was Brazil taking on the dutch. I watched the game in a Brazilian pub in SF and the samba started just after 10 minutes with Robinho converting a picture perfect pass from Lucio. I am not sure what Brazilians had during the half time, but they played as sloppy as one can play in the second half. A self goal and a beautiful header from sneijder sealed the Brazilian fate and a Netherlands date with Uruguay in the semi finals. Uruguay game with Ghana produced one of the most melodramatic moment of the tournament. After literally being in a dogfight for the whole 90 minutes and then the extra 30 minutes, Ghana got a golden opportunity in the last minute corner. A header from Ghana striker dodged the goalkeeper and was on its way to the goal, when Suarez swatted away the ball at goal line. He was given a red card and Ghana was awarded a penalty kick. Unfortunately, Gyan, who produced a gem of a goal againt US, missed the kick and eventually Ghana lost in the penalty shoot out. Suarez became a hero in Uruguay and the biggest villain for rest of the world. Many folks designated his instinctive act as cheating and unsportsman like. I think Suarez action was well within the rules and he got rightfully punished for it, nothing more. I do not understand how it is any different from a situation when the goalkeeper in a 1:1 scenario with the other team’s player often brings him down to avoid the obvious goal and give away the penalty kick. The last game, which was supposed to be a cracker of a game was completely one sided. Germany literally mauled Argentina, again scoring four goals with Klose scoring twice. I consider Klose to the be the biggest overachiever of this era; he has 14 world cup goals and is tied for the second most ever! To his credit, he is always at the right place at the right time to dab the ball in an open goal. Who would have predicted at the start that there will only be one South American team in the semifinals and it will not be Brazil or Argentina.
As expected, it turned out to be a one-sided game with Dutch coming on the top. However, it produced two most fabulous goals in the tournament and it was fitting that each was an amazing piece of individual magic from the two captains – Giovanni and Forlorn. The other semifinal was a cracker of a game – the new age counter-attacking German football against the beautiful Spanish flair. The game went as expected with Spain hogging the football in midfield. Germans had the same 40% possession as they had in the games against England and Argentina. But unlike any other team, Spanish defenders were able to match them in speed, completely neutralizing their counter attacking football. The final scoreline was 1-0 in favour of spain. The goal credit went unexpectedly to the central defender, Puyol.
So finals were set – Netherlands against Spain and with a lot of back story. We were guaranteed to have a new world cup winner and also the first for a European team to do it outside the European soil. The two biggest underachievers of world cup football were given the opportunity to remove this unwanted tag from their name. But before that was the third place game between Uruguay and Germany. Before the game, I mentioned to my friend, why the hell they have a third place game? Who watches this and what is its significance? Oh well, they proved me so wrong. It was hell of a game; literally a dog fight between them to get the third place. I got the answer to my “who cares” like a smack on my face. Germany won 3-2 but the highlight of the game was a cracker of a goal by Forlorn, undoubtedly the best player of the tournament. So the moment of truth arrived with me and my friend, both staunch Spanish supporters, reaching a pub to watch the game hoping that finally our jinx will be broken. Spanish style of play is to grind the opponents. They simply hog over the midfield with their small accurate passes, completely frustrating the opponents. Sooner or later, the opponents give in, and their forward line of Villa, Igneista and Ramos is simply too good to make full use of these opportunities. Perhaps this will give you a good idea about their style: Xavi, their central midfielder is averaging 80+ successful passes in this tournament. Dutch knew they had to counter this somehow, and they opted for physical ugly play. Right from the start they started aggressively tackling the Spanish midfielders; at the end they had 8 players booked and 10 players on the field. Overall, a total of 13 yellow cards were given in the game, a FIFA world cup final record. To their credit, they were indeed able to block the passing lanes and Spanish players looked completely out of their rhythm. There were golden opportunities at both the ends: Fabregas and Robben both just had to beat the goalkeeper, but in both the cases the goalkeepers came on top. Game went in overtime and a masterful strike from Igneista made all the Spanish crowd throughout the world go in a wild frenzy. In the end the better team on the day and undoubtedly the best team in the tournament won the cup. Spain also accomplished a rare double; they also won Euro in 2008. The fact that they did it without their start striker, Torres, simply shows the incredible depth in their team. For Netherlands, the curse continues; this becoming their third defeat in the finals. Forlorn got the golden ball as the best player and Muller the golden boot for scoring the most goals.
The tournament had its usual share of controversial umpiring decisions – missed goals, missed offsides, too harsh fouls, etc. Overall, I though they did an incredible job. In 64 games, they are bound to miss a few, but I don’t think any one was critical enough to change the dynamics of the complete tournament. Yes, they can get technical help in making decisions on the goal line, but at no other place should we pollute the game with technology. I think offsides and fouls are the integral part of the game; replacing human beings with technology at that place would totally kill the natural flow and simplicity of football.
My final kudos to ESPN. It was simply a masterful job of covering the world cup. Not only every single game was broadcast live both on the Internet and the idiot box, but they were also able to get an excellent set of commentators and an amazing panel to discuss the nuances of the game. NBC, please take a crash course with ESPN as to how do you cover a sporting event; the Wimbledon debacle was simply atrocious. If you do not plan to show the matches live, please don’t spend money on getting the rights. Nobody watches tape recordings. Before the world cup started, I was debating with one of my friends that UEFA champions league is the best football sporting event because it gives an opportunity to gather all talent in a single team without any borders and therefore the quality of the game is much more superior. I might perhaps be right in the quality assessment but I was absolutely wrong in designating it at a higher level than the world cup. Emotions and self pride rather than money is the motivating factor in the world cup and it simply brings the best of everyone involved. World cup also proved how big a team sport it is; none of the best 5 players in the world today – Messi, Kaka, Ronaldo, Ronney and Drogba could take their respective teams beyond the quarterfinal stages. The last month has been nothing less than a carnival for me; I was permanently glued to the television following the game, than the highlights and than the replay of the same game. The party goes to Rio in four years. At the start of the Brazil – Netherlands game, I asked a Brazilian sitting next to me, “What if Brazil wins ?” He replied, “We party.” I asked “What if they lose ?”. He replied, ‘We party harder !” This is just a preview of whats gonna happen in the next world cup.
Be there; I know I will !
Saurabh Ganeriwal
Photo credits:
http://gi342.photobucket.com/groups/o418/P48BQALESZ/2010_fifa_world_cup_south_africa_10.jpg
http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1996113_2164118,00.html
http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/06/halfway_in_-_2010_world_cup.html
TheBanyanTrees Contest!
Can’t wait? Neither can we. Here are the rules:
What exactly is the theme?
What does ‘Home’ mean to you? Is it your roots? Is it where you are from? Is it the different places life has taken you? Is it the journey itself? Or is it just a place you stay right now? Send in a story, a short writing or even a poem that revolves around this theme. Let us know what ‘Home’ means to you or your fictional character.
Okay, I think I may have some talent- what do I do?
1. Write your story in your blog
2. Send an email to editor@thebanyantrees.com with a link to your blog post
3. Add a link on your blog post to www.thebanyantrees.com
I don’t really blog. I use Facebook Notes instead.
No problem. Just make sure you tag TheBanyanTrees page to your note. We’ll come find you.
Hold on, I don’t have a blog and I don’t care for facebook.
You should seriously think about getting a blog at least – it will attract more readers and your stories would never get lost. Otherwise, simply send your story in an email to the editor@thebanyantrees.com
So who’s judging?
This is the fun part, for us at least. TheBanyanTree’s three editors will first short-list entries. These entries will be put up on our website & on Facebook to gauge popularity and appeal to our readers & fans (through polls, for example). So the winning entry will be the one with both critical & mass appeal. Like I said, fun!
My stories never end. I could go on & on & on…
Okay, we’d really appreciate stories that are short and sweet. Say 1000 words (give or take a few). If you are thinking of an epic saga, hold on for another competition this year, or may be you could make your story more concise.
So what’s in it for me?
Well, besides the opportunity to be promoted on social networking spheres, the winner gets a gift card at Amazon.com or Landmark, India worth $30 (over Rs. 1000). 5 popular entries will receive complimentary ‘The Banyan Trees’ T-shirts.
I can’t complete something till you put a gun on my head…
Ok how about an August 15th deadline for your submission? We will announce the winner at the end of August on our website. FYI, we will take all blog comments and facebook votes made before August 28th into consideration.
The Mystery Continues – June Issue
We were thrilled with the May issue of “Dial M for Mystery” . Apart from the alliteration, we were excited about the entries we got and published. What more, some of them were even two part stories. We are letting the excitement continue for June by continuing the Mystery series.
Keep the sleuthing cap on while another serving of Mystery comes right up!
A big shout out to Karthik , who volunteered to help us with the design of the magazine!
The June theme articles are :
Unravelling A Riddle - Adithya Shrikrishna
Nobody’s Murder - Nivethitha Kumar
Who Dunnit? The Science Of Solving a Mystery – Dhivya Arasappan
Two Beans in a Pod – Arul Sirpy
The Reel Thrill – Aruni Bhattacharya
Photography - Dharini Sundaram
the Other Son of Ganges – Part 2 Matangi Mawley
Creative Writing Workshop
So It Begins – Football Worldcup – Karthik Balasubramanian
Beauty,Beast and A Murder – Anuradha Chandrasekaran
Unravelling A Riddle
Aditya Srikrishna
Mysteries have always been made for fascinating viewing. Alfred Hitchcok, the most influential of them all made a whole career out of them. But with a theme that is often repeated, it’s easy to go haywire and spoil the larger canvas. We see that happening to almost every mystery/thriller flick coming out of India. A murder mystery needs stellar writing and tremendous hold on the proceedings as part of the director to see it through and quite literally, thrill the audience.
That is the reason why traditional whodunnits always score. There are murders and psychopathic first acts followed by the crime scene events, investigation, bureaucracy (in a more thought out story) and ultimately the resolution – the killer convicted. Here you have some set pieces to have the audience constantly interested which when overdone can lead to a migraine. The only takeaway would be the denouement. But what if it’s a true story – a spine chilling one at that – that the world has seen and followed over decades of investigation? More importantly, decades of investigation that haven’t ended. A story where you don’t have the high point of the ultimate denouement. How do you hold the audience interest there? Well, for starters, by stellar film making.
Zodiac(2007), directed by David Fincher, based on Robert Graysmith’s bestseller, is one such example of excellent film making. Zodiac is about the hunt for the eponymous serial killer who committed gruesome murders in and around the Bay area in California between the late 1960s and early 1970s. The murders spanned a large area in the state of California with police departments of several counties involved in simultaneous investigation. The Zodiac serial killer was known for his audacity with the investigative authorities and newspaper reporters, constantly sending letters and cryptic texts to them. The case is known to have been closed and reopened repeatedly over the years and to this date remains an unsolved crime in California.
The beauty of the film is in the way it is structured, constantly maintaining a murky undertone much like the ordeal the police officials and newspaper reporters go through with the case. The whodunnit recipe is rendered useless here as the audience already know that there is going to be no closure. There is no rug underneath to pull in a story like this one. The props are all within the investigation and how the whole things ties together. It’s not about who the serial killer is but about how the investigators piece the things together while holding their senses in a case as baffling as Zodiac’s. And some of the characters don’t succeed in it either. There are characters that lose their calm and there are characters whose convictions are tested.
The film starts out slow showing us the second killing in detail. This is the point where the investigators begin to take Zodiac seriously as he repeats his gruesome attacks. Paul Avery(Robert Downey Jr.), a San Francisco Chronicle crime reporter receives letters and ciphers from the Zodiac. Robert Graysmith (Jack Gylenhall) is a cartoonist in the same newspaper who shows interest in the ciphers and ends up solving it and guessing the Zodiac’s actions when they start to take him seriously. As the clues start unraveling and a determined set of investigators David Toschi (Mark Ruffalo) and Bill Armstrong (Anthony Edwards) try to nail Zodiac, we are sucked in by the sheer realism of it all. A perceived multidimensional feeling develops as we imagine ourselves being involved in the investigation. There are moments of triumph when clues are unearthed and suspects are discovered.
As the investigators hit a roadblock and Paul Avery becomes paranoid eventually turning to alcohol, the film seemingly loses pace. The effect is only seemingly because the film moves as gradually as ever but the case does not. The clues lead to no comprehensive answer, the suspects remain suspects by nothing more than circumstantial evidence and we feel the frustration of David Toschi, Paul Avery and Robert Graysmith. Toschi, wonderfully portrayed by a restrained Mark Ruffalo, is falsely implicated of forging a Zodiac letter and removed from the case. All the characters move on except for Robert Graysmith.
Graysmith gets access to police departments of other counties where the murders have taken place and he tries to put together all the information from them for his book on Zodiac. He also talks to the suspects, friends of victims etc. and is further motivated by phone calls, allegedly from Zodiac himself, where he hears nothing but heavy breathing. This is the point where nothing makes sense to us because nothing makes sense to Robert Graysmith. As he obsesses with the case, he loses his family but is endearingly ordered by his wife to finish the book. Graysmith has no hopes of a conviction for the Zodiac killer. All he says is he wants is to know who Zodiac is and look into his eyes.
If Paul Avery is unable to handle the pressure and paranoia as Zodiac’s go-to reporter, David Toschi as the San Francisco detective grows tired of the case and wants out by any means. Graysmith, left all alone in the end, has little to lose and goes on with the case. The way the film is written, as a journey for the audience over decades, through the minds of several people is what makes the film interesting and an unmatched masterpiece. When Graysmith meets up with Toschi one last time and succeeds in convincing the detective of his investigations, Toschi says just two words. The same two words linger in our minds after the movie – “Jesus Christ.”
