Not today

One day, it might be the simplest thing 
that will feel like the hardest part; 
You won't have time to finish, 
and so you might be loath to start; 
You’ll dig up your old medals, and hold them to your heart. 
Not today, though. Not today. 

One day, you might be too scared to play 
because you’re so consumed by the score; 
The road may seem impassable, 
so you might dither by the door; 
Your body may win the odd battle, but gravity will win the war. 
Not today, though. Not today. 

One day, memories are all you'll have, 
Random, musty snapshots of the sepia kind; 
Nostalgia might go from a guilty pleasure, 
to a permanent state of mind; 
Your loan application for the future, will come back politely declined. 
Not today, though. Not today.

One day, you might wake up and realise- 
that the end seems impossibly near, 
you might try and sing your loudest, 
but like smoke rings, the words seem to disappear; 
and in that moment you might linger, just you and your fear. 
Not today, though. Not today. 
Not today, though. Not today.

Menstrual Man

So today I came across the inspirational story of India's Arunachalam Muruganantham, aka 'Menstrual Man'. A true modern-day hero. 

Please take a few moments to read the full article here.

Arunachalam also figures in a new book by Rashmi Bansal titled 'Take Me Home' which profiles 20 entrepreneurs from small-town India who have built successful businesses in their own backyards (in a manner of speaking). The section on him, aptly titled 'Mad Men' is most definitely my favourite. 

Not least because Arunachalam, in his own incredibly charming and self-effacing way, says things like this: I have many friends who are buying Boleros and Scorpios, wearing big-big chains and they don't put buttons on their shirts. Is that the purpose of the human being life?

Every once in a while, happiness comes in a box. Like today.

Life lessons from an Ostrich

I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I'm guessing most people would agree that the ostrich isn't the best looking creature around. They are the planet's largest birds, but do not fly. Graceful and languid are not words you would normally associate with them. They also have three stomachs (pretty weird) and their brains are supposedly the same size as their eye-ball, which means if there was a MENSA club in the animal kingdom, there's not much chance of too many ostriches being registered members. 

For all these reasons, it would be understandable if all an ostrich did was mope around, lay a gigantic egg or two, and generally feel sorry for itself.  

But! Organise a 100 mts in the outback, and our ostrich friend will most likely decimate the competition. On its day, not only can it outrun pretty much every other land animal apart from the cheetah, it is also the fastest creature on two legs. (Wikipedia says this, so it must be true).

Recently, when languidly flicking through channels, I chanced upon a nature programme. Watching the ostrich at full tilt was a sight to behold. In fact, you could almost see a smile on its face as it blazed across the field, a bit like the Road Runner in the cartoons I remember watching as a kid. 

Here was this awkward, not very good-looking, small-brained bird, doing the thing it loved, and loving it. It was so inspiring that I nearly went out for a run that very instant. (I didn't, because I still had some banana chips to finish).

The point is, if you have found your passion, the thing you do best, then do it more and do it even better. If you haven't found it yet, don't do that other thing ostriches do and keep your head buried in the sand. Seek it out, that thing you love, and your life will never be the same. 

The world is waiting; what are you waiting for?

Stretch!

Someone once told me- reach for the stars but keep your feet on the ground. This has always struck me as being very good advice because it means you have to streeeeetch. 

I have been thinking about stretching in a more literal sense lately, particularly as I've started running again and muscles I didn't know existed have started to painfully make their presence felt. 

Stretching in a metaphorical sense, however, is more important than ever. When you do this, you automatically set yourself up to go further. It means you never settle. It means you run along the edges of your comfort zone until your find the door marked 'Exit', and then push it open. Yes, the door will be alarmed and so will you be, at first. But when you are through it you find that this new place, although strange and scary, will soon be your comfort zone too. And so on and on you must go, never stopping, because there will always be another door, another challenge, another part of you waiting to be stretched. 

When something feels like failure, it very rarely is, because as clichéd as it sounds, it has taught you something new and is therefore in fact a victory you would never otherwise have experienced. By stretching, you've changed a part of yourself permanently, even if it's so little that you can barely notice it yourself. Very few things return to their original state once they've been stretched hard enough. 

Never let fear hold you back; use it instead as a flaming torch when you're running through the dark forests of doubt and despair. Fear can be good; it can be your friend. If you never have that crazy, lurching, gut-churning feeling that people euphemistically describe as butterflies in your stomach, it means you haven't walked through that door with the big red X on it yet. So go on, gently push it open or kick it down. Whatever works for you. Everyone, without exception, is capable of more than they think. Push the boundaries, embrace the challenge, conquer the fear. And stretch.

First day of training

In other news, training for Fundraising2014 (more details here) officially kicked off this morning. Let’s be clear, if I was doing this ten years ago, at the peak of my physical prowess, and I was going to tweet about the experience, I would have said something like #TrainIntheRain or #BornToRun or maybe even #PainIsYourFriend. 

Today, however, if was inclined to tweet, it would just be #%*!* and even that would only be half the word because I would have passed out while I was still typing. 

Many people, and I suppose writers are some of the main culprits, often live in a parallel universe consisting of romanticised versions of the real thing. Sometimes they do this as a defence, and sometimes just for their own amusement. Either way, the question is not whether reality will eventually bite, but where it will bite, and how much it will hurt. 

And so late last evening, I pictured myself waking up this morning with the first light, gliding through the park with a gentle breeze at my back, and the sound of birdsong in my ears. The fact of the matter was there was no sun, no breeze and, after roughly ten minutes, I could not figure out whether it was mucus or saliva that had covered half of my face. 

So, after returning home (and lying down for a few hours until my breathing returned to normal) I have got straight down to work. Firstly, I have discarded the romantic version of the race itself- one in which I pictured myself in an epic one-on-one battle with reigning Olympic champion Mo Farah for first place, eventually pipping him by mere millimetres with a stunning lunge for the finish line at the last possible second. 

Next, I have come up with a running plan. As of today, there are exactly 13 weeks until the first run so this is what I have resolved to do: 
Weeks 1-5     = 2 runs a week 
Weeks 5-10   = 3 runs a week 
Weeks 10-13 = 4 runs a week 

This will give me a total of (I think) 35 runs before raceday which sounds about right. I figure if the running distance remains the same but I increase the frequency, it should have the same effect as increasing the distance because otherwise I would have to measure my distances with some new-fangled piece of technology which I would prefer to do without. 

Of course, it is possible that some proper runner has just stumbled on this blog and is rolling on the floor laughing at my hopelessly inadequate running plan, before composing himself and posting this link on some running forum so that everyone can have a good laugh before climbing Everest on their lunch breaks, but hey-ho. I will just have to do what I can. 

And yes, this plan will only take me as far as the first run which is just half the job done. The second run is almost exactly 7 weeks after the first, so unless this particular regime spectacularly backfires for May, I will follow the same pattern for July. Then, and only then, will I rest. That's all for now, folks. Stay posted. 

#PleaseDonate.

India Election Watch #Day4

This week our election coverage continues with not one but two posts (I hope you are suitably impressed). If you are new here, and would like to start from the beginning (or begin from the start) please click here and read from the bottom up and you will soon be fully up-to-date. 

Firstly, it gives me great pleasure to welcome Ad Absurdum's first guest columnist in its eight-year history. Sujaya Jacob is currently pursuing an undergraduate degree in politics and international relations. In her first piece for us, she gives her take on what has been (and continues to be) arguably the most widely-discussed tv event in the history of Indian politics- Rahul Gandhi's interview with Arnab Goswami. At last count, it has had over 2 million views on YouTube, and with the general elections just over three months away, it is entirely possible it will have considerable implications for both the Congress party and the country as a whole. 

Aside from politics and foreign policy, Sujaya's wide-ranging interests include writing, fashion, travel, and George Clooney; not necessarily in that order.

Dear Rahul, step away from the Goswamis.

I must admit I heard the jokes and read the memes much before I actually watched the now infamous Rahul Gandhi -Arnab Goswami Times Now interview.(If you have been living under a rock, or are just fortunate enough to be born politically apathetic, you can find this piece of comic relief in its entirety below.)



A number of things struck me about the interview; firstly how intensely and passionately my disdain for Arnab Goswami had grown since the last time I was revelling in his journalistic buffoonery (the Narendra Modi interview? or was it Salman Khan?). How he had somehow become the poster boy for mainstream Indian political journalism and discourse -when did this happen? How did we let it happen? When will it stop? (The nation should want to know!). But that is best left for another time. 

Secondly, and perhaps most significantly, was how incredibly unprepared the young Gandhi was for what was touted to be his tv interview debut; his first sit -down interview in over ten years. I watched as he incorporated women’s empowerment and inclusive economic growth into every question he was asked; a little bit like an aspiring beauty pageant queen and her over-eagerness for world peace. I listened as he tried and failed repeatedly to dodge Goswami’s unrelenting attempts to pit ‘The Gandhi’ against ‘The Modi’ (but Rahul, please answer the question I am asking). I winced as he fumbled awkwardly through what he considered to be the achievements of the UPA’s ten-year tenure in power. I watched as his eyes darted around the room, looking perhaps for a friendly face and a knowing smile (rumour has it big sister Priyanka Gandhi was in the room for the duration of the interview). I sighed as key terms (RTI, anyone?) regularly interjected poorly-structured arguments. And I watched as he referred to himself in the third-person before switching to the first-person with all the grammatical prowess of a shy 5th grader. 

Occasionally, from the darkness of an extremely well lit room, Rahul Gandhi was allowed enough air- time to talk about what it meant to sit through the funerals of his assassinated grandmother and father respectively; what it means to have lived his life with the inescapable looming landscape of Indian political history at his back. However, there is little or no room for sentimentality in newsroom studios crowded with a crew clamouring for instant headlines and showy one-liners. So, while Mr Gandhi’s readiness for political leadership may be debatable, one thing is for sure- he is not prepared for the onslaught of Goswami and his ilk. 

Dear Rahul, step away from the Goswamis.

And so the Delhi experiment, one that started on a cold winter's day in December, has ended 49 days later. Arvind Kejriwal has resigned as the Chief Minister and is now back to being just another 'Aam Aadmi', albeit one who is now preparing his party for the national elections. 

The AAP came to power on a wave of hope and optimism, and much of that has now given way to confusion and despair. Questions remain on what it all means, and whether the AAP is really a viable option as a national party. Others see Delhi as just the first act in a larger political game. Only time will tell. 

In the meantime, however, a couple of folks have weighed in with their opinions. I have been following Captain Gopinath's blog-posts for some time now, and they have always come across as interesting and insightful; particularly when appearing to be at odds with Kejriwal and the AAP, a party he is a member of. His latest post is perhaps, in my opinion, his most articulate yet. It attempts to explain some of the circumstances surrounding the government's early demise, offers a glimpse of what lies ahead, and even takes in a quote by Wordsworth along the way. I would recommend you read the full post here. 

Meanwhile, someone else whose posts I have been following, and whose name I have invoked before, is Mani Shankar Aiyar. In his latest post, probably published within minutes of Kejriwal vacating his chair, he has listed about 20 bullet points- each one mocking the AAP's tenure in power. In fact, you get the sense that this obituary- of-sorts was drafted well before the death occurred; such is the perverse glee that emanates from it. It is an astonishing piece of writing; its triumphant, I-told-you-so note deeply disturbing. For reasons completely different from the previous link, I recommend reading the full post here. 

If these pontifications are intended to come off as brave and defiant in the face of near-certain electoral defeat, I personally don't think it is working. Instead, they are making him look either arrogant, ignorant or in denial, and sometimes all three at the same time. He is starting to remind me of the Iraqi minister who appeared on tv interviews at the start of the Iraq war in 2003, proudly proclaiming that Bhagdad is secure, even as the tanks were slowly rolling up behind him. I am now increasingly convinced that Ronan Keating was thinking of Mr. Aiyar when he sang- you say it best, when you say nothing at all. 

If I was to be so bold as to offer this seasoned politician some advice, it would be this: Please, Mr. Aiyar, please just stop. Please stop listing problems and start listing solutions. And if you are going to reflect, reflect on the state of our great nation rather than the shortcomings of other individuals and political parties. Reflect on the more than 50 years your own party has been in power, and reflect on the reasons why Arvind Kejriwal and the Aam Aadmi Party have come into being. Then, maybe, just maybe, we will listen to what you have to say.

Fundraising 2014 kicks off today!

Dear friends, 

Many of you gave so generously to my 2013 'Movember' fundraiser (which you can read more about here), in aid of prostate cancer. Along with the many kind donations, it was (somewhat justifiably) pointed out to me that growing a moustache for a month, despite the many challenges it presented to me personally, did not require much physical effort on my part. 

So, for 2014, I thought I would change this by attempting to do two 10 km runs, in aid of two different charities. While not a massive distance per se, I am well aware there will be many obstacles along the way, chief among them being my chronic lack of both motivation and fitness. Even so, I am determined to see these through- both for the sake of the charities involved, and the two remarkable women who have inspired me throughout my life. 

As some of you may know, my paternal grandmother (86 years old) recently underwent treatment for cancer and is now recuperating. So my first run on 25th May will be in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support, a charity that does a lot of important work improving lives of cancer patients in the UK. 
You can find out more about them and make a donation at this link: http://www.justgiving.com/ajayjacob

My maternal grandmother (96 years old and currently in poor health) has suffered from glaucoma and it has been passed on to my mother who will need to use eye-drops for the rest of her life. My second run on 13th July will be in aid of the International Glaucoma Association (IGA), a charity that provides crucial support for patients as well as funding research into a cure. 
You can find out more about them and make a donation at this link: http://www.justgiving.com/ajayjacob1

Even though the runs are still a few months away, I hope you will take a few moments to: 
1) Make a donation to one or both of these great causes. Even a small amount will make a huge difference. 
2) Forward this to any friends and colleagues who might consider donating. 

Thank you so much for doing either one or both of the above. You can follow my progress on either the individual JustGiving links above or on this blog here; I will post updates as often as I can. 

Very many thanks again for your support.

For Nigel Jenkins (1949-2014)

It was with a deep sadness that I found out about the recent death of Nigel Jenkins, co-director of the Swansea Uni Creative Writing Programme which I was so fortunate to be part of. Besides being an outstanding poet and writer, Nigel was a remarkable man who will be missed by many, both in the beautiful land of Wales and far beyond. 

For me, he was one of those very rare people- someone I considered both a mentor and a friend. He was the best type of teacher- critiquing without being critical, spurring you on without wearing you down; always gently demanding excellence. He was inspirational, generous with his time, and unfailingly supportive. His passion for writing was infectious, but so too was his enthusiasm for life. 

Nigel was not one for the ivory towers, always choosing instead to be in the cafes and pubs with his students. It was there, as much as in the classroom, that you would be likely to catch glimpses of a greatness he often hid behind his baritone voice and hearty laugh. Those evenings with him always felt like they came to an end much too early, and now his untimely demise feels much the same. 

While I cannot help but mourn his passing, Nigel, along with his words, his wit and his wisdom, will always remain in a warm corner of the memory; a place the tides of time cannot quite reach, and where the sun always shines. 
Diolch i chi, Nigel, a hwyl fawr.

Just when I was wondering why there weren't any ads with this song as the soundtrack, here's the latest hyper-fuzzy, puppy-love commercial from Budweiser. Enjoy responsibly.



While on the topic of advertisements, this Coke ad is probably one of the best I've seen in recent times. Clever inversion of a universal theme, and simple execution. Connection to a soft drink is tenuous, but then so is the connection of a puppy to beer.

Run FatBoy Run

A couple of weeks ago, in a fit of uncharacteristic spontaneity, I signed up for not one but two competitive runs. Since then, I have spent a considerable amount of time thinking about exactly what it was I was thinking when I did this. 

One possible explanation is the running gene that supposedly runs (ha!) through my family. I have been reliably informed by my grandmother that my father started running almost as soon as he could stand unaided, and usually took off like a shot the moment he had the tiniest inkling it was bath time. The aversion to baths may have reduced as he got older, but the running continued all the way to the Kerala state record books for the 800 metres. 

My own short running career, while far less stellar, did have a few significant moments; notably the half-marathon at age 23 when I was all set for a silver medal until I took a wrong turn a couple of hundred metres from the end and was duly disqualified (there's a metaphor for my life in there somewhere, but we will save it for another day) 

Since then, both age and apathy have taken its toll and the only running I have been doing of late is running off with my imagination, running away from responsibility, and running after a train or bus when I am late (which is all the time). None of which actually counts as any sort of preparation for an actual run. So, come May and then July this year, I fear that any remnants of my youth will most likely lie scattered amongst the rubbish along the route in central London, waiting to be sucked up by a slow-moving motorised street-cleaner, which itself may overtake me around the half-way mark. 

The first run, on the 25th of May, is the BUPA London 10K, an event which has been won by reigning Olympic champion Mo Farah for the last five years. To be honest, there's a good chance I will be so Farah from him that he will probably be getting ready to start the Rome 10k just as I am completing London. 

All of which suggests that the outlook is decidedly bleak. Still, the most important thing in all of this is that it is all for a good cause. In the larger scheme of things, my personal and near-certain humiliation is a small price to pay in the pursuit of the greater good. I will be in touch shortly with links where you can donate to the very worthy causes I will be running for. Please give what you can. Both charities, and my bruised and battered ego, will be extremely grateful. Thank you and good night.

When the mind pines...

When the mind pines for home,
it finds it wherever it looks;
In a silent tomb, an empty room,
or within the pages of books.

When the mind pines for spring,
it finds it in whatever it sees;
a blade of grass, a swallow's wing,
or the changing colour of trees.

When the mind pines for joy,
it finds it lurking in wait;
in a place the shadows can't destroy,
far from the machinations of fate.

When the mind pines for hope,
it clings to anything it can find;
A fortune cookie, a horoscope,
any sign the stars are aligned.

When the mind pines for love,
it seeks it out far and wide;
But the heart knows, as it often does,
you start by looking inside.

Just as an aside: this is me in the winter. But Spring is on the way! 
Are you excited?

India Election Watch #Day 3

Amid the growing speculation over the past few days that RG will be declared the PM candidate for the Congress, the AAP is discovering the truth in the old adage- a week in politics is like an eternity. If this is true for politics in general, it is even truer for politics in India. Add the fact that the general election is in a few months time, and you have on your hands a political drama that is nearly as compelling as a good Mohanlal movie. 

For one thing, the Congress did not name RG as their PM candidate at their conclave yesterday. Shock, horror. (Genuine shock, horror. Not sarcastic) He will, instead, be in charge of their campaign. His new role began almost immediately as he delivered a 40 minute speech in both Hindi and English with a passion that bordered on inspirational. Question is, is it too little, too late? 

Meanwhile, the sitting Prime Minister Manmohan Singh sat on the stage (Yes that is the end of that sentence because that is all there is to say about it). At various points in the speech, when RG mentioned him specifically by name, he barely turned his head. When the crowd cheered and clapped, he barely twitched his arm. He seems like a man who, having played the part of puppet for so long, is now method acting. The actor is indistinguishable from the character; the man has become his own caricature. It is sad that for a man of his stature, it has finally come to this. Assuming of course, it is actually him. I wouldn't be surprised if they had just placed an inflatable doll on the stage. Come to think of it, a doll with just a few head movements and a serene gaze wouldn't be too hard to conjure up for a party that has been, in some form or another, responsible for far more impressive feats. (And for our next trick, we will make 300 crores of public money disappear *whoosh*) 

In other news in this past week, two of the more articulate ministers in the Congress party chimed in with their own assessments of the AAP. First up was Jairam Ramesh who must have been addressing a group of children at some kind of amusement park. That is the only context in which his statements would make sense. Judge for yourselves: "Don't make fun of them. Making fun of them would be proved wrong" His comments then took on a more philosophical/mythological bent (the children must have been confused) "AAP is like Dashavatar. In different states it can have different avatars." 

This is all very interesting but exactly who is making fun of AAP? Is this what is now passing for serious political discourse in this county? 

Next up was Mani Shankar Aiyar, a man who whose words are a bit like Dennis Bergkamp's goals- when they come, you can expect them to be outrageous. (Editor's note: Apologies to readers who don't follow football, but this blog is committed to supporting sports besides cricket.) 

Here are some of the gems from his opinion piece that appeared in a leading news site: 

"Apart from helping Kejriwal decide whether to brush his teeth with Colgate or Pepsodent, there is precious little that mohalla sabhas (in reference to a model of grass-roots governance currently being championed by AK) will achieve until the constitutional and legal structures are in place."

"...So, even if the AAP's head is in the wrong place, their hearts are in the right place. Not bad for a beginning. They can be taught. They can learn..." 

The combination of condescension and arrogance is both sad and amusing at the same time. By making politics sound like something only an exalted few are able to comprehend and carry out, he is exhibiting precisely the same kind of hubris that plagues the rest of the party. With all due respect, Mr Aiyar, where was all this verbal artistry when one scam after another rocked the country? When anger spilled out onto the streets in the wake of the gang rape in Delhi just over a year ago? 

It is entirely predictable that members of the Congress, having been swept out of power in Delhi, are now taking great pleasure in punching holes in AAP's methods, but people like Mr Aiyar need to remember that for the last decade, and indeeed many years before that, his party had the solemn privilege of governing this great country. They would do well to ask themselves if it is truly- economically, socially and politically- in a better state now than it was then. Everything else is just rhetoric. Leaving aside the percentages and the victory margins and everything else for a moment, how will history judge the current administration? 

Update: Dennis Bergkamp scores again- I mean Mani Shankar Aiyar speaks again: At yesterday's Congress meeting, he was quoted as saying the following in reference to NM (Roughly translated from Hindi) "There is no way he can be Prime Minister in the 21st century... but if he wants to come and distribute tea here we can make some room for him."  

Less said the better.

Guy Goma strikes again

In May 2006, a gentleman by the name of Guy Goma walked into the BBC building in London for a job interview. After an unfortunate and frankly incredible chain of events, Mr Goma found himself being introduced as an expert on a live show. To his credit, apart from the priceless expression of initial shock, he gamely persevered and went on to cement his place on year-end quiz and comedy shows from then on until the end of time. Full interview is below.



Soon after this, Mr Goma, fed up with the embarrassment and ridicule he had to endure on a daily basis, migrated to South Africa to begin a new career. There, he enlisted as an intelligence officer / security staff. Goma quickly rose through the ranks with canniness and presence of mind, qualities he displayed in abundance in his BBC interview. 

In December 2013, he walked into a stadium in South Africa with a delegation of foreign dignitaries. As he was showing them to their seats, he was approached by another gentleman with a clipboard. Within a few minutes, after an unfortunate and frankly incredible chain of events, he found himself filling in as sign-language interpreter for Nelson Mandela's funeral. Before he knew what was going on, President Obama walked onto the dais and began his speech. And Guy Goma began interpreting.

©Getty images

Of course I made the second half up. But it's my story and I'm sticking with it.

PS: Radio interview with the real sign-language interpreter, Thamsanqa Jantjies, is below. I highly recommend it.

India Election Watch #Day 2

It is a well-known fact that those people who must want to rule people are, ipso facto, those least suited to do it... anyone who is capable of getting themselves made President should on no account be allowed to do the job.  
- Douglas Adams 

Editor's note: While I am normally of the view that reducing people's names to their initials is both rude and lazy, I fear that over the next few weeks and months there's a good chance I will wear out the letters on my keyboard that spell the names Rahul Gandhi, Narendra Modi and Arvind Kejriwal. I did consider using either just their first or last names but decided that Mr Gandhi, Mr Modi, etc., sounds too formal and Narendra, Arvind, etc., makes me sound like I went to school with them. They will, therefore, be known from here on as RG, NM and AK respectively. Thanks.

What is interesting about these upcoming elections is how much it has become about personalities. There have been elections in India that have been run and won on the back of either personality (or, in most cases, a Gandhi name) but I don’t think there's ever been a straight fight between three individuals like we have with AK, RG and NM. 

In the British general elections in 2010, there was a similar three-way contest between David Cameron (Conservatives), Gordon Brown (Labour) and Nick Clegg (Liberal Democrats). Most of the media coverage was centred on these three individuals, and sections of the British public bemoaned the fact that personality was driving public opinion more than ideology. With the introduction of American-style TV debates, there was even more of a worry that the campaign would turn into a spectacle of style over substance. As it turned out, Nick Clegg, who was unanimously declared winner of the debates, finished third in the polls. This seemed to prove that a sharp suit and good diction may give you a slight lift in the opinion polls, but by no means guarantees victory, something that no doubt came as a relief to many.

There is nothing inherently wrong with building a campaign around an individual. Corporate organisations, sports teams and even mass movements can thrive under a good leader, someone to rally the troops. The danger in doing this in politics, in my view, is that your brand can become indistinguishable from the individual, and individuals tend to disappoint other individuals a lot quicker than policies can. As a result, the brand's credibility can often be seriously undermined by one person's misdemeanours. There are several examples of this in Indian politics, and yet time and time again political parties make the same mistake.

Also, and I think this is even more significant in a non-presidential type of government such as India’s, this does not factor in the importance of a good team. It sounds obvious, but a Prime Minister or Leader of Opposition is only as good as his or her team of ministers. It seems to me that by placing the focus on the team rather than pinning your hopes on an individual, you're more likely to succeed. A cricketing analogy might be stretching the point a little, but- if you have a Tendulkar, Dravid, Laxman and Ganguly in a team, it's almost irrelevant who the captain is. 

I think the Congress was likely thinking along these lines by steadfastly refusing to name a PM candidate in 2004. This ensured all options remained on the table and they were also able to maintain a semblance of inner-party democracy. In 2009, they persevered with the incumbent Manmohan Singh, but in 2014 the equation has changed. With the BJP announcing NM early on as their nominee, the Congress has increasingly been feeling the pressure to do the same. Personally, I think it would be great if they stuck to their policy of not ‘anointing’ anyone, but I think they will and I think it will be RG. 

Perhaps the reason they haven’t done so already is because they know the Gandhi name is no longer an advantage; in fact, in the current climate it may well end up having a negative effect. At the same time, if they name someone other than RG, people will think of that person as a puppet in the Manmohan Singh mould. So it’s essentially damned if they do, and damned if they don't. Which proves my point (sort of) about the importance of a strong team of leaders at the core, something they don't appear to have. 

RG, despite having promised much when he first arrived on the scene, has not done enough in my opinion to be perceived as a legitimate force. I wrote in a previous post about two years ago that he appeared to be infusing new energy into a tired old party and galvanising the youth. For a while, you got the impression that he could make up for lack of political experience with a fresh approach and new ideas. Of late, however, apart from the occasional sound-bite, there has been deafening silence from him on several major issues. Most times he seems inscrutable, even aloof. Perhaps most significantly, he has surrendered the platform of the young leader promising radical change. That space is now almost entirely occupied by AK. 

And what a story AK is. Just yesterday, there were reports that he was not ruling out the possibility of contesting the Lok Sabha election. While even a few months ago, such ambition would have been mocked, the Delhi elections last year changed everything. The AAP will, in one way or another, play a significant part in the national elections. I am not sure yet whether AK himself is a power-hungry charlatan or the real deal, but the advantage he has is, either by accident or brilliant political strategy, he has burst on the national scene at the best possible time. 

In a previous post, I wrote that the AAP has three main things going for it: An incumbent government in shambles, a charismatic leader in Kejriwal, and the tag of underdog; the little guy taking the fight to the big boys. The combination of these factors means you cannot rule out anything. 

The fact that AK is the newest kid on the block also means that people are, for the most part, intrigued. While the scrutiny will be intense, particularly now that he's a first-time Chief Minister, there's a very slim chance people will become disillusioned with him before the general elections in a few months. Put simply, he doesn't have enough time to screw up. Indeed, people may be more likely to give him a little slack, a little patience, a little more time, given the enormity of the task at hand. All these are precious commodities in politics. Moreover, there is no real pressure on him or the AAP to win a certain number of seats. Even with the result in Delhi, there is a sense that it would unrealistic to expect that to repeat nationally. The politics of India is too complex for that. And yet, with the pressure off, AAP and AK can, in a manner of speaking, go out and have a swing with the long handle. Every seat is a bonus. This is a luxury neither the Congress nor the BJP has. 

So here we are- NM, RG and AK. Let the battle commence. Six months is a long time in politics, particularly Indian politics, and we may well see someone else take the job in June. For now though, the focus is squarely on these three men. While each candidate is appealing in their own way, you can't help but think that the three of them combined would make for one decent leader. Jai Hind.

A few things I would like to put out on record before we get any further in the coverage of the 2014 Lok Sabha elections. 

The posts here are purely my own personal opinion. I am not aligned with any political party and am not trying to push any agenda. I am not an expert on political history, parliamentary democracy, right wing-left wing, authoritarian, libertarian, caste-based, or any other form of politics. As a result, some of these posts might come across as shallow, simplistic and mis-informed. If so, please accept my apologies in advance (or in hindsight, depending on the order in which you read this) 

All I am trying to do is share my own perspective on what is shaping up to be a very interesting few months for the world's largest democracy. As an Indian who currently resides outside of India, my view is both of an outsider as well as a citizen who believes these elections will be a defining moment in our country's history. In the true spirit of democracy and free speech, I am happy to be challenged, corrected, or contradicted. In fact, that is the whole point. 

For the few loyal followers of this blog, posts on topics besides these elections will continue, but may be less frequent that usual. How can once-in-a-blue-moon posts become more infrequent, you may be asking. It is a good question. All I will say is that in this new year I have resolved to do a bit less sleeping (except on Mon-Wed and weekends) and a bit more writing. And so I will endeavour to enthral you with even more stories about cricket, chicken, jackfruits, life, death and Mohanlal, to name just a few topics. Please don't delete me from your bookmarks just yet. Thank you. Jai Hind.

India Election Watch #Day 1

Yesterday, for the first time this year, we saw Priyanka Gandhi emerging out of hibernation to attend a "Congress party strategy meeting". It is an altogether predictable move, and follows a familiar script. In the late 90's, when Sonia Gandhi first emerged onto the scene as a politician in her own right, she appeared to rescue the party from the brink of oblivion. The real stroke of genius was that her decision was made to look like it had been made out of a dutiful widow's sense of duty rather than choice. 

In the run-up to the 2004 elections, both Rahul and Priyanka took turns to hit the campaign trail. As speculation mounted as to which of the two would enter full-time politics, Rahul, again the apparently reluctant Gandhi heir, eventually stood and won from Amethi. Ten years later, he has inevitably become the face of the Congress party, and Priyanka has largely stayed away from the spotlight. The thinking seems to be- reduce the overexposure and thereby increase the impact closer to the election. It also re-inforces the spin that for Priyanka, like for the rest of the family before her, politics is not a career, but a service to the nation she feels morally obliged to provide. 

In 2004 and 2009, this approach may have helped increase the margin of victory in Amethi and Rae Bareli, but was inconsequential in the rest of the country. This time, I suspect it will be inconsequential, period. From a PR perspective, my own feeling is that this is a mistake and shows how completely out of step with public opinion the Congress is. 

Two things that have become synonymous with the party in recent times are dynastic politics and corruption. Priyanka Vadra, albeit through no fault of her own, currently embodies both. Yes, she is both charismatic and articulate (and bearing a striking resemblance to Indira Gandhi can help. sometimes.) But the party's near-complete silence in the wake of allegations surrounding her own husband Robert Vadra's business dealings is a serious failing. 

Corruption is without doubt going to be front and centre of this year's election battle, and by pretending it is not an issue, the Congress is hammering the first nail in its own electoral coffin.

The Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) Phenomenon

Even as 2013 slowly disappears into the mists of time, it's worth recalling one event that could yet be a pivotal moment in India's political history. On December 8th, the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP), contesting its first elections since being founded in November 2012, won 28 seats- 8 short of an outright majority. The ruling Congress party (still in power at the Centre) was wiped out, but ended up providing outside support for an AAP-led government. It was a stunning, entirely unforeseen result, but it may well be just the beginning. 

Sometimes a moment gives rise to an individual, and sometimes an individual creates a moment. In either case, the stars align and something special takes shape. Pope Francis came along at a time when the Catholic Church appeared to be at its lowest ebb, and his impact was instant. Similarly, the AAP and Arvind Kejriwal entered the scene just as the sad, final acts of arguably India’s most corrupt administration were playing out. 

The AAP has a number of things going for it- an incumbent government that is now almost fully consumed by its own incompetence and hubris, an enigmatic and charismatic leader, and the tag of underdog (who doesn't love an underdog?) These factors will never exist in unison again. Add to this mix the feeling, however fleeting, that the AAP represents a once-in-a-generation chance to rewrite India's history, and you have near-unstoppable momentum on your hands. 

The Aam Aadmi (literal translation: mango people, but also means ‘common man’; welcome to complex, multi-faceted India!) is a broad category of people that includes not just the nearly 70 per cent of the population that live outside of India’s cities, but also the world's largest middle class. I'm no expert on electoral processes, but I’m guessing if you're a political outfit that has even part of this demographic on your side, you'll win an election every time. 

Suddenly, there is not just a negative feeling of anti-incumbency, but a positive feeling of optimism. Significantly, it is an optimism tempered by reality. The party has gone to great lengths to emphasise both its lack of experience and resources in its bid to take on the two major national parties, the Congress and Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). It is the quintessential David vs Goliath scenario, except there are two Goliaths and so David appears twice as small. AAP’s genius lies in taking these apparent weaknesses and turning them into strengths, even virtues. And so, Arvind Kejriwal, a man who officially entered politics just over a year ago, is Chief Minister of a region at the very heart of India's power centre. Make no mistake, it is a journey of epic proportions, one that rivals Obama's journey to the White House. 

When you make your personal integrity and character an integral part of your politics, your survival is inextricably linked to your own actions. In a sense, this is Kejriwal's appeal. For a common man, he has displayed uncommon political nous. In between the grandstanding and soaring rhetoric, he has reset the political debate, changed both the music and the lyrics. That in itself is huge.

It is a sign of how far politics in India has fallen that a leader who presents himself as a public servant is seen as radical. Arvind Kejriwal has brought ideals and a fresh perspective to a political discourse that for too long has suffered from a poverty of both. He does not have all the answers, and there will no doubt be some mis-steps along the way. But the beauty of a vision for a better reality is that every once in a while it can be a self-fulfilling prophesy. The winds of change, usually no more than a soft evening breeze, are now blowing like a hurricane across the country, bringing with it an ineffable feeling of hope. 

Editor’s note: Over the next few weeks and months, this blog will attempt to chart the key developments in the run-up to the polls in April-May. Whatever the outcome, it's guaranteed to be an interesting ride. 
I hope you will join me.

Over the past few weeks, I have stood by and watched my little car's valiant attempts to halt the incessant march of time. With each passing day, the end seems that little bit nearer as it succumbs, slowly and painfully, to the irreversible ravages of old age. 

Meanwhile, my mother is watching the same thing happen to her mother. 

A new year often brings with it renewed hope and promise. New dreams and possibilities seemingly lie in wait like fruit, fresh for the picking. The harsh winter appears to lose some of its sting in the face of impending spring. And yet, sometimes the new year can also bring a sense of foreboding, an uneasy anticipation of realities we feel unprepared for. 

Watching a beloved parent ageing before your eyes is one of these realities. We can come to terms with the idea of it, but the actual day-to-day fact of it is another matter. A philosophical acceptance of the inevitable often proves a weak defence against the waves of helplessness that batter us in the present. Memory, that very thing that sometimes keeps us alive, becomes the same thing that breaks our hearts. When their arms lose their strength, we think of when they carried us. When they struggle to stay on their feet, we remember the times they ran to pick us up the instant we fell. We think of all these things and try not to think of them, all at once. I haven't experienced this yet, but I have a feeling this is what my mother is going through right now. 

And so every time I think of my ten-year-old car now and feel disheartened, I think of my mother and ninety-six-year-old grandmother. I think about the things that really matter and the things that don't, and I pray for wisdom to tell the difference.

Perfection is a moving target

Anybody who makes anything will know that the single most difficult question to answer is always: Is it done? Sure, your boss might think it's done, the client might think it's done, the producer might think it's more than done, but for you- the person at the very heart of it, the one whose name is on the cover or jacket or sleeve, it's often far from done. 

For the perfectionist, this struggle of the far-from-done can be crippling. The thinking is that a little more finessing, a few more tweaks, will make the finished product perfect. Truth is, they are always the only one who thinks this. Nobody else knows what was involved in getting a little spark of an idea to the stage it is at, and what may or not be involved in taking it even further. And because they don't know, they don't care. Therefore, if your intention is for your work to be seen, heard or read by anyone other than yourself, you shouldn't care either. Unless you're downright embarrassed by it, ship it. 

On the other hand, for those who measure their own worth by their output, the rush to get it out might result in a constant stream of distinctly unremarkable stuff, a bit like Justin Beiber's Twitter feed. This is dangerous too, even if your 100 million or so followers lap up every word. 

And so, like with most things, the trick lies in finding the right balance. It's pretty difficult to be objective about your own work, but it's definitely worth trying to be. Besides, the most important thing to bear in mind is this- in a sense, nothing you make is truly done until it inspires at least one other person. That should be the ultimate goal- the perfect manuscript isn't much use to anyone if it's still locked safely in your drawer. 

This is not to say that the process is not important. For many, the process is everything. I've read about several authors who never read their published books. By the time the agents, editors, publicists, etc, are done with it, the author is well into the next project. At that point, what they themselves thought about the last thing they made is irrelevant. It's out of their hands. And even if they thought it was 'perfect', the only reason they're working on something new is because they think it could be even better. 

Yes, the quest for perfection is important; by all means pursue it more than ever in this new year. But don't end up trying to reach it every time; like the horizon, it can keep getting further away. So, go on- hit Save, click Done, say it's a wrap, and ship it. It's not about you anyway.

The late Malayalam film actor, Thilakan, has been on my mind lately. Further proof of this arrived in the form of a slideshow of notable deaths in the past year. The list included Chinua Achebe, the great Nigerian writer (above, left), and the first thing I noticed was how similar he and Thilakan looked. 

I'm not entirely sure why Thilakan was occupying my thoughts; perhaps watching a couple of his films over the holidays had something to do with it. One of them in particular, Manjadikuru, (2008) is a little gem. It is an enchanting child’s-eye view of Kerala in the late 1970s, seemingly a world away from the modern-day, marketing executives' dream it has now become. It is a beautifully crafted piece of cinema, and captures a child's sense of wonder and innocence better than almost any other film I have seen. The fact that it is set in the version of Kerala not far removed from my own childhood memories, only made it all the more beautiful. 

Films like Manjadikuru affect you on many different levels. To watch it is to feel like you are being seized by the hand and dragged willingly back into the part of yourself that you thought had died long ago, only to find that it is in fact alive and well. 

In the film, Thilakan's character is dead from pretty much the first scene (no spoiler alert required- the film revolves around the events following his death) but is always lurking in the background, occasionally making ghost-like appearances at unexpected moments. Every time he does, his expressive face fills the scene and is a reminder of what an amazing actor he was, right up until his death in 2012. 

He may not be around any longer, but as someone who has starred in most of my favourite films (admittedly, most of them featured Mohanlal as well), he will always be lurking somewhere in the shadows of my memory as well.

Happy New Year!

©www.minieco.co.uk/ 

And so here we are, holding 2014 like a giant ball of Play-Doh. 
What will you make with it?

"You know, I used to say, my daughter is the engine of the family. All of us were like bogies [carriages] yoked to the engine." 

The words of a broken father trying to make sense of his only daughter's death; the result of a brutal gang rape that shook India exactly one year ago. The full, heart-breaking article can be read here.

'Nirbhaya' -the name given to the victim by the media- literally translates from Hindi as 'without fear'. Personally, I prefer the other (similar but not the same) translation: the one who is brave. There is much in the world to be fearful of, and to attempt to be fearless in the face of it is not only dangerous, but pretty much impossible. Fear can sometimes keep us alive. To be brave despite your fear- that is what Nirbhaya was, both on that fateful day and throughout the nightmarish aftermath. 

One year on, she is more than just a loss her parents will never quite come to terms with. She lives on as our daughter, our sister and our friend. Far from being a day to forget, December 16 is a day we must always remember.

In every leaf of every tree,
there is a story. 
In every wave in every sea, 
there is a story. 

In every song of every bird, 
there is a story. 
In every word that's ever heard, 
there is a story. 

In every ray of every light,
There is a story.
In every shadow in the night,
there is a story.

In every hour of every day, 
there is a story. 
In every step along the way, 
there is a story. 

Every life is a story. Every story is life.

I got tickets the other day to see The Nutcracker. 
Wasn't quite what I expected.

Christmas Night

image ©Jeff Weese/Flickr /CC-BY-SA-3.0

The true king-sized bed,

is not the one on which I lay my head 

tonight,

but the one in the cold cowshed 

on Christmas night.

The true gift for both you and me,

is not the one under the tree 

tonight, 

but the one that was given free

on Christmas night. 

The true star that shines from on high,

is unlike any I can hope to buy

tonight, 

but the one that illuminated the sky 

on Christmas night. 

The true joy for all the earth,

is not in the merriment and mirth 

tonight, 

but rather in a baby's birth 

on Christmas night.

Movember- Final Update for 2013

And so, Movember has come and gone. (as they say- hair today, gone tomorrow)
Despite all the drama and mild discomfort, it's safe to say the effort has not been in vain. I'm also pleased to report I was awarded the cup (literally) for Mo-st Money Raised. I hope you will allow me a couple of minutes to hold this cup to my lips and ejoy the sweet taste of victory...aaah. 


At this point, I would like to thank my agent... (whoops, sorry wrong speech). 
On a serious note, thank you to everyone who donated generously. Every penny is precious in the fight against prostate cancer. Also, big thanks to my colleagues at work and fellow Mo-bros around the world. Big up yourselves. 
Until next year.

So much has been written about Nelson Mandela in the past few days since his passing, that it seems almost gratuitous to attempt to add to it. 

I can almost hear you asking why that same logic didn't stop me from sitting up long into the night and writing pages and pages on a certain cricketer by the name of Sachin Tendulkar. You might even argue that Mandela is a far worthier subject; someone who stood steadfastly for justice and equality against seemingly insurmountable odds. A man who without question left the world a slightly better place than he found it. And you might add to this the fact that he is now departed, while Sachin has merely stopped playing competitive cricket. So, you might conclude (with righteous anger slowly rising up inside you) that if anything is gratuitous, it is the tributes to the Little Master and not the heartfelt eulogies for a giant of our times. 

Tendulkar, as I have written about before, occupied a small but constant space in the changing landscape of my life- from the playful green fields of my childhood through to the more rugged terrain of the mid-thirties where I find myself now. It is difficult to overstate the importance of the familiar during times when things seem to change so quickly and without warning. Friends, school, college, jobs, all these are amazing and yet all these are new and scary, at least to begin with. Finally, one day when you wake up and find that your journey has brought you to that scariest of all places- Adulthood, these little intangible links to your childhood become even more precious. 

I read somewhere that it was somewhat ironic that Tendulkar’s last match started on the 14th of November, which is celebrated as Children's day in India. (Other countries have it on other days; in India it coincides with the birthday of the country's popular first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru). Watching Tendulkar play was to feel like Peter Pan, if only for a little while. When he walked away for the last time, something within us went with him.

Millions of people, both in South Africa and around the world, are most likely feeling greatly amplified versions of the emotions I felt when the curtains finally came down on Tendulkar’s career. Emotions they may even struggle to make sense of. For me, Nelson Mandela was a more distant figure than Tendulkar, someone whose battles were fought and won in a place and time that seemed, at least back then, far removed from my own reality. 

Of course I knew of him; this man with the kind face and the wide smile. A man who spent 27 years- equal to the entire lifetimes of people such as Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix- locked in a prison cell, and yet when he emerged, it was not with a lust for power or revenge, but an even stronger resolve to realise his vision of a united South Africa. A politician who actually willingly stepped down after one term as President. 

Whatever one's feelings are about him, most people will agree that ‘Madiba’ was special. He transcended boundaries of race, religion and nationality and made us believe that in the end, however twisted the road, we can still arrive at a place of goodness. For that reason alone, he will live long in the memory. 

PS: Whenever I think of Mandela, I think of this poem by William Henley, said to be one of his favourites. It was featured in the 2009 movie Invictus. Slightly theologically flawed perhaps, but inspiring nevertheless.

Movember Update- Day 26

We have now entered the home stretch of Movember. A mere five days lie between now and cool, clean-shaven elation. Despite the free burgers and the many kind donations that have poured in for this important cause, I will admit that the end cannot come soon enough. 

It has been an interesting three weeks so far. The physical transformation has been more radical than anything I imagined, such is the ineffable power of facial hair. That, combined with a hat (and, occasionally, thick rimmed glasses) has made for a such a complete metamorphosis that close friends no longer recognise me on the street. It is as if I am a stranger to them; perhaps even to myself. 

A few days ago, I had to take a passport photo and I almost returned it thinking it must have been a mistake. But of course, there was no mistake. It was, after all, a photo booth. Soon that photo will be printed in a visa or some other official document, destined to be inspected closely over the course of the coming months by some over-eager official either at Border Control or my local Cineworld. They say everyone gets 15 minutes of fame. Infamy, however, tends to last a little bit longer. 

I can see it now, the photo hinting at a mysterious, almost criminal, past, bearing no similarity whatsoever to the shiny-smooth live specimen. And then the confusion, mixed with incredulity, spreading slowly over the hapless official's face. Perhaps finally I can use the Bob Dylan line I've always wanted to but never quite found the right moment for- You see, officer, I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. 
And it will all be worth it. 

PS: Please donate while you still can. Movember page, replete with stunning high-quality photographs, is here.

"We all have a little part of our brains that Tendulkar owns. Maybe that’s a much bigger accomplishment than owning the 22 yards of the cricket pitch."
Please read the full article on Sachin by my friend Sevanand here.

On a related note, it's nearly two weeks, and still can't quite watch the video below without a lump forming in the throat. And no, it's not an inflamed tonsil.