On Leaving

I've always thought it's a good thing they don't weigh your heart at check-in counters at airports. If they did, mine would almost always be over the limit. Arriving at a new, potentially better, place necessitates a departure from the old, but so often this doesn't make the leaving any easier. 

I do apologise - the efficient but indifferent person at the counter will say in brusque tones - but that is much too heavy, you will need to take some items out. But I can't, I will plead; these are all important things and I must take them all. Yes, sir, they will respond; I do understand (even though they don't), but we cannot allow it. Airline policy, I'm afraid (even though they have nothing to be afraid of). 

Still I protest- Where do you start when it comes to emptying out the heart, I ask. Indeed, the more you try to leave behind, the heavier it gets. Can you not just put a 'Heavy' tag on it and send it on its way? Oh, and while you're at it, could you stick a 'Fragile' one on as well? 

It’s my heart, you see. It’s the only one I’ve got.

Rahul’s Mona Lisa Smile

Is Rahul Gandhi secretly relieved he didn't get picked for a job he didn't want in the first place? 

                                                                                          ©Getty Images 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see,
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free... 
               - The Beatles, Blackbird (1968) 

Psychologists and behavioural analysts are likely to find Rahul Gandhi a singularly compelling subject. Many have already attempted to deconstruct the person behind the persona; commenting on his inability to make eye-contact, possible attention deficit disorder, and a generally nervous, stand-offish disposition. 

I am not an expert and therefore don't have a professional opinion. However, going purely by what I've seen on TV (obviously not the best way to judge anyone), coupled with my wife’s empathetic insight, it's hard not to feel that if there's one thing that characterises Rahul Gandhi, it is that he seems trapped. Not just trapped in the sense of being a child trapped in a man's body; but trapped within his own circumstances, a situation he was born into and is ultimately unable to escape from (with or without Jupiter's escape velocity). 

It is impossible for any of us to imagine being Rahul, or any Gandhi for that matter. 'Normal' might be a relative term, but with the sort of relatives Rahul has, there's probably been no such thing for him. Much newsprint is devoted to the aspects of entitlement and privilege, but there is another side to being part of the 'dynasty' that we often ignore. For all its supposed benefits, is it the sort of life any of us would choose for ourselves? Does all the security in the world make you feel safe when your grandmother was gunned down by her own guards? 

History attests to the fact that Jawaharlal Nehru was as canny as they come; Indira Gandhi was his natural political heir. But Rajiv (the diffident, stand-offish one) was neither suited nor primed for politics. The mind wanders now into hypothetical territory- how different would Rahul's life had been if his uncle Sanjay had not been killed in a flying accident in 1980 and his father had never been subsequently coerced into entering the fray? 

Rajiv Gandhi was parachuted in to rescue a party teetering on the brink; within four years he was Prime Minister. Rahul Gandhi has been a Member of Parliament for ten years; after the 2009 elections he steadfastly rejected calls to be part of the cabinet of the UPA government, choosing to stick with his self-appointed role of mobilising the Youth Congress. It may have been the only political decision he made of his own volition. 

Five years later, in 2014, he found himself as the 'unofficial' Prime Ministerial candidate, despite never having actually said so himself. Whether or not he truly wanted the job we may never know; but to his credit, he at least seemed to want to provide a half-decent CV for consideration. 

Somewhere along the way, you feel as though Rahul Gandhi felt compelled to take his rightful place in the tangled web that was his life, like Simba taking up Mufasa's mantle in the Lion King because this is the only purpose for Simba’s existence. (It’s a somewhat facetious analogy, but it does the job, I think). He doesn’t really believe the future of the pride land hinges on him, but anyone who means anything to him does. The question is, is there a really a choice? Is he duty-bound to fulfil both his own destiny and the destiny of those around him or could he walk away and risk seeing everything fall apart? Can someone who has already seen so much fall apart legitimately make that choice? 

I would like to think that at some point, even if only in a remote corner of his mind, Rahul realised that victory in this election was simply impossible. I would also like to think that he understood that his presence at the front and centre of the campaign was doing more than harm than good to the party. I would like to think, I really would, that he tried to tell his partymen this, but they didn't believe him; the fools. And even now, I would like to think that he is really just a sad, slightly damaged man-child, chasing a normalcy that we take for granted but he has never known himself. 

The Gandhi brand is to the Congress party what Hindutva is to the BJP; each is both a calling-card and a crutch. Neither party has had a vision (at least until now) that truly extends beyond these core identities. As a result, many found it strange when Rahul himself seemed to undermine the dynasty; questioning its relevance and underplaying its significance. It was roundly dismissed as empty rhetoric. 

But a niggling doubt, long suppressed, now bubbles up to the surface- was he on to something? Was this his way of saying that he was in fact the wrong guy, that we were making a mistake? At several points in what we now know was an utterly ill-fated campaign, he seemed to take a sledgehammer not just to himself, but to the office of the Prime Minister and the party as a whole. We decided he was either a charlatan or a moron. We jeered at the cheesy sloganeering, derided the prime-time interview debacle. 

And yet, and yet, the mind still wonders...could it be? This might have been the only way to prove what he knew all along: the days of The Family were long gone. A new India needed a new vision, a new direction, and he was not the one to provide it. The Congress party needed to reform itself to stay relevant; the crutch had to go for it to grow stronger in the long run. Perhaps a Congress minus the Gandhis might even eventually result in a BJP minus the Hindutva because, in a sense, the latter exists as a counter to the former. 

Fast-forward to the 16th of May when he appears in front of the clamouring press to cap off what has been the party's worst-ever election performance; and another thought crosses your mind, just for the briefest moment. While the vast majority appeared to celebrate India’s freedom from the Gandhi family, was Rahul celebrating a freedom (however small) of his own? You look for signs in the rueful smile; you wonder whether even in the face of staggering defeat, he realises there could have been one thing that was even worse- he could have won. 

But no, this is crazy talk. It involves attributing qualities like intelligence and political nous to someone who possesses these in very limited quantities, if at all. This is simply your mind playing tricks on you, lost as it is in a hazy, post-election fog. It is an attempt to justify, defend, and rationalise the past. And so you switch instead to the future- to what lies ahead. 

In the UK, when a leader of a political party fails to secure an election victory, it is more or less a given he or she will not lead the party again. This means if you are unsuccessful in your first attempt to become Prime Minister, you don't have a second attempt. It is done. 

We are talking about India, however; the land of seemingly endless re-incarnation and re-invention, where some things are always changing and other things stay the same. We are also talking about a Gandhi, and a grand old party that’s on its knees. 

When all the Modi-fication is over and done with, what becomes of Rahul and the Congress? Will lessons be learned, or will we be saying the same things about a different Gandhi five years from now? We can only wait and see.

10 (yikes!) days to go...

Why, hello there. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'd like to explain the silence by saying I've been training like a beast, completely cut off from all technology and other distractions of modern life, all in preparation for this most physically demanding challenge of my adult life. But, of course this would be mostly (ok, fine, completely) untrue. 

In reality, I have been so busy recovering from a flu whilst simultaneously tweeting about the Indian elections that I haven't even noticed that we are already half-way through May. (yikes!)  And so, for a quick update: 

The offical London 10k race-pack has now arrived in the post, just as my six-pack has disappeared. (All that post-Lent meat has not helped; it swiftly took up residence around my waist- seemingly on a long-term contract.) 

Just when I thought things couldn't worse, the situation took an ominous turn when I came across this line in aforementioned race-pack: 

'Please remember that is very foolish to run if you have had any sort of virus or fever in the past four weeks...' 

So now I must weigh up my desire to complete this epic run against my equally strong desire to keep living. (I realise this is slightly dramatic on my part- but this side of me should come as no surprise to anyone who has read more than one post on this blog) 

Having taken the wise counsel of my family on board, we have now decided that I will do a trial run in the next day or two, and if I have not started frothing at the mouth after a few minutes, I will gradually build it up towards 10k until raceday- 25th May. (yikes!) 

In the meantime, if you haven't yet donated to one of the two very worthy causes I will be representing, please would you take a few minutes to do so now. Come on now, we're talking life-and-death stuff here. And not just my own. Link to donate is here.

Thank you so much if you already have donated. See you all on the other side.

The story of the little dot

There was once a little dot. 
“I'm no ordinary dot”, it said. 
“I will not stand in one spot, 
I am going to try and get ahead.” 

Its friends called as they saw it go,
“Come, come and join us they said.” 
“What? And be an ellipsis? No,no! 
I am going it alone instead.” 

“I can't be stuck being one of three, 
because I’m no ordinary dot. 
I was born to be wiiild and freeee, 
so i'll be off now, thanks a lot.” 

Its friends were sad, but didn't say a lot, 
they'd all been there before- 
Alone though they were only little dots, 
They knew together they were so much more. 

So off they went, chasing unfinished thoughts, 
and other stories that lay in wait; 
the possibilities were oh so endless, 
they were masters of their fate. 

As for the little dot, it was in a spot, 
for little did it know, 
Alone it was just a dot; full stop. 
And there was nowhere left to go. 

...

This was how the little dot clocked, 
that things weren't quite as they seemed- 
Punctuation, like life, only really works, 
if you're one part of a team. 

So off it went, in search of friends, 
colons, commas, and question marks too! 
With so much work and so little time, 
being a solitary dot just wouldn't do. 

At last, the dot had found its spot, 
in the larger scheme of things; 
and so one story comes to an end, 
while another one begins...

The strange case of Shanthakumaran Sreesanth: Part 2

A friend of mine recently asked me what I thought would be a good caption for the photo below. 

I thought of a few, but narrowed it down to two: 
It's all about me. 
It went to my head. 

I'm not sure whether either really works as a caption, but that's beside the point. Thinking about the captions made me think about the cricketer, hence this piece. 

The intention is not to pretend to know the mind of someone I've never met, or even to kick a man when he's down. Indeed, some might say we should all just leave him in peace and let him enjoy a relatively normal, (newly-married) life away from the spotlight. 

The reason I’m writing this anyway, is not just because it makes for an interesting character study of a complex personality. The story of Sreesanth is a cautionary tale; a parable for this topsy-turvy modern world we live in. 

Shantakumaran Sreesanth was born on February 6th 1983, which makes him (at the time of writing) 31 years and 91 days old. After a rapid rise through the domestic circuit, he made his senior team debut in October 2005, a few months shy of his 23rd birthday. With a boyhood dream fulfilled while still barely out his teens, Sreesanth appeared poised at the start of a long, glittering career ahead. 

What followed was a more like a train wreck in slow motion, interspersed with the all-too-rare moment of brilliance (including that ball to Jacques Kallis). The wickets still came, but so did the drama, the sledging, dancing, taunting, snarling, crying and swearing. Slowly but surely, Sreesanth was turning into a caricature of himself; he was going from occasional joker to perpetual clown. 

Injuries didn't help his cause, but his temperament always seemed the bigger concern. Eventually, after somehow managing to find the wrong side of nearly all his team-mates, selectors, and even, most memorably, 'Captain Cool' Dhoni, he found himself at the very edge of relevance, from where you felt there was nowhere left to go. 

But this is Sree we are talking about. Just as he could find a 'wonder ball' from nowhere, you could be sure he would find a way to fall even further. And so, on a night in May almost exactly one year ago, he was arrested on charges of 'spot-fixing', a charge he allegedly confessed to during the course of the police investigation. Hooded, hand-cuffed and paraded through the streets like a convicted criminal; he would have felt his world fade to black. A career that had once promised so much had finally reached its nadir. 

It is important to note here that Sreesanth has not been found guilty in a court of law; rumours of vendettas and set-ups are still dutifully doing the rounds, and the man himself has continued to maintain his innocence. 

Incidentally, over the course of his short but tumultuous career, each time he was either dropped or 'rested', he would return claiming things had changed; assuring the fans they would see a 'different' Sreesanth. In reality, however, it seemed like another mask and it would be only a matter of time before it slipped again. So, it should come as no surprise to him that most people are a little sceptical about his denials of any wrong-doing. It’s also somewhat ironic that someone who so often broke his promises to everyone around him eventually went down for keeping his promises to a bookie. 

His arrest sent shockwaves through a cricketing establishment already fairly indifferent to shocks. This was, after all, a double World Cup-winning player, with ability beyond doubt. Why, then, should he have been anywhere near being tainted even by association? In the aftermath of the event, it was a question repeated often; borne out of both puzzlement and profound disappointment at seeing such an opportunity spurned. 

In a sport with cricket’s popularity, in a country of India’s size, it doesn't take a maths whiz to work out that the chances of making it to the very top are exceedingly small. We are literally talking lottery odds. Millions of boys either dream the dream themselves or have it dreamt for them by parents. School teams, private coaching, cricket camps, junior tournaments, State, Zone, Under-19s, 21s,... the road is as long as the list of those who fall by the wayside. 

Talent alone is almost never enough; often a healthy dose of good, old-fashioned luck is required to go alongside hard work and dedication in a far-from-meritocratic system. Oh, and some connections won’t do you any harm. To make it through all this and walk on to a cricket field as one of 11 men representing Team India is to complete a journey of epic proportions. 

I’d have thought that what most people would do next (once they have fully come to terms with the position they find themselves in) is make sure they make the most of it. It is a wonderful thing to be paid (a lot of) money to do the one thing you would gladly do just for the fun of it. Add up the fringe benefits (travel, film-star status, endorsements, etc...) and it beggars belief that anyone would actively seek to jeopardise this. 

So, why do it? It is impossible to try and understand the motivations that drive these decisions without being inside the head of the one making them, but I would venture that at very least, it is a cocktail of pride, selfishness and greed; each chasing the other's tail, each of them a side of a (metaphorical) three-sided coin. It's all about me. It went to my head. 

Jose Mourinho, the master footballing tactician, is known to always outline his belief to new teams that in a collective endeavour, each individual has to subsume his personal ambition to the team mission. This requires sacrifice; a lowering of 'self' to help the team as a whole reach greater heights. It is a simple principle at the heart of every great team's success, sporting or otherwise. And yet, in an increasingly ruthless, get-rich-quick, celebrity-driven culture, it is often the hardest thing for a professional sportsman to do. Sreesanth wasn't the first, and is unlikely to be the last. 

To watch Sreesanth in full flow was to watch a thing of beauty. Classical side-on action, perfect seam position, movement in the air, and healthy pace. Each delivery was like a little symphony, a coming together of science and art; a blend of god-given talent and tireless pursuit of perfection. To hear the sound of timber at the end of it only made it that much sweeter. For a brief moment in time, he was in the top five quick bowlers in the world. But it seemed it wasn’t enough. 

As a fellow Malayali, Sreesanth's rise from a relatively small cricketing state was a source of pride too. A new generation of youngsters in Kerala grew up chasing both his speed and fame. 'Nammude Sree', in the World Cup team. Everything was possible, for him and for us. 

And yet, here we are now; resigned, like him, to watching YouTube clips of the rippers that got Sarwan and Lara in successive overs in Antigua. This is how a dream ends. Not with a bang but a whimper. 

Years from now, regardless of the outcome of legal proceedings, Sreesanth will most likely be a mere footnote in the story of Indian cricket. The tragedy is that he could have been so much more. The reality is that whatever our field, whatever our game, it could have been any one of us.

A little Thought Experiment

Step 1 

Try and recreate in your mind that precise moment (and I'm sure we've all been there) when you realise some 'thing' of value has been either lost or stolen. Your heart skips a few beats, then begins to thump like crazy. You frantically replay your most recent memories of it in your head; while simultaneously wishing so deeply, desperately, that you still had it, this thing you didn't even realise you loved so much. But it's too late, it's gone. 

Step 2 

At this point, different people react differently.You might go the textbook route and experience the five stages of grief, or you might just go and punch something. Either way, you begin to slowly imagine your new life without this 'thing'. You rationalise, convince yourself that you will somehow make it through this. You have to, it's not like you have a choice anyway. This annoys you even more, the realisation that you may have had little or no control over the chain of events that has brought you to this point. 

Step 3 

Suddenly, miraculously, the 'thing' is found. A wave of elation washes over you; a weight is lifted. Your hearts thumps again, but this time from excitement. You hold it in your hand; this beautiful thing that was once lost and is now found. You promise to make sure it is never lost again, and are determined to make the most of owning it because you've imagined your life without and it wasn't fun. Everything is possible once more, and all is right with the universe. 

Step 4 

Now, replace that valuable 'thing' with 'Time'.
Yes, you have less of it than you did a few minutes ago, but there's a good chance you may have more of it than you think. It's also possible that for now, you have that precious, fleeting thing: a choice.
So, what's your new Step 3 going to be?

I am 66 years old...

So this is a little strange... I’ve never really done this before, so I’m unsure about where to begin. I'm officially 66 years old, but in reality I’m a lot older. I'm like one of those grandparents every family has whose real age you don't really know so you just sort of pick a date and go with it. Still, 66 years. When you get to my age, you feel both like you've been around forever and like it all started yesterday. It's been an interesting ride, that's for sure. 

Back in the day, I was a bit of a celebrity, so to speak. Explorers, emperors, traders and all manner of truth-seekers wanted to see me, get to know me, find out what all the fuss was about. Even back then, I was considered both retro and modern- I guess I was a hipster before there was a word for it. I was renowned for my dance, music, multi-cultural roots, and, even if I do say so myself- my natural beauty. I was tipped for even greater things, poised on the cusp of super-stardom. 

Since then, I think most people will agree it hasn't quite gone to plan. That's not to say I've been a complete failure; I've had the occasional moment of glory. The years, however, have taken their toll. I'm a little less sure of myself, a little jaded, just a tiny bit frayed at the edges. I know it will get better- I've been around long enough to know that, but that doesn't mean I don't worry. I keep thinking there are still some things that when they break, you can't always put them back together. Not completely, anyway. 

So here I am; bruised and a little battered, but still standing, still dreaming. It’s going to be an interesting month. The significance of these elections is not lost on me, because sometimes the fate of people and nations can turn on precisely this kind of moment, and I am no different. 

At times like these, my mind often drifts to the past. I think of everyone and everything that has gone before, but I still look hopefully to the future. And to the day, no matter how distant it appears now, when I finally realise my destiny. I am 66 years old. 

My name is India.

A Prayer for Flight 370

Somewhere there is a plane. 
A real plane; 
not a blip on a radar, 
or a pinging black box; 
not a fleck on a satellite image, 
or a headline on loop. 
Not a conspiracy theory 
about structural integrity, 
or floating debris, 
or an unsolved mystery. 

Somewhere there is a plane. 
A real plane, 
once filled with real people; 
travelling to meet, to hug, 
to care for, comfort, or congratulate, 
to cry or to laugh with 
other real people, 
whose world has now slipped off its axis; 
people to whom northern arcs 
and southern arcs 
and ACARS mean nothing, 
and every new dawn brings 
hope and sadness, entwined together 
like conjoined twins. 

Somewhere there is a plane. 
A real plane; 
and somewhere a son, a mother, 
a friend or a brother, 
shakes with unspeakable pain. 
For them, 
no sea is too great; no news is too late. 
For them, 
our hearts must break,  
and our tears must mix with theirs, 
and our prayers 
must not cease, but instead 
form a ladder on which their grief can climb 
to a place beyond the stars; 
all the way to heaven’s gates, 
until they reach the ears of the One 
who charts all our paths, 
and orchestrates all our fates. 

Somewhere there is a plane.

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. 

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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.