The World Cup responsibilities..

I don't remember watching any cricket until the 1996 world cup. Specifically until the India-Pakistan Quarter-final. There was so much hype around it that it had all my attention and curiosity. You get easily influenced as a kid. I remember my neighbours being Pakistan fans. Thank God it didn't influence me. It confused me. In all my innocence of an eight year old kid, I asked my dad - 'why do Indians support Pakistan?' He dismissed their appalling logic in a simple answer - 'they're idiots. We are Indians and no matter what, we support India'. It stayed with me ever since.

The first match I remember watching was this one. I remember the Aamir Sohail incident. I remember being ecstatic after the win, and equally heart broken after the Semi-final. Even at 120 for 8 chasing 251, I thought India could win it. 'Why are people such Idiots?' I thought. Why would you stop a match which India was going to win anyway. Kumble would give company and Kambli would finish it in style. It would never happen, but I wasn't learned enough. But even when I learnt a thing or two about cricket, I have always been hopeful. And superstitious.

When I watch a match and India wins, I make it a point to watch the next match, because if I don't, India loses. And when India loses even after I watch, I stop watching, and guess what? India wins. This is how India won the 2011 World Cup. When it started, I was in 'you watch and India loses' zone, so I avoided watching any of the group stage games until things had to turn around after India lost to South Africa. I knew that was the cue. I had to watch the remaining matches and I made sure I did. The rest is history my dear friends. And all this while you thought Dhoni or Yuvraj or whoever took India to world cup glory. Hah.

I'll be honest here though - I'm not always the hero. On the contrary, I am a villain sometimes. I had to watch the 2014 World T20 final against Sri Lanka, I had to watch it for India to win! India was bowling decent until I decided I'd go buy something from a super-market real quick. I went. I got stuck in traffic. And by the time I reached, India had lost. I still haven't forgiven myself for that disaster.

With the 2015 World Cup about to start, I am very excited. Not that India has a great chance but I firmly believe I can take them through. The ultimate strategies are being played in my mind. And what better a match to start with than an India-Pakistan clash again. I am formulating a brilliant strategy to help India win. This time I am in the 'watch or India loses' zone. Thank God the match is on a Sunday, I won't have to fake one more of those sick leaves or come up with a reason to work from home. I'm going to wake up early, warm up a little bit and sit in front of the TV and watch the proceedings. However, if by any chance India loses, remember this, I would have done something stupid and I will take full responsibility.

PS: I like to believe that I am a reasonable gentleman, but Cricket definitely brings out the kid in me.

'Do the thing you fear most and death of fear is certain'

I’ve been on a few bike trips lately. I wasn’t too fond of riding, the liking towards which I developed when I went on the Manali-Leh trip in June 2013. It had been more than a year since I rode a bike by then and never did I ride on a highway except for the 100 KM stretch from Hyderabad to my hometown, as a pillion with my brother some 8 years ago. My mom recalls that I slept that afternoon like I rode a thousand miles, hence never tried anything with motorcycles after that.

A few months before we set out, I remember when Srinivas mentioned about the Manali-Leh tour, I gave my consent without a second thought. I was always fascinated about riding a bullet, which I never did until I was in Manali. When we left for the tour, I was nervous, I was scared and nowhere close to being confident. My bet was that I wouldn’t ride for more than a couple of days and was only happier about the fact that there will be a mini-truck accompanying us, so when any one of us are tired or hurt, we can put our bikes inside and rest. That was my plan A. Plan B was to ride. Surprisingly as it turned out, I took the truck break once, when I felt I just couldn’t ride that evening (and I regret to date having taken that break). But I rode the remaining 9 days. As much as 8 hours a day at least, and the last day I felt like I could have easily done a few more. I was sadder that day than I was when I flunked terribly in my first attempt at CA final.

There were other rides as well, the one me and Abhijith took. Having worked almost 60 hours that week in the midst of the busy season, one fine Saturday evening, two of us, frustrated, wanted to just ride into oblivion. We decided on riding to Chirala, 350-360 kilometers as per Google, turned out to be around 450. We had decided on a simple plan. Leave by 10 that night, reach Chirala in 6-7 hours, chill at the beach, ride back and reach Hyderabad by Sunday night, and well, back to work Monday morning. It sounded fairly simple. But by the time I reached home from office, I realized what a stupid plan that was. No practicality at all. I went to the loo twice (I do that when I get tensed). When Abhijith called at around 10 to ask me if the plan is on, I said I’ve never been more ready. I had given my word, and I wouldn’t back out. I was feeling low, out of energy, scared. But then we went. We rode. We started at around 11 and we rode through the night. Reached at 9 in the morning, slept, got up at 4, went to the beach, got bored, decided we’ll ride back, started at around 6 PM, back to Hyderabad at 3 AM, and well, back to work Monday morning. A little over 900 kilometers in less than 30 hours. Like a boss.

The recent one I went on was with Srinivas. He was so excited about it that he had come all the way from Bangalore to go to Machilipatnam and back over a three day period. I said I’m in. But then I was hoping he won’t come. I was thinking of all the things I can do to avoid this trip. I was scared. I was tired. I had so many reasons on not going. But I went. And when we took our first stop after a hundred kilometers, I was as fresh as I could be. We rode till 3 in the night and I was still fresh when I reached the hotel. We did 750 kilometers in around 36 hours this time. And I would not have been more confident when I was coming back.

The thing I could not help but notice after this ride is that I love riding, I enjoy it to the fullest, but not before I am scared of it, EVERY TIME! I can connect so well to those lame dar ke aage jeet hai advertisements. But the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Lalli had told me once – fear is a comfort zone that most people live in. It feels good to be there because you have nothing to lose, but when you get out of it, you’ll know exactly what you were missing. Fear kills you, but it is the only thing that can keep you alive.

There are other things as well, like when I am scared of studying a subject, I enjoy it more when I start studying (only because there’s no other way out). I was scarred for life when I got 006 in a useless subject in my first attempt to pass CA Final. YES, IT IS ZERO ZERO SIX OUT OF ONE FULL HUNDRED! I thought I’d never become a CA because I’d never pass that subject. But I studied it every day. And I started enjoying it. Though I passed it with a border mark of 40, in the third attempt (if you’re curious – 26 in the second), I did not fear it. For if I did, I’d have failed even before I gave the paper. The inspiration, however, was a quote by Mark Twain, which I tell myself even today when I’m scared of something – “Do the thing you fear most and death of fear is certain”.

LIKE A BOSS!

2014 was tough. At least the second half of it. It was the end of may, just a few days since I returned home after writing the CPA exams. I was sitting at my desk, working on something I don't really remember. My father called. He had a calm tone, but there was something he wanted me to know. He was not at home for sure. He started in his ever-controlled tone saying my mother has been feeling unwell for quiet a few days and he took her to a doctor. I started getting a little worried but my father's tone was as normal as it can be. I should have known that it is always like that. He continued. The doctor examined her, and told them that it is most probably cervical cancer. My hands started shivering. I thought I must have heard something wrong. There's always bad network reception at office. I got up at once and went to the break-out. I don't remember what I spoke during that time, but I was sure I didn't make it obvious of how much I panicked. I tried to keep myself as composed as possible and asked him what to do next. I asked if he needed me to come. He said he's fine and anyway it's not confirmed yet, so I do not have to worry a lot. He told me the next thing he's doing is to consult my uncle, my mother's younger brother who's a doctor, and then see what to do next. He said he'll keep me informed and disconnected the phone.

I couldn't think about anything. I realised that I had asked during the conversation if my brother knows. Abba said he tried reaching him but he couldn't. So I called my brother, or maybe texted him to call me back, I don't recall the details. But in a few minutes, I was talking to him. As I was telling him about my conversation, I could realise my voice was trembling. There was too much fear, tears welling up in my eyes. The moment I told my brother, I could hear the shock from his voice. He calmed down instantly and asked me not to worry too much, that we'll figure something out. Then followed a series of tests including biopsy. I kept telling myself it wasn't cancer. My parents even went to Chennai to attend a wedding while we waited for the reports. 

Abba has always been strong. He's been through the most difficult of times like there was nothing going on and he was the same even now. He knew all along it was cancer. He wasn't much of a tech-savvy person but he spent his days browsing the internet, learning about the cancer, finding about the best hospitals, the equipment they had, the doctors, etc, etc. By the time the reports had come, he was ready with his plan. He's not known for being proactive in matters that don't bother much, but this time he'd been thorough. He couldn't risk a thing. Against the suggestion given by a doctor referred by my uncle, to go see a surgeon, my father took her to American Oncology Institute. I took a week off and we took her to Apollo for second opinion. The doctor at Apollo, a well known radiologist, seemed too sure that it could be done away with a surgery. I didn't like his tone. Neither did my father. My father was of an old-school view that cancer shouldn't be dealt with using a blade. On our way back I asked my mother if she'd go for a surgery. She didn't say a word. I asked again. She cried. We got her answer, and we didn't think about the surgery again.

She has been the weakest in the family, both emotionally and physically. She was due to travel to perform Haj, the only thing she always wanted. And this. The doctors at the American Oncology Institute chalked out a plan and told us she can make it to Haj if she responds well to the treatment. 27 days of radiation, five chemotherapy sessions once a week, and three sessions of bracytherapy. It would take almost nine weeks.

The treatment started and she responded well. Nothing went wrong the first few days. Then started the side effects. She started getting weak. She could hardly eat. Lived on liquid food. She'd vomit if she ate anything. Even then she'd joke about things. One day while entering the hospital, a nurse who'd grown fond of her asked if she's doing alright. She just smiled, but tells later that she thought of responding by saying she wouldn't be here if she were alright.

She'd be on the treatment chair for chemotherapy, tell me slowly that the woman next to her will start talking now and never stop. And when the woman starts talking, and keeps on talking, she'd look at me and give that I told you so smile.

It was definitely tough. I can't begin to imagine what she was going through. She'd cry every now and then, saying she's making our lives difficult. That was her worry. That we're getting worried because of her. She just couldn't put herself ahead of us. After all she's a mother. A wife. And above all, a woman. One who'd sacrifice everything and still think she's a burden.

After radiation and chemotherapy were done, we were generally talking about how she has to get strong if she really wants to make it to the pilgrimage. It apparently is one of the toughest things, with high level of physical fitness required. She was much better now, meaning she could sit for some time. I was mentioning that she'd have to walk a lot there. We were still discussing when I noticed that she was walking in the house. From one room to the other. I quietly pointed it out to everyone and we laughed. She was in no way going to wait another year to perform the pilgrimage.

Bracytherapy was much easier than radiation and chemotherapy. The discharge report said there was no sign of tumor. She still had a few more tests and a scan 90 days from end of bracytherapy to confirm that the cancer is out of her body. She started getting much better though. She slowly started to get into her routine. Started cooking every now and then. The fact that my brother also came down really helped. The spirits were high. My brother left soon after. I had never seen him cry before. He didn't this time either, but just a hint of it.

It was a tough time for the family. My father seemed unflinching as always. I tried my best to put up a brave face. I used to have nightmares. I couldn't sleep. My sister served her without tiring, and my brother, so many miles away alone, helpless, must have had a tough time as well. Without a doubt it was the toughest on my mother.

I remember the discussions we had, assuming there's hardly a chance that she can make it to Haj in such less time, my father saying that we'll take our chances for we don't want her disappointed, my brother saying that it might well be until January when she might fully recover, I myself hardly believing that she could make it. And how she proved each one of us wrong, and how each one of  us loved being wrong in this case. 

She has been to Haj and back. She keeps saying how she thought she'd never come back. I could make it out from the look on her face when she saw us before she left. She was crying. Trying to say a final goodbye. My grandfather had gone in similar circumstances and died there. She always had that in mind. But I was sure. I knew she'd come back. She did, and how? LIKE A BOSS!