Tume ho na ho, mujhko yakeen hai mujhe pyar tumse nahih hai nahih hai.
(You might love me or not, but I for sure don’t, I don’t. )
And that is a horrible translation of a beautiful lyric.
Fishing on Maligne Lake. Jasper, Canada.
Allah Meherbaan, Dil gule-gul-gulistan.
(Allah’s mercy makes the heart bloom)
“Have a mind that is open to everything, and attached to nothing.”
I am one of those people who welcomes change with open arms. Living a life with little change is something that I am incredibly frightened of.
There is a lot to be thankful for. I live in one of the best cities in the world and live the good life on all fronts but I am growing tired of it now. The same people, same buses, same grocery place and most importantly the same experiences. For now, I don’t see myself leaving anytime soon and sometimes that saddens me.
I am incredibly thankful for the constants in my life, but what fun is a mathematical equation that moves because of one variable. Put another way, I like multivariable calculus. Love it actually.
On the other hand, it is also important to entertain and think of opposing viewpoints. Below, Paul Scholes makes a case(2:00 onwards) for why he does not feel the need to change.
The month I turned Indian.
Everyone seems to be posting their favorite Sachin memories these last few days. Here is mine. :)
It was on the 2nd of April, 2011. It was the day that India lifted her second world cup and Sachin his only. You can point to the Sharjah desert storms in 1998 vs Australia, the 136 vs Pakistan in 1999 with a back spasm(his best albeit in a losing cause which is why no one appreciates it as much), the 241 in Sydney in Waugh’s last test, the mastery of Warne at Chennai, etc. You get the point. But the world cup was still special because without he would always be a lone warrior who failed to make his team win the ultimate prize.
Being a Kashmiri, I have never supported the Indian cricket team but for that one tournament I was as passionate as any Indian can be. And I did it all for this one man, Sachin Tendulkar. He had been playing cricket for 22 years but was still without the trophy he craved the most.
And that is why I believe Tendulkar is special. He had this magical ability to connect with people from all sorts of backgrounds due to the sheer force of his personality. Sports stars face pressure, but no one carries the weight of a billion people when they play. Many are loved, but Sachin is worshiped and disturbingly referred to as God.
It would have been so easy for him to become arrogant, overwhelmed by the fame, money and power but somehow midst it all he retained the boyish innocence and passion he showed on his debut in 1989.
The picture above was taken that day during India’s innings. I caught the game with a room full of Indian MBA students.
I screamed every time Sachin scored a run.
And when Dhoni hit a six to clinch the world cup, I screamed the famous Sachin Sachin chant while everyone was screaming India, India.
I miss him a lot. Cricket will never be the same.
"Kohli, the new youth icon, like Sachin was in my growing up years, is supremely talented. But unlike Sachin, he lets the world know that. He abuses, irrespective of whether he is happy or sad, shows little respect for the opposition, wears his Indianness on his sleeve in a manner that suggests a woeful lack of understanding of what it means to be Indian. Or perhaps, a reflection of an understanding of what it means to be Indian today — the India that in its quest to be accepted as a superpower seems to have lost its own identity, that is assertive on the world stage but quick to play victim, where nationalism means scoring brownie points against external enemies, crassly announcing one’s presence on the world stage and expecting recognition at best, genuflection at worst. This is the India we live in, where the most popular leader advocates a muscle-flexing nationalism that is anathema to our Constitution and our ethos"
Arghya Sengupta from The Hindu on the obvious symbolism between Sachin’s India and Kohli’s India.
Some heather fading into autumn, with Old Man of Storr and Needle rock fading into clouds behind.
Isle of Skye, Scotland
Kashmir shrinks into my mailbox,
my home a neat four by six inches.
I always loved neatness. Now I hold
the half-inch Himalayas in my hand.
This is home. And this the closest
I’ll ever be to home. When I return,
the colors won’t be so brilliant,
the Jhelum’s waters so clean,
so ultramarine. My love
And my memory will be a little
out of focus, it in
a giant negative, black
and white, still undeveloped.
Agha Shahid Ali from ‘Postcard from Kashmir’
#agha shahid ali