364 days after being at the receiving end of Michael Schumacher's final heroic maneouvre in F1, Kimi Raikkonen has reached the promised land.
Coming into the Brazilian Grand Prix of 2006, Michael Schumacher (Schumy) needed to win the race and further, needed Alonso to not score a point, to clinch the Driver's Championship. Both requirements were possible, with the former being highly probable but the latter quite unlikely, since the Renault had shown bullet proof reliability through the entire season, Monza notwithstanding. However, if at all one needs reminding, the Ferrari team is the one that had set the standards for reliability through the current decade, and it was the Michael Schumacher piloted 248F1's engine blowup in the previous race that had landed him in that tight spot. So, as the cliche goes, anything was possible.
And "anything" did happen. Except that, instead of Schumy getting the luck he hoped for and Alonso running out of it, Schumy faced further trouble with his Ferrari during qualifying. He did not come out for a single lap during Q3, and as a result, started the race in 10th position. He started well enough, and was clinically dismantling his rivals one by one, as he continued his inexorable rise to the top. In keeping with the trend, his tire failed soon after he went past Fisichella. What made it worse was that, this happened right after the first corner. So, he limped through one whole lap, dragging his Ferrari on three wheels, possibly damaging the underside, before being able to change tires. He rejoined the track just in front of his teammate and race leader Massa, which meant that he was around 75 seconds away from where he needed to be.
From here, he put on a charge that was as compelling as any I've witnessed. He had a willing car underneath him, but it was his genius that kept it lap after lap for 50 odd laps, at the fine line that separates lap records and spectacular accidents. He made up time on the leaders by the "couple of seconds". By the time the final pitstops were done, he was in the points, and looking to go better. His rival Alonso was safe and steady in second place. So, he could not do much about the championship battle, but he definitely could decide the race standings. After progressing through the field, notably, past the the Honda of Barrichello and the BMWs, he came up behind Fisichella. The Renault was quick and it took Schumy a while to get past him. This was the phase where he lost the time to catch up with Alonso on track.
Massa, Alonso and Button were holding down the podium positions. Schumy was at No.5. Few seconds ahead of him was Kimi Raikkonen, driving a McLaren, and also, the man who was taking his seat at Ferrari for the 2007 season. Schumy caught up with Kimi, tried and failed to pull off an outrageous move around the outside at one of the slow corners. 3 laps from the end, he got into Kimi's slipstream down the straight. Noticing the impending attack, Kimi covered the inside line. Undeterred, Schumy snuck himself into whatever space that was left between Kimi and wall, outbraked him, and went through. I think that that was the only time during the entire race that I allowed myself a smile. The irony of the last act was not lost on me.
But today is Raikkonen day. It is Oct 21st 2007. Kimi has driven the scarlet Ferrari this season, while his arch rivals sit in the silver McLaren. Coming into the Brazilian GP, Kimi's position was not as hopeless as Schumy's. He was 7 points behind Hamilton. There were a couple of possibilities for Kimi to win this year's championship, but the easier one (and by easier, I mean, the easier one for me to remember) was that, Kimi had to win the race, Massa or anyone bar Alonso had to be second, and Hamilton had to be lower than 5th. McLaren hadn't had a single reliability based DID NOT FINISH (DNF) through the entire season. In spite of the reliability stakes being pushed higher and higher through the years, this was unprecedented. So, the odds on Kimi being crowned champion were really long.
Massa, Hamilton, Kimi and Alonso qualified in that order. Speculation was that, if Ferrari had the legs on the McLaren during the race, they could very well get a 1-2 and Massa wouldn't be the 1 for sure. But McLaren surely was quick enough to easily stay out of reach of the BMW and the Williams. So, at worst, Hamilton had fourth place sewn up, which would land him the championship.
My only hope was for Kimi to win the race, thereby claiming the bragging rights along the lines of losing a championship in spite of having won more races (6) than his championship rivals (4, for both Hamilton and Alonso). Kimi was almost expected to get ahead of Hamilton at the 1st corner, and he did. And with the way things turned out, Kimi slotting in behind Massa, caused Hamilton to lose some momentum, thereby enabling Alonso to pass him at the Senna Esses. At the end of the back straight, Hamilton made a desperate lunge at Alonso, went off track and rejoined in 8th position.
There was a long way to go, and the pattern of the race had not been established yet. After a few laps, it appeared as though Massa and Kimi were able to comfortably increase the lead over Alonso by about half a second a lap. Alonso's pursuers were Kubica, Webber, Heidfeld and Hamilton in that order, and none of those bar Hamilton had the pace to keep up with him. Soon enough Hamilton had dispatched Heidfeld. This is when the television producers took a commercial break.
At this point, I was still a little groggy for two reasons. One - I was quite pessimistic about Kimi's chances for the championship. Two - I had had an extremely late, tiring Saturday night. What caught my attention and violently shook me out of my lethargy was the text commentary on www.f1.com about Hamilton's demise. Sure enough, by the time the video broadcast came back on, he was lying in last place. Realization that his McLaren was up and firing again made me queasy. No one knew what the problem was. And no one could calculate where he would land if he continued problem free from there on. Now, the nerves jangled. They haven't since Oct 22nd 2006 for any F1 related reason. But now, the possibilities were clear. If Kimi did not suffer mechanical trouble, he would win the race. The variable was Hamilton's progress through the field. That would decide the fate of this year's Driver's Championship.
Massa and Kimi made serene progress. They put daylight between them and the rest. Hamilton too made progress. He roared back through the field. But a distinct suspicion that he would have to make an extra pitstop compared to the rest remained.
It was also going to be interesting to see how Ferrari would handle the Massa - Kimi switch. The second and final pitstop would hold the key. Kimi had three extra laps. On the first one, he set purple (fastest) on all three sectors. His second was only marginally slower. The third was as quick, and at the end of it, he pulled into the pitlane. While this should normally ensure track position, trouble was that Massa pretty much matched his times on fresh tires. So, it was going to be nip and tick. And it was. Kimi rejoined just a few metres ahead of Massa. Ahead was the key. It stayed that way to the end.
Hamilton had already made two pitstops, and when he came out after the second one, found himself a lap down on the Ferraris. The Ferrari's second stop put him back on the same lap as the leaders, but his progress wasn't as fast as it needed to be for him to snatch 5th. Sure enough, he made one more stop, and went back a lap down. As fate would have it, a few seconds behind the Ferraris. So, every shot of Kimi and Massa, showed Hamilton's McLaren in the background.
As the laps ticked down, it became obvious that the only thing that could disrupt Kimi's coronation would be the retirements of two of the top 6. Ahead of Hamilton, Heidfeld, Rosberg and Kubica were locked in battle. Surely, things could turn sour for two of them. And they almost did when Rosberg made an optimistic dive down the inside of Heidfeld at Turn 1. Heidfeld did not expect this, but thankfully, decided to avoid contact rather than shut the gap. This led to both of them sliding wide at the corner. Kubica shot through. Kubica opened a gap over Rosberg, who in turn opened one over Heidfeld. But the hostilities did not end there. Kubica's tires started graining and soon enough, he fell into the clutches of Rosberg. They waged a battle for a couple of laps, and Rosberg finally swept past and drove away. Only a handful of laps remained.
The quirky nature of the situation meant that in spite of Kimi, Massa and Hamilton (one lap down) being the first ones to take the chequered flag, the final championship standing could not be confirmed. Alonso, Rosberg, Kubica and Heidfeld still had the major part of the final lap to complete. So, Kimi could not celebrate. And Hamilton must have been nursing a faint hope. Thankfully, status quo was maintained.
Kimi celebrated with some arm thrusting and a bright smile. Massa looked to be on the verge of tears. Not because he lost the championship, but because, he could not win in front of his faithful Paulistas. Alonso seemed content. Hamilton appeared to have taken the result in his stride.
As for me, I am happy rather than ecstatic, for Kimi is not Schumy to me. Plus, this was no finale. Next year, Kimi is set at Ferrari. Likewise, Hamilton at McLaren. And I hope Alonso will reunite with Renault. Their head to head duels will light up the track in the years to come. Truth be told, the battles have just begun.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
witty Jack inspires
It was one of those pleasant, leisurely evenings. Not having much to do, or watch on TV, I played the DVD of Pirates of the Carribean: Curse of the Black Pearl on my laptop. I have this habit of watching some of my favorite movies repeatedly. Actually, watching is not the right word. Hearing would be. What I do is, continue browsing, as the movie is being played. This is one of the clearest symptoms of the disease called "compulsive multi-tasking" that I suffer from. Other manifestations include online chatting and talking on the phone at the same time, with browsing mixing in with either or sometimes both. Another is watching TV and browsing at the same time. Now that I look at it, "compulsive browsing" would be a more accurate medical term for my disease. Anyway, in spite of having seen the movie several times previously, the mood today was just right for me to enjoy the very many witty repartees of Captain Jack Sparrow.
Over the years, I've heard first hand tales that movies inspire viewers who are strongly influenced by it, to perform certain deeds or accomplish difficult tasks. Movies have left strong impressions on me. But I don't recall myself putting any of those to good use. So, I've always been cynical of the idea. Not anymore.
While reveling in listening to the movie, I was inclined to send across the following exchange to a friend of mine.
Will: You cheated. In a fair fight, I'd kill you!
Jack: That's not much incentive for me to fight fair, then, is it?!
(Jack swings the mast overboard, which takes Will with it. Following which he hands out some of the truest philosophy in the simplest of words)
Jack: As long as you are hanging in there, listen! The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do.
Sometime later, with the movie still on, I was involved in a chat on gmail with another friend of mine. The discussion was fairly serious. Fairly 'immigration'al, actually. Further, we got around to discussing about his workplace and a recent feedback he received from his manager. The exchange went thus...
Bicker: They also said that my "thought patterns" for problem solving were impressive. I don't know where that came from.
Me: "Thought patterns" usually originate in the brain. So, in your case, I don't know either!
It just rolled off the fingers. I didn't blink, neither did I need to think. He never knew what hit him. Not until it slid down his head, to his back, all the way down and bit him in the butt. What was he thinking, handing me a bait like that?! In the mood I was in, the Spanish armada couldn't have stopped me. Now, I presume that my induction into wit's Hall of Fame is just a matter of time.
One could say, that I struck gold today. Though, Bicker would say that I was probably struck by gold today. Either way, it was fun.
Over the years, I've heard first hand tales that movies inspire viewers who are strongly influenced by it, to perform certain deeds or accomplish difficult tasks. Movies have left strong impressions on me. But I don't recall myself putting any of those to good use. So, I've always been cynical of the idea. Not anymore.
While reveling in listening to the movie, I was inclined to send across the following exchange to a friend of mine.
Will: You cheated. In a fair fight, I'd kill you!
Jack: That's not much incentive for me to fight fair, then, is it?!
(Jack swings the mast overboard, which takes Will with it. Following which he hands out some of the truest philosophy in the simplest of words)
Jack: As long as you are hanging in there, listen! The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do, and what a man can't do.
Sometime later, with the movie still on, I was involved in a chat on gmail with another friend of mine. The discussion was fairly serious. Fairly 'immigration'al, actually. Further, we got around to discussing about his workplace and a recent feedback he received from his manager. The exchange went thus...
Bicker: They also said that my "thought patterns" for problem solving were impressive. I don't know where that came from.
Me: "Thought patterns" usually originate in the brain. So, in your case, I don't know either!
It just rolled off the fingers. I didn't blink, neither did I need to think. He never knew what hit him. Not until it slid down his head, to his back, all the way down and bit him in the butt. What was he thinking, handing me a bait like that?! In the mood I was in, the Spanish armada couldn't have stopped me. Now, I presume that my induction into wit's Hall of Fame is just a matter of time.
One could say, that I struck gold today. Though, Bicker would say that I was probably struck by gold today. Either way, it was fun.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
A tale of two journeys
During my last visit to India, I experienced the pleasure and pain, of traveling from Chennai to Bangalore and back by train, during an extended weekend trip. Due to last minute planning, my reservation landed me a seat in the non A/C section of the Lal Bagh Express, with the word express being a clear misnomer. As it turned out, the train's departure time was about five hours after that of my H1-B visa appointment at the American Embassy in Chennai. Expectedly, I wasn't feeling particularly cheerful that morning, but by the time I was ready to embark on this journey, I was in fairly high spirits. Events panned out well at the Embassy.
Arriving well ahead of time at the station, and recalling horror stories from the past about being hounded out of a seat by ticketless travelers, I took mine and did not budge even when I felt the temptation to pick up a Dairy Milk from one of the platform vendors. Thankfully, there was no trouble with the seating, and I did have the pleasure of a window seat, albeit, not with the wind in my face. As the seats got taken, the chatter level increased beyond my comfort zone. Worse, since it wasn't in English or Tamil, it was pure, unadulterated noise to me. Thankfully, I was well prepared for such a scenario. With an iPod in my pocket and Richie Benaud's "My Spin on Cricket" in hand, I was all ready to shut out the surroundings.
Surprisingly, the headphones did not come on, and only 20 or so pages of the book were turned. Instead, my ears got used to the cacophony soon enough, and my eyes just feasted on the sights that I hadn't seen in ages. There were school grounds with multiple cricket matches going on, there were gangs hanging out with no purpose whatsoever, but most of all, there were vast expanses of cultivated and uncultivated land. To be perfectly honest, I can't claim that they were beautiful in an aesthetic sense, but they kept me engaged until it went dark, and I could see no more.
During this journey, every 15 minutes or so, a destitute would come by, stand/sit beside each seat and ask for money. Their mannerisms have changed over the years. Nowadays, they are a insistent lot, asking strongly, or at times, even demanding money. Since there were a couple of passengers sitting to my left, thus, separating me from the aisle, I was shielded from most of the pestering. But every single time a vagabond came by, I felt a pang of irritation, pity and guilt, all rolled into one. Thankfully and unfortunately, each of those emotions were fleeting and I got back to staring outside by the time they passed my row of seats.
Through the course of this journey, there were, say, twenty of them that passed by. I did not give away money to any of them. I did consider it at times, but ended up not doing so. It was a combination of factors that led me to do so. First, I was inherently uncomfortable taking out my wallet, which had a load of cash, in the crowded train, and second, I am not quite sure about giving away money to the destitute. However, I also believe that, since I don't do much about easing their situation through any constructive means, giving alms would be the only way to personally extend some help to them. So, essentially it was all about the first point.
Sitting across me was a lady, a pretty loud mouthed one at that. Needless to say, she made quite a negative first impression on me, and it was not just based on how loud she was. She entered the train at Chennai, and had a couple of guys traveling with her. She was middle aged, and the guys appeared to be at least 5 years younger than her. Further, while she was clearly not South Indian, the guys certainly were. Without getting into further details, let me state upfront that I got the distinct impression that she was a "madam". Whether it was stupid of me to have thought so, or smart of me to have deciphered that, I don't know. I still don't. But that was and is my hunch. Hence, the negative first impression.
Turned out, that out of all the people that were within my view, she was the only one who gave away money to every single destitute that walked by. She was seated directly across me, and thus cushioned from the aisle by 2 passengers, just as I was, but every single time, a destitute passed by, she took out her purse, reached into it, and gave out some money.
Towards the end, we did exchange a couple of banal comments, including something as enlightening as how cold it got as it got darker and as we neared Bangalore. Further, along with about half the crowd in our coach, both of us were getting down at the station prior to the junction. Whitefield, I think, it was. Needless to say, she left a lasting impression on me. A gray one, at that. Just the way I like it.
Bangalore was loads of fun. After a 4 day blur of sister, friends, movie, gourmet food and loads of pretty faces, it was time for the return journey. In case it wasn't clear, the journey to Bangalore had given me a high. So, I looked forward to the return leg of it. I had a book. I had the iPod. But I didn't expect to use much of either. I knew I had a window seat, and I hoped that I would be facing the wind this time. In all this positivity, and due to the lazy bum suggestions of a lazy bum friend of mine, I chose the lazy bum option of waking up 15 minutes later than what would be required if I intended to catch the train at the junction itself. Instead, I got onto the train at its first stop.
The enthusiasm drained, the second I got in. A quick scan showed that all window seats were taken. To my utter dismay, I noticed that my seat was taken up by a lady, who was accompanied by a couple of other ladies in that row. Against all hope, I proceeded to show her my ticket, informing her that she was in my seat. Waving her hand in disdain, she pointed me to the seat that had been assigned to her. It was an aisle seat, right next to the entrance/exit row of the coach. I don't think I had a choice. I took one last look at the lady in my seat and indeed, she had the wind in her face!
Now, let me tell you what I quickly realized about these three seaters this time around. Something that I did not realize during my journey to Bangalore. Well, they aren't three seaters. Not when the three are me, bigger and biggest. Before actually sitting, I was thankful that I wasn't in the middle seat, but as soon as some of my butt hit wood and the rest, air, I realized the perils of the aisle seat, the one I always prefer on an aircraft. Thus, in order to ensure that I remained in my seat, I had to position one of my legs in the aisle. My shoulder too was extending beyond the seat. Leaning back offered no comfort, so, I bent forward and tried to read "Three Men in a Boat".
Note the usage of the word "tried" in the previous sentence. Because, it is only possible to try to read, when every minute, there is someone passing by either carrying food, looking for alms or just walking up and down for the kicks of it. Each one of these people, brushed past my leg and then did the same to my shoulder. I couldn't blame them for it. I was taking up about one third of the aisle.
Right across the aisle was a seat that was vacated during the course of the journey. I longingly glanced at it, since it seemed to offer a lot more room than what was available in my current location. But before I could make a decision, a lady took it up. She had male company. Seemed like husband and wife. Now, with the lady taking up the seat, and the couple keen to make conversation, she turned towards the aisle. The man took up a position where, his butt was resting on the back rest of my row of seats. This would have been fine, except that, if you remember, my shoulder wasn't contained within the seat. Thus, his butt was resting mostly on the back rest of the seat, and slightly on my shoulder. Also, with him taking up more space from the aisle, the traffic distinctly slowed down around me, and the 'brushing past' became a distinct 'scraping past' situation. For the next 3 hours or so.
To compound my troubles further, we were entering the outskirts of Chennai, bang around noon time. The pleasant breeze of a 7am Bangalore morning and the harsh blare of a noon time Chennai gust, offer the kind of contrasting experiences that a man should never be made to face within a five hour period. Except that, thousands of men, women and children do so on a fairly regular basis. And most of them aren't even on vacation. Getting back to my story, as you might have come to expect, the fan above me did not work. To be honest, most of the fans did not work. Only some did, but none of the some was above me. At this point, music could not help me. The humorous literature of Jerome K. Jerome could not heal me. I was plain and simple miserable. I couldn't wait to get out.
The one saving grace of the journey was that, I did not have to go to the Chennai Central station. I could cut short the journey by about thirty minutes, by getting off at Perumbur, from where, my place is a quick auto ride away. As we passed a Perumbur-X station, I felt a relief that the bad times were about to end. We then passed a Perumbur-Y station. I was not familiar with the location of these stations. All I knew was the exact name of the station where the train would stop and I could get off at. It turned out that my destination was less than a kilometer from Perumbur-Y station. We arrived there an hour later.
By the time the train passed Perumbur-Y station, the speed had dwindled to a crawl. Soon enough, it came to a complete stop. I could see a road right past the tracks. I should have gotten the hell out of there right then, but I did not. I don't know why. For the first 15 minutes, I stayed fairly optimistic. Well, as optimistic as a person could be after enduring 4 odd hours of the aforementioned. I tried to focus on the book, but I could not. I was dripping with sweat. And there were too many people around me, everyone getting restless.
Reading this post, if at all anyone is, could have killed off some. So, I am not about to kill the rest by explaining how I felt and what I did for the next thirty minutes. The train did not budge. I did. I got off my seat, walked up and down a bit, one eye on the luggage at all time. I also looked out the door, hoping to figure out something. I could not. Anyway, about 45 minutes after the train stopped, it started again. It crawled. 2 minutes later, it stopped at the station where I had planned to disembark.
I felt that this was as good a time as any to kill myself. Or at least test if a Shriya would come by to save me, if I tried to kill myself on the track. Like a lot of unexplainable things during these two journeys, I did not do that either. Instead, I got off the train and crossed over to the same road that I had been staring at for the past 1 hour. Autos were readily available. 10 mins later, I was home. In absolute contrast to everything else that had happened earlier, my parents were home, food was ready and best of all, the A/C was working. I chatted, I ate and then I continued reading.
Would I take the train next time if I could help it? Yes. I think I am sure about that.
Arriving well ahead of time at the station, and recalling horror stories from the past about being hounded out of a seat by ticketless travelers, I took mine and did not budge even when I felt the temptation to pick up a Dairy Milk from one of the platform vendors. Thankfully, there was no trouble with the seating, and I did have the pleasure of a window seat, albeit, not with the wind in my face. As the seats got taken, the chatter level increased beyond my comfort zone. Worse, since it wasn't in English or Tamil, it was pure, unadulterated noise to me. Thankfully, I was well prepared for such a scenario. With an iPod in my pocket and Richie Benaud's "My Spin on Cricket" in hand, I was all ready to shut out the surroundings.
Surprisingly, the headphones did not come on, and only 20 or so pages of the book were turned. Instead, my ears got used to the cacophony soon enough, and my eyes just feasted on the sights that I hadn't seen in ages. There were school grounds with multiple cricket matches going on, there were gangs hanging out with no purpose whatsoever, but most of all, there were vast expanses of cultivated and uncultivated land. To be perfectly honest, I can't claim that they were beautiful in an aesthetic sense, but they kept me engaged until it went dark, and I could see no more.
During this journey, every 15 minutes or so, a destitute would come by, stand/sit beside each seat and ask for money. Their mannerisms have changed over the years. Nowadays, they are a insistent lot, asking strongly, or at times, even demanding money. Since there were a couple of passengers sitting to my left, thus, separating me from the aisle, I was shielded from most of the pestering. But every single time a vagabond came by, I felt a pang of irritation, pity and guilt, all rolled into one. Thankfully and unfortunately, each of those emotions were fleeting and I got back to staring outside by the time they passed my row of seats.
Through the course of this journey, there were, say, twenty of them that passed by. I did not give away money to any of them. I did consider it at times, but ended up not doing so. It was a combination of factors that led me to do so. First, I was inherently uncomfortable taking out my wallet, which had a load of cash, in the crowded train, and second, I am not quite sure about giving away money to the destitute. However, I also believe that, since I don't do much about easing their situation through any constructive means, giving alms would be the only way to personally extend some help to them. So, essentially it was all about the first point.
Sitting across me was a lady, a pretty loud mouthed one at that. Needless to say, she made quite a negative first impression on me, and it was not just based on how loud she was. She entered the train at Chennai, and had a couple of guys traveling with her. She was middle aged, and the guys appeared to be at least 5 years younger than her. Further, while she was clearly not South Indian, the guys certainly were. Without getting into further details, let me state upfront that I got the distinct impression that she was a "madam". Whether it was stupid of me to have thought so, or smart of me to have deciphered that, I don't know. I still don't. But that was and is my hunch. Hence, the negative first impression.
Turned out, that out of all the people that were within my view, she was the only one who gave away money to every single destitute that walked by. She was seated directly across me, and thus cushioned from the aisle by 2 passengers, just as I was, but every single time, a destitute passed by, she took out her purse, reached into it, and gave out some money.
Towards the end, we did exchange a couple of banal comments, including something as enlightening as how cold it got as it got darker and as we neared Bangalore. Further, along with about half the crowd in our coach, both of us were getting down at the station prior to the junction. Whitefield, I think, it was. Needless to say, she left a lasting impression on me. A gray one, at that. Just the way I like it.
Bangalore was loads of fun. After a 4 day blur of sister, friends, movie, gourmet food and loads of pretty faces, it was time for the return journey. In case it wasn't clear, the journey to Bangalore had given me a high. So, I looked forward to the return leg of it. I had a book. I had the iPod. But I didn't expect to use much of either. I knew I had a window seat, and I hoped that I would be facing the wind this time. In all this positivity, and due to the lazy bum suggestions of a lazy bum friend of mine, I chose the lazy bum option of waking up 15 minutes later than what would be required if I intended to catch the train at the junction itself. Instead, I got onto the train at its first stop.
The enthusiasm drained, the second I got in. A quick scan showed that all window seats were taken. To my utter dismay, I noticed that my seat was taken up by a lady, who was accompanied by a couple of other ladies in that row. Against all hope, I proceeded to show her my ticket, informing her that she was in my seat. Waving her hand in disdain, she pointed me to the seat that had been assigned to her. It was an aisle seat, right next to the entrance/exit row of the coach. I don't think I had a choice. I took one last look at the lady in my seat and indeed, she had the wind in her face!
Now, let me tell you what I quickly realized about these three seaters this time around. Something that I did not realize during my journey to Bangalore. Well, they aren't three seaters. Not when the three are me, bigger and biggest. Before actually sitting, I was thankful that I wasn't in the middle seat, but as soon as some of my butt hit wood and the rest, air, I realized the perils of the aisle seat, the one I always prefer on an aircraft. Thus, in order to ensure that I remained in my seat, I had to position one of my legs in the aisle. My shoulder too was extending beyond the seat. Leaning back offered no comfort, so, I bent forward and tried to read "Three Men in a Boat".
Note the usage of the word "tried" in the previous sentence. Because, it is only possible to try to read, when every minute, there is someone passing by either carrying food, looking for alms or just walking up and down for the kicks of it. Each one of these people, brushed past my leg and then did the same to my shoulder. I couldn't blame them for it. I was taking up about one third of the aisle.
Right across the aisle was a seat that was vacated during the course of the journey. I longingly glanced at it, since it seemed to offer a lot more room than what was available in my current location. But before I could make a decision, a lady took it up. She had male company. Seemed like husband and wife. Now, with the lady taking up the seat, and the couple keen to make conversation, she turned towards the aisle. The man took up a position where, his butt was resting on the back rest of my row of seats. This would have been fine, except that, if you remember, my shoulder wasn't contained within the seat. Thus, his butt was resting mostly on the back rest of the seat, and slightly on my shoulder. Also, with him taking up more space from the aisle, the traffic distinctly slowed down around me, and the 'brushing past' became a distinct 'scraping past' situation. For the next 3 hours or so.
To compound my troubles further, we were entering the outskirts of Chennai, bang around noon time. The pleasant breeze of a 7am Bangalore morning and the harsh blare of a noon time Chennai gust, offer the kind of contrasting experiences that a man should never be made to face within a five hour period. Except that, thousands of men, women and children do so on a fairly regular basis. And most of them aren't even on vacation. Getting back to my story, as you might have come to expect, the fan above me did not work. To be honest, most of the fans did not work. Only some did, but none of the some was above me. At this point, music could not help me. The humorous literature of Jerome K. Jerome could not heal me. I was plain and simple miserable. I couldn't wait to get out.
The one saving grace of the journey was that, I did not have to go to the Chennai Central station. I could cut short the journey by about thirty minutes, by getting off at Perumbur, from where, my place is a quick auto ride away. As we passed a Perumbur-X station, I felt a relief that the bad times were about to end. We then passed a Perumbur-Y station. I was not familiar with the location of these stations. All I knew was the exact name of the station where the train would stop and I could get off at. It turned out that my destination was less than a kilometer from Perumbur-Y station. We arrived there an hour later.
By the time the train passed Perumbur-Y station, the speed had dwindled to a crawl. Soon enough, it came to a complete stop. I could see a road right past the tracks. I should have gotten the hell out of there right then, but I did not. I don't know why. For the first 15 minutes, I stayed fairly optimistic. Well, as optimistic as a person could be after enduring 4 odd hours of the aforementioned. I tried to focus on the book, but I could not. I was dripping with sweat. And there were too many people around me, everyone getting restless.
Reading this post, if at all anyone is, could have killed off some. So, I am not about to kill the rest by explaining how I felt and what I did for the next thirty minutes. The train did not budge. I did. I got off my seat, walked up and down a bit, one eye on the luggage at all time. I also looked out the door, hoping to figure out something. I could not. Anyway, about 45 minutes after the train stopped, it started again. It crawled. 2 minutes later, it stopped at the station where I had planned to disembark.
I felt that this was as good a time as any to kill myself. Or at least test if a Shriya would come by to save me, if I tried to kill myself on the track. Like a lot of unexplainable things during these two journeys, I did not do that either. Instead, I got off the train and crossed over to the same road that I had been staring at for the past 1 hour. Autos were readily available. 10 mins later, I was home. In absolute contrast to everything else that had happened earlier, my parents were home, food was ready and best of all, the A/C was working. I chatted, I ate and then I continued reading.
Would I take the train next time if I could help it? Yes. I think I am sure about that.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
ronaldo, rooney, action!
Manchester United played some of the most attractive football and scored quite a few breathtaking goals over the 2006-07 season, but none more than this piece of action stands out for me. It does not have delicate touches, nor does it have a needle threading pass. It has good teamwork, terrific opportunism and clinical finishing, but what elevates it to Manchester United memorabilia, is its pace. The kind that draws gasps. The kind that makes the Premiership the most watched football league on the plant. Every single time I watch it, my pulse goes racing. For the past six months, one of my dependable sources for a 'high'...
The other standout feature of this clip is the commentary on the action. This is running commentary at its very best. In fact, it defines it. When Rooney lays off the ball to Ronaldo, the crowd starts buzzing. The commentator raises the decibel level to capture attention, just in case someone was in the midst of a slumber. As the ball travels downfield, there is time to describe Ronaldo's pace and the positions taken by his teammates, Rooney and Giggs. Clearly, along with the rest of the crowd, he too is expecting a goal to culminate this move. The excitement in the tone is apparent. Rooney receiving the ball at his feet meant that only the formality of finishing remained. This was the perfect moment for posturing. Rooney didn't have the time, but the commentator certainly did. So, he emphasizes "Wayne Rooney for Manchester United" knowing fully well that such acts gets him extra points from the Red Devils' faithful. By the time he finishes that, Rooney has already clipped the ball over the rushing goalkeeper and the ball is crossing over the goal line. With his voice at its absolute crescendo, he gushes "What a goal, Ohhhhh, What a goal!!!". Perfect timing!
Goal: 9/10
Commentary: 10/10
Friday, October 05, 2007
Imola '94 to Japan '07
Formula 1 is an indulgence. Let there be no doubts about that. An incredibly expensive, expansive one at that. In some ways, F1 is as much a sport as a Rajnikanth starrer is a movie. Only if one is willing to and able to see past this indulgence, can one truly enjoy the spectacle that it is. I don't with the latter, but most certainly do with the former.
I don't remember how or when I started watching tennis or cricket or football, but I remember the precise incident that kick started my affair with F1. When cable television entered my household in 1992, F1 was a reason to not turn to Star Sports (Prime Sports back then) for about 2 hours on what seemed like every Sunday. It continued that way, and could very possibly have stayed that way, but then, May 1st 1994 happened! Of course, I was completely unaware of the catastrophe when it took place, but when I turned to the sports page of The Hindu on May 2nd 1994, the headline read "Ayrton Senna pronounced clinically dead". I didn't have a clue as to who Ayrton Senna was, but the fact that he bumped cricket or tennis off the headline spot, intrigued me. I read the article, and following that, a couple of weeks later, watched the Monaco Grand Prix. I continue to watch F1 till this day.
It always helps to have a favorite. Without one, it is easier to be unbiased, but harder to be passionate, particularly when the spectacle is an indulgence. Michael Schumacher isn't palatable to everyone's taste. His ruthless attitude to winning alienated some, specifically, Brits and those that are the epitome of morals. Being neither, his unparalleled skill on track was fairly easy to admire.
In this technology driven sport, a lot of the manual skill involved tends to get masked and even overridden at times. Rain however, is known to be the great leveler, creating chaos, the results of which are nothing short of spectacular. It is on those occasions that the driver can significantly influence the laptimes that he is doing. Instead of driving at the absolute, but known limit of the machinery at their disposal, they are forced to determine the limits, that change at every corner on every lap due to the varying quantities of water present on the track. The result of finding the limits as well as making a mistake while trying to do so offer some of the most revered moments of F1. To churn out the most lopsided of victories under these conditions is the surest sign of genius in this sport.
Schumacher's victory in the 1995 Belgian Grand Prix from a starting position of 16, at the rain soaked Spa Francorchamps circuit was an early favorite of mine. Until of course, his victory at the 1996 Spanish Grand Prix, his first in Scarlet overalls. Some background information is needed at this juncture. Spain was the 7th race of 1996, and by the time the circus arrived in town, Schumacher was more than 20 points behind runaway leader Damon Hill and his rookie teammate, Jacques Villeneuve, of the all conquering Williams-Renault outfit. At the end of a dry hour of qualifying, Hill and Villeneuve were 1 and 2, with Schumacher almost a second behind Hill. The race was driven in soaking wet conditions though, and Schumacher's fastest lap was 2.2 seconds faster than the rest of the field. The rest can be read here
During this post Schumacher era, I watch F1 as an intrigued observer, with only traces of Ferrari favoritism remaining, but with Alonso being Schumacher's rival and Hamilton being, well, the Brit media's darling, I have been backing Kimi for the title all season. That hasn't prevented me from enjoying the several highpoints of this season, Hamilton overtaking Kimi at Monza and the repetitive Alonso - Heidfeld battles, to name just a couple.
However, all that has been pretty much washed away from memory by the deluge at the Japanese Grand Prix. The race being started behind the safety car was a huge letdown, and the mood turned gloomier when the talk centered around the race being stopped without any racing laps. Thankfully, Charlie Whiting, the race director, took the call to make the drivers race at about 180mph while they could not see the car that was 50m ahead of them. Besides, the 22 on track, I don't think too many people complained about the decision.
The racing was on and the action was non-stop. There were way too many subplots for a single race, happening all over the track. I kept a keen eye on Kimi's and Massa's progress through the field and also the Alonso-Hamilton gap and their pitstop timings, but Webber and Vettel's rise to the top took me completely by surprise. Trouble with F1 is, it is hard to track back the action and figure out the route taken to the top. There is just no time, and probably no cameras either. Alonso's crash spontaneously elicited some drunken revelry, but with the sobering reminder that that made Hamilton a shoo-in for the title this year. After it was clear that all pitstops were done, the focus turned to the track. Kimi was the only one that could do something about Hamilton's drive to glory and I for one, egged him on.
The Japanese Grand Prix was shifted to Fuji this year from the beloved Suzuka track. It had a lot to live up to. The 130R corner at Suzuka was a part of F1 folklore. Schumacher's lightning quick reflexes that got him through unscathed, 2 laps from the end of the race in 2000, with that year's championship on the line and Mika Hakkinen only a couple of seconds behind him on track is my fondest memory of it, with Alonso's move on Schumy during the ill fated 2005 season, being the worst one. However, both moments, and a few other ones, evoke the feeling of awe. Turn 4 at Fuji was called the 100R, the only challenging high speed corner at Fuji.
Back on track, Kimi had been following DC for a couple of laps without getting anywhere close enough to overtake. On Lap 57 though, he took a remarkably wide line through the 100R and just drove past DC without even having to outbrake him. In the past, Kimi's attitude has been questioned, but his guts haven't ever. This was why. In the prevailing blinding conditions, to take the speed that he did through that corner needed courage of the highest order. It was a Kimi special that took care of DC that day, and I made sure that my neighbors knew about it.
As the laps wound down, I was moaning and groaning about the television coverage and abnormal number of breaks for commercials. Meanwhile, Kimi had closed up on Heikki and tried a similar move a couple of times. Unfortunately for him, Heikki was driving the wheels off the Renault and was in no mood to surrender second place. After missing most of the action through the last lap, the television cameras caught the end of their joust, where it seemed like Kimi got past Heikki, but was taken at the end of the next corner. Seeing those two cross the line, I got my breath back. For a second, that is.
The cameras picked up a Ferrari and a BMW in the middle of a mighty battle for insignificant points. The action probably lasted for about 5 corners. Less than 30 seconds. It is a lifetime, "I watched it live!" moment. F1 cars are fragile and every single fragile component matters to the speed of the car. The drivers take great care in ensuring that they do not damage any of it, but during this battle, Massa and Kubica experienced a brain fade that pitched them right in the middle of a bumper car battle. No one could blame them for that though. Afterall, this was happening precisely two hours after the lights went out to start the race. They touched each other more than a couple of times. They overtook each other about 3 times, and this was before the finale.
At the last corner, Kubica pushed Massa off the track. Crucially, while doing so, he placed his wheels on the grass, which meant that he had to lift off slightly to regain track. Meanwhile, Massa, instead of lifting off, moved to the runway tarmac, kept the throttle down, rejoined the track and outdragged Kubica to the finish line. In the years to come, it will be the flagship battle of this decade, sitting pretty alongside the 1979 French classic between Arnoux and Villeneuve.
I don't remember how or when I started watching tennis or cricket or football, but I remember the precise incident that kick started my affair with F1. When cable television entered my household in 1992, F1 was a reason to not turn to Star Sports (Prime Sports back then) for about 2 hours on what seemed like every Sunday. It continued that way, and could very possibly have stayed that way, but then, May 1st 1994 happened! Of course, I was completely unaware of the catastrophe when it took place, but when I turned to the sports page of The Hindu on May 2nd 1994, the headline read "Ayrton Senna pronounced clinically dead". I didn't have a clue as to who Ayrton Senna was, but the fact that he bumped cricket or tennis off the headline spot, intrigued me. I read the article, and following that, a couple of weeks later, watched the Monaco Grand Prix. I continue to watch F1 till this day.
It always helps to have a favorite. Without one, it is easier to be unbiased, but harder to be passionate, particularly when the spectacle is an indulgence. Michael Schumacher isn't palatable to everyone's taste. His ruthless attitude to winning alienated some, specifically, Brits and those that are the epitome of morals. Being neither, his unparalleled skill on track was fairly easy to admire.
In this technology driven sport, a lot of the manual skill involved tends to get masked and even overridden at times. Rain however, is known to be the great leveler, creating chaos, the results of which are nothing short of spectacular. It is on those occasions that the driver can significantly influence the laptimes that he is doing. Instead of driving at the absolute, but known limit of the machinery at their disposal, they are forced to determine the limits, that change at every corner on every lap due to the varying quantities of water present on the track. The result of finding the limits as well as making a mistake while trying to do so offer some of the most revered moments of F1. To churn out the most lopsided of victories under these conditions is the surest sign of genius in this sport.
Schumacher's victory in the 1995 Belgian Grand Prix from a starting position of 16, at the rain soaked Spa Francorchamps circuit was an early favorite of mine. Until of course, his victory at the 1996 Spanish Grand Prix, his first in Scarlet overalls. Some background information is needed at this juncture. Spain was the 7th race of 1996, and by the time the circus arrived in town, Schumacher was more than 20 points behind runaway leader Damon Hill and his rookie teammate, Jacques Villeneuve, of the all conquering Williams-Renault outfit. At the end of a dry hour of qualifying, Hill and Villeneuve were 1 and 2, with Schumacher almost a second behind Hill. The race was driven in soaking wet conditions though, and Schumacher's fastest lap was 2.2 seconds faster than the rest of the field. The rest can be read here
During this post Schumacher era, I watch F1 as an intrigued observer, with only traces of Ferrari favoritism remaining, but with Alonso being Schumacher's rival and Hamilton being, well, the Brit media's darling, I have been backing Kimi for the title all season. That hasn't prevented me from enjoying the several highpoints of this season, Hamilton overtaking Kimi at Monza and the repetitive Alonso - Heidfeld battles, to name just a couple.
However, all that has been pretty much washed away from memory by the deluge at the Japanese Grand Prix. The race being started behind the safety car was a huge letdown, and the mood turned gloomier when the talk centered around the race being stopped without any racing laps. Thankfully, Charlie Whiting, the race director, took the call to make the drivers race at about 180mph while they could not see the car that was 50m ahead of them. Besides, the 22 on track, I don't think too many people complained about the decision.
The racing was on and the action was non-stop. There were way too many subplots for a single race, happening all over the track. I kept a keen eye on Kimi's and Massa's progress through the field and also the Alonso-Hamilton gap and their pitstop timings, but Webber and Vettel's rise to the top took me completely by surprise. Trouble with F1 is, it is hard to track back the action and figure out the route taken to the top. There is just no time, and probably no cameras either. Alonso's crash spontaneously elicited some drunken revelry, but with the sobering reminder that that made Hamilton a shoo-in for the title this year. After it was clear that all pitstops were done, the focus turned to the track. Kimi was the only one that could do something about Hamilton's drive to glory and I for one, egged him on.
The Japanese Grand Prix was shifted to Fuji this year from the beloved Suzuka track. It had a lot to live up to. The 130R corner at Suzuka was a part of F1 folklore. Schumacher's lightning quick reflexes that got him through unscathed, 2 laps from the end of the race in 2000, with that year's championship on the line and Mika Hakkinen only a couple of seconds behind him on track is my fondest memory of it, with Alonso's move on Schumy during the ill fated 2005 season, being the worst one. However, both moments, and a few other ones, evoke the feeling of awe. Turn 4 at Fuji was called the 100R, the only challenging high speed corner at Fuji.
Back on track, Kimi had been following DC for a couple of laps without getting anywhere close enough to overtake. On Lap 57 though, he took a remarkably wide line through the 100R and just drove past DC without even having to outbrake him. In the past, Kimi's attitude has been questioned, but his guts haven't ever. This was why. In the prevailing blinding conditions, to take the speed that he did through that corner needed courage of the highest order. It was a Kimi special that took care of DC that day, and I made sure that my neighbors knew about it.
As the laps wound down, I was moaning and groaning about the television coverage and abnormal number of breaks for commercials. Meanwhile, Kimi had closed up on Heikki and tried a similar move a couple of times. Unfortunately for him, Heikki was driving the wheels off the Renault and was in no mood to surrender second place. After missing most of the action through the last lap, the television cameras caught the end of their joust, where it seemed like Kimi got past Heikki, but was taken at the end of the next corner. Seeing those two cross the line, I got my breath back. For a second, that is.
The cameras picked up a Ferrari and a BMW in the middle of a mighty battle for insignificant points. The action probably lasted for about 5 corners. Less than 30 seconds. It is a lifetime, "I watched it live!" moment. F1 cars are fragile and every single fragile component matters to the speed of the car. The drivers take great care in ensuring that they do not damage any of it, but during this battle, Massa and Kubica experienced a brain fade that pitched them right in the middle of a bumper car battle. No one could blame them for that though. Afterall, this was happening precisely two hours after the lights went out to start the race. They touched each other more than a couple of times. They overtook each other about 3 times, and this was before the finale.
At the last corner, Kubica pushed Massa off the track. Crucially, while doing so, he placed his wheels on the grass, which meant that he had to lift off slightly to regain track. Meanwhile, Massa, instead of lifting off, moved to the runway tarmac, kept the throttle down, rejoined the track and outdragged Kubica to the finish line. In the years to come, it will be the flagship battle of this decade, sitting pretty alongside the 1979 French classic between Arnoux and Villeneuve.
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