The Day The Music Died

Imagine you are happily married. Nothing about your life is extraordinary, but life is still good. Then one day, you visit a place you used to visit often as a teenager. A place where you have had good times. You eat at the same place you used to eat 10 years ago. You drink the same coffee. You remember the girl you were head over heels in college. All you wished back then was to marry her. You live in that 10 years ago moment, for a moment, sharing a laugh with your friends. But before you know a sudden sadness engulfs your heart. A sadness that this is no longer a part of your life. A sadness that stems from letting go. A sadness that comes from remembering the good times, and realizing how you will never be so innocent, pristine and happy again. How it will never be the same, however hard you try.

I have felt like a jilted lover since Sachin announced his retirement from ODI's last year. I have been trying to avoid any discussion, thought, rationalization or argument about him. I wanted my moment with Sachin alone. I did not know how to come to peace with the inevitable fact about his retirement, that he will no longer be seen on the green fields, wielding his wooden wand. These last few days have been a rush to accept that fact. These last few days, on the eve of his last test match have been an emotional upheaval. Routine life seems too trivial. As Sachin raises his bat one last time, I cannot ignore the sadness creeping in as he walks back to the stand. I can feel the silence of the crowds within me. They are chanting his name, but that's because they don't know what to do. The silence is discomforting, so they make noise. Every video snippet they have been showing about him, every stroke he played in his last test match, brings back a flash of memories from my own childhood. And then it occurred to me - that this was as much as my journey, in fact may be more so, than it was Tendulkar's.

"As soon as he comes out, the thunder starts

from fifty thousand throats the sun made dry. 

You almost hear the fifty thousand hearts, 

In ragged unison, beat for one boy. "

These lines are still fresh in my mind. They echo each time he walks into the field. I was in 9th or 10th grade when I first came across this great poem "From the Cheap Seats" by Dom Moraes. I chose it for my class' "poem recital" assignment. It was akin to making a statement for me, for someone who had always played it safe with the academic world until then. Just couple of years ago, I had chosen the ever so safe John Keats. But reciting a poem about Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar was not in consideration. You couldn't just take a poem off a local magazine, could you?. It has to be a classic, a famous one. I don't why I chose this, but I did. I still remember from when I was in front of the class-that it didn't mater to me what others thought. I was singing praises for my hero, and for all I know,  it was as good as a classic.

But the Sachin fascination had started long ago. To tell the truth, I don't know how or when it started. To me, it feels like I was just born with it. I remember, like every other teenager my generation having Sachin posters in my room. The good looking posters at Archies were expensive, reserved as birthday gifts, but most of us made do with the cheaper Sarasbaug variety. As a kid, I couldn't get enough of him. That hasn't changed yet. I saved every news article, every photo, every magazine I found. I never realized when this habit become an obsession. There was a phase where my only topic of conversation with the outside world was Sachin. If they didn't want to speak about him, I didn't speak at all. Even when I went to someone else's house, I went through their newspaper "raddi" to find Sachin related stuff because they subscribed to a different newspaper. Eventually my relatives just started saving them for me.

"Ten years ago they mispronounced his name
At Lord’s, where, with a catch, a myth began.

Tall, cold, and arrogant, the captains came
to break this boy, and found he was a man."

I remember when my elder brother got married, my only criterion to make an opinion about his wife was whether she was a Tendulkar fan or not. That's all that mattered to me. She went into my golden list of people when she told me she also has a small collection of Sachin articles, saved from her childhood, which she would happily give to me for safekeeping.

Its been more than 6 years that I have been away from my home. Before I left for the US, I put all my stuff in a closet, including my Sachin collection. When I think back, out of 4 big shelves that I had for myself, 2 represented my life of 23 years. And 2 were occupied by Sachin. This closetful of memories is one of my only treasures remaining. And the treasure keeps building up. Even now, whenever Tendulkar scores a century, when he hit 200, when he announced retirement, every important news about him, I call up my sister back home and tell her to go crazy with magazine and newspaper shopping, take all those magazines and put them in my closet. Each time I visit home, I need one more shelf.

"Thickset and stocky, he takes guard today.

Designer stubble coarsens his young cheeks.
What fetches thousands here to see him play?

You feel the watchers stir in the cheap seats"

I thought I am going to meet my hero some day. And I thought my closet-full of memories will take me towards him. My plan as a teenager was to make a giant scrap book with all my collection, and present it to Sachin. I thought he would like it. I have forever imagined that photo of me presenting it to him, and he carving his autograph on it. And with that heightened enthusiasm, I collected even more. 

Life happened. I came to the US. Things became too commonplace in my life. But Sachin kept on beckoning us. The advent of internet made it difficult to collect. Honestly, there was a certain charm in trying to find that one good article in a used book store. You felt connected. With the internet, there was just too much written about him. I almost gave up trying to store every online article I came across. That's when in a fit of outrage at myself, I made a pact with my close friend Maanas, to start "Project Sachin". The idea was, we would weed through the tons of online material, and select the very best. Review and filter even further. The idea was to "recruit" only the very best variety of Sachin fans to do this. Fortunately, and unsurprisingly, all my best friends are ardent Tendulkar connoisseurs. We even made plans to rope in our software developer friend Varun to make an iPhone app about Sachin. Free for all. Just the very best, no nonsense collection of articles, photos and videos about Sachin. And we were still going to present that scrapbook to Sachin.

"Suddenly as the sun, he finds his power.

So, when the ringmaster assumes his place, 

flashes and whipcracks fill the acrid air, 

though he shows no emotion in his face."

There is still a folder named "Project Sachin" in my Dropbox-shared with Maanas. That project remained a distant dream. Unlike Sachin, we gave in to life, and pursued our trivial routines. When I saw "Farewell Tendulkar" section on the Cricinfo website, my heart burnt. That comes close to what we were trying to achieve. That could have been us. Only if we had tried a bit harder. 

But may be it is alright. Just like a 100 in his last game, something incomplete feels more connected. Something more remembered. We will always want to finish that project. That will keep Sachin alive in our hearts.

"The great show’s on the road, the circus tent 

made of leached sky. The tricolour hangs slack.

Not many people know what it once meant.

The marvellous boy refuses to turn back."

Sachin has gone through his own set of struggles. Every hero needs it, to reinvent himself. He needs to grapple with the enormous burden on his shoulders. He needs to grapple with the power he has. Its interesting, Sachin, that you think that we stayed with you for 24 years. It was actually you who held on. Through our ups and downs. Graduations and weddings. You never gave up on us.

The media hasn't been very kind with him in the last few years. Yes, they praise him quickly, but they write him off fast too. I felt disappointed at the cries asking for his retirement. Yesterday, everyone wanted just one more stroke, one more word, one more minute from him. But the same people had called for his head. I know there were "logical" and "numerical" arguments to support his retirement earlier, but I think there was a fair poetic logic in allowing him to struggle at the end phase of his career. Sachin and cricket were in love with each other. They are one and the same. For someone who has given every breath to cricket, the only possible way was to fight staying with cricket. Quitting while on the top would have been a logical decision. For Sachin, cricket came from his heart. As with many things in life, struggle often implies love. I can only imagine, how heartbroken he must have felt, when he heard that they don't want him anymore. His struggle till the very end, shows his love for the game and his commitment.

But it doesn't matter now. As of tomorrow, the world is already different.

"The watchers in cheap seats applaud it all 

with puny wooden drums, instead of words.

Fireworks explode round fences as the ball 

soars up in its huge arc to threaten birds."

His fans have matured with him. We used to fight for him and argue for him. We were hurt when anyone criticized him. We took it personally when he was spoken in a bad light. I still remember a small incident from almost a decade ago. A few of us had gone on a day trip to Singhagad. We were having food at the small hut, a quick fix hotel atop Singhagad. That hotel had a Sachin Pepsi poster on one of its outside walls. It was windy that day. A certain strong gust of wind took that poster down when we heard the owner of that hotel shout out to his waiter boy "Aeee arey bagh toh Sachya padla...". He meant to say Sachin's poster fell down, but it literally translates to "Sachin fell". I still remember throwing bewildered glances at Maanas. We both shared the same thought-how dare the hotel owner say such a thing !

But we have come a long way ourselves. We have learnt that our love for Sachin is beyond numbers, beyond statistics. Just like Sachin, we silently laugh and walk away when we hear critics. Sometimes calmness is an outcome of having enough faith. Noise is needed when we are trying to convince others, but more importantly convince ourselves of what we are shouting about.

They call him "God". Rightly so. And I understand and agree wholeheartedly with the emotion behind it, but I personally refrain from using that term. Not because I don't want to associate him with God, but because it takes away the credit from Sachin. It takes away his genius. The surprising part is; that he is, indeed a human. A mortal. And even then, he is everything else.

"Now strings are pulled, the tricolour unfurled.

But he’s empowered, not reined by any rope.

Tatters of colour, shreds of sound, are whirled 

around the cheap seats, in a rage of hope,

while with his bat he reinvents their world."

Looking back at Sachin's life and career, it makes us feel good about ourselves. Through more than just cricket, he inspires us to be better. To be simple. Watching Sachin finally show emotions on the field was heartbreaking. My heart went out for that one person. Again.

Sir Tendulkar-you were an honest happiness. You were an addiction. An inspiration. A friend. A constant companion. You were always in our prayers. One of the few that were answered. You define our generation. You identify us.

Watching you has been a poetry in motion. I don't know if you are a cricketer first or a musician. A sportsman or a composer. For that willow is more than just a bat. It was your baton. Thank you for being there for us. Thank you for all the joy. Thank you for the music.

It was an absolute honor.

Letting you go is difficult. Very damn difficult.

Nachiket Mehta
16th Nov, 2013

Some moments are etched in our memory...they play like an endless loop.
 It is surprising how we remember everything about them-the silent living room,
the quick prayers, the noise of leather on wood, and then the chaotic jubilation. 

THANK YOU SACHIN

(Sums up the emotions of a billion people)

Vanishing Stars

I was in the gym when I got the text message from my friend Varun. "Steve Jobs no more" it said. To be honest, his demise wasn't something unexpected. He had been frail for a long time, diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. But its unimaginable impact on self was. I did not expect, that with millions others like me, the loss would feel personal. But for some reason it did. I tried to continue cycling , but the TV screen in front of me played news of SJ's demise again and again, and I could not any longer delay the sinking feeling in an attempt to burn some more calories. SJ definitely commanded at least two minutes of cycling silence from me. I just went home. I had a sense of some injustice taking place, some error happening on the Creator's part. I was not really angry, but rather disappointed. There was almost a selfish streak to my disappointment, because along with sadness, I had a feeling of  "Damn..now who is going to come up with those great designs ..". And I was further ashamed of bearing that selfishness.

Moments like these, makes us realise how much someone so remote has touched our lives, and how much we actually owe to that someone. Let me tell you "my" Apple story. I was never a Apple guy. I wasn't one of those guys who went to a coffee shop because I had a cool looking Mac. I was a Windows person, and am still a big advocate of Windows in our day to day lives.

But then iPhone happened. And it changed the way how I marveled at technology and simplicity.

It changed the way I thought of Apple. It introduced me to a phenomenon known as Steve Jobs. Although I knew who SJ was before iPhone and his various other accomplishments, I did not bother to be impressed. I regarded him as just one more silicon valley knight. But since I owned an iPhone - SJ, iPhone, iAnything and Apple have become synonymous with each other for me. I cannot isolate talking about SJ from talking about Apple or iAnything.

Apple changed the way how I judge an invention, any progress, any technology. Apple forced me to search for simplicity in things.

Why SJ was great was because he brought intuition to complex products. My amazement at SJ comes from my amazement with iPhone.To keep something geeky is not too difficult #Android. To make something human takes inhuman efforts. Right from the moment an iPhone touches your hands, it talks to you in its own unique body language. You don't really need to understand it to start using it. Its simple. It seems to read your mind like an old time lover. It seduces you by its touch. It leads you to discover her and amazes you more and more as you explore her. The more you know her, the more you are captivated, enchanted and you know, that you are not going back to anyone else again. She has you in her spell.

I have often had "friendly" arguments with my buddies, bordering on war, about an iPhone vs an Android. Its almost like a fight we see these days because of a religion. But then, is what SJ created any different ? Isn't he like a messiah?. Think about it - Apple binds people to a discipline, a thought process. People say that Apple only allows you to operate in its own rules. It controls how you use it. Unlike other devices, which I think don't have any form or function integrity, it gives us freedom, by binding us. It shares its love with everyone,without bias. It has caused wars, as I mentioned above. But its the interpreters, the practitioners who do that. It in itself does not intend it. Not to mention people are against it without understanding the genius behind it. The thought behind it. The philosophy behind it. They tend to label it too fast. Some fear it might destroy their originality if they accept it in their life. Some feel threatened to an extent that they are ready to accept anything else. Now, isn't that already becoming a  religion? May be, it does boil down to faith in some way.

Android is because iPhone is. Apple created the competition, and they beat it. SJ was a proof that an idea can be powerful. How many industries did it create? Plenty. Companies exists because iPhone exists.One might say Apple copied other things. iPhone was not original. Fair enough. May be it is right. The question is not really about being original. The question is about what one did with what one knew. Touch screens were not new. But did anyone else master the "touch" ?. I am not against Android at all. I think it is itself a well deserved technology feat. What I don't like is someone faking their un-marvel at iPhone. I think one of the signs that a product has really touched peoples' lives is if it becomes a verb, or a descriptor for a group, or an adjective. Like Google. Google this, google that. Or Xerox. Can you xerox these documents? Or Kindle. Or  iPod. Or iPad.

You either hate Apple or you are in love with it. Either way, you are touched by it. But there are no two ways about SJ. There is no other emotion but immense respect for him. I am appalled at people who are trying to prove how iPhone is a piece of shit or how they don't approve of Apple. Frankly its an insult to SJ. If its a friendly argument about why someone loves their Android more than iPhone, its fine. One is free to choose his or her phone. But really, does one need to go the lengths of disgracing the genius behind iPhone just to feel a tad better about their Android ? I think by doing this, iPhone has already won, SJ has already been proved right, again. Apple doesn't even need to try. How many non Apple commercials do we see which try to compare their product with Apple and poke Apple to market themselves.? And how many do we see the other way around.?

If nothing else is available, people start blaming SJ's taskmaster character. I don't care about how he was in his personal life. I really want to know to whom does it matter? All he did was never let his focus off the customer. He sincerely loved his customers.If you probe any person deep enough, you are bound to find inconsistencies. Frankly, thats human. It's not that he committed a sin. He just had unfaltering ideas of perfection. I have not read his biography, nor interested in knowing anything more about him. The image of SJ I have is sufficient to make him my hero, my inspiration. I don't crave for any more details.

But its not only SJ that we lost last year. 2011 seems to have been terrible. Too many gems lost. Jagjit Singh, Shashi Kapoor and Bhimsen Joshi to add a few. Is this a sign? Are the legends making way for the new ones, or are we entering a starless time? Or are we really facing the end of the world? That would explain why HE is calling all his favorites back to HIM. Very selfish of HIM if thats true.

Sachin Tendulkar. Cannot even imagine the impact on me the day I hear he is no more. I am going to go cold turkey. I am going to go into deep silence. Or maybe, that's when it will start sinking in, that the honeymoon phase is over, and life sucks. The fairy-tale has ended. Forget the time when he passes away. His retirement, which is now near, will equally hurt. I tend to shun imagining these moments. I was never introduced to cricket and then to SRT. I go introduced to the aura known as SRT, and then to cricket. I don't think I will follow cricket after the time of SRT.

These stars, they abstracted what they did, from what it really is and made it into a beacon for human achievement. SJ took "design" to the next level. Any study of a good design will not be complete without being in reverence of SJ and Apple. Any lesson in sport and sportsmanship will not be complete without being in awe of SRT and his discipline and dedication.

But its not only those faraway stars that I miss. My grandfather, a hero to me, also passed away last year. 90 years of  treasures just faded away. Someone who saw the second world war, the uprising, the British, the freedom that we earned, the freedom that we gave away, the corruption, the India shining, the Bombay, the Mumbai, the television, the landing on moon and also an iPhone during his time on earth just ceased to exist one fine day. 90 years is not a short time.And to live them in an exemplary fashion, to influence generations to come, is a basically a story of great struggle. What he left behind though in a family, as a family, only a star could do it.

Steve Jobs was a true wonder, a gift to our generation. Like a few others stars, we are fortunate enough that he shone during our time. The way he lovingly showcased his white creations, with that black turtleneck and blue denim, will always remind us to stay hungry and foolish. How many of us manage to do that, is yet to be seen.

And one more thing....he made us into kids again. He gave us a toy, and made us ecstatic with the same scream, the same joy, that was missing within us for a long time since we were children. How I wish there was indeed One More Thing...

27th May 2012
Nachiket Mehta

Apple's home page on the day SJ died.

When a company shuns everything and just pays homage to a single person on their front page, it speaks a lot about how empty they feel due to their loss. What I also observed about these pages was the same uncluttered simplicity that SJ liked, and which is part of everything Apple.

I think this is probably the most brilliant adieu to SJ

Expecto Patronum

"A Patronus is a kind of positive force, and for the wizard who can conjure one, it works something like a shield, with the Dementor feeding on it, rather than him. In order for it to work, you need to think of a memory. Not just any memory, a very happy memory, a very powerful memory… Allow it to fill you up... lose yourself in it... then speak the incantation "Expecto Patronum"."  — Remus Lupin teaching Harry Potter the Patronus Charm

I often felt that J.K. Rowling actually wrote not for kids, but for adults. Kids were just a medium, a channel. Because; there are so many concepts in her Harry Potter series, which I think would appeal to adults at their level of maturity and understanding of the world , which kids never even might realize. Patronus is deceitfully one of them. 

We know Potter needs it .When Harry faces death ,or worse, through the Dementors sent by Lord Voldemort ( I am going to name him as much as I want), he summons his Patronus, a stag, a corporeal conjecture seemed to be made of silvery mist. But what exactly is a Patronus ? Its hard to define it in one sentence, may be because its simply a fancy name given to something that we know, something that we understand, something that we experience often , but can't describe. Just like "nostalgia"  or "deja vu" for instance. But somehow, I connected with concept  of Patronus  very deeply and personally . And on my recent trip to India, I suddenly realized what was my Patronus was all along . 

I have to thank the unexpected delays in India for this, which gave me time for some side projects.Long time ago, I had initiated an effort to digitise all the photos lying around in every nook and corner of  our house. There were numerous photos from the pre-digital age , dating back to my parents' marriage. I often asked my parents about their untimeliness and carelessness with maintaining the photos, and I used to get a very typical "parent" answer- " Photo chya mage laglo asto tar tumhala koni motha kela asta?"  literally translating into the fact that raising kids like us was such a herculean task, that it was a justification enough for every accusation of laziness on them. The fact that their wedding album was also not correctly done, with numerous loose photos lying everywhere, is a mystery I could not solve. 

It is unbelievable how much time consuming maintaining photos  is. Sort the loose photos, merge them with photos which already exist in the albums, scan all of them, arrange in logical folders on a computer, put them back in physical albums etc. So much, that it seems the task has just started. I couldn't even finish 20% of the task at hand before I left back for US. But though time consuming, I can assure you, it is one of the best nostalgic times one can ever have.

On one of the these slow afternoons, I was engrossed in enjoying pictures of me and my sisters' from our childhood. This photo session had all the elements in it- pictures of various birthdays, the various birthday cakes, the surprise at how our relatives looked back then, the surprise at how similar we looked , the surprise at how different we looked , the ridiculous clothes we wore back then (or were made to wear), and the amusement with the cool hairstyles we had back then. Everything really ! Shortly,my mom arrives home from her office. She enters our room, and sees that we are sitting in a heap of photos.  She knows what we are doing, but also curious at the same time. She nonchalantly walks to the heap and starts sampling the photos herself. She stops and stares at one of the photos. Its a photo of me, as a kid , who couldn't even walk. But I am smiling in that photo, as if I understand the reason for my parents' smiling back to me, back then when that photo was taken. She stares at it for some more time, but now she is not really looking at the photo. Her eyes are on it, but her mind seems to have wandered somewhere else. Her eyes slowly became moist. And then she cries. Failing miserably in hiding her emotions.She hugs me." Please don't leave me and go back" she says. There is pain and love in her voice. And then she cries even more. There is silence in the room, as I try to fight my tears . I want to cry aloud myself, but boys don't cry. 27 year olds certainly don't. Also her tight embrace is making it impossible to do so.

That very instant I realized ,that my Patronus are those childhood photos.

Looking at your own childhood photos is one of the most beautiful , but also, one of the most painful things to do. It is one of the hardest. May be because, old photos, not only freeze the time at that instant, but they also freeze the future at that instant. You can see your "then" envisioned future in those photos. You can see it in your eyes in the photo. You can see it in your smile. And a certain melancholy grips your mind, at the realization of how far away from that future  your current life has drifted away. At how hopeless and distraught your life really is.

Those Dementors feed on hopelessness, don't they? On unhappiness. On the drought in our life. On our wretchedness . On our fears. On our concerns. Our shortcomings. On our lack of faith. They essentially feed on the absence of love and hope in our life. They deprive us of our soul. They are soul eaters. Do these Dementors then, really need to be mythical creatures , a work of fiction? I think we can feel the effect of Dementors in our current frail life without too much effort, can't we?. And I think they are winning, and they are growing in numbers. Just think; how many of us, think we have enough love in our life? And how many of us, are continuously searching to get absorbed in some or the other form of love? And how few of us, realize the worth of the love that already exists in our lives?

We have let the Dementors chew away our soul. Job, money, relationships, failed relationships, degree,car, TV, bigger job, more money,another degree, bigger car, bigger TV. Really? Haven't these things somehow made us hopeless,and taken us away from that future? Haven't they made us enter a race we didn't really want to race, made us colder than we wanted to ? Made us fall in love with people and objects, from whom it would be stupid to expect love back. But still we do it. The real question is, is our cold life really an outcome of nothing else being possible? Why are we "acting", as if we are the unfortunate destiny's child, destined to face sorrow  and less than deserved love throughout our life? Why can't we just be happy? I think we have chosen to be unloved. May be because, it is relatively easier to glamorize the pain, and stay like that forever, instead of having the courage to have faith in the power of love, and face the pain fearlessly. I agree problems exist. Life is not easy. Its very trying at times. But it is no excuse to give up on hope and love. 

We need to fight these Dementors. May be, all we need to fight for is a continuous reminder of the love we are entitled to, one that sustains in the worst of scenarios. We need to trust it. Whenever I feel down, whenever I feel that the world has gotten to me, whenever I feel these metaphoric Dementors are feeding on me, I think of my childhood photos. I conjure them in front of my eyes. I conjure up the happy moment my parents might have had experienced when they had  lived through that moment , of me in those photos. I realize , that my mom had cried on seeing those photos of mine, because the memory of that infinite happiness was too overwhelming for her. Those tears were fluid love. May be she had also forgotten that she could be that happy. 

It changes my emotions in an instant. I feel good about my existence. It matters to me , that I matter to someone. It matters to me, that someone still loves me. It suddenly makes me feel human, and makes me realize that I have not grown so cold , so as to not experience my parents' love at all. It suddenly reminds me of what I am here for, and that the loved ones matter beyond anything else. It makes me feel the pain and efforts my parents willingly underwent in raising me. In making me what I am. It again makes me realize, that living for your loved ones is all that matters. It suddenly feels cheap and cowardly to make a fuss about my current problems. I suddenly see all the things my parents let go off, so that I get a better life. It is strange how someone else's sacrifices can empower you. I realize ,that no matter how hard I try , I cannot find anyone else who loves me like my parents. I then cheer myself up without thinking twice and face whatever comes my way. Because giving up would mean letting down my parents' love. 

And again, love wins.

We don't really need Rowling to tell us that, but she got it right. A mom's love for her kid is the only real magic. That Patronus, that photographic memory of happiness and hope, is so powerful, that it makes everything else wash away. It takes  away my worries . It often makes me cry, conjuring up the same fluid love in my eyes. Jolts me back to the vast fortune showered upon me. Pure, unadulterated unbiased love,  which works magically to provide strength. It is ultimately love, and the hope of it, that is making us survive. That is all there is to the idea of Patronus. It is the belief in the power of love.

I am convinced my Patronus are my childhood photos. And that gleam in my eye, which shines almost as if to commemorate the love in that picture.  Its the future from the past that you want to hold on to. That you want to make come true. Because, somehow ,it feels that ,that future gets corrupted and ripped apart day after day.

They say photos speak a thousand words. Yes, photography has that power. But I think old photos speak even  more. They probably even utter a few spells. We should all pledge to not let the Dementors win.We should all find our Patronuses- it could be a song,a photo,a kiss, the emotion behind it, a person, an object , a thought- we all need it.Tap into the magic that is- for it is indeed around us , and for us to use. Because we are all really just wizards.

Allow it to fill you up... lose yourself in it... then speak the incantation "Expecto Patronum" !

29th June 2011

Nachiket Mehta

Note: Not quite the photos in question, but some memories from my side project :-

The Wannabe Black

The Old "Faithful"

The Good Boy

When One Billion Sang In Unison

It is one thing to know important history from before your lifetime. I agree it is even more exciting to know that some important history was made during your lifetime . But it is entirely an out of the world experience to live through a moment,  which created history, of which you had always dreamt of, all along your life.Along with a billion others. To witness history's plans unfold in front of you, with all its teasing of your logic and hope and patience, all the way till it actually manifests, is enthralling.

I will tell you exactly what happens. Words don't flow to start with . Photographic memory is on an all time high. The senses are soaking up every noise , smell, emotion, sight, touch they can pounce upon. The mind goes haywire in trying to record the incident, but it gives up after infinite efforts to give a correct reaction, due to the enormity of the moment. It understands that silence is the best way to shout. And sometime later, the silence erupts.

This is exactly what indeed happened when team India, won the cricket world cup on April 2nd, 2011. The nation was probably never more united since the freedom struggle. For my generation, this was probably the only time it came close to witnessing what it is to be united in thought with each and every person of the nation. The rich, the poor, the Hindus, the Muslims, the fans, the casual followers. It was like the whole nation had the same heartbeat.

And it beat for one man. One man who has struggled and fought , fallen and stood up again, to take his nation to the heights of glory in a sport, that has defined him. Or a sport which he defined. Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar.  His glorious matches can be recounted, his contributions can be analysed, his effect on the masses can be wondered at, his dedication to his profession can be envied at and his simplicity through his growth can only be seen as an unachievable virtue. But today,we speak about  a payback that happened. Fate owed it to him, his share of happiness, and his share of dreams. And fate gave it to him today.

You see, we Indians are really simple creatures. We like drama. We like a protagonist in it , who gives us happiness. Who plays a role which we would like to play in real life. And we like the protagonist to win. We wish he never fails, but we relate to him more if he does. But we also want the protagonist to have his dream in the end. So when, in a life story of an protagonist , he takes a long time to achieve his due, we get hurt. We pray for him. Our hearts go out for him. We want life to be fair to him, in spite of our own lives being thrown apart in the practicalities of world's unfairness.We swear to leave no stone unturned until fate is fair to him. . 

Some movie lines cross my mind. They seemed to be made exactly for today. " ..Itni shiddat se maine tumhe paane ki koshish ki hai ,  ki har zarre ne mujhe tumse milane ki sazhish ki hai....kehte hai agar kisi cheez ko dil se chaaho toh poori kaynath tumhein usse milane ki koshish mein lag jaati hai...." .When one billion wish for something, reality has but no choice than to submit to the drama. And so, we Indians, we cry when we see the protagonist cry. We stand up when he walks to hold the cup. We clap even if we are not part of the crowd. We make an unconscious salute. We imagine theme music playing while he takes his dream walk. May be the music is really playing somewhere. 

May be this is really what it means to be an Indian. To throw the cares to the wind, and throng the streets chanting ,screaming , celebrating. To do weird superstitious things so that the protagonist's dream comes true.Believing that they work. Simple things really which makes us happy. 

Today's script was not a fairytale. SRT did not perform. But it was not any less magical. He played a big role in getting us here. Not just this world cup. His journey started 22 years ago. The Indian team has been often accused of being a one man team. May be, the greatest gift Sachin could give India, was that he leaves the team as a "team", where everyone today fought to get him his due. They all played together. Virat Kohli couldn't have said it better. " He has carried the burden of the entire nation for 22 years. Its time we carried him on our shoulders". 

Hats off to Dhoni. To end a 28 year old drought with a six - speechless !. Hats off to everyone else too. Today, not just SRT, not just the Indian cricket team, but the entire nation will sleep slightly more peacefully. Because, no one really realized, when and how in the past, the future and happiness of the nation, and winning  the world cup got intertwined.

And so, the final played out in a way, that was worthy of a "Mein Samay.. " narration. Today was the most exciting day of the cricketer in me. The fan in me. The patriot in me. The sportsman in me. The drama lover in me. Even if I am half as excited on my wedding night as I am today, I could be called a good husband . There is celebration in every nook and corner of my city. It must be some bad karma, that I am not on the streets with my countrymen today. But some good karma must be accounted for as well, because, similar to like they said in the movie Troy , "I lived in the times of Sachin, I lived to witness today..".

Dreams often come true

The chosen ones

Had purchased this shirt sometime ago, in hope for today. Wore it once. Will never wear it again. All present together to watch this moment left their marks on it. 

Nachiket Mehta
April 2, 2011

Encounters of the Elite Kind

Sometimes, the most interesting experiences happen, in the most commonplace circumstances. Thats why probably one remembers them so much. This incident started at Quiznos at the Minneapolis airport , and ended at Newark airport's baggage claim. Now, Minneapolis and Newark might be somewhat interesting, but  me ,Quiznos  and the baggage claim, were most definitely the most commonplace things  of all. And in that order.The most interesting of all these, was a person by the name  of Azim Premji, head of Wipro. Here's how it went, completely unexpected.

I had an hour before I boarded a flight to Newark, so I went to Quiznos, ordered a sub, and sat there eating happily. After a while, I saw  two gentlemen standing in the Quiznos line, in front of me, facing me. They were suited, and had a air of command around them. They seemed very out of place at Quiznos. I could not help noticing them, because they were right in front of where I was seated. It struck me, the familiarity of the face of one of them, who would later turn out to be Mr. Azim Premji himself. I thought of him, and I discarded the thought, arguing  that why would the head of Wipro be in a Quiznos line? For the uninitiated, Mr. Azim Premji, , with a net worth of 17 billion $, is one of the biggest business stalwarts from India. I thought that even his driver's servant probably would own a Quiznos. He has no business being there. !!

But the thought did not go away. I finally turned to the always reliable iPhone ( iPhone Use # 1), and did an image search on Azim Premji. Opened a full blown picture of his face, and compared inch by inch to make sure that I was not mistaken. There he was, right in front of me, unmistakably like the picture on my iPhone. I decided it was worth taking a chance. I quickly dumped what I was eating and ran to the restroom right in front of Quiznos. Cleaned my face of any bread crumbs and tidied myself. I was thinking of some paper to get his autograph on, and I decided to use my business card. I even kept a pen ready. I was thinking, that if he is indeed Mr. Azim Premji, I want to say a  hello, and get his autograph at least.

By the time I returned to Quiznos, the two gentlemen had moved to the exit of the line, and were collecting their subs. I hurried ahead and started talking. to Mr. Premji.  

NM:                       "Excuse me sir, are you from India ?"

AP:                        "Yes I am " . (check #1 )

NM( half smiling ):   "Do you happen to be Mr. Azim Premji ?"

AP(smiling ):           "Yes" (confirmed)

NM (elated)            "Its my privilege to meet you Sir.
                               I did not believe it was you initially"

AP(smiling):             "Well do you believe now?"

(Laughter Laughter)

I asked him if he can give me an autograph. He agreed.He asked my name. I told him and I gave him my business card to write on, backside up, as I thought he would use the blank space, but he turned it the right way, and read my name. He then wrote on the same side "Dear Nachiket , All the Best- Signed AP".. I told him that  a lot of our family members are from Amalner, the place where Wipro was formed, as a soap company at that time.He exclaimed "Small world, eh?" and laughed.

I wanted to have a photograph taken with him, but he had gone  ahead to eat his sub, along with Rajiv, the other person with him. I later came to know who Rajiv was.He seemed to be his right hand man. All this while, some other Indians recognized that he was someone important, and some actually recognized him too. I was happy that I got this chance. I ran for my flight. I immediately clicked the photograph of the signed business card, and emailed it to myself, as a backup. (iPhone use # 2) .I posted this incident  to Facebook. Amen. 

I did not expect anything else to happen. Right when almost everyone was seated, I saw Mr. Premji  walk in my flight. I was pleasantly surprised, but more so, when he sat in economy. I wondered why. I thought he probably did not get a first class ticket, but it seemed unreasonable that these people do not plan so ahead of time, as to not get a ticket. I kept wondering. I tried to search for "his men", to see where they were seated. I couldn't see any.Thats when I saw a post from my friend Varun ( still hadn't shut of the iPhone), asking me if Mr. Premji  was seated in the economy class, as he is known to do. Thats when I realized that Mr. Premji is known to do that. To set an example may be. Whatever it was, I thought it was a good move.For me at least that day :) I was in 17D. He was in 14A.

The flight was pretty uneventful. He was sleeping most of the time. The Newark part is much more interesting. After boarding out of the flight, I went to the restroom. I was already happy that I met him, and I would have a story to tell to my sister, whom I was visiting.I was washing my hand at the sink, when he walked in. I kept washing my hands.He came to the sink next to me. I still kept washing my hands. I wanted to see if I have one more chance of a conversation. But the place seemed inappropriate.

We both turned toward the towel machine. Now, this might sound weird, but this machine has an important part to play. The machine was not automatic, and it did not have a clear lever to force the paper out. The lever was part of the front plastic panel itself, and because it was the same color, it was hard to make out the lever from the machine.I could , he could not.I operated the lever for him. He said thanks, and we both walked out of there. After this newly formed acquaintance, I was a bit more confident of talking to him. I was surprised that he did not have anyone else walking with him. I grabbed this chance , and started talking to him. .Some excerpts from what we talked.

I said "Sir, can I ask you a personal question ?", AP said "Depends on what the question is" and laughed. I asked."I always wondered if you were a Gujarathi?" . The reason I asked this was because I knew, Amalner (MH), one of the roots of Wipro, is densely populated by Gujurathis. He said "Well, I am from the Kutch region.So yes, I am a Gujarathi. I understand, but I do not speak much. ". I told him my family was from Gujurat too, even though I am from Pune. He asked from where. I told him Mehsana. he asked me if it was near to Surat. I told him it was probably nearer to Baroda.

He then asked me what I do. I told him I was a Systems Engineer at St.Jude Medical, a medical device manufacturing company in Minneapolis. He asked me what does St.Jude do. I told him we make devices to correct arrhythmias of the heart.I told him that I had worked in the IT sector in India, at TCS for a while before I came here for higher education. I told him that I am an electrical engineer by background. He then exclaimed  "I am an electrical engineer too. Remember, there are only two kinds of people in the world. One, who are electrical engineers, and others , who aspire to be ".

The identity crisis-ed electrical engineer in me wept and finally rested in peace.I told him that I will remember that line forever. I even told him, that my roommate used to work at Wipro, and he also got some kind of award from him (Neeraj Gaur). I told him, that probably,  even though I might look too young to comment, but if it does count towards anything, we the youth of India were very proud of what he did, and wished him success towards his every other endeavor.He said he really appreciates the compliment and thanked me. I had said this as I sensed these would be my final words. As ahead, down a small escalator, I saw a person waiting with "WIPRO" banner, obviously to receive him. Once there, I joked, "So, it seems here's where we part  Sir. It was nice meeting you ". He laughed too. I went towards baggage claim. I saw that he spoke something to the person who came to receive, and it seemed something to the effect that he would receive his bag, and join him, and he told the person to wait outside. He started walking towards the baggage claim, where I was already waiting.

I was delighted at some extra time with him. The story even gets better now. He wanted to read the flight number on the baggage claim carousel. He tried to find his glasses. He searched in his jacket, and then he searched in his executive bag. He couldn't find it. He was suddenly worried. He handed me his baggage claim ticket, and asked me if I could verify if that carousel was ours. He was still searching for his glasses. He then exclaimed that he must have left them in the flight. He was telling me that this is the first time he has checked in a bag for such a flight. He also told me that he usually never sleeps in the flight.He was visibly worried. He said he cannot read anything without his glasses. He mentioned he probably left them on his seat in the flight.

I offered to help him. I told him, that if he does not mind, I can run back to the flight and search for it. He looked at me and considered my offer. He said "Can you really do that?". I said "Of course, I will run and be back soon". I gave him my carry on backpack to watch, and I ran. That was the best sprint of my life. I went back through the escalator, through the walk ways towards the flight.

Now, I was so excited, that I did not know and read the sign, that I cannot enter back. Its a "Exit only" zone.I accidentally ran a few steps inside that area, before the attendant there shouted and stopped me. She did not understand why would anyone break that security line. I told her that I was looking for glasses. I just came from a flight from Minneapolis , and the glasses might still be in the flight. She told me she cannot let me go beyond that point. At that time, the pilot of our flight was exiting from there, stopped and asked what was happening. Even before I could speak, he asked me "Are you looking for a pair of glasses? ". I said "yes, they are my uncle's. He was on 14A". The pilot spoke to the attendant and told her, that he knows that I was in his flight (we had exchanged greetings while exiting, and he was a funny pilot, full of jokes), and offered to take me to the flight, so that I go under supervision. I was surprised by her reply. She told him she cannot even let him go back.!

Now another attendant came up and asked what was happening. He and the pilot spoke. The attendant then offered to go and search for the glasses. He said that he would send them down the baggage claim, in a tray. He asked me for my  "uncle's " seat number, and I told him 14A. I ran back to the waiting Mr. Azim Premji. 

Now, while we were waiting for the baggage carousel to start, I asked him, sensing my last chance, for a photograph. He did not seem to mind it. I found a guy next to me, and asked him if he can use an iPhone ( dind't want a single opportunity I had got , to give me a blurred picture). He said yes, and took a picture of me and Mr. Premji next. I thanked AP a lot for that. I joked, that this is so precious, and this is going to make me famous on Facebook. We both laughed.

I got a couple of calls from my sister  asking if I was done, and if I got my bag. I told her that I was still waiting. I did not mention about AP, because I was talking in Gujarathi, and I thought he would not like me mentioning him. We talked about a few more things. I asked him where is he usually stationed, and he mentioned Bangalore.Thats when we heard an announcement for the "party who has lost their glasses" to come see the Delta office. I found where the office was, and we both walked towards it. There was a different person inside, and they said they had the glasses with them instead of sending it through the baggage carousal. He handed the glasses to AP, and mentioned that "one certain gentleman" almost broke security to retrieve them. I was behind him, and I smiled. I raised my hand to him, and exclaimed guiltily "That would be me " . He then mentioned that they found it , not on the seat, but in the restroom.

We both came out of the office, and by that time, some more people had recognized him. They handed me their cameras this time, to click a picture. I joked "Oh....you got him with his glasses on ". Later, we both walked back to the baggage carousel, which had started by then. I got my bag, and he was still waiting for his. I wished him all the best for the rest of his journey. I asked him if he is heading back to India. He mentioned he is in New York for 4 more days , before he heads back. I once again told him it was my pleasure meeting him, and I would always remember it. He mentioned that he really wanted to thank me, for what I did, and that he really appreciates the gesture. We smiled and parted. I emailed that picture to myself immediately.(iPhone use # 3, in 3 hours). Met my sister outside. She asked "What took you so long?" . I smiled. I had a story to tell.

So, that was my encounter. Bucket list item # 37. "Meet an iconic celebrity at the airport, click a picture and get an autograph". Check. 

Seat #'s 14A and 17D :)

Nachiket Mehta

7th Day of Sept 2010.