Desicritics Category: Sports: Other

Indian Hockey Federation Suspended by Indian Olympic Association - Games We Play

Shantanu Dutta — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 12:51:51 EDT

The suspension of the Indian Hockey Federation by the Indian Olympic Association will raise many questions about reviving hockey – supposedly India’s national game and once the one discipline where India could be assured of a medal. This happened after the International Hockey Federation advised the India's Olympic body to take over management of the country's hockey after a bribery scandal plunged the game into crisis.

A larger question will go unanswered in the midst of all this murky ruckus; the question of how many games we as a country ought to play. That focus will help in allocating scarce resources on a select few instead of investing in every game under the sun and ending up mediocre in practically all of them. At the moment the Indian Olympic Association is the classic show case of India’s famous “Unity in Diversity” slogan and the Association recognizes every thing from Atya Patya, Ten Pin Bowling and Thang Ta. Check out the IOA’s web site for a whole lot more games that the Association supposedly supports. Of course, none of these games are Olympic sports and will ever be in the foreseeable future but no one care’s.

Apart from all these obscure games, of course India plays all the better known ones – Basketball, Baseball, Volleyball, Ice Hockey, Throwball - you name it and we play it and play it mostly terribly. Even in those games, where we have some modest success, like tennis or chess or perhaps badminton, there would be perhaps one or two players or one or two athletes who hold the flag in a country of India’ size and population. And they usually have discovered long ago that they will gain little from the somnolent and ineffective sports federations that preside over them like deities in a pantheon. Remember the cynical, sneering, pan chewing official running Women’s’ hockey portrayed in Chak de India? The film maker had to have picked up his cues some where!

No nation in the world plays as many sports disciplines as we do with official blessings and perhaps as poorly as we do. Whereas at one level sports is a pastime and recreation and any one can play any thing, professional sports is a different game altogether. Since sports is never ever going to be a strategic concern in a country like India, it will always be at the bottom of the pile in the budget allocated to the larger social sector. One would assume therefore that the little piece of cake that is available would be used judiciously. But that does not appear to be the case.

India’s sports policy is fairly recent having been drafted in 2001. However the policy does not address this issue and if any thing , in an attempt to be all things to all people, talks of broad basing sports. Of course some aspects of broad basing are pretty good – like making opportunities available to a wider section of the population ; encouraging traditional sports and so on. But the policy ought to have drawn a line some where but it hasn’t and the day may nor be far off when playing kancha (marbles) and lattu(spinning top). The pits to which sports administration has fallen as revealed in the hockey scandal should make us think a bit. Of course it is no one’s case that hockey should be axed but it may be a time to introspect as to which games enjoy official patronage and budgetary support. It is better to be involved with fewer sports, allot them more money out of the little that will be available and then manage their administration better. It is time for a newer and more achievable sports policy perhaps !

Kambala: Racing Buffaloes, The Slushy Way

Suruchi — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 08:33:29 EDT

The rhythmic beat of drums and trumpets reverberates in the air. The area from where the sound emanates is jam-packed and I can barely see the goings on from my position. Camera in hand, I make way through the all men crowd dexterously, swinging my head to the intoxicating music.

I find myself inside a unique arena (I had been expecting a marshy field all along); two tracks dug up and filled with slush run parallel to each other for about 450 ft. with the spectators’ stands adjacent to the two tracks with a well defined boundary to keep the spectators in check. The chaotic scenes that I had been imagining in my mind all the while are put to rest; Koti Chennaya Kambala organized at Puttur is a highly professional affair.

And this entire hullabaloo is for the buffaloes; paired with the help of a yoke they are lined up with their owners ready to enter the arena. Fresh after a pooja and a wash at the temple nearby, their black skin gleams in the blazing sun, they are decorated with fancy ropes, mirrors and some of them even sport amulets. The men are well sculpted; having a six-pack is no big deal here. Most of them are bare chested wearing just a modest lungi.

A man wearing a red turban and a matching lungi checks the buffaloes’ teeth with the air of a specialist. Checking for bad breadth? No. I later come to know that buffaloes are partitioned into different groups (small, medium and big I guess) according to the number of their fallen teeth. Ingenious, I must say!

An organizer is very happy to see my friends and me, mistaking us for reporters as all of us are sporting cameras. When we inform him that we are just hobbyists he sportingly gives us the scarves which the volunteers are wearing. “Go close and shoot” he tells us in Kanadda and that’s exactly what we do, we have an up, close and personal encounter with the buffaloes of Puttur.

We position ourselves at the starting line. An enclosure is made for the buffaloes waiting in line for their turn; it is difficult to control some of them who are raring to be free and have a go at the slushy track. The main race will only start in the afternoon now is the time for the first timers to show their skills.

The first buffalo pair looks every bit menacing their muscles taut, quivering with excitement and their noses flaring. Agitated by the incessant whipping and war cries of the lone man (Saarthi) behind them, they rush past us at maddening speed leaving a trail of water flying behind.

“Splash, Splash, Splash!”

All this happens so fast that I fail to retract my camera in time and so it gets a generous helping of the mucky water. A fitting start to a day that is going to be action packed. No serious damage done though, thankfully. After a few runs I am taking pictures with the ease of a photographer seasoned for kambala.

Some of the buffaloes cover the length of the track in a mere 10-15 seconds. I realize that running in water keeping pace with galloping buffaloes is no mean feat. Many a men fall in the slush, face down, unable to keep up with their more sturdy counterparts. But some men make it look really easy and I secretly wish to run in the slush; the muddy water does look tempting in this scorching sun. Maybe I’ll do this in Kadri Kambala sometime where there are races for women and children too sans the buffaloes.

The area around the arena dons a festive look; bhel and pani puri the ubiquitous Indian street food are present here too, “Pepsi Coca cola” a stereo announces running in a loop continuously, the pao-pao of the candy-floss (Oh! How I used to long for “Buddhi ki baal” as a kid!) Man’s cart adds to the din. We settle for a glass of sugarcane juice that as always is surprisingly refreshing.

Muthappa Rai looks down on us from huge posters, sporting a French beard and talking on a mobile phone. I find him good-looking quite contrary to the appearance I had expected when I had heard that he was a underworld don turned social worker. He hails from Puttur and is the organizer of the Koti Chennaya Kambala this year, which I later come to know, is the largest Kambala in Karnataka drawing a crowd of around a lakh people.

We now stand close to the finishing line that slants upwards; a simple braking mechanism to stop the buffaloes running at break neck speed. But still some of them crash straight into the crowd standing at the finishing line; some men rush with whips to control them and no harm is done.

As photography in the scorching sun is a tiring job, hunger pangs start making themselves felt in no time. There is some time for the main event to start, so we head towards a friend’s cousin’s place for lunch. I simply love the way these traditional homes are built, they are so inviting and cozy, and make you feel right at home. All characteristics of an ideal home I feel. The lunch is traditional Tulu fair and is yummylicious. Revitalized, after the lunch and a little rest we revisit the arena.

The bands are playing elaborately; the main event has started. The buffaloes are burlier now; they run even faster and splash more water in the process. I want to get some head-straight shots of the buffaloes so we join the freelance photographer with his bazooka like lens, who is already standing at the finishing line.

This is as adventurous as it gets! I point my camera on the buffaloes till I feel they are at a safe distance and then scamper inside the crowd for protection. The men look at me amused and sometimes I have the eerie feeling that the buffaloes too are eyeing me curiously, but then it is just a feeling. None of the buffaloes crash on us but we do have some close shaves.

As the evening matures it becomes even more cool and pleasant; the floodlights cast obscure reflections on the track. The dignitaries have started to arrive and the speeches on the stage run parallel to the commentary in the arena. Now comes the part for which I had been waiting for all through.

Kambala is not just about completing the stretch of the track in the least time, that is one aspect of the race. There is another unusual aspect too. In the middle of the track some markers are placed at the height of 6.5 and 7.5 feet respectively. The idea is that the splashing water should rise to this height. And for this the Saarthi has to stand on a plank attached to the buffaloes.

As the first pair with the Saarthi on the plank arrives it is a most bizarre sight. The blurred outline of a man is visible through the diaphanous film of water rising all around the buffaloes. The man himself seems to be hanging on to nothing but air and when they approach the middle of the track, where the markers are placed, the water astonishingly rises to great heights and manages to touch the 6.5 ft mark. I feel that the man has fallen into water by now but as the pair approaches the finishing line I am shocked to see that he is still there hanging on to the buffaloes.

Many buffaloes thus pass by, but none touch the 7.5 ft mark. But there is enough time; the competition will go on through the night ending only on Monday evening. And that reminds me that I have to be in office tomorrow. The night seems promising, Yakshagana is also supposed to happen and I’ve been wanting to watch one for quite sometime.

Loath that I am to leave I wonder at the juxtaposition of the two different lives I seem to live on the weekdays and weekends. I’ve been really lucky to have watched Kambala; the one in Puttur is amongst the last to happen during the Kambala season, which starts from Dec. and goes on till March. Information about the Kambala schedule is hard to get by on the internet, but I promise myself to come back for the Kambala next year, if not Puttur some other location. After Jallikattu and Kambala I want my tryst with rural sports to continue.

IIMB, UNMAAD - Not Quite A Finished Product

Nimish Batra — Mon, 4 Feb 2008 13:12:26 EST

It seems they don't quite practise what they teach at the B-schools.

We were at IIM Bangalore on Saturday for a quiz at UNMAAD'08, the IIMB cult fest.

Oh Gods! Was it an abomination!

It was completely unprofessional, and organized WORSE than *my* college's fests (where IEEE would conduct Love-Letter writing events, and has recently conducted gambling and SMS-writing competitions), it was looking more-and-more like a DU (Delhi Univ) fest (which are by no stretch of the imagination places to have any sort of intellectual competition), especially for engineers.

The blurb on the UNMAAD website speaks for itself:

Some Say Unmaad is like the wanton shrieks of a baby who's discovered the power in his lungs. Others associate it to the stunned silence of an athlete who's just won an Olympic gold. Look closely and you're bound to even notice a delighted madman, who's found the perfect rock to shatter light bulbs.

...

Unmaad is above happiness - more passionate than anger, more life-changing than serenity, more potent than courage, more magical than wonder - it vanquishes fear, makes pity redundant, shreds disgust and metamorphoses sorrow into ecstasy.

In other words, it is The Tenth Emotion.

The quiz itself was so horrifically managed that any adjectives I might use would be superfluous in their ability to capture the absurdity. Suffice it to say that the experience would unmake even the bravest soul.

Multimedia questions were provided out of order, questions were printed merely as "Give the full funda," questions were simply "announced" and yet there was no hint of such "announcing" in the question paper - and that was just the prelims!

The question paper opened up with the words "Don't Panic" and had ZERO Douglas Adams/Hitchhiker's Guide related questions. I wonder if I should take that as a personal offense on the behalf of all Adams' fans.

We reckoned we had scored 13.5, then cutoffs were announced as 13 and yet we didn't qualify for the finals, so we tried to trace what had happened.

One bright young "central committee" fellow comes up and "takes charge" - you can tell "central committee" folks in a college fest by the presence of a walkie-talkie and the amount of swagger in their walk - that much has not changed in people apparently, despite this being a place where you go to become a finished product.

So this fellow starts belligerently arguing with someone who wanted a little help (I'm just watching with greater and greater interest) and pulls out I-don't-know how many unparliamentary words, attempts to insult someone about 15 years older than him, gets irritated and starts shouting like a petulant brat who got into a position of temporary advantage where he had information someone else needed, and it went straight to his head, which of course it had.

Which is when I decided to walk home.

Because when you hear a student of MBA (that's Masters in Bellicose Administration?) telling someone (who in all probability works for an automotive/IT/products major as HR/Legal head) that "I don't care which VP of which little BPO you're of," you think, "Something weird is about to happen." And then when you hear the same fellow shout, "What product? I'm not selling anything! You're not my customer! I'm not selling anything! There's no product!" you look around and think slowly, "Wasn't this fest an entertainment 'product' in MBA-slang? Wow! Am I wrong or what!"

The mismanagement (irony is a small word - we were in an Indian Institute of MANAGEMENT) was catastrophic. I asked a lot of people about the finals. They told me I didn't miss much.

Last time out was very neat and the people were decent folk.

But on the positive side, Umm... well there were many pretty girls. That's about it. Really.

"Will you go back?" Yes.
"Will you expect a good time?" No.

Laser Questing

Blokesablogin — Sat, 26 Jan 2008 12:47:56 EST

I was all set to take the boys to yet another birthday party. My friend, the mother of the birthday kid, suggested if I would like to go Laser questing too. I said, "What is the harm in checking out what goes on behind those closed doors?" I had no clue what awaited me behind those doors.

We were taken into an antechamber that was totally dark except for some strange lighting that picked out our teeth and made it look like Dracula's and made our eyeballs become milky white. We looked totally weird. The only thing visible were strange doodlings in fluorescent colors and the eerie light that made us see the outlines of the other bodies in the room. We were taught the basic rules of no touching each other and no covering our epaulets and chest and back "strike" zones.

We were led to a hallway where we picked up our gear- a heavy laser jacket that had the "strike" zones on it surrounded by flashing lights and a laser "gun" just as you would see in Star Wars, only there was no "shhhh" sound coming and neither was a steady light band. Thin red streaks of light emitted from these guns when the trigger was compressed that could "strike" the jackets of the other players in the game room.

The trick was to strike others as many times as you can while protecting yourself from getting hit. The game room was a labyrinth of passageways, hideouts, corners, wire meshes, stairs, corridors and outposts. When you get hit, your laser ceases to work for 5 seconds and all your lights on your jackets goes off. You become invisible to get back on.

It was easy to make out the "pros" from the amateurs. They had clear strategies that ensured a high score. Every hit won 10 points and if you get hit, you lose points. My 7 year old was so innocent, his score was in the negative! It was interesting to observe sweet children becoming obsessed about winning at all costs- ganging up on some as a group and striking, covering their strike zones on their jackets.

Within 5 minutes, I could see my brain function from a sense of preservation. When I was outside, it was calm and serene. Inside, it was like, where can I hide so that I will not get hit and which will be the right "ambush" point to take a strike at others without being noticed.

There are many fans of this game and I saw a championship advertised for the veterans at the entrance. There are local awards and points for the highest strikers. Within 15 minutes (duration of one game) I had a score of 230 while the top scorer had 900 plus points in the same game.

It was an extremely illuminating experience but it also set me wondering if I would like my child at such a young age to learn to win at any cost. I am sure, this could be an interesting psychological study.

PS: While looking up Amazon for books on this subject, I was amazed at how the virtual reality of video games has reinvented our vision of this world. The best joke is, that it is now a myth within a myth, if the Maya (illusory) concept of the world is to be believed!!

Bobby Fisher: Grand Master, Iconoclast and Legend

temporal — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 07:40:48 EST

Bobby Fisher the recluse Chess Master died in Reykjavik, Iceland reportedly of kidney failure on January 17, 2008.

Born in Chicago, March 9, 1943, and raised in Brooklyn, he was a child prodigy and became the youngest US Grandmaster.

In his matches with Boris Spassky, the Russian Chess Champion in 1972, he became the Cold War's lone ranger. Bobby Fischer took on individuals, federations and countries. He was responsible for the surge in chess popularity not only in the US, but all over the world.

In his single minded vision, or obsession, nothing could and nothing did stood in the way. The opposition to his vision and the opponent sitting across had to be conquered and vanquished.

Noted French chess expert Olivier Tridon: "Bobby Fischer has died at age 64. Like the 64 squares of a chess board."

In another bit of symmetry, his death occurred in the city where he had his greatest triumph - the historic encounter with Spassky.

The Soviet Chess Federation had been accused of maneuvering and dominating the International/World Chess Federation. In those days the totalitarian state used every means of its propaganda fight in the bi polar world. Fisher rallied and single mindedly exposed their dirty tricks.

He won the match against Spassky that made him a multi millionaire but he became delusional soon after.

He raged against the Jews, though his mother was Jewish, and - as released FBI documents later showed - his biological father probably was Jewish too.

His anti-communism transmuted into a rabid anti-Americanism. America, he said after the 11 September 2001 attacks, had got what it deserved.

He lived, breathed and exhaled chess in which he excelled. But his views on other subjects came under scrutiny and derision. His mother was Jewish and according to some reports even his father had some Jewish blood. But despite that he raged against the Jews and against the US policies.

"He was the pride and sorrow of chess," said Raymond Keene, a British grandmaster and chess correspondent for The Times of London. "It's tragic that such a great man descended into madness and anti-Semitism."

Bobby Fischer almost disappeared from the radar after winning the World Championship in 1972. He maintained a low profile and became a near recluse. He emerged for an exhibition match with Boris Spassky in Yugoslavis in 1992, defying a US ban for which he was wanted in the US. In 2002, Fischer was arrested At Narita Airport, Japan with an expired US passport and spent nine months in the jail there. Bobby Fischer denounced his US citizenship and Iceland offered him a citizenship and he moved there.

Helgi Olafsson, an Icelandic chess grand master, was quoted by the newspaper as saying Fischer had told him he wanted to take part in one last tournament. Morgunbladid reported that Anand and Olafsson had exchanged e-mails about the proposed match and that Fischer had firm ideas on the arrangements.

The ex-champion wanted to play the contest using the Fischerrandom or Chess 960 method, in which the game begins with pieces arranged randomly on the board to make the match more difficult.

Some of his most notables games were the Game of the Century, Byrne-Fisher (1963-64 US Championship), Petrosian-Fisher Buenos Aires (1971) and Fisher-Spassky (1972) sixth game.

Fischer is known to have never married but few know he had fathered a child in the Phillipines.

Fischer played tennis at the Baguio Country Club and had a romance with a 30-year-old woman from Davao named Marilyn Young in Baguio City before he went on exile to Iceland.

Fischer’s certified Filipino heir, 7-year-old Jinky, was born in 2002 at the Saint Louis University Sacred Heart Hospital here.

The girl’s birth certificate bears the name “Robert James Fischer” as her father, but she kept her mother’s maiden name, “Young.”

Like other genii he was a flawed genius. He lived life on his terms: winning some matches and losing some. He died January 17, 2007 defiant and un-checkmated.

Movie Review: The Peaceful Warrior

Blokesablogin — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 03:37:13 EST

Based on Dan Millman's novel, this film is stunning. In a spiritual journey, it is hard to give words to experiences. Here, the writer has written in such a way that it has found beautiful expression on film. A rare achievement indeed.

The story is about a young UC Berkeley student who is in the university's gymnastics team, practicing hard to make it into the Olympics. He wants to go beyond what is considered the limitations of what the human body can do. He asks and he is answered. A guru whom Dan calls Socrates appears to show him the path.

The journey of this aspiring youth fits in with the theme of The Journey of the Soul by Peter Calhoun. Oftentimes we are told that this world is limited in its possibilities. We are "trained" and conditioned to limit our view of the world and deny the magic inherent in life. In his book, Calhone shares many an experiences that show otherwise. When we let our minds to drop their limitations, an alternate universe opens itself up, like a new dimension. Likewise does Socrates to Dan.

In one poignant scene, Socrates tells Dan (who preens that he knows everything), that indeed he may be right, but knowledge is not wisdom. For those familiar with the Bhagavath Geetha, there will be many echoes of it in this film. If you have taken the Art of Living course, it would appear as the course without the Kriya. Eckart Tolle's The Power of Now would appear to have been the base of this book/film.

Unlike the film, What the Bleep Do We Know that was semi documentary and quasi "New age" with some "iffy" research thrown in as pure science, this film gets away from the entire science angle. It is made so banal, that it becomes a pedestrian experience of the spiritual. Therein lies its strength. It convinces without any persuasion. By this very feature, it wins over its audience towards an openmindedness towards the here and the now.

It could appear a bit of a drag at times, but the amazing gymnastic sequences make up for the slow parts of the story. Nick Nolte as Socrates gives very little away. He is your typical martial arts teacher crossed with the deadpan face of Deepak Chopra. Scott Melchowiz as the young Dan is cute and does a fair enough job bridging his image of a regular "stud" to being a seeker going deep within himself.

White Water Rafting: What A Rush!

DesiGirl — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 07:33:58 EST

It was like a scene from the Twilight Zone; flickering light, damp floors and women in various stages of undress. Within minutes, squeals rent the air as one by one we got stuck into our neoprene suits that seemed at least two sizes too small for each of us.

We were getting ready to go white water rafting. Outside, the weather was a nippy 10 degrees or so and the buffeting wind made it seem worse.

We must be crazy.

As we walked out, I could see my family huddled over frothy mugs of hot chocolate, in a warm café and here I was, sat outside in the cold, along with few other loonies, getting ready to go out into the chilly waters of the River Nene, in a raft.

I must be insane.

And to think this was an anniversary gift. Before thirty minutes were out, I would be inclined to believe my instructor, who was guffawing at a few of us lucky sods that got ‘gifted’ this experience and loudly wondered if the beloved in question wasn’t trying to do us in.

The fact that this was an artificially created environment, with none of the dangers of the natural, rock-filled rapids, didn’t instil much courage in me as I stood at the banks of the river, about to jump into the raft. The six of us who were carrying our raft to set it down on the water looked eerily like condemned men carrying their coffins before climbing helpfully into it.

Before we could chicken out though, we could hear the instructor screaming for us to get in. And like docile lambs to the slaughter, we did.

‘Bums on the blue strip’, shouted he. Said strip was on the outer edges of the raft and as such, was in the tipping in zone as far as we were concerned and time and again, one or the other of us would try to plonk ourselves as close to the middle as possible.

We all left shore and safety to the cries of ‘paddle forward’ and went towards the churning waters. The force of the water so close to the motor was such that the raft was wobbling something fierce and we all took turns in landing on the inside of the raft. Better inside than out, we thought to ourselves, even as the guide hollered at us to get paddling.

Down we went the narrow canals and you could literally feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins, with fear following just behind. Though this was an artificially constructed course and the water just came till my thighs, I am not what you’d call an expert swimmer and landing in the freezing, frothing mass didn’t actually suffuse my being with joy. Nonetheless, what a rush it was! We paddled furiously down the course and every time we sailed past the raised ramps and whooshed down, my gut and heart jostled into one another. Our families had all gathered along the grass verges, clicking away at us and we felt like a bunch of celebrities being chased by the paps.

‘Til we went past the highest ‘rapid’ and an overexcited girl sitting ahead pulled the swimmer’s line with gusto and tossed us into the drink.

One minute, we were grinning like a bunch of idiots, feeling supremely cool. Next minute, we were freezing our collective asses off, floating like jetsam in the ice cold waters of the Nene.

Whilst we were all trying to stop our teeth from chattering, our guide calmly brought the floating raft back to us and made us climb back into it. The other guides were heckling at us for being the first ones to get chucked in. After that, it was like a contest to see who could dive in first. Every time we would grab the raft, come coursing down and one or the other of the members of the four or five rafts would topple in and away we’d go.

Other than these random and wholly involuntary slides into the water, the sadists masquerading as our instructors came up with ingenuous ways and means of scaring the pants off us. When it was my turn to sit in the front row of the raft, our guide made us get as close to the churning waters as possible and bend forwards. Into the frothy water! Next, they made us jump in the deepest part of the water and float to the other end. Standing up was impossible as the bottom was slippery and I just kept getting washed away.

For the finale, we did the ‘rafting rodeo’: two of us sat facing each other in the middle of the raft, not holding on to anything, while the guide took us as close to the churning mass as possible. Needless to say, in we went. But this time, we were in the thick of it so the current kept pulling us in. It took mere seconds for me to panic and I tried my best to kill the other guy who was valiantly trying to pull me out. The poor bloke had come on this cos his girlfriend had gifted this experience to him as a birthday gift and I almost killed him the day before!

After two hours of this, we finally made our way back to the shore. Our guide went around asking each of us if we would do this again. To our own surprise, every one of us shouted: ‘YES!’

The Joys Of Trekking

Suruchi — Fri, 9 Nov 2007 04:40:18 EST

'Why do you want to climb Mt. Everest?'
‘Because it is there.’

George Mallory (An English mountaineer who took part in the first three British expeditions to Mount Evenrest).

Mountaineering, trekking or alpinism, as it is called variously, can be a hobby, sport, passion, profession; and a fruitful one at that. But to some people the idea of an arduous trek in the wilderness in pursuit of the peak, would sound totally useless even insane, why do people trek? They might ask. Having been to a few treks myself and enjoyed the experience thoroughly, I venture to answer the question, though I am no seasoned trekker, but in this article I take the liberty to share my views based on my personal experiences.

Being with nature
A trek lets you to be one with the nature, watch it close and learn from it. On a trek you gaze in awe as nature unfurls its beauty around you, pristine trees that stand tall, sun playing hide and seek, perfectly camouflaged insects, brilliantly colored birds, gurgling streams… Trekking lets you explore and discover nature at its best, untouched, unfettered and unharmed. For wildlife enthusiasts treks are an opportunity to spot flora and fauna in their natural habitat.

Physical activity
A bit of physical activity never did anyone any harm and especially for people with sedentary jobs some physical activity once in a while is a much-needed tonic. Sometimes the trek becomes so strenuous that for those few hours, reaching the peak is the only thing you can think of, this kind of single-minded physical activity is cathartic in a way.In fact after a hard day’s trek, some people feel ecstatic due to the very fact that they were able to finish the climb.

On the top
You feel proud at having conquered the mountain, but as you look down at the vast expanse beneath you, you feel humbled. You realize that you are just a small speck in the whole scheme of things, but you are glad to be that small speck. At times you look down to see not the valley but a sheet of clouds, stretching till infinity, it is a different perspective altogether, looking down to see the clouds, its not everyday that you get to walk over clouds

Camping
The thought that what separates you from the vast sky above is just your tent, gives you a thrill which you don’t get by staying in more sheltered quarters. Nothing can be more fun than camping after a hard day’s trek, lighting a fire, pitching up the tents, cooking up your own food, singing to the night, gazing at the innumerable stars, playing pranks at your trek mates, falling asleep as soon as you snuggle inside your sleeping bag and then waking up in the morning to the sound of chirping birds.

Interacting with People
You develop a certain camaraderie with your trekking mates in a very short span of time. I have seen trekking groups with people from varied backgrounds and people hardly knowing each other, but at the end of the trek almost everyone is a friend. You also get a chance to mingle with the locals, discover hamlets that in a usual tour might have gone unnoticed.

Looking in
Maybe I am getting a bit philosophical here, but treks provide you with ample time to muse and that too with nature as your companion. Nature brings out the poet and philosopher in you; I feel that while reaching out for the peak you also reach out to the innermost of your thoughts and thus as you look out what you are actually doing is looking in.

The joys of trekking are numerous, having listed down a few of them I still feel that I this is just my version of things; different people enjoy trekking for different reasons. But what is common to all of them is the love for mountains; once smitten there is no going back, trekking remains a love forever.

Boston Red Sox are 2007 World Series Champions

smallsquirrel — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 01:15:07 EDT

For only the eighth time in club history (but thankfully the second time in four years) the Boston Red Sox have clinched the title of World Series Champion. They beat the Colorado Rockies in a series sweep, four games to none. I won't say they were the most exciting games I have ever watched, but they were good enough.

Being a baseball fan overseas is no easy feat. The only channel that carries baseball is ESPN, and my cable operator feels the need to switch the channels around every other day. This necessitates me having to tune the channels in while trying to follow the game online until I can track it down. The other irritating thing is that because the World Series games are always played at night in the US, they come on early morning in India. It just doesn't seem right to be drinking tea and eating flakes while watching a ball game. I should have a beer in one hand and chips or something handy to throw at the screen when someone misses an easy catch or strikes out.

Well, I won't pretend that I don't miss the 2004 team. Now that was a series. The Sox came back from a serious three game deficit to win the series. And I miss Garciaparrra, Pedro Martinez, and even that man whose name I swore I would never speak again after he defected to the Yankees (for those of you in India, it's like your favorite Indian cricketer leaving and playing for Pakistan).

But hey, we did it again. And even though I am not at home, I yelled just as loudly over here in Bangalore. Maybe even a little louder.

Thanks boys, you made a hometown girl proud.

Cox & Queens: At The Annual Chennai M&B Regatta

DesiGirl — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 11:05:12 EDT

With inputs and photos, courtesy Ranjani Shankar.

The early morning sunlight, spreading out in the sky in the background; the faint smudges of it reflected in the water in the foreground - from an odd angle, it may well be mistaken for one of the Regattas held periodically on the Thames. But no, it wasn't! This, unbelievably, is on the 'River' Cooum, Chennai! And the event - the the annual Merchants and Bankers Regatta Championship conducted by the Madras Boat Club!

The Club, (annual membership fee Rs 50,000!) situated in Adyar, near the banks of the River Cooum, has been conducting the Regatta for the past 80 years, churning out some of the country's best oarsmen and women. (Oarspersons?) The festive atmosphere, the competitive spirit and the beer, of course, along with some great camaraderie, makes this event a strong draw, year after year. The big corporate houses of Chennai, Sify, O&M, Element K, JWT all send their best men and women to this event.

This year, there were seven all-women teams in all and the girls from Madras Houz, a production company, were crowned the winners in the women's races.

The race is 750 meters long and only two teams can race at a time. Every team submits two entries for the pairs race. The Madras Houz girls, comprising of Neela, Madras Houz (a music production house), colleague Uma, daughter Sharmishta and her friend Ranjani Shankar, decided to sign up for the event purely for a lark - and the fitness factor! Though sacrificing precious sleep, only to row on the dank waters of Cooum was the worst part, admits Ranjani.

But the gutsy four soon got used to it; ' In fact, they take special care of the course where we row', says she.

So how did they actually prepare for this, their maiden, event?

'Well, we practiced every morning without fail, for two whole months. For an hour every day, we used to get extensive coaching from the Club coaches. Sheer hard graft helped us get better at it. We soon became quite fit and being on the water, that early in the morning, working together as a team - well, it changed the way we looked at our day. our life, even', Ranjani says, a touch philosophically.

The actual events were spread over four days - three days of heats followed by the actual, final, race. Like the other teams, the Madras Houz girls also split in two for the pairs race - Neela and Uma in one and Sharmishta and Ranjani in another.

'That was quite scary', admits Ranjani, 'taking on the corporate teams, with 5-6 years experience and us on our first ever race! In fact, while we were sitting on our boat, the two of us, the enormity of the task struck us with a force and we didn't hear them announcing till they shouted ROW!'

'That was when we realized our hidden depths of energy - we didn't spare a thought, just pulled together and took our boat home to the finish, to win our first race in style!', she laughs proudly. So you should be, girl!

After that, the girls had three more races to go through before reaching the finals. As luck would have it, their opponents for the finals were none other than the other Madras Houz women, Neela and Uma! What a double honour for the production house!

The overall championship went to Element K, with their mens and womens teams.

The delighted Madras Houz girls, though, were thoroughly happy with their loot of huge trophies. 'Wish they had given us free membership to go with that, though!', adds Ranjani with a cheeky grin.