Mancunian El Clasico? You think!!!

Now now Carlito! We know you're ticked off at Utd fans for booing you but this?? El Clasico of Manchester?? OK, United and Barcelona are great but just because you guys and Real are both money bags, you compare yourself with them?? MADNESS!! Last time you guys played in Europe, the European and North American tectonic plates must still have been stuck to each other! Do you guys even remember how to qualify for the Champions League? Let alone, win it nine times! It's friggin laughable, El Clasico! You think! Hear hear m/s Wenger and Benitez! Sparky's putting his rivalry with United on the same plane as your's!
El Clasicos take place when two of the best teams in the country with intense rivalry between them face off. Now, that can happen in England when 2 of Utd, Liverpool, Chelsea and Arsenal play. Or perhaps also when Arsenal play Spurs (remember the tennis scorelines??) and Liverpool play Everton.
Now for such a match to take place in Manchester we need TWO BIG teams with INTENSE rivalry between them.
Possibility one: Utd vs Citeh
Ok, the rivalry is intense but where's the second BIG team??

Personally I'd prefer to watch the second possibility. Though there's no rivalry between the two, at least the second team is reasonably big in this case. And pity it happens only once a year. That's the one that comes closest to a Mancunian 'El Clasico'
And Sparky, Carlito, I'm sure they'll let a former Utd great and a former Utd loyalist enter Carrington to watch Fergie's men face off against Ole's boys! Come one, come all!!!

Second Coming: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He walked on. From street to street, colony to colony, Vishwa knew his area like the back of his palm. He was not the type that woke up at 6 in the morning, pulled on track suits and shoes and went on a walk to burn away the calories. He didn’t have track suits, he didn’t have shoes and he certainly didn’t have any extra calories to burn. He just walked. He liked observing people and he could see a variety of personae in every man and woman on the street in the mornings. They went about their lives with no concern for anyone else. Through the windows, he could see men still asleep at 8. Women shouting at the top of their voices and running behind their kids, getting them ready for school; old men, having seen enough of the World, slumped on easy chairs and hidden behind newspapers; The fresh aroma of sambar floating out of kitchen ventilators; young men polishing their bikes as if a small scratch could stop the bike from running; young women standing bent down n drying their hair; Daddies listening to morning news shows and adding to the noise. Vishwa walked past this tower of Babel every morning. He lived below this stratum of society, and he intended to jump well above them in his relentless pursuit of excellence.

Vishwa wasn’t rich by any stretch of imagination except his. A student of history in the Govt. College of Arts & Science, he lived with his thoughts and his books. For a person from his background, he was an enigma to his people. Though he had never studied English in school or college, he could read, write and talk good English. He had taught himself the language of their long gone colonists in the city’s central library for over 10 years now. Every librarian there knew him. He was a man on a mission and he was driven to achieve. And that, in his mind, made him richer than even Shantaram Narayanan, the most famous man in his area and owner of the biggest gears and gear boxes manufacturing company in the country. Shantaram, according to Vishwa, was a fool. He didn’t have the balls to launch a hostile takeover of his rival though doing so would’ve taken him past the 50% mark in the industry.

His little gang of friends were all from his locality. When he didn’t have classes, he hung out with them. Though his gang were all wastrels who did nothing at home, college or work, he found them fascinating in a way. It was the basest level of complacency he saw in people, and he observed them. He didn’t mind people casting him ugly looks when he was with his gang. They were hated where ever they went. While his friends took that as a sign of people’s fear for them, Vishwa took it as a sign for him to move on to greater things soon.

This day he found them where he found them regularly. Just at the entrance to a huge vehicle parking lot. There was nothing for them to do there. They just sat there heckling the people passing by. Time flew past them as they had the time of their lives. For Vishwa, it was like sitting in a classroom and observing the heckling and the reactions. Though he was tarred with the same brush as the rest of them, he never paid heed to it. His calling was on a much higher level, and he took the ugly looks in his stride.

It was well past 6 in the evening, time for him to go home. His friends usually stayed in their favourite spot well past 10 but Vishwa usually left early. He saw a man walk in, get on his scoter and leave. He was almost at the ramp leading up and out of the parking lot when his scooter broke down. The man seemed scared of being alone in the parking lot with Vishwa and his gang. Vishwa could sense his fear; the poor man was shaking and wondering how to get out of there safely. He knew his friends would give the poor man the fright of his life in a few minutes so to avoid a scene, Vishwa got up and walked to the man. Just as he had expected, the man tensed with every step that Vishwa took towards him. Thoroughly amused by the man’s actions, Vishwa waited a few seconds before saying anything. He could see the man feeling every second like it was a year. The sweat on the back of his neck was all too easy to see and Vishwa felt the poor bugger was going to wet his pants very soon. Suppressing a smirk, he touched the man on his shoulder...

Second Coming: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was just another day. Sunlight on his bed was where it should be at 8 in the morning. The usual sounds, a cacophony of morning news shows, devotional songs and cooker whistles. The usual people, mothers running behind their children and getting them ready for school, the retired school teacher hidden behind The Hindu in the portico of the house opposite his, men and women returning home from their morning walk or a game of badminton. The same Bru filter coffee with sugar just a bit less than what would make it sweet. His companions: well pressed formals and his brief case. Dosa and sambar for breakfast as it was on 5 days every week. His Honda Activa from home to work as on all but one day a week. Same faceless strangers on the way and the traffic signal. It was just another day.

Senthil Kumar was a good man. He worked as an accountant in a good company, earned well, took care of his family and was a model citizen where ever he went. People liked him and respected him. He had his principles and had lived by them thru his none too flashy but content life. He paid his taxes and voted regularly though he refrained from all sorts of politics even in his neighbourhood. He was the kind of person who would be revered when present and forgotten the moment he left.

For Senthil, it was just another day as he eased his Activa into the parking lot and stopped at his usual parking spot. This was one daily activity that always gave him the jitters. In spite of complaining time and again, his company had not built a parking area for employees. They had to use the public parking lot two blocks away. Like any public place in this part of the city, one could see local vetti pasanga (as all ‘decent’ people called the young men who did nothing all day) hanging around with their gangs. Senthil hated these wastrels religiously. According to him, the World would be a much better – and cleaner – place if people like them didn’t exist. Every time he saw them, he felt his personal little World threatened just by their existence. This opinion of his wasn’t helped by the fact that he had to walk past them twice a day to get to his vehicle. He would hold his breath and onto his brief case, look straight ahead and walk past them as if they didn’t exist.

* * *

The engine coughed, jerked twice and then gave in, dead. Senthil was not a man given to swearing, he simply called on God’s name whenever he faced a situation that would make others swear their guts out. This was one such situation. It was 6:45 PM, the Sun had gone down and the last rays of light were vanishing by the minute and it was time for him to go home to his wife and kids. And just as he reached the entrance of the parking lot, the engine coughed, jerked twice and then gave in, dead. Right in front of the vetti pasanga gang. Senthil froze. For a few seconds, he couldn’t get his hands off the handle bar. It was the kind of situation he had prayed to avoid and now he was right in the middle of one. He could sense half a dozen pairs of eyes on him and felt a cold shiver in the small of his back. He felt like a goat trapped in a den of wolves.

He tried the auto-start button a couple times, nothing. Wondering why Shiva would put this obscene obstacle in His devotee’s way, Senthil got off his Activa and tried the kicker. Nothing. He could sense the walls of the parking lot closing in around him. The middle-aged man that he was, Senthil knew he would never be able to push his scooter up the ramp and on to the street. All he could do was stand there, hoping for a divine intervention to get his scooter started.

Senthil felt rather than see the young man behind him. He braced himself for a knife slitting through his kidney. Or a kick to his knee that would make him fall down and make his Activa go hurtling down the ramp. The eventual mugging, kicking and bloodshed played out as a horror movie in Senthil’s eyes. Dear God! Please let it not be the case! I can’t pay the hospital bills if they hurt me and take my money. I can’t stay away from work for more than a week without getting fired. Please Shiva! Save me! Don’t throw me on a hospital bed! I have to take my son to tuitions every morning! I can’t get hurt now at any cost! Senthil was not a man given to violence, so letting go of his vehicle, turning around and sinking his left fist into the rough neck’s face never occurred to him. He braced himself and waited for the worst to strike...

Second Coming

Presenting my latest ongoing joblessness: short story/novel/piece-of-crap 'Second Coming'.
It's my first ever 'official' work so rough edges galore. I'll be putting up the chapters as soon as I'm done with them. Your comments will, needless to say, improve the quality of every upcoming chapter. Thanks in advance. Happy Reading! - Arunaldo

Why India Will Never Produce a Ronaldo

'Borrowed' from Goal.com; Too good!

1) "Ninety minutes are up, why are they still playing for 3 more minutes"??

That’s just for good luck, no big deal.

2) "What is offside? Anything related to cricket"?

Oh dear, you said the C-word.

3) "Koi goal kyon nahi maar raha hai?" (Why isn't anyone scoring?)

That's because there's a defence on both sides, dodo.

4) "Is Ronaldo playing?"

Yes, he plays for every single team in the whole wide world.

5) "Is Arsenal named after Arsene Wenger?"

Absolutely. They foresaw his managerial role at the club right from the late 1800s.

6) "Why don't Manchester United play in the World Cup?"

Please, don't make me thump you.

7) "Why did that defender just kick the ball aimlessly out of play into the stands?"

Because he probably saw someone like you sitting there.

8) "He scored an own goal? What a horrible footballer!"

I wish you could imagine an own goal in any other way apart from a man walking the ball into the back of his own net.

9) "The penalty taker hit the ball to the left, so why did the goalkeeper dive to the right?"

Argh! Probably because he wanted to get out of the way.

10) "There's no Third Umpire?"

Just get out of my house.

More Lunacy Of Not So Long Ago

I dunno what to tell you...
But stuck to my mind are you, like glue!
What to do? I ain't got a clue,
But thick and fast do your thought accrue...
And big time am I feeling the blue,
But it ain't Swine flue,
It's just you :)

Heaven Has No Rage Like United Scorned; Nor Hell A Fury Like A Red Devil Scouse’d

There was a flash of red. Then there was another. He remembered raising his hand in a last act of defiance and pointing at nothing before he lost consciousness.

He woke up to the eerie, deafening silence of death and destruction. The battle had been lost, the recriminations had begun. Not once or twice but thrice had he been slain by the Scousers. His fort that he had held against every other aggressor, had crumbled in a blaze of red.

El Nino, as they called their finest warrior, had outwitted him yet again. Three battles had gone by, with them tasting nothing but their own blood; retreating, attacking and getting slaughtered without a way into the Anfield Fortress. Thee battle... had well and truly been lost.

But the war raged on relentlessly. After 18 long years and two generations of the finest warriors in the land, they were finally on level pegging with the Scousers. Man by man, sword by sword, they had rebuilt a bruised, battered and beleaguered army. Every man had seen and taken blood. Now at the cusp of the decisive year in the war, they had lost yet another crucial battle. He who had held off the finest of English, Portuguese, Italian and German fighters had failed yet again to a solitary Spanish conquistador.

He tried shifting inside his premature coffin and felt the blows that he had taken. Unconsciously his hand traced the two scars that the Scousers had left on his heart. His hand trembled as he slowly moved to the third, fresh stab mark. He thought of the 10 other men who had stood with him shoulder to shoulder and given their soul to the cause. Each of them would be going through this very misery in their self-made prisons

As he moved his hand on the stab mark, he felt something thick and circular. He could trace a devil holding a flag. The letters above and below the red devil were all too familiar to him. Every time the Scousers’ sword slit his heart and stopped it, thee devil and the letters had kept the blood flowing through his veins. As his fingers moved across the devil, he could feel as much the devils that had fought and died before him as he felt in himself. He could feel the irrepressible force that united him with the legends of yore.

Out of nowhere, he could feel the force in him and the shackles looked weak and intimidated. He moved to break free but the force did it for him. In yet another blaze of red, this time laced with gold, he was free. And fit and ready for more.

He looked around him and saw not just the presence of Rooney, Giggs and Scholes but the aura of Edwards, Charlton, Best, Robson and Ronaldo. The Red Devils were back. They would retreat to their Old Trafford castle and mount yet another assault. If it failed, then they would launch another. And they wouldn’t stop till the heavens acknowledged their supremacy. Some felt pride in never walking alone. They, the inimitable Red Devils, would walk all alone... at the top.

Glory Glory Man United

Lunacy of a Long TIme Ago

The moon that mirror'd your face,
Glows not these days...
Or is it just my eyes?
That, sans you, finds no solace...

Ur Court Ortist's Magnum Opus, Your Highness

visit Ortist


Please accept this humble gift from your humble servant, your Highness! Thy shall be honoured if you do

Can Manchester Screw up London completely?

Oh Money bags! Gotta give it to ye phonies! That was ONE HELL OF A WIN! Wenger's furrow lines are gonna get deeper that ever. Villa-Scousers, Everton-Gunners, Spurs-Scouse, MoneyBags-Gunners. That's 4 top-4 vs wannabe top-4 and 3 have gone to the challengers! Well well well! what a start to the season. Spurs kick off against United as I write. Lemme get back to it. Lets see whether Spurs can make the closing gap look even narrower or United can make it business as usual
GGMU

This is going to hurt just a little bit :) Why Arun??

He knew exactly what she wanted. Though she looked frightened every time he took out his little brother, he knew she had been waiting for it with a mix of anxiousness and expectancy all these days. He had been waiting for it too, like he did with all the ‘customers’ who visited him. He simply had to make them feel better, it was his profession and he loved every moment of it though he made some customers wait. But tonight, the waiting would bear fruit and climax in shrieks, sobs and liquids.

He had known her for some time now. They lived in the same area and his place was a particularly famous one. He had seen her throw anxious glances at his sign board and he’d flashed one of his trademark inviting smiles at her. He knew she was curious to know what happened inside the closed rooms; for a girl of her age, she must’ve fantasized about the instruments he would be having for ‘special’ customers. Perhaps, she wanted him to use them on her too, he wondered.

She was, by general consensus, a careful girl, not given to mindless activities. She had seen his ‘office’ quite a few times from the outside. Once her Mom had caught her staring at it and she had received a sound telling off from her, “Be a good and girl, and you’ll never go there!” She had crossed herself and moved on. Only till she heard about him from one of his more ‘loyal’ customers.

She could see it was not good for her but inside her an insatiable desire to explore his office had taken centre stage. From what she had heard, there was none better than him to help her explore.

That evening, he knew she was hers. She was there waiting outside his ‘working’ room, waiting for him to call her in. He wondered what she would think of his working room consisting of a small table, a rack for ‘instruments’ and a bed.

She sat there anxiously, waiting for the kring-kring of the bell that would summon her in. She was so nervous that she had chewed off all her finger nails; she was clutching the side of her chair so tightly that her fingers had gone numb. Deep down inside her, a voice whispered that he would take care of all that tonight.

Finally he called her in. She wouldn’t look up at his face. Was it starting blues or a sign of things to come? He started off slowly, ‘exploring’ her eyes, mouth, wrists and working his way to her breasts with his ‘instruments’; she was delicate, quite evidently a first timer. He instinctively knew what she wanted. And he was only too glad to oblige. He took off her pants, turned her around and made her lie on her stomach. Her face was sunk into the pillow, hiding a thousand emotions that if seen would make him a very satisfied man. His most ‘favourite’ instrument was loaded and ready to ‘explore’ her interiors. He leant closer to her and whispered, “Hang on honey, this is going to hurt just a little bit”. The time had come for the final act.

He was a skilled physician, he knew the exact spot. He inserted his syringe into the vein in the 6-year old kid’s buttock and as she let out a single shriek of pain, he was done; the liquid interchange was over and both of them climaxed in one’s screams.

Sunderland to Barcelona: Now that's how you shoot up!

Rio Ferdinand's words could've changed it all. Ferdinand and Vidic were as immovable to him as they were to opponent strikers. Gerard Pique had improved tremendously over the previous season and had established himself as the back up on the rare occasions when the stalwarts couldn't make it. It was pointless being the 4th best centre-back at a place when the third best was good enough to make Luis Aragones' head turn. He had had an impressive season with Sunderland but that, clearly, was not making him Fergie's flavor of the month. Life at Old Trafford simply didn't seem inviting enough to Jonny Evans.
And that's when Ferdinand's words could've changed it all. By his own admission, Rio was gonna ask Evans to take up the offer from Roy Keane's Sunderland. Thankfully, the conversation never took place and in a few short months, things would change dramatically for Evans.
Gerand Pique left for Camp Nou to join his childhood coach Pep Guardiola, now the gaffer. This put Evans on the bench as the back up to the centre backs. Then Ferdinand broke down to give Evans his first serious chance. He didn't embarrass himself at all against Chelsea. If he thought the opportunity was one off then Ferdinand (his back and groin, to be specific) had other ideas, breaking down repeatedly and giving Evans more than 20 starts this season. Vidic saw red in the Club World Cup giving Evans more chances, this time against Jose Mourinho's Inter Milan.
A successful Carling Cup campaign in which he was as immovable as his more illustrious defence mates and impressive returns in almost every outing saw him rise from becoming Roy Keane's prize signing to the best young defender in England (hell! In the World!).
In 12 months, Jonny Evan's asking prize has shot up to 14 million Euros! And guess who's come calling? The same guys who took Pique away to give him his first break. Barcelona!
With Caceres on his way out and Marquez still not given a return date, Guardiola's keen to add to his defensive strength and Evans seems to be a serious contender. Whether Sir Alex Ferguson can be moved to part with his best young talent and whether Evans himself can be convinced to move away from Old Trafford remains to be seen. To be fair to him, he has United written all over him and it seems highly unlikely that he'll leave for Spain.
Irrespective of what happens, his phenomenal rise over the last 12 months has turned quite a few heads. Barring a horrible turn of fortune, United have a World-class home-grown centre back for the future!

Rest in peace, My brother...

I am a murderer... Careless, who-gives-a-shit murderer.
He was my brother for more than 2 years. Served me selflessly, withstood everything that my thankless and carefree actions put him through. He was at my beck and call 24X7; He put up with my constant banter about how I deserved someone better than Him for one full year. He was the most selfless guy I've ever known. He, over the last 2 years, became my right hand and an integral part of my mind in spite of my constant (ab)use...
From the time I set sight on Him on 12-05-2007 to the moment I carelessly let Him drop into the loo a few hours back, He was my best friend. He is my precious li'l Sony Erickson w200i. I dropped Him on to the floor more times than I can remember, I cursed Him when ever I cudn't get a call thru, I twirled Him around between my fingers relentlessly, broke His frame and never cared to replace it, I never bothered to keep Him scratch proof and as a final act of Lunacy, let Him drop into the loo and into oblivion. In return for all this, He submitted Himself to a million text messages, hours and hours of relentless talking, helped me keep track of cricket scores whenever there was a match, acted as my diary and bore my poems whenever I was on the road, woke me up early in the morning almost every day. He played me music and gave me company like none else before. In return for all this, you know what I did to Him...
It cost me 6200 bucks to get it. Or rather, it cost my Dad 6200 bucks to get it. I used Him, abused Him, and put him to rest in a sewer hole. And I used to call myself a careful chap...
It took me a few seconds to realise what had happened.All I could see was the frame and the key pad lying on the floor. He had slipped out, hit the floor, shattered into two parts, and the heavier part flew right into the hole. I stood there dumb struck as the hole in the loo lit up bright orange. Water was rushing into every microship, shorting circuits, flushing contacts, distorting messages and images, distorting every note of every song, washing away my memories of two years, drowning a two year old legacy... It was a grotesque spectacle, seeing a sewer hole light up, every light in Him seemed to call out for help... and I could just stand and watch.
It flickered and after a moment, started glowing ever brighter... Like a light glowing bright before going out. The rippling water looked as if it was boiling from His wrath. After a few moments, He shut down, this time for ever. I picked up the broken frame and the key pad, looked down one last time at where He disappeared, and left. He would rot for eternity now in some sewer and I'd move on in life... But the shattered frame and the key pad will be with me for ever; reminding me of Him, reminding me of my carefree, disdainful attitude towards Him. The least I can do to Him, in return for serving me selflessly for 2 years, is hold on to his remnants and say a BIG THANK YOU and an EVEN BIGGER SORRY to Him and my Dad.
I dunno whether I'll have the heart to get a better phone, I might stick to the vodafone CDMA substitute I had with me all these days (yeah I even had a substitute for Him). But irrespective of that, my diminutive and selfless friend will continue to ring and wake me up and play songs in my mind. And the feel of Him will never leave my hand.
I stop as a single tear flows outta my eye. I wipe it with the same fingers that played and eventually killed Him...
Rest in peace, My brother.. I wish I serve humanity the way you served me

Adios Ron: You were the best... When you were here

Ron: It's all about me and me alone...

He came, he became the best, he left. That sums up Ron's 6 years at the Theatre of Dreams. Perhaps, nothing else ever mattered to him. But unlike others, he wore this oft scorned attitude of his on his sleeve. And there lies the greatness of Ronaldo. There was no talk of moving to Madrid to help United out of financial trouble, no eternal love towards United and the fans, just some out-of-my-a*** stuff like emulating Giggs. And we were all saying, 'Yeah right!'.
I don't think many Red Devils fan would've expected him to stay for long (I for one, did). But blaming him for leaving is just a knee-jerk reaction. Utd gave him a chance to prove his worth and he repaid Utd with all the silverware we won over the last 5 sesons. Pro bono. Looking at his 6 seasons with United, there's very little to complain about. All the skepticism about splurging $16 million on an unknown entity was put to rest over 30 minutes on one fine August afternoon in 2003 when he ran rings around Bolton Wanderers' defence.
Though his first 3 seasons produced just 18 goals, the World was never in doubt about his talent. We caught a gllimpse of it in the next season that saw him score 22 times and all doubts about his worth were put to bed. Then came the season that saw him evolve from an outrageous talent into the best player in the World. 42 goals in 49 outings sealed it. And yeah, there was this small issue of 26 goals in an injury-curtailed 'out of sorts' season.
Long before coming to United, and a long long time before becoming the best player in the World, the white jersey of Real Madrid presented itself as a way to glory for Ronaldo, then a kid fightin for proper food. Then came Sporting Lisbon, followed by one certain Arsene Wenger unwilling to offer him a contract after trials. So when Roy Keane & Co. persuaded Sir Alex to go get him, I guess he saw United as a road to Madrid rather than a permanent home. By the time Schuster, Perez et. al came calling, he hadn't just travelled the road but had skimmed it's surface at blistering speed and come ever closer to 'home'.
After a summer of ugly negotiations between 'The Mob' and Fergie and a season when Fergie was resigned to losing him, he's finally home. Whether his home's better than the road remains to be seen. Some very devout roadies will be waiting eagerly to see his home fall apart brick by brick, bringing him back to the road but I personally don't think Fergie's ever going to let him come back, not that he'll be interested, he's crossed the Rubicon between road and home. (Disclaimer: My predictions have a habit of going hopelessly wrong. I'll be happy if this one doesn't buck the trend)
So the only thing that all Red Devils fans must be doing is thank him for his services. Let's face it, he was phenomenal during his time here and enthralled fans and enemies alike. The least that 108 goals, 3 Premier League titles, 1 Champions League and one runners up medal, 1 Carling Cup and 68 million pounds of profit deserve is a loud and resounding THANK YOU.
Instead, if you're going to hate him then I guess he'll take it as a bigger compliment than thanking him. 'Cos by his own admission, he loves to be hated, he's a self-confessed prima donna. He's one of his kind. He doesn't just control the ball like Kaka, slip past defenders like Messi, have the flair of Ronaldinho, finish like Maradona, run as fast as Usain Bolt, enthrall the crowd like Beckham, he does ALL this apart from calling himself the first, second and third best player in the World. And yeah, he passes statements like. 'I am Cristiano Ronaldo. I am the best in the World and I love it when people jeer me. I want to rewrite footballing history.'. He's like none before and will be the one of his kind for quite some time. He is Cristiano Ronaldo Dos Santos Aveiro. According to Eusebio, He's God. And I am not going to Argue with that assessment. For me, irrespective of whether he's playing for United or Real Madrid or Liverpool, he will be my favourite player in the World. He made me believe anyone can reach for anything and he's just proved it.
I, for one, hope he conquers all that he sees ( minus United ofcourse) and continues to be the first, second and third best player in the World :D Thanks Ron. You were the best; will be the best.And you're home, so care not about what the neighbors whisper. Adios Amigo. Show 'em they're shite!

Oh that boy Ronaldo!
The ball had one place to go!
Oh that boy Ronaldo!
The ball had but one place to go!

Your's truly, Green Skinned Martian

I loook at the mirror and sigh,
Caught in the whirl like a fly...
Lost in the twirl am I!
To get used to it, I ain't so spry,
And big time am I lost, oh boy!

இவனுக்கும் கோவைக்கும் சம்மந்தமே இல்லாத இடத்துக்கு வந்துடு குத்துது குடையுதுண்ணு சொல்றனேன்னு நினைக்காதீங்க. போலம்பரதுக்கு வேற இடம் இல்லாமதான் இங்க பொலம்பறேன்! வந்து ரெண்டு வாரம் ஆச்சு ஆனாலும் இன்னும் தலையும் புரியலே காலும் புரியலே... I feel like a friggin Martian lost in Manhattan! அட கடவுழே! எப்பிடி இருந்த நான், இப்பிடி ஆயிட்டேனே! இந்த நிலைமைல என்ன ஹங்கேரிக்கும் சுவிற்சர்லாந்துக்கும் அனுபறாங்க. எனக்குழ் இருக்கும் ஒப்டிமிச்ட் 'போய்ட்டு வாடா மச்சி, என்னதான் ஆகுதுன்னு பாக்கலாம்' நு சொல்லுது. ஏன் சொல்லாது?? ஏத்தி விட்டு ஏத்தி விட்டு மனுஷன முடிச்சு கட்ட யாரவது இல்லேன்னா it feels so odd!

அம்ரிதா ல இருக்கற வரகும் ஏன் டா இப்பிடி ரூல் மேலே ரூல் போட்டு சாவடிகறீங்கன்னு சண்ட போட்டேன்... இங்க வந்து 'ரூல்? அப்பிடின்ன என்னங்க? அது எந்த ஹோட்டல்லே கிடைக்குது?' ன்னு கேக்கற rangeக்கு வந்துட்டேன்! If this place has a rule book, then it's been shot to Andromeda the way these guys stepped in! இங்க வர்றதுக்கு ஒரு வாரம் முன்னால MICA Survival Kit ங்கற பேர்ல Kushwanth Singh's Jokes for 10 Year-olds range கு ஒரு மெயில் வந்தது. இது ஒரு செம தில்லாலங்கடி காம்புஸ்ன்னு அத படிக்கறப்பவே தெரியும். Not that I'm complainin much though :) another fortnight here n I ain't gonna be cribbin any more.

சுவிற்சர்லாந்து ல இருந்து திரும்பி வந்து 'தாய் மண்ணே வணக்கம்' நு scene போட்றதுக்கு முன்னாலே seniors ப்ரஜைகழ் வந்துருவாங்க. என்ன நடக்க போகுதோ... இங்க இருக்க faculty எல்லாம் செம்ம quality. That's been the high point of my sojourn here so far. ஆனா ஒரு பொண்ணு 'seniors ராக்கிங் பண்ணுவாங்களா?'ன்னு கேட்டதுக்கு ஒரு மேடம் 'சி சி அதெல்லாம் இந்த காம்புஸ் ல இருந்து ரொம்ப தூரம்'நு சொன்ன விதத்துலையே எதாவது ஒருத்தன்/ஒருத்தி சாவடிக்க போரான்னு தெரிஞ்சது. ஹ்ம்ம்ம்ம் நடப்பதுநடக்கட்டும்... Like I said before, இனிமேல் குத்துது கொடையுதுன்னு போலம்புவது height of joblessness.

இது எல்லாம் எனக்கு ok, சப்ப matter! கொஞ்ச நாழ்ழே எல்லாம் பழகி போயிடுரும். Perhaps, I'll start enjoyin it too. ஆனா பொறுக்க முடியாத விஷயம் ரெண்டு இருக்கு. ஒன்னு மேல இருக்கும் சூரியன். இந்த ஊர் மேல அவருக்கு என்ன பிரியமோதெரியல, காலைல ஏழு மணில இருந்து நைட் ஏழு மணி வரைக்கும் விடாம கொழுத்துராறு . கொஞ்சநஞ்சம் இல்ல, கொறஞ்சது நாப்பது டிகிரி கொடுக்கறாரு. நைட்ல அமெரிக்காவ கொழுதுவாருனு பாத்தா அப்பாவும் தொரத்தி தொரத்தி கொழுதுராறு. பாசக்கார பயபுழ்ழே போ! ஆனா அதுக்காக இங்க இருக்க அம்மநீங்க எல்லாம் மேனி கருத்துறும் நு இழுத்து பொத்திட்டு வராங்கன்னு மட்டும் தப்புகணக்கு போட்டுடாதீங்க. ஆல் டைம் 'என்ன கொடுமை சரவணன்' range தான்! Again, not that I'm complainin ;)

ரெண்டாவது பிரச்சனையும் மேல இருந்து தான் வருது ஆனா சூரியன் அழவுக்கு மேல இல்லே, எனக்கு மேல இருக்க floor ல இருந்து தான் வருது. எங்க ஊர்ல எல்லாம் அம்மன் கோயில் ல கூழ் ஊதரப்போ, கட்சி மாநாடு நடகரப்போ, கோவில்ல பஜனைங்கர பேர் ல எங்க ஏரியா mummies அண்ட் grannies எல்லாம் கழுதைகழுக்கு company குடுக்கறப்போ மட்டும் தான் loud speaker ல ஒப்பாரி வெப்பாங்க. ஆனா இங்க ஒருத்தன் 24X7 music ங்கற பேர்ல தொறக்கவிட்டுடறான். அப்போ அப்போ, அவனுக்கு போட்டியா இன்னும் ஒருத்தன் கச்சேரிஆரம்பிச்சிருவான். ரெண்டுக்கும் நடுவுலே நம்ம மண்டைலதான் இடி விழுகும்.

But basically எல்லாருமே intelligent தான். அந்த விஷயத்துல மட்டும் எல்லாரும்செம sharp.
Time to start off on my presentation for tom. Ta

Road to Rome: Oh that boy!

We had Van the Man till this kid turned up and turned out for us and turned 'em inside out. He is the first, second and third best player in the World. The right wing is gonna be United's most potent goal scoring area.
My (and every Utd fan's) craving/privilege etc.. Ron the Man

ROme will be the battle field to decide who between Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi has been teh best player of the season.They'll rarely come in contact during the course of the match but this match has already been pegged as Ron vs Messi.
Ronaldo's season started late due to a surgery during the off season. He took his time to recover and hit good form only after new year. He simply hasn't been in his element this season. He's a pale shadow of what he was last season. 'Cos of all these reasons, he's scored just 26 goals, hit just 2 40 yard stunners, scored jst about 5 scorching free kicks, has demoralised less than a dozen teams and he's a frontrunner for EPL's Golden Boot only by one solitary goal. Absolutely miserable season he's had. If the season continues to be as torturous as it has been, he'll score just 1 more goal in UCL along with a pitiful, solitary long-range free-kick ICBM.

Sylvinho'll won't have much on his plate apart from a couple dozen step overs, an equal number of trick flicks and half that number of sniper precision crosses. Ofcourse, the occasional long range missile and the run that'll leave him for dead will be there needless to say. Valdes won't have much to do cos when he hits it, it stays hit till a 'soft' landing at the back of the net.
Ron's had a fair share of criticsm comin his way for not performing aagisnt the big teams, this match presents the best opportunity to shut up the critics for good. And he'll love to do an encore of a similar night last year at the Luzhniki. Overall, United's The Man to pull out those magic moments.

Flip Side:
Theatrics! It's time he realised that the opposite team's allowed to tackle him. perhaps the term, 'Get on with the game' was coined with him in mind. Against a club of Barca's calibre, he needs to cut the crap and fight back if he's brought down. And if he's subbed out ( i hope to God he isn't) je needs to show a bit more respect to Fergie; Petulence has never been the Boss' flavour of the month.
But then, if he can deliver like he's done over the last two seasons, let him crib n cry n make faces for the cams; I'll take it any day.
Oh that boy Ronaldo!
The ball had one place to go!
Oh that boy Ronaldo!
The ball had but one place to go!

Road to Rome: Mr.United

Unted can ROO-le the World!
There is but one guy who can play the support striker role so effectively. It's been a pivotal position for United this season.
My choice, Fergie's choice, our Martian second cousins' choice: Rooney
United's no.10 has become the first name on the team sheet this season. We all know of his outrageous talent as an out and out striker. We've seen it over the last 5-6 seasons but this season, he's been a different player. He's stood up for the team's cause and has shifted to a winger/support striker role, tracking back to help the full backs regularly. He's been playing in a free role since the arrival of Berbatov as the central striker. His energy and commitment has been visible this season toteh extent that he's been pegged explicitly as a winger on some occasions. HIs impact was visible in the match against Spurs when he shifted to the wings and ran rings around the Spurs' defense with 2 goals and an assist. He's become Mr.United this season, more so than Vidic and Ronaldo. Selfless, prodigiously talented and committed, that's Rooney for u this season. Has been in good goal scoring form too.
Barca's weak defence comes to the fore again. He'll be more of a threat to the full backs rather than to the centre backs. One option might be playing Martin Cesar Cecares as a make shift full back on the right as none of the reserve full backs seem capable of stopping Rooney. He'll be tracking back relentlessly along with Park to help Evra out against Messi. His goal scoring apart, I feel it'll be exploits against Messi that'll define the night for him.
Easily, the most important player for Utd on the field. When on song, there's one Rooney in front of the goal and another marking a striker at the same time.

Flipside:
In this kinda form, I really can't see any. One issue maybe his trigger happy attitude from long distances. With a striking line up boasting Berba/Tevez, Ronaldo and himself, it would make sense to have a good build up before pulling the trigger. He's developed into a very responsible individual from his spit-in-the-ref's-face days but lets hope there's no repeat of his ball-throwing antic that cost us dear against Fulham. Go Wazza! Go!

Singh is King again!

Mr.Clean of Indian politics strikes again for UPA! Rahul's appeal and Sonia's charisma apart, Manmohan's goodwill in people's hearts and his immovable image as the lone bright beacon in the stink hole of Indian politics has swung this for the UPA. 5 more years (probably his last) at the helm of Indian politics could change the way the coutry votes in the future.

Hats off India! Rise of national politics!

Am I sleeping and dreaming this? Or has our country finally woken up??
I had no hopes for these elections and was gonna settle for any of the 2 forming a stable government without the help of regional game breakers. This election could sound the death knell of regional politics.
TN has no decisive winner.
UP's SP-BSP supremacy is over. UPA reigns supreme and NDA not doin badly either.
Lalu decimated by Nitish in Bihar
Left ripped apart by UPA in Kerala and West Bengal.
Perhaps teh number of parties in the coalition will be lesser this time, giving more space to Singh is King

Road to Rome: Tip of the Spear

When playing against a team that's driven to attack, the first line of defense is the 2 strikers. Utd need someone who can track back regularly and have a very high work rate.
Who I'll Field: Tevez
Who Fergie'll most likely field: Berbatov

Why Tevez?

This match could well turn out to be the one that defines Tevez's 2 year (sob) sojourn at Utd. Ever since his outburst to the media, it's been a different Tevez on the field. He's quiet, he's all the more lethal in front of the goal and he's driven to prove a point Fergie. His popularity with teh fans has sky rocketed. If ever there was an occasion to justify his $30 million price tag, then it doesn't get bigger than this match His last match for Utd (as things stand), against a potential suitor should he leave and the biggest match of the season. Should he deliver the way the fans expect him to, Fergie'll be hard pressed to deny him a new contract.
He'll be running through the match, hassling defenders. He'll be instrumental in forcing Barca's defense minus 3 first choice players into mistakes that go hand in hand with inexperience. His spped and brute force will keep Puyol n Pique busy, opening the door for Rooney and Ronaldo to wreak havoc. Add to this his current form and there's no reason why he should be warming the bench.

Flip side:
If Fergie decides that a good work rate can be maintained with Rooney and Park and that a bit more of level headedness and creativity is required in front of the goal, then Berbatov is the clear favourite to start. But if the Tevez saga has another fairy tale chapter then this has to be it.

Why Berbatov?

The 'cool-dude' Bulgarian has been at the receiving end of some criticism for not living up to the cash that Utd splashed for him. But to his credit, he's chipped in with goals at crucial moments. He's pulled the strings from the edge of that box to set up more thna a few goals tis season. His class has never been in doubt; it's just that his nonchalant who-gives-a-s*** demeanor has made people question his commitment. I. for one, have never felt that he's anything below World class. He's intelligent, he knows where to be when the ball is played in, and he's exhibited that touch of class on enough occasions. While Tevez's energy is his strong point, Berba's better at catching the defense - specially, a weak defense - napping. Tevez can win a 100 challenges by doing the same move a 100 times. Berba on the other hand, can win a 100 challenges by pulling off a 100 different moves (A Nadal-Federer scenario, courtesy The Hindu). Whether he can outwit Puyol over 90 minutes remains to be seen, but I'll trust him to deliver.
Berba'll be keen to make up for the FA Cup semi final penalty cock-up. Poor chap, was taken to task for missing in a you-miss-I-hit situation. Rome presents the best opportunity to make up for it. Clearly, Fergie's choice to start.

Flip side:
Disappears from the scene once too often. His magic touches have a habit of going awry at crucial junctures. In a Cup final against Barca, it could prove costly.

Just one point needed now...

This is the thing about this club isn't it? Utd were nowhere near their best. Wigan played their heart out for the best part of the match and still Utd grab the 3 points. Tevez seems to be having a death wish to drive his point home. Hope Fergie sees light soon. Utd have one hand on their 3rd successive title.
And this is it from me tonight. It's a godly 2:40 in teh morning.

Mad Ron to Madrid?? Not again!

'These guys don't quit, do they??'. One can't be faulted for thinking that this Brendon Fraser one-liner is actually Fergie's press statement. There seems to be no end to this transfer saga. Owen Hargreaves must be laughing at the mirror for calling his move from Munich to Manchester the longest transfer saga he's ever seen. First there was Schuster, then Ron's s*** spewing agent, then Ramos and more recently Calderon.
For a change I was thinking about the 'why' aspect of this saga rather than the 'will he?' angle...
2 years ago, on a day like today, I set out preparing for CAT. I had but one thought on my mind: IIM-A Finance. Why? Glory.
Countless hours of preparations, practice tests, dreams, exams, 95.71 percentile, 5 non-IIM calls, trips across India and 75 grand later, here I am; 2 weeks away from boarding the flight to Ahmedabad and MICA.
It's at this juncture that Ron, my all time fav. footballer incidentally, became a real-life inspiration. IMS Coimbatore is my Sporting Lisbon. IIM-A is Real Madrid. MICA is the Theater of Dreams. I've made it to MICA but will I go to IIM-A now if God swoops down on Earth and facilitates it? I most certainly will. It's all about chasing your dream. The ultimate aim of your life is to see your dreams manifested in front of your eyes.
As a 10 year old kid in Portugal, he saw Real Madrid as the road to glory. Wearing the Madrid jersey was like standing on top of the World for him. Nothing else mattered. If that kind of a thought gets imprinted in your head, it's very hard to let go. If an obscoure 20 year old sitting in Coimbatore finds it so hard to let go of his dreams, one can see how hard it will be for a guy as gifted and as successful as Ron.
But now, if I were to be as successful at MICA in a yr as Ron has been at OT in 6 years, will I still leave for IIM-A if God facilitated another divine intervention? I most certainly won't. 'Cos we have a habit of outdoing ourselves at something that we never thought of as our Raison d'etre. Looking at Ron's 6 seasons here, his dreams of 'there is only one Ronaldo!' have well n truly materialised without going anywhere near Madrid. Perhaps that's the second reason why every Red Devil with a sane head has wanted him to stay at OT (The first reason obviously, is a little matter of 42 last season, 22 the season before and 26 in an injury-curtailed, supposedly out of form season that still has 3 matches left). If he still wants to chase his dream, he must go to Spain by all means. BUt before he leaves, I hope he looks at the case of a guy who threw away a great life to chase a dream that had already materialised without him realising it. It's the story of a not so unfamiliar guy called Robbie Keane.

'Why' aspect apart, I just got this li'l thought...
Madrid's no.7 seems to be on his way to Manchester. Does that add a 'numeric' (read 7) tweak to CR7's move in the other direction?
But it would be a damn shame if Manchester's best team were to compensate Madrid cos 'the mob' lost their best to the cash-crazed 4th best team in Manchester!
Food for thought?

49-'O' WHAT???

Today I was denied the basic right extended to every citizen of this country (or so they say). I was not allowed to cast my vote to the party of my choice. The party of my choice ever since i started voting is popularly known to people as '49-O'. It basically means I dun consider any of these 'netas' to be worthy of ruling this underachieving country of mine.
Now this basic right was not denied to me by a party 'thondan' (cadre). It was denied by a stupid s***head of a booth official. The 'exercise of my franchise' went something like this:
-I walk into a booth that's so empty that I can't help but doubt the 65% voter turn out shown by abcd and wxyz tv.
-The guy in-charge of the booth shows me in.
- The 1st fem there checks my id and shouts out my name and id to a guy sitting barely 10 ft away. Once I got my ID back from her, I say '49-O'. No response, I'm shown to the 2nd fem.
- The 2nd fem checks my id again and writes some stuff on a register. I say '49-o' again. She says 'Ivar ennamo solraaru paarunga madam' (This chap's saying something) to the 1st fem.
- I repeat it to the 1st fem who asks 'Vote poda ishtam ille nu solriya pa?' ( U mean U dun wanna vote for any party?). Yeah, that's the idea.
- By this time, the 2nd fem's made me sign on that register.
- Booth in-charge walks in to 'clear' the air and asks me if I wanna use/invoke/whatever-the-hell '49-O'? Yes, Your Excellency.
- 'Andha register la sign panna vote kandippa podanum pa' (If u sign in that register, u have to to vote for some party). Now why wasn't this piece of gyaan given to me by the 2 fems there before I signed on it? I told them about it Your Excellency! No reply.
- Then His Excellency comes up with this, '25 symbol iruku thambi. Unaku pudicha symbol paathu kuthitu po. Thoppi, kannadi, bat, ambu vil... neraya nalla nalla symbol iruku pa. Unaku pudichadhu edho onnu amuthu. Adhu un jananayaga kadamai' (There are 25 symbols there kid. Jst select the one you like most. There are symbols like Hat, Coolers, Cricket bat, Bow-n-Arrow etc. Choose the one that attracts you the most and vote for it. It's your democratic responsibility'.
- I know a lost cause when I see one. I walk in, press the blue boutton next to I'm-not-telling-you and walk out.
- His Excellency is smiling like a Headmaster who's just straightened out a particularly naughty toddler. The 2 full grown mountain trolls that checked my IDs are grinning in a similar fashion. Congrats Arun, you just shouldered a 'democratic responsibility'.

So much for having '49-O'. So much for bothering to walk to the polling booth under the hot Sun. If I couldn't vote the way I wanted, what's the bloody point??? Proud to be a citizen of the biggest democracy on Earth!