Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Master of Fine Arts

There is no dearth of great tennis matches in the history of the game and certainly no dearth of legends. The man in question may / may not be considered one of them, but what he did this Monday does bring hope that this game is an art as long as the one who is playing it knows what he is doing. And it does help that he is a gentleman and has a sweet smile on an otherwise serious face.

Rain delayed US Open Men's final - It started off with the artist spreading his canvas and warming up with his slow and deliberate strokes, somewhat playing by the books. A few games into the first set, it was not the artist painting any more, but a symphony violinist at work. Imagine one at the height of the concert, with his eyes closed, his hands and fingers moving almost insanely and yet producing perfect notes, one after another, creating music that is strong and determined, yet mesmerizing.

Just when I started thinking, this was going to be another formality, Set 2 happened. 3 costly mistakes when being down 5-6, especially that weak half-volley did seal the deal in this set for the opponent who was now standing in the way of history being made. Oh wow, our man who till now seemed like he was from some other planet, was human indeed. And that is what made the following two sets even more incredible.

History was stacked against his favor, no south paw has won in 26 years for example. Could the opponent pull another fast one like he did in the semifinals. Set3 saw the transformation of our man into an architect. He was building his dream city, defying rules and that included geometry and gravity. Down the line winners and cross court stunners made novices like me feel like it was no big deal. And there was no lack of innovation. The court seemed as if was the twice the size that it was, with both players showing enough appetite to consume court-side area too. Our man's opponent ran a million times across the baseline and I was surprised that he did not pass out. Serving for set, our artist decides to do it with three killer serves in a row. That was probably what finally convinced the Tennis Gods that our man did deserve this.

Set 4 was more a formality. The python had crippled its prey, rendered it motionless and now all that was left was to devour it. And thats what happened.

One of the commentators summed up saying "This is the best I have seen Novak serve and if with that Rafa made him sweat for every point on his serve, I do not know what else to say" Our artist would go home with a career grand slam under his belt and be proof that nice guys do finish first too. His opponent for now will have to consider himself fortunate to have bagged a set.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Paradox

That Wednesday, the guy running out of the gym, sweating profusely, obviously just out from a great work-out, seemed a little axious, until he opened his car trunk and rummaged through his sports bag impatiently, found what he was looking for, lifted up his head and and lit up a cigarette and exhaled.
Satisfaction replaced anxiety !

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Once more...

Just about to pass through yet another "via" point...
One more reason to reminisce...
One more opportunity to 'miss' something...
One more discovery of the same truth "Life here was not bad after all"...
One more to add to my "When I lived in.." stories...

A new and better world awaits. But for now, I just want to linger.. just a little bit longer until it is time for...
One more "Dasvidania"

Friday, February 19, 2010

Gyaan for the week

Boy, Practicing is indeed tougher than preaching !! Can I be 18 again ???

Monday, January 18, 2010

Random Ramble

Remember that day when you were 6 ? And you passed by that "poochandi" on the street who looked "interesting", "different", but weird... Remember feeling sad after Dad told you he was not a poochandi, but someone who had no food, no home, no toys, no friends and how lucky you were to have all that... Remember choking up when mom fed you that night and narrated your favorite story.. Remembered how it made no sense when Dad said "That is Life" when you asked how many and why such people were there...

And after all those years it is one of those rare days, you are enjoying a travel with a relatively empty mind, with no books in hand, with the cell phone out of charge and forgetting the ipod at home. You wonder why you do not do this more often. You pass by someone on the street, who looks very similar to the numerous "poochandi"s of your childhood... You wonder at what point you stopped wondering "why" and when "That is life" became an acceptable explanation... And you wonder at what point you did not even realize that...

And suddenly, you miss the book, the cellphone and the ipod.