Of Rallies, Rejoinders & Retribution!

As I comb away the shards of memories, in pursuit of the most nostalgic sporting remembrances of my student life, I can state with downright certitude that I have handpicked a winner when I think of Table Tennis. And that too specifically when speaking of my love-story with the game during my B-School Days. And when you decide to outpour, you simply pour it out! You don’t mince words. You just lay it all bare!

One of the few things that cannot go unsighted by the trained human eye as it crosses the common room of the NH Hostel in Indian Institute of Foreign Trade, IIFT Delhi (my Alma Mater) is a group of blokes tapping away at the TT Table, irrespective of day, night, sun or rain. An unremitting pandemonium emanating from bet matches, friendly jousts for occupancy at the lone table, a latest Bollywood number playing behind on the TV behind the sofa and an overall amiable buzz enveloping the entire place – There is no surer friendship than a mutual love for TT and the banter that is concomitant with the game. 

The uniqueness of TT is, you don’t need to be an expert to play the game, or strain a single grey cell of your brain. You don’t have to worry about the rusted racquets whose wooden handles look as if they had been ravaged by a bunch of famished rodents and the semi-torn rubber unchanged since S.K.Roongta, the former Chairman of SAIL and one of the most distinguished alumnus, graduated from the hallowed portals of the campus back in 1972. You don’t have to torment yourself over the cracked saffron coloured ball from whose crevice a heady whiff of camphor emanates, nor the dust-laden table which hasn’t been cleaned in aeons and looks as if an ostracized dining table was put up in the local weekly yard sale for tuppence but nobody gave it an ounce of purchase consideration. If you are a total neophyte, all that is needed an inclination to play, not a planned learning curve. You just dabble away aimlessly back and forth, and before you know what's happening your expertise increases, with minimal cerebral effort or practice.

Having said this, there were times when even the most serene of atmosphere could turn into a competitive duel between 2 parties with rewards at stake. These were most commonly intra B-School sporting events such as the Big Fight or the prestigious Ultimate Warriors League (UWL), which galvanized the bonhomous environs of the common room into one bloody warzone. It would not be too much to say, the scene would be not unlikely to be described as the epitome of the gag 'Sport is War Minus the Shooting' as one of those fellows aptly put it decades back.

Feisty battles between Yours truly and Gaurav, was considered to be hot stuff back in those days, with punters putting in their money on either of us, for important competitions. The levels of pugnacity on display sometimes touched such dizzying heights that had there ever been a manometer that could quantify the pressure-cooker situation, it would have doffed its hat at the audience with its needle pointing perpetually towards the red. The UWL Table Tennis finals of 2015, was one of those memorable battles, with myself representing Southern Stallions and Gaurav sporting the Eastern Gladiators jersey. Considering the event was in its final leg with the points table tantalizingly poised with the 2 teams aforementioned in a neck-to-neck race for the coveted trophy, the hype was terrific with a larger-than-life aura, assuming magnified proportions in the build up to the game, as the clock began to wind down for the big event.

What lent an extra layer of flavor or a dab of spice, so much to say, to the build-up was that this purportedly was more than just a match. For it was a matter of reclamation of lost honour and an opportunity at retribution, as I had lost the previous year's UWL final by a whisker in the decider 3^rd set to the same nemesis. It was as if the nation was waiting to see if I would avenge the defeat of previous year or would Gaurav etch his name in History books as the all-time greatest paddler in the history of IIFT. 

Besides the result on that day, one thing I realized on that day was that TT was much more than just a friggin game. That it is actually a microcosm of a variety of emotions and feelings which we encounter almost on a daily basis and is sure to teach you a thing or two about life.

The match was timed to commence at sharp 1:30 AM, for life begins only at such ungodly hours in B-School campuses. The more important reason being, it would give ample time for the chaps to stew themselves to the gills and intoxicate themselves with a spot of Ganja which is the fount and elixir of life in hostel. But that day was a tad different though, as such matches with rip-roaring ambience themselves were expected to serve as a potion of intoxication, hence the consumption of ganja had to be rationed to just the right extent, if one were to enjoy the match to the lees. The result – A throng of ravenous birds adorned the perimeter of the common room with the upholstery groaning under the superfluous human tonnage which had lodged itself on top.

Minutes before the start, water was poured onto the side of the table, shoe soles wetted to provide the exact amount of grip, both players kneeling as if paying obeisance to the table to check if the height of the net was exactly in line with the measurement of the racquets length, and the customary mutual inspection of rubbers to check if anything had changed extraordinarily warranting the need for strategic adjustments– In short, just Table Tennis things!

The toss having completed and few barter of counters exchanged accompanied by a barrage of cheers and abuses coming from both sets of supporters, the game was all slated to begin and Gaurav to serve. 

The first point. A magnificent serve coming from the expert paddler. Just the right altitude, perfect spin and trajectory, an overall good length delivery, putting me in an instant confusion if it should be parried away or if I should take a step back and slice deep. I did a mishmash of both and ball looped up and landed on table. Gaurav impatiently waited for the ball to jump up and smashed the ball nearly denting the table. 1-0. A raucous cavalcade of applauses from the EG supporters followed! The pressure was on! Next came in a backhand side spin serve which gave me enough room to cut away and top spin the ball to his relatively weaker back hand, the return was feeble, allowing me to capitalize and roll the ball to his irretrievably extreme forehand. 1-1.

Now it was my turn to serve, which was indubitably my forte. Ask about Nikhil's paddling skills and question marks might arise on my effectiveness in dealing with top spin counters or for that matter my backhand cutting skills which is certainly my Achilles Heel. But my repertoire of serves was the Hissing and Byword of the campus and I could leave any opponent looking a bit dashed foolish if I wanted it and got my act together. But I did not want to unleash myself immediately, wanting to save the best for a more critical juncture. So I began with the traditional forehand top spin serve. The ball was set aflutter with considerable venom, but Gaurav returned the ball and what followed was a string of snap rejoinders, but eventually it was I who won the point. The crowd wowed at the rally doled out, and the whole air was one of a night which would live up to its promise. Even a couple of pedestrian eggs, not too big connoisseurs of the game which were tottering outside the common room still fogged about what on earth was happening inside, joined the teeming audience to ascertain the facts for themselves.

3^rd set. Deciders. 1-1. 8-6. Nikhil to serve, a trio of points from crowning glory. 

Wait hold off! Before the flummoxed public begins to reach out for its weaponry, let me clear the air!

The shrewd writer and astute raconteur always knows when and how to cut a long story in right dimensions and size it up to correct measure. I can go on to describe the game with infinitesimal detail for every single point that was played on that night is firmly ensconced in memory, but nothing puts off one's devoted readership than a massive slab of prose, that too on intricacies of a game not so well known and played in this part of the world. Had it been Cricket I would have gone on and on, knowing the public would drink it all in with fervor, because nothing is more orgasmic for the Indian public than to talk, see or hear about the sport which is more akin to religion!

So, that’s why I decided to fast-forward to the aforesaid titillating juncture. To that section of the public more passionate and partial to the game, now peremptorily demanding explanations on what happened in the vast chasm of the 20 minutes that lapsed since I went off the railings, I offer my apologies and promise to unicast the entire proceedings not omitting any detail whatsoever, in a separate forum. But for the sake of brevity, I can assure that the brand of Table Tennis played was elevated to an exalted realm, with both of us leaving no stone unturned and no avenue unexplored to offer the very best of our services to the deserving audience.

Right, so returning back, as I said, it was 8-6, in the decider 3^rd set with self to serve, clearly having a firm upper hand on the proceedings. By now the indefatigable bipartisan crowd was peaking feverish heights. There was absolutely no shortage in the supply of adrenaline rush. In the last few points, I clearly was able to crack the code of my opponent's game, with the net also luckily coming to my assistance a couple of times. And my services were increasingly becoming more fiendish and hostile, as I was pulling every trick out of my bag with success. I whipped out a reverse-top spin serve one of the most difficult ones in the game to fend off. It is the TT equivalent of a reverse swing cricket delivery. The ball as it lands on your own side, propels towards nor-nor west and the moment it makes a landing on the other side, changes directions and heads off eastward bamboozling your foe. Before Gaurav could even attempt a parry, the ball took the edge of his racquet and looped sideward to the audience. 9-6. An enraged Gaurav now decided to take me to the attack. But having keenly observed a change in his comportment I realized this was the moment to cash on. Just as his feet were on the verge of histrionically tilting on their axis and do a forehand topspin to my counter serve, I dummied him totally by sending the ball on the far left side. 10-6! Championship Point! I was on the threshold! History Books waiting to be re-written!

Now with a solitary point separating self from the Empyrean Peak, I made the error which all mortals at one point of time or the other in their lifetime make – Fall in the trap called complacency. One of the pioneers of the technology industry Andy Grove once said "Success breeds complacency. Complacency breeds failure. Only the paranoid survive." To me the word Paranoia had momentarily been expunged and let out into cosmic space. More importantly I had forgot to take into account the spirit and zeal which Gaurav had always shown when plying his trade on the table. Now even more invigorated to essay the most epic comeback, he took a short 'Time Out', the hiatus I am sure no doubt intended to restore his dangling nerves to position, summon up the blood, stiffen the sinews and prepare himself to face the daunting Sisyphean endeavor that now lay in front of him. The SS supporters on the other hand almost self-assured that the trophy was in the bag, started updating  Facebook Pages with stuff replete with congratulatory postings and snarky commiserations to the EG faithful. 'Year Long Wait Ends as SS Edge out EG in Epic Thriller', looked to be the theme in the offing for the headlines of the morning edition of the IIFT Times.

Gaurav to serve. 6-10. A vicious back hand side spin serve was launched to my back hand. Partly expecting it I countered it impotently to his forehand only to expect a superb finishing riposte in the form of a cracking counter drive to my backhand which left me clueless. 7-10. 50% of the complacency had vanished, but I was still sure of my victory, for I had two services in hand. Next came a simple cut service. A simple cut back to his back hand, waiting and allowing him to make the mistake would have sufficed, but my mind having already been thrown to the wolves to feast upon, I attempted an outrageously meretricious flashy kitsch of a back hand top spin which went horribly wrong, took the edge of my racquet and skied up to the heavens. 8-10.

Gloomy… Hope began to prevail for EG. Now pressure began to creep in again. It wasn’t over after all. In fact it was far from over. But I still had my service and all I had to do was to produce one piece-de-resistance and then I would be on top of the world. With pressure however vulnerability creeps in. We have seen it a million times in the world of sports. The next serve of mine, a high toss one went straight into the net, and it was 10-9.

Gloomier...Smiles from the SS supporters were slowly disappearing like the last diffused xanthic rays of a sunset as twilight begins to set in. The tough eggs on the EG camp were now browbeating me into succumbing to the pressure. Gaurav, belligerently sprang forward seeking eye contact as he flaunted his thick biceps and flounced back. I tried my best to ignore the mind games. I just wanted to stick to the basics, but play the point as if my life was hanging on the slender line. No time for experiments, no fooling around. Just keep it simple.

An ordinary cut service. Gaurav pushed it back to my backhand, then I pushed it back to his backhand. Then I pushed it back and he returned the compliment. And then what followed was a good couple of dozens of pushes. Looked like time had momentarily frozen with the audience on the edge of the seat, with its heart on its mouth. We had suddenly fallen back into the recesses of the kindergarten sandpits now literally slogging it out on the ABCs of the game! However with each push the strain became unbearable! It couldn’t go on forever for sure! One of us had to take the clarion call. Finally I decided, that it had to be me who should terminate the chapter of passive jabs, me being one always inclined to the policy 'Attack is the Best form of Defence'. With gusto, I revolved on my hip, took the ball on its turn, and spun it back to his forehand. What followed in the next 15 seconds was a virtuoso exhibition of dexterous racquet work on both sides, creating an aural treatment of the most sweet accoustic sounds to ever penetrate the ear of the TT patron. Twiddle. Whirr. Swish. Phat. Smack and Tickkk…The last 2 sounds were however the ultimate climactic pieces of what would go into the annals of history books as the best game to have ever played on this South Delhi institute. The penultimate Smack was a smash from the strong champ to my far right. In one final gasping effort, I lunged sideward and lobbed the ball a good ten feet in the air, table ward. Gaurav menacingly waited for the ball to make the landing. Mentally I prepared for the cataclysmic finale which I was sure would end against my favour. 'Cometh The Hour, Cometh the Man! Gaurav Prevails in Legendary Comeback as EG Conquers Planet IIFT Yet Again' seemed to be the angle from which the editorial staff of the IIFT Times would now be looking at things!

That was when my guardian angel woke up from its slumber. The ball floated downward, did a couple of aerial somersaults and finally made contact with Terra Firma in the most dramatic fashion, taking off the extreme edge of the rectangular table where the length and breadth meet at perfect right angles. This was the ultimate Tickkk as the ball zipped off in a curvilinear trajectory thus rendering it humanly unplayable. After a momentary calm, the lull before the storm, the crowd finally came to terms with reality. SS fans broke into raptures of joy and celebration while EG supporters burrowed their hands into their heads collapsing in despair. Shocked and plainly at a loss of words, but still impelled to utterance on being a hapless witness to this sacrilege, all poor Gaurav could do was bellow profanities.

I will never forget the look on his face that day. The intimidating and murderous glare that he dished out cut me in half and nearly tore me from limb to limb. I had committed nothing short of Blasphemy! I knew it but I did not care! All that mattered to me that day was, Revenge and Retribution had triumphed!!!

Rara Avis

This blogpost is the result of thoughts and opinions which have been sequestered over time but slowly returning to surface, in the quest of meaning. Things and events which I have been observing for many years and which have intrigued me, but always lacked the cutting edge to propel me to take pen in hand and let it all out. But just like a dormant volcano, which has been slowly gathering steam underneath before making that final eruption causing much concern and displeasure to its nearby inhabitants, certain unformatted ruminations have been simmering on my mind in recent months, which I will start offloading one by one in the coming days. Folks beware!

The title of this write-up, ‘Rara Avis’ is a latin expression meaning 'Rare Bird' metamorphically indicating a rarity unsurpassed elsewhere. And I think it is befitting to describe the fan club phenomenon in South India in general, but Chennai and Tamilnadu in particular as one, because I don’t think I have ever come across such a thing existing anywhere else existing other than this part of the world. Nonpareil by any stretch of imagination!

Oh! I got to be more clear and precise. Fan clubs for what? Or rather for whom!?  Well I would say for anyone, from unheard of actors to big movie stars to corrupt politicians to their side kicks, to sportsmen, to their wives, every god damn guy seems capable of having a fan club of his own in Chennai! 

Let us come to movies first. If you ever plan to enter the Tamil film industry don’t be one bit surprised if a group of urchins accost you with a proposal of starting a fan club in your name! Starting right from Rajinikanth who sits at the very apex of the pyramid with Kamal Hassan (earlier at close quarters but now slowly fading from the scene due to his last few movies failing miserably at the box office), you have as you climb down, a fierce dog-eat-dog slugfest being carried out by fans of Vijay and Ajith who are perpetually at loggerheads (albeit friendly ones mostly!) and engulfed in a perennial battle of one-upmanship. 

Ajith Fans in an attempt to clarify who the boss is

Then you have Surya and now of late in recent years, the younger ones of the pack such as Vijay Sethupathi, Siva Karthikeyan, Vishal and the rest. The first thing that happens when you enter the movie industry and start being recognized as a capable actor is that fan clubs start mushrooming up in various parts of the state. A moniker is immediately bestowed upon the actor. Everyone has it. Rajinikanth is fondly referred to as 'Thalaivar', Kamal Hassan as 'Ulaga Nayagan', Vijay as 'Ilaya Thalapathy', Ajith as 'Thala' and so on and so forth. It has almost become an indispensable and existential part of the process in order to make one's movies succeed at the box office. 

Fans Deifying 'Thalaivar' Rajinikanth

The activities of fans club or association (Rasigar Mandrams as they are called in Tamil) deserve special mention. New movie releases are nothing short of a festival in this part of the world. Huge 100 feet cutouts of actors are made and garlanded, Pal Abishegams (Milk adornment) are conducted, firecrackers are burst everywhere. Thousands of posters with punch dialogues crop up with youngsters putting submissive photos below the actor’s mammoth image to show their allegiance and loyalty. In short an immaculate display of thraldom. 

A totally naïve outsider would be awe-struck if he ever had the opportunity to catch a Vijay or Ajith movie's release in an electrifying and rip-roaring ambience outside the more unrulier of Chennai's theaters such as Vetri Theater for example, teeming with rambunctious fans (Read 'Thala/Thalapathy Veriyargal' :P) at 4 AM on the day of release. Even female actors haven't been spared – In the more recent last 2 decades, the curvaceous Khushboo and more recently Namitha have even had temples built for them!

And this is not a recent phenomenon by any stretch of imagination. Even from yester-years the craze for cinema and cinema actors has been inherent in Tamilnadu. The activities and exertions were outright jocular even then. Sivaji Ganesan fans used to conduct Parakkum Padais (Flying clubs) who used to wander about the city on motorcycles hoisting flags and shouting slogans, and Kamal Hassan fans at a point in time, on days of his new flick releases, would queue up in thousands outside blood banks to donate blood in an overwhelming urge to differentiate from fans of other actors. 

But more shocking was the craze for foreign movie stars. My father once told me, that during his college days, in Chennai alone there were 267 fan clubs of Roger Moore, the star who essayed James Bond in many a classic! When Roger Moore was informed of this he was shocked out of his wits and pinched himself in disbelief that this could happen in a remote corner of the planet.

I did not believe this was possible, I even argued with my dad that this simply surpasses all levels of lunacy, till I myself came across one such incident which till today has left me dumbfounded.

Have you ever wondered if the suave looking Leonardo Di Caprio, a man who probably has never visited India in his life, or more so doesn’t know where or rather what on earth Chennai is, would be a perfect fit to lead the state of Tamilnadu? No I am not joking friends! When Di Caprio won the Academy Award  for The Revenant in 2016, a congratulatory poster was put by a Di Caprio fans association in Kaanadukathan (a nondescript rural village in TN, 400 Km south of Chennai) shockingly declaring him as the future CM of Tamilnadu. I was simply at a loss for words!

Di Caprio heralded as the future CM of Tamilnadu

Well atleast Movies are still fine, but the urge to start fan clubs and the love story with Posters transcends the film world by several miles. Few months back the scripted 'Big Boss' – a TV reality show that shot up TRP levels to dizzying heights, had half the 7 Crore population of TN spend every single night for 100 days in front of Vijay TV. Social media went berserk and the deluge of memes and videos was becoming a bit too much on the discomforting side that I was almost on the urge of deactivating my FB account! What was even more astonishing was the sight of youngsters garnering all the support they could for saving Oviya, the so called darling of the masses. So what next – Oviya fan clubs, posters and Save-Oviya movements started blooming everywhere. Is there a limit to this idiocy?

Oviya Craze taking TN by a storm

Movies are still bearable but politics is where you see the self esteem of followers plummeting to the nadir, which is truly saddening. George Bernard Shaw once said ‘Politics is the last refugee of the scoundrel’. In TN, one can feel the prescience of those words which are epitomized in every possible manner. Most of the thugs in politics are the ones who have made money thru every illegal manner, and it is due to sheer monetary muscle that he/she has been able to garner a horde of loyalists who would not hesitate to descend to the lowest possible level to show their loyalty. This loyalty is not one that has come from the bottom of the heart. It is only because that every single person is a so called loyalist, is in there to curry favour. Let us say if X is a big politician worth 1000 crores, and assuming a hypothetical scenario where next day he finds himself a pauper, he is not a pauper not just in monetary terms but in terms of his man power as well, for his set of so-called loyalists would have already flocked to the next most convenient bigwig where they would be better attended to. This is servitude at the lowest common denominator really. But questioning this is probably questioning the very cultural fabric of this state and would evoke a terrible backlash rebuking the questioner for not being able to appreciate the uniqueness of this culture. In short a Shakespearesque response would be shot back that “The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils”!

A poster intended to depict the cadres loyalty to the late TN CM

By now some of you may be getting the feeling that the tone is taking a more sombre colour and since this does not befit me or my disposition in general, I will beat a hasty retreat and return to the more humorous parts which are my forte. Secondly as a part-selfish motive, me being a conscientious person, I would always prepare to eschew the route to controversy to the best extent possible. So I’ll save the rants, lambasts and vitriolic outbursts for a later time :P

Right, now not willing to spare other permutations and combinations, how about mixing cinema and politics, which have been tautly intertwined since the prelapsarian days of the Dravidian movement and evolution of its ideologies. Almost every big actor has been inevitably linked to politics, the logic (though undoubtedly ludicrous), being if one is capable of acting well and garner a massive fan base for himself, he in reality must be a great man capable of doing great things for the state. With every box office success, an actor’s star appeal and worth goes up and so does his credentials for entering the murky world of politics. Years of kakistocratic rule and lack of economic growth have already left the people seething with discontent and anger. This when further fueled by unsuccessful attempts to persuade a big star to start his own political bastion sometimes leads to frustration and the results are sometimes downright hilarious. The stars persona sometimes even leads to him being compared with icons hailing from the state. Not joking at all! There were times when caricatures have been drawn up to show an actor as the messiah of the masses.

Unbelievable caricatures of Ajith as Thiruvalluvar and Dr. Kalaam

Jokes apart the culture of deifying movie stars and sportsmen is rather saddening because it speaks volumes about the lack of self-esteem in the youth and how precious time of their lives and hard earned money is being spent on mindless activities no good to man or beast. I again say self-esteem because it is only here that I have ever seen a need to establish one’s identity by perforce associating with someone else.

Vijay as MGR - Sign of the actor's impending entry into politics ?

As can be seen in the images, Ajith being portrayed as Abdul Kalaam or Vijay as MGR may look comic, but one has to peel into the layers to discern the motive behind such posters, as it speaks volumes about the deep rooted angst of the people, but now slowly coming more and more to the fore. There is certainly a strong undercurrent suggestive of Tamil pride especially considering movies like Mersal releasing in the backdrop of a wave of recent events in the state, such as the Jallikattu Protest, Farmers protest in Delhi, Suicide of Anitha and the protest against NEET, and the overall stance opposed to radical government measures such as demonetization & GST. There is an overwhelming feeling of subjugation and neglect of Tamils by the BJP government which has always maintained a pro-Hindutva stand. Hence it is no surprise that the movie which takes a dig at a number of issues such as GST, Demonetization, Healthcare System of the country etc has been lapped up by the audience gleefully.

On one hand it is true that the political system of TN is mired in a putrid cesspool of mediocrity, and we as people of TN will be happy to see stars like Rajinikanth or Kamal Hassan or Vijay wanting to jump into the political fray, change the system and lug us out of this squalor. On the other hand, what is concerning is that the fan clubs and posters are much more to it than what meets the eye. They are possibly being used as tools to incessantly whip up the passion of people and might be the handiwork of fringe Tamil Nationalist (read Anti-National) parties and elements. While we are still in nascent stages of what can be termed as a Tamil Nationalist Movement, what is fearsome is the fact that these fissiparous tendencies which have always been innate in the social fabric of Tamilnadu might cause it to become a hotbed of unrest and civilian chaos, in short the next Kashmir in a few years time.

Without taking more time, I would leave it to the people of Tamilnadu to retrospect for themselves on the path we are treading and urge utmost caution.

P.S. ending the piece on a lighter note, I am sure the Madras High Court’s judgement last week to ban the use of “photographs or pictures” of living persons on “banners, flex boards, signboards” across the state, would have sent shockwaves amongst the poster boys of TN and I wonder how they are going to grapple with this! J