Beast of Burden

1.IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY?' YOU SAY :-
I'd Die for You (Bon Jovi - Slippery When Wet)

2.HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Stiff Upper Lip (AC/DC - Stiff Upper Lip)

3.WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Dear Prudence (The Beatles - The White Album)

4.HOW DO YOU FEEL ?
Up the Downstair (Porcupine Tree - Coma Divine)

5.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
The Real Me (The Who - Quadrophenia)

6.WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?
Dream On (Aerosmith - Aerosmith)

8.WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Every Little Thing (The Beatles - Beatles for Sale)

9.WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Sometimes I Feel like Screaming (Deep Purple - Purpendicular)

10.WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Disappear (Dream Theater - Six Degrees of Inner Turbulence)

11.WHAT IS 2+2 ?
Zero the Hero (Black Sabbath - Born Again)

12.WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Badlands (Bruce Springsteen - Born in the USA)

13.WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
I am the Highway (Audioslave - Audioslave)

14.WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO WHEN YOU GROW UP?
The Kiss - Skit (Eminem - The Eminem Show)

15.WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
The Song Remains the Same (Led Zeppelin - Houses of the Holy)

16.WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Shedding Skin (Pantera - Far Beyond Driven)

17.WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
You're Crazy (Guns N' Roses - Appetite for Destruction)

18.WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
One Wild Night (Bon Jovi - Crush)

19.WHAT WILL YOU PUBLISH THIS AS?
Beast of Burden (Rolling Stones - The Best of the Rolling Stones)

You know that this is something that's doing the rounds on the 'Notes' application of people's Facebook profiles these days. You also know that only retarded, jobless and hopeless people do this, for their life is so, so very meaningless.

But I know that this is the next thing you'll be doing.

So, this is what they ask you to do:

1. Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT MAY SOUND.
4. Tag your friends
5. Everyone tagged has to do the same thing.
6. Enjoy

The last three steps are irrelevant if, like me, you do not have the testicular fortitude(or whatever it is that makes you courageous) to post this as a note on Facebook.

I also know whoever is reading this is going, "Et tu, Raunaq!!"

Yes. This is what happens when you run a huge, HUGE risk of cocking up the exam that's on the next day. Throw in an alarming lack of creativity as well.

So be it.



PS: Now you also know why this post's titled 'Beast of Burden'.

Earworm-ation

Something’s happened to me, and for some incomprehensible reason. I’ve been listening to one particular song repeatedly for the last 3 days now. And going by the way I just can’t have enough of it, I think I’m going to listen to it for another 3 days at least.

This is something I didn’t know about – there is actually a term for describing this condition. It hasn't been scientifically authenticated yet, but it looks like its usage is fairly common.

As Wikipedia says:

'Earworm, a calque of the German Ohrwurm, is a term for a portion of a song or other musical material that repeats compulsively within one's mind, known colloquially as "music being stuck in one's head". Use of the English translation was popularized by James Kellaris and Daniel Levitin. Kellaris' studies demonstrated that different people have varying susceptibilities to earworms, but that almost everybody has been afflicted with one at some time or another. This usually happens when a person sings the song or hums the tune once and then repeats it in his or her mind." However, this information is not supported by any scientifically published information and was presented only as a guess of an unknown author.'

‘Rabbit Run’ is the song in question. I’m muttering that song under my breath all the time – out of bed(rather late) in the morning, while brushing my teeth, walking into class, loafing around on campus, heck, even while doing the unmentionables.

I have developed this weird tendency of picking up my deodorant can, holding it to my mouth and repeatedly singing the lines from random parts of the song. Especially:

"Some days I just wanna up and call it quits
I feel like I'm surrounded by a wall of bricks
Every time I go to get up I just fall in pits
My life's like one great big ball of shit
If I could just, put it all into all I spit
Instead of always tryin to swallow it..

This is it, last straw, that's all, that's it
I ain't dealin with another fuckin politic
I'm like a skillet bubblin until it filters up
I'm about to kill it, I can feel it buildin up
Blow this buildin up, I've been sealed enough
My cup, runneth over, I done filled it up

The pen explodes and busts, ink spills my guts
You think, all I do is stand here and feel my nuts?
Well I'ma show you what, you gon' feel my rush
You don't feel it, then it must be too real to touch

Peal the dutch, I'm about to tear shit up
Goosebumps yea, I'ma make your hair sit up
Yea sit up, I'ma tell you who I be
I'ma make you hate me, cause you ain't me
You wait, it ain't too late to finally see
what you closed-minded f***s were too blind to see
Whoever finds me is gonna get a finder's fee
out this world, ain't no one out their mind as me
You need piece of mind? Here's a piece of mine
All I need's a line

I'm fizzlin now, thought I figured it out
Ball's in my court, but I'm scared to dribble it out
I'm afraid, but why am I afraid?
Why am I a slave to this trade?
Cyanide I spit to the grave
Real enough to rile you up
Want me to flip it I can rip it any style you want
I'm a switch hitter bitch, Jimmy Smith ain't a quitter
I'ma sit until I get enough in me to finally hit a
f****n boilin point, put some oil in your joints
Flip the coin bitch, come get destroyed

I'll be back baby, I just gotta beat this clock
F*** this clock, I'ma make 'em eat this watch
Don't believe me watch, I'ma win this race
And I'ma come back and rub my shit in your face, bitch
I found my nitch, you gon' hear my voice
'Til you sick of it, you ain't gonna have a choice
If I gotta scream 'til I have half a lung
If I had half a chance I'd grab it - Rabbit, run."

It…just charges me up. Eminem’s energy is just too frickin’ contagious. It just courses through as an invisible, overpowering force. I spit those lines out all the time. I reply to my own self when in doubt, “I don’t know it’s just the way I am”.

Even the background music for this track is haunting me in the moments when I have a little peace and quiet around me. What’s going on? It’s just…inexplicable!

By the way, I just noticed that towards the end of the Wiki article on earworms, there's this line that goes:

“Medications that are used to treat Obsessive-compulsive disorder or anxiety can alleviate the symptoms of earworms.”

Uh oh.

Disappointment

I sometimes wonder whether I should call this blog a ‘Motoring Blog’ or a ‘Motorsport Blog’ – after all, that’s the only topic I keep on writing about, with a few posts of random nothingness here and there.


But there is a small issue:

My employers are not called ‘F1 Racing Magazine’, ‘Autosport’ or, even ‘Auto India’. Which means nobody’s going to give a monkey about my views on ‘Should Renault devote more finances to developing wheel nuts that convert atmospheric CO2 into oxygen?’


But I am slightly miffed by what happened yesterday in the MotoGP Qatar Grand Prix. I have always worshipped Valentino ‘The Doctor’ Rossi, but he did something completely unexpected last night.


Yes, he didn’t win – now that he’s made winning such a habit, one might be forgiven for expecting him to win every other race. Yamaha weren’t in as good shape as the Bolognese powerhouse – Ducati and Stoner were raping (there is no other word for it) everyone else on the track with the Desmosedici GP7. The gap between Stoner and the second placed Rossi never fell below 0.45 of a second a lap. Now that, in motor racing terms is the equivalent of a year. Stoner sure looked unbeatable.


As the lights went out, Rossi had a poor start, fell back to fourth, even as Stoner turned up the heat at the head of the pack. But as Rossi has so often done, he chipped away at the advantage that Lorenzo and Capirossi had and passed them both. He managed to close the gap between him and Stoner to a little under 2 seconds, and then faded away and eventually settled for second place. All of this is fine. He probably had worn out his tyres while trying to play catch up. He was probably having too many vibrations from the front wheel which made it next to impossible to stay on the limit all the time. His Yamaha’s set-up was probably not quite up to the task. The Yamaha was probably not quick enough. PROBABLY.


But this was what the Doctor had to say after the race:

"But after that I was making up the gap, and maybe I could have caught him, but after yesterday's rain the asphalt became a bit more aggressive, and I had some small problems with the front tyre, so at one point I had to decide whether I should crash or give up."
"So I thought a bit, and since we knew we were a bit on the limit, I gave up. Well done to Stoner, he was quick and he deserved the win. In any case we're second, we've demonstrated that we can go quick, so see you at Motegi."

So he admitted it. Remove the word probably from all those sentences. He wasn’t quick enough. He didn’t go balls-out, for he realized there was no point in it. Stoner was unbeatable last night in Losail. That’s the heart-breaking part. I would like to believe he could have done it. He would have found a way. Like that magical debut race for Yamaha in 2005 in Welkom, South Africa. That was a Rossi masterclass. That was when the rider had proved that he was bigger than the machine itself. He had taken the M1 to the dizzying limits and beyond, walking a tightrope for the entire duration of the race.

See you at Motegi, then.

What is it about June?

Juan Manuel Fangio was born on the 24th of June, 1911. He was nicknamed ‘El Maestro’ (‘The Master’). He won five Formula One World Driver's Championships - a record which stood for 46 years eventually beaten by Michael Schumacher - with four different teams (Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Mercedes-Benz and Maserati), a feat that has not been repeated since. He is considered by many to be the greatest driver of all time.


Sir John Young ‘Jackie’ Stewart was born on the 11th of June 1939. He is better known as Jackie, and nicknamed ‘The Flying Scot’. He won the F1 World Championship thrice.


Kevin Schwantz, former Motorcycle Grand Prix World Champion, was born on the 19th of June, in Houston, Texas. He was renowned for his aggressive, all-or-nothing riding style.


Giacomo Agostini was born on the 16th of June, 1942 in Brescia, Lombardy. He’s an Italian multi-time Motorcycle Grand Prix World Champion. Nicknamed ‘Ago’, he is the all-time leader in victories in motorcycle Grand Prix history.


Michael ‘Mick’ Sydney Doohan was born on the 4th of June 1965 in Brisbane, Australia. He’s a former Grand Prix motorcycle road racing World Champion, who won five consecutive 500 cc World Championships, second only to Giacomo Agostini. He’s considered to be one of the greatest exponents of motorcycling racing of all time.


‘Turbo’ Tommi Antero Mäkinen was born in Puuppola, Finland near Jyväskylä on the 26th of June 1964. Mäkinen is one of the most successful WRC drivers of all time, having been a 4-time World Rally Champion.


Raunaq ‘Hopeless’ Sahu was born on the 22nd of June in Raniganj, West Bengal to Oriya parents. He writes this shady blog and likes to believe that he is a hard-core motor-racing fan. He hasn’t achieved much in real life, though. He has driven a Toyota Landcruiser and was quite intimidated by it. Sadly, it was an automatic, so he couldn’t pretend to be a proper driver (“Only yummy mummies drive automatics” - Jeremy Clarkson). He had once driven a Maruti 800 3 years back when he’d driven into a hedge as he was standing on the clutch and wondering why the darn car wasn’t stopping.


At least he was born in June.

Busy doing nothing. Hence the post.

-I am guffawing everytime I recall this bit from Jezza's column featured in the Times today:

"..Nor could I understand how someone from Tooting could possibly support, say, Manchester United, a team sponsored by those hateful bastards at AIG and made up of players from Portugal, France, Holland and, in the case of Wayne Rooney, Walt Disney. Where’s the connection? What’s the point?"

The Wayne Rooney bit is fan-effing-tastic!


- I finished reading the Hamster's autobiography - 'On the Edge : My Story'. Great entertainment, much like the man himself!


- Saw the trailer of 'The Fast and The Furious : 4' whilst channel-surfing. It's got a rather unimaginative tagline which goes : 'New Model. Original Parts'. If somebody tried to sell a car or a bike with such a tagline, the message sent out would be screamingly obvious : "When we first made it, it was hopeless. In fact, it was so bad that no one noticed. Giving it a new set of snazzy decals and new marketing bullshit in the product brochure, we expect to sell more units than we sold last year. Err...we sold none last year. We have an overflowing inventory." I sincerely hope I can laugh as much at this movie as I did when I saw 'The Fast and the Furious : Tokyo Drift'. Muahahahaha.


- I just discovered that my 'Scientists and Innovators' course presentation is on the 1st of April! We'll be doing a presentation on SN Bose. Or was it JC Bose? Damn.


- I watched a rerun of the BNP Paribas Open semifinals on Star Sports. The one involving Federer and Murray was... weird. Federer played brilliantly in the 2nd set and in the 1st two games of the 3rd. Then, inexplicably, he caved in, making a string of unforced errors. That was extremely disturbing. How on earth did his game fold up after he had clearly settled into a good rhythm? I don't know. Neither does anybody else, including Federer.
The other semifinal ensured that normal service was resumed. Nadal beat Roddick 6-4, 7-6. The strong winds made things a little dicey, but every time Rafa let that forehand rip he made A-Rod look slow-witted and ponderous. Duh.


- Saw the 'Every Second Counts' commercial aired by Star Sports as a part of the 2009 Formula One season's advertising campaign. Liked it. Looking forward to what promises to be a cracker of a season! Rock it, boys!


- As you must have realized by now, Star Sports has been my companion for the day.


- I need a new pair of aviators. Now. I need 3 grand to pay for them. I don't have 3 grand. So I shall shut up.


- I am also wondering why I never talk to my parents for more than 90 seconds. This is in stark contrast to my other hostel-mates. I just mutter a few 'hmm's and 'yeah's, followed by long silences, until my mother says,"You don't have anything to tell me. Bye.". And hangs up.


- Checked out the wedding pics of my maternal cousin, who got married on the 14th of February. I wasn't there. Darn.


- I learned that there exists a racing series called 'The Middle East Rally Championship'! Surreal, I say!


- I added the tags for this post, clicked on 'Publish Post' and sat back to watch 'Engine Block'. On Star Sports :D

Happy birthday, sie biest !

The Porsche 917 at the Daytona Historic Event

Over the years, there have been many manically fast and technically magnificent race cars which have now become part of automotive lore. Enthusiasts discussing them do so in hushed, reverential tones and manufacturers lovingly preserve surviving examples in their heritage museums, or even the hallowed precincts of the factories in which they were conceived and built.

Presently, I’ll go in a completely different direction. As a 4-year old, I remember my favourite toy being a dark blue pull-back toy car – it had stickers screaming '69' on its flanks and several others saying ‘Gulf’, ‘Koni’ and ‘Tag Heuer’ – I didn’t know what any of that meant. It was my most prized possession and I had a great time playing with it all over the house.

It was a model of the Porsche 917, THE Porsche 917, the fabled Porsche 917, the car that annihilated all its opposition and occasionally its own self in a fiery ball of aluminum, titanium and magnesium. Apart from blitzing the Le Mans, the Can Am, the Targa Florio, and several other racing classes, it was also immortalized on celluloid in the Steve McQueen starrer, Le Mans(1971). Endorsement from the King of Cool, no less! 2009 marks the 40th anniversary of the 917, and Porsche is commemorating this occasion at the Goodwood Festival of Speed in July. The world is celebrating and so am I!

It was born under interesting circumstances, to say the least. The FIA, in a way, had a hand in this. In those days, Le Mans witnessed insane speeds and cars like the Ford GT 40 MkIV and the Ferrari Ps (the 250Ps, the 330Ps, the 412 Ps, etc) with their massive engines and immense power outputs were the undisputed kings. The FIA then tweaked the rules a little to allow cars with smaller engine capacities to be a part of the World Sports Car Championship and to entice more manufacturers to line up on the starting grid. There was a catch, however – the manufacturer couldn’t just set up a race team, devote the finances and manpower and build a precious few cars to compete in the championships. The cars had to be homologated as well. That is, they had to be built and sold as road-legal machines to people like you and me. A manufacturer could take its cars to race as long as it had made at least 25 units for road use.

Ferdinand Piech(right) and Gerhard Mitter(left) at the first presentation of the 917

So, Porsche got started on its project. A super-lightweight 42 kg aluminium spaceframe, several titanium and magnesium alloy components, a glass fibre body-shell and a 4.5 litre flat-12 naturally aspirated engine putting out a substantial 520 horsepower were thrown into the mix, and the 917 was born. It was not without its share of pitfalls, though – the spaceframe was barely able to contain the immense power that the engine belted out. It was riddled with mechanical and aerodynamic faults and if it were not for the iron-will of Ferdinand Piech (currently President, Volkswagen AG), it would have most certainly died a silent death. It was not good at changing direction, and was extremely unstable at high speeds. Drivers did not want to drive it because it was a total bitch to drive. This called for a revision of its specifications and the aero components. The result was the 917K(Kurzheck) which got a choppy, wedge shaped tail, which was the idea of engineer John Horsmann. Later, an LH(Langheck) version was developed for the high-speed circuits, with enhanced aerodynamic efficiency and greater stability. These days, engineers with their laptops, wind tunnels and CAD simulations sort out these problems in the conception stage itself, before a single body panel has been created. Things were slightly different back then. They had to tack on new components and test it on the racetrack. Still no luck? Go back to the shed and try again!

And when Porsche got it right, boy oh boy, did it deliver! It won Porsche it’s first Le Mans Championship in 1970, and then again in 1971. Its speed, as Jezza would say, was biblical. 0-60 came up in 2.5 seconds and it maxed out at over 250 mph. Shudder. However, it is remembered not just because it made winning a habit – many cars have done that. It was the manner in which it did it – by blowing all the opposition to the weeds, by making them look limp wristed and clumsy. It lapped Le Mans at a record average speed of 222.09 kph, a feat which no other car has been able to overhaul ever since a chicane was added to the Mulsanne straight. And talking of the Mulsanne straight, that was where it did 386.24 kph, driven by Vic Elford in 1970, that too at night in wet track conditions. After conquering Le Mans, Porsche set its sights across the Atlantic and entered it in the Can Am Series in 1973, where it became the 917/10. The 917/10 was slightly different from its elder sister – Porsche uprated the power to a nuclear 1000 bhp (as if 520 was too weeny). Needless to say, its rivals could only watch it walk, no, fly away with the title . Porsche came back the next year with another 500 horses in its powerhouse, and won again, before the FIA had to change the rules again to try and control the rampaging monster that was the 917. Eek. Bow down.

So, was the 917 the greatest, most balls-out racer ever?

You bet!

******

Today, seven of the most important 917 models – among them the Le Mans-winning cars from 1970 and 1971 and the 917/30 CanAm Spyder – are currently on exhibit in the new Porsche Museum in Stuttgart-Zuffenhausen. Most of the other 917s are in the hands of proud collectors around the world, and have been seen – and heard – at the most prestigious vintage events, including Goodwood, Amelia Island, Monterey Historics, and Porsche’s three Rennsport Reunions in the U.S. in 2001, 2004 and 2007. Porsche Motorsport North America, the racing arm of Porsche in North America, services, restores, rebuilds and maintains many of these 917s for collectors at its shop in Santa Ana, California.(Source - http://993c4s.com/)

Nonsense

As I lie sprawled here
On this burning hard shoulder
The midday sun in my eyes
I feel a hundred years older

My ride's wrecked, it sure seems like 'tis all over
I'm only hoping for a miracle, some lucky clover

A pick-up looms in the distance, from the heat haze
Thought it changed colours a few times,
before it went stable on red

She pulled up alongside my battered machine
And beckoned me in
I staggered into the passenger seat
Wondering where to begin

Her looks could burn asbestos, I thought
And never could I have imagined
The ride was going to be disaster-fraught

The next thing I know, I'm gulping down my own blood
My mouth felt like it was full of gravel
Which actually were the powdered remains of what used to be my teeth
I've lost my left hand, and am unable to make my legs do my bidding
The pick-up is wrecked, the gearlever's gone through my gut
And I don't know what became of her

I am waiting for the end
Waiting for my pain to go away
Not too different from my state a little while back
Except that I want to be put out of my misery




Thoo. Never again. Sorry.

Someday, I'll be Sunday morning

Hell, this is good. The Sunday Afternoon Syndrome has taken over me. There’s nothing to do, it’s 5:20 PM, I’m sitting in front of the laptop, listening to ‘Always’, reading Graphiti online, wondering how to raise Rs. 1080 for 'James May's 20th Century', sipping some soup I made a little while back and trying to suck in the vegetable pieces which seem to be in love with the sides of the coffee mug (??!!) for good. All this after doing something for the first time – washing clothes.

Time’s ticking over slowly, like an engine idling. No hurries, no worries. Not for now, at least.

Looking around my room always gives me that sinking feeling. It’s in complete disarray – the bed is not done, the cupboard is a picture of utter chaos; clothes, books, and magazines are strewn all over the place, etc, etc. Adding insult to injury are the $%#^@#*&@& pigeons outside my window, who’ve shat all over the clothes-hanging bar. Eeek.

Haven’t been to 41, 5th Cross Street this weekend as well. It’s been a long time now. Strangely, the urge is missing nowadays, unlike the first couple of months, when I’d run off everyday. Haven’t roamed around the city on foot in ages. It was something I so often used to do during the first semester. Can’t forget the evening I walked from IIT all the way to Palavakkam – took me 2 hours, two cans of coke, music on the iPod and a pair of extremely tired feet. By the way, I must say these oat-sesame crackers are quite good.

One line from 'Someday I'll be Saturday night' weirdly stands out:
‘I’m sleeping in my car, my dreams move on.’

What’s happened? What has changed? Has something gone wrong?

I’m as clueless as you are. I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee. And move on.

Of a school, a racing series and an implausible dream...

Indulging in rumour-mongering is one of the guilty pleasures we all enjoy – those who snub this ‘disgusting’ and ‘cheap’ habit feel smug and those who do partake in it, well, their pleasure knows no bounds.


Anyway, one more thing rumours do is that they give us a more often than not interesting topic to discuss with our friends – they are responsible for kick-starting many lazy afternoon conversations over the phone, or even a boisterous, pointless natter over beer-mugs among friends in a pub. And that’s generally because people do tend to have an opinion. The rumours, then, give us something to chew upon, something to kill time with, something to ensure our life stays as meaningful or meaningless as we want it to be.


And one such rumour is responsible for this post. And my gut says it will probably turn out into speculation on an extremely fanciful scheme. More on that later.


Babai called me sometime back and told me St. Patrick’s are probably thinking of making the +2 section co-ed. My instantaneous reaction was, “WHAT. THE. FUCK?” Seems people at the SPOBA have lost their marbles. Or is it the SPAI (I still can’t forget how they ruined our last official day in Class X. Almost.). Retards that they are, they will definitely extend this ‘cooperative effort’ to the other junior classes. And then?


Nothing. When I thought about it later, I realized that the school would be more or less OK. With the girls coming in, probably the number of 90-pluses will increase (albeit the equal increase in the number of dumb, dumber, dumberer females-which will restore the average). And probably being seen together in random places downtown in school uniforms will be less scandalous for those who want to move their love-life into a higher gear. But my question remains. WHY? Ever heard of the saying, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”? Of course you have. How daft of me. They should definitely encourage inter-school interaction through any number of events – like those dance parties they used to have years back, but sleeping with the enemy (sorry about that) is a strict no-no. Please. See some sense. STOP THIS.


One more thing struck me. It shouldn’t come as a surprise after all, but still. If the school thinks it wants to be innovative, to be a trend setter, it should invest in my grand scheme. With all the right moves, I’m sure we will get all the visibility, the popularity and the reputation we could ever want. Or need.


They should start the SPS GP Challenge, which will be a racing series for the under-18 class. This could be held during the winter break. Standard go-karts could be made the norm, with 4-5 HP 2-stroke engines, a barebones chassis with (a trifle expensive, I agree) slicks bolted on to them. Or we can use engines from the stupid lawnmowers which have rattled our brains out while we were in 9th and 10th. The steering racks could be welded together in some local foundry. Stop smirking. I know it’s not particularly high-tech, but it’s not at all about the technology – it’s about nice, old-school racing, wheel banging and trying to ram each other off the racing line on the corner entry and exit segments. And I think I am safe in the assumption that the most balls-out racer will take home the Gulmohar leaf trophy.


Of course, all this is very well, but what about the racetrack? Don’t stick your stinky sock into my pine-fresh dream studio yet. We have one right inside the campus!


If you don’t believe me, continue reading. If you do, do the same as well.


The Start/Finish line will be in front of the large manual bell(which we fooled around with occasionally); the machines then accelerate up to the large oak tree(with the 2-tonne pitch roller under it); next comes a medium right past the canteen and the disused building behind it. Just as the curve straightens, there’s the Triangular Section (Traffic duty….thoo) with a hard 90 degree right – hard on the brakes here, and this is one of the overtaking zones, a section which will be extremely critical to the lap times. My favourite part comes next, a delightful high-speed section at full throttle, past the senior school, towards the junior school, as the cars, sorry, karts fly past the middle school building and the parking lot. This brings us to another stand-on-the-brakes hard right. And then, it’s smooth sailing all the way – it’s all about finding the best possible line and straight-lining the final section, past the school auditorium and back to the main straight and across the line.


Think about it. The guys in town will kill to be a part of the race, whose entrants will have been rigorously screened by time-trials, and selected from (hopefully) hundreds of other aspirants. The girls will also probably fancy a guy in a racing suit and a helmet a wee bit more that your average Dick. The mothers would have something better to bitch about to each other than their children’s grades and their love interests. I have no doubt that the standard of racing here will be superior to the standard of the football they play in the Salt Lake Stadium and also to the performances of the Kolkata Knight Riders (sorry Shahrukh). If all goes well, the money will flow in as well. TV coverage would probably work it’s way up from the Asansol Cable Network to no less that Star Sports (I’ll take TEN Sports as well, thank you very much). It will, god-willing, be a top draw event in Eastern India. It might catch the eye of individuals and corporates who would like to support good talent instead of being part of stupid poverty-alleviation schemes which usually benefit no one. If it were to become the pre-eminent racing championship in India, then it would become the breeding ground for the future generation GP2 and…wait for it…Formula One race drivers … the possibilities seem endless to me(though you won’t be wrong in thinking that I’m too carried away at this point)…


Who knows, the next Formula One World Champion might probably be in Asansol right now, busy with Mr. S. Chattterjee’s math homework.

Tera Emosanal Attyachaar...

“Kal mera bebaaak tha,
Aaj magar kamzor hai..
Khud se aankhein hi na mil paayein.

Aankhon ka hai dhokha,
Aisa tera pyaar
Tera Emosanal Attyachaar”

What the hell are these lines doing here?

I’ll tell you. During one commercial break in the middle of the Roger-Rafa final at the Aussie Open today, I randomly switched to MTV where the DevD trailer was being aired – and I couldn’t help but connect these lyrics to Federer’s surprising breakdown in the post-match presentation ceremony – OK not the ‘Aankhon ka hai dhokha, aisa tera pyaar’ part, but the rest of it!

It was understandable – he really, really wanted to equal Sampras’ record and doing that in the Rod Laver arena in front of Rod Laver himself and other legends like Ken Rosewall, John Newcombe, Tony Roche and Andreas Gimeno would have been perfect. Everything leading up to the match looked just right – he had been in supreme form through the quarters and semis, he had a good two and a half days off after his easy-peasy semi-final and he was desperate to add to his impressive trophy cabinet his fourth Norman Brookes Cup . He had every right to think that he would be able to do it. So did Sampras, Laver, Borg, Pat Cash, John McEnroe and some other former greats – they had all put their money on the Fedex.

Except that it wasn’t to be. El Matador had other ideas. Rafa ne de hi diya ‘lafa’! The guy never ceases to amaze me. It baffles me how he managed to have so much in reserve after the epic Verdasco Semi-Final. Playing against Nadal is, in many ways, similar to playing against a wall!

But I’ll talk exclusively about Nadal in my next post. In the presentation ceremony, after collecting the Runners’ Up thaali, Roger started, “Hi guys!! I…..God….it’s just killing me…”, and started sobbing uncontrollably! The Emcee then said that they’d hear from the new champ, Rafa and called him up to the mike. Poor Rafa for a moment didn’t know what to do! He accepted the trophy, lifted it and then…went back and put an arm around Federer, prodding him back towards the mike! That was when Federer somewhat collected himself, “I think I will try again. There’s no way I could have the last word here. This guy deserves it.” He moved away and resumed crying. Then Nadal, who seemed genuinely sorry to have shattered Federer, was effusive in his praise for the Swiss great: “I'm sorry for today, Roger. I really know how you feel. But remember – you are one of the best players of the history and you are going to improve the 14 of Sampras. It is always a pleasure to play you and best of luck for the rest of the year.”

Everybody went weak, teary-eyed and appreciative at this great display of comradeship between the two, but it evoked mixed feelings in me… I think Federer, by breaking down like that completely ruined Nadal’s moment of triumph. The poor guy couldn’t celebrate his victory properly... It’s extremely nice of Nadal to have said such soothing words to Federer after that…he might as well have ignored all that and celebrated boisterously instead. Which wouldn’t have been improper at all. He’s such a modest and sensitive chap, Rafa.

Federer, with his experience of having featured in 18 Grand Slam Finals and won 13 of them should have done better. He’s still only 27, has a long way to go and many more finals to play. The demons of winning every match that he unknowingly created over his years as the undisputed World No.1 are finally getting to him, it so seems.

I’ll end with a few lines from another song – Coldplay’s Viva la Vida :

“I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
‘Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!’

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand.”

Of course, things are not this bad for Federer, but it sure looks as if that’s the way he’s thinking!!! C’mon Roger, BE A MAN! Show them next time out! And one more thing : Stop crying.