Sachin's swansong ... and the late Peter Roebuck

Oh to have a Roebuck for Sachin’s Swansong!

-Bernard Fernandes

13^th November 2013

As Sachin Tendulkar approaches his swansong, and I were to wish upon a star, it would be to have a Peter Roebuck come alive to describe the final moments of a great career.  The late legendary writer will be sorely missed on this momentous occasion.  Sachin would produce the fireworks and weave a spell with his magic wand, the cricket bat;  the connoisseur in Peter Roebuck was quick to provide us the complementary masterstrokes with his pen.  Their fans were never disappointed. After every cricket match, an Indian win – and a Sachin ton – I for one, would wait in eager anticipation for the following day’s newspaper to lap up every word that escaped from Roebuck’s prodigious pen. His marvellous cricketing insights and witty, yet sublime prose were a reader’s delight. 

It is said that Roebuck witnessed all the 11 centuries that the little master plundered against the Australians. He had the greatest respect and the highest praise for the little giant Sachin.  He never tired of singing paeans of Tendulkar. He wrote, ‘Tendulkar has the charisma. To my mind he's the most exciting batsman of his time because he finds the right balance between reason and passion, technique and power, nerve and judgment. He appeals to all tastes.’

Sample Roebuck describing the man Sachin: ‘And yet, even this, the runs, the majesty, the thrills, does not capture his achievement. Reflect upon his circumstances and then marvel at his feat. Here is a man obliged to put on disguises so that he can move around the streets, a fellow able to drive his cars only in the dead of night for fear or creating a commotion, a father forced to take his family to Iceland on holiday, a person whose entire adult life has been lived in the eye of a storm. Throughout he has been public property, India's proudest possession, a young man and yet also a source of joy for millions, a sportsman and yet, too, an expression of a vast and ever-changing nation. Somehow he has managed to keep the world in its rightful place. Somehow he has raised children who relish his company and tease him about his batting. Whenever he loses his wicket in the 90s, a not uncommon occurrence, his boy asks why he does not "hit a sixer". ‘

Sachin’s exploits were for real in Roebuck’s commentary: ‘Among modern batsmen, Sachin Tendulkar is the master of the single. In some respects, it is not much of a claim. It's a bit like saying Roger Federer has the best ball toss around. Tendulkar has many other more colourful qualities, a blistering straight drive, a cart that is liable to land in the fifth row, a square cut that singes the turf, a fine sweep and a defensive stroke played with a sculptured left elbow. Comparatively speaking, the single tucked to mid-wicket seems innocuous.’

Reporting on a sterling performance by Tendulkar, Peter wrote: ‘Most outstanding batsmen could play three shots especially well - the square cut, the drive straight of mid-on and the tuck past square leg. Tendulkar produced all of these shots and lots of others besides - shots played with his head down and still, in a dazzling array which included several back-foot glides through areas patrolled by point.’

Roebuck, through a not so uncommon sight in India – at Sachin’s prime-  pays Sachin a rare tribute:  "On a train from Shimla to Delhi, there was a halt at one of the stations. The train stopped by for few minutes as usual. Sachin was nearing a century, batting on 98. The passengers, railway officials, everyone on the train waited for Sachin to complete the century. This genius can stop time in India!"

Indeed, time will stop for India as Sachin Tendulkar takes guard for one last time in a cricket Test match for his country.  He may get a blob, or return with a ton, or a prized scalp. No one can deny him a place in history. Says Peter Roebuck, “He will take into retirement a mighty record and the knowledge that he has given enormous pleasure to followers of the game wherever it is played.”

GOA BLOWN AWAY!

GOA BLOWN AWAY BY THE HURRICANE OF GREED

-Bernard Fernandes

10^th Nov 2013

‘BLOWN AWAY’, a caption in the October 2013 issue of National Geographic magazine arrested my attention.  Next to it stood the picture of a snapshot that travelled a distance of 219 miles (352 km) from its owner in Alabama to Tennessee. It was the result of a tornado, and this distance exceeded that of all recorded tornado debris. Throwing light on this phenomenon, a professor who studied the storm debris credits the photo’s record to altitude. The higher the object, the faster and longer a magic carpet rides it! My mind goes to Goa, the land of my ancestors. Goa, very much in the news these days – and for all the wrong reasons - is enjoying a magic, nay, a rough and treacherous ride to the den of the drug mafia lords. It is aided by an altitude that is reaching scary proportions – an altitude called ‘greed’ of corrupt government bodies and politicians, and the powerful drug cartels in the world. 

An insightful article, ‘Inside Report: Sun, sand and the shady drug cartels’, shared on the Facebook page by one of my friends, paints a vivid picture of the shady dealings in Goa. It says that the ‘Goan paradise has become one of the world’s most powerful drug cartels, which is being operated by Russians, Israelis and Nigerians....in their own distinctive styles and is backed by local political interests’.  Calangute, Anjuna, Palolem, Arambol and Morjim are the main places of operation that are identified.  If the reports are believed to be true, the drug trade in Goa is worth Rs. 6,000 crores per year! And I fear this will only rise exponentially!

The recent spate of murders in a once ‘safe’ Goan paradise is alarming.  As a young boy, together with my adventure-crazy friends, I would walk the seashores, scout the streets and climb the hills fearlessly and with gay abandon. No place was out of bounds for a nature loving freak or a comfort seeking traveller. Today, thanks to the land sharks, there are more boundaries and walls than open spaces, more restricted places than natural surroundings; there are more rave than ‘susegad’ parties, more callousness than concern... Good old nature, thankfully, still beckons us. However the enticing call of the seas – add to it air – has sadly turned out to be an attraction for dirty deals of drug trafficking. These serene surroundings have been polluted by the greedy hands of the unchecked drug traders and our opportunistic politicians. The touch of green and the abundance of rich soil may soon be reduced to a trace by the mining barons. The onslaught of profanity, wantonness and avarice are eating into the rich traditional fabric of Goa and its people. 

Oh Goa!  You once looked so graceful, strong and tall. Today, at the mercy of greedy humans, you look so fragile and weak. The events and deals leading to your destruction make us weep and holler angrily.  You are plundered before our very eyes! The government has stopped noticing these things long ago; the enforcement authorities, who noticed everything, have stopped caring.  However, there are legions who desire your safety and beauty.  They are tired of the chicanery. They will continue to protect you and adore you. Like the snapshot blown into oblivion by the tornado but discovered by the rightful owner, you too will one day be returned to your honest and patient lovers. A tall order, Yes; hopeless, No!

Convocation speech of George Saunders - It pays to be kind

George Saunders – Failures of kindness

 “What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness,” said George Saunders’ in a convocation speech at Syracuse University for the class of 2013. In a speech that has gone viral on the net and media, the premise of George Saunders’ speech was simple: Be kind to each other. Though the speech was given months ago, it was only lately that it featured in New York Times.

For Saunders, it seems that when crafting an adult life, “accomplishment is unreliable,” and kindness is the best legacy. “Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?” he asked. “Those who were kindest to you, I bet.”

I wish not to dilute the message of Saunders, and it is worth the entire read. So here is reproduced the speech in full:

Down through the ages, a traditional form has evolved for this type of speech, which is: Some old fart, his best years behind him, who, over the course of his life, has made a series of dreadful mistakes (that would be me), gives heartfelt advice to a group of shining, energetic young people, with all of their best years ahead of them (that would be you).

And I intend to respect that tradition.

Now, one useful thing you can do with an old person, in addition to borrowing money from them, or asking them to do one of their old-time “dances,” so you can watch, while laughing, is ask: “Looking back, what do you regret?”  And they’ll tell you.  Sometimes, as you know, they’ll tell you even if you haven’t asked.  Sometimes, even when you’ve specifically requested they not tell you, they’ll tell you.

So: What do I regret?  Being poor from time to time?  Not really.  Working terrible jobs, like “knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?”  (And don’t even ASK what that entails.)  No.  I don’t regret that.  Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked?  And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months?  Not so much.  Do I regret the occasional humiliation?  Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl?  No.  I don’t even regret that.

But here’s something I do regret:

In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class.  In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.”  ELLEN was small, shy.  She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore.  When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.

So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing).  I could see this hurt her.  I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear.  After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth.  At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.”  And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”

Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.

And then – they moved.  That was it.  No tragedy, no big final hazing.

One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.

End of story.

Now, why do I regret that?  Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it?  Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her.  I never said an unkind word to her.  In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.

But still.  It bothers me.

So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:

What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. 

Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded…sensibly.  Reservedly.  Mildly.

Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope:  Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?

Those who were kindest to you, I bet.

It’s a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I’d say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.

Now, the million-dollar question:  What’s our problem?  Why aren’t we kinder?

Here’s what I think:

Each of us is born with a series of built-in confusions that are probably somehow Darwinian.  These are: (1) we’re central to the universe (that is, our personal story is the main and most interesting story, the only story, really); (2) we’re separate from the universe (there’s US and then, out there, all that other junk – dogs and swing-sets, and the State of Nebraska and low-hanging clouds and, you know, other people), and (3) we’re permanent (death is real, o.k., sure – for you, but not for me).

Now, we don’t really believe these things – intellectually we know better – but we believe them viscerally, and live by them, and they cause us to prioritize our own needs over the needs of others, even though what we really want, in our hearts, is to be less selfish, more aware of what’s actually happening in the present moment, more open, and more loving.

So, the second million-dollar question:  How might we DO this?  How might we become more loving, more open, less selfish, more present, less delusional, etc., etc?

Well, yes, good question.

Unfortunately, I only have three minutes left.

So let me just say this.  There are ways.  You already know that because, in your life, there have been High Kindness periods and Low Kindness periods, and you know what inclined you toward the former and away from the latter.  Education is good; immersing ourselves in a work of art: good; prayer is good; meditation’s good; a frank talk with a dear friend;  establishing ourselves in some kind of spiritual tradition – recognizing that there have been countless really smart people before us who have asked these same questions and left behind answers for us.

Because kindness, it turns out, is hard – it starts out all rainbows and puppy dogs, and expands to include…well,everything.

One thing in our favor:  some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age.  It might be a simple matter of attrition:  as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish – how illogical, really.  We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality.  We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be.  We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now).  Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving.  I think this is true.  The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.”

And so, a prediction, and my heartfelt wish for you: as you get older, your self will diminish and you will grow in love.  YOU will gradually be replaced by LOVE.   If you have kids, that will be a huge moment in your process of self-diminishment.  You really won’t care what happens to YOU, as long as they benefit.  That’s one reason your parents are so proud and happy today.  One of their fondest dreams has come true: you have accomplished something difficult and tangible that has enlarged you as a person and will make your life better, from here on in, forever.

Congratulations, by the way.

When young, we’re anxious – understandably – to find out if we’ve got what it takes.  Can we succeed?  Can we build a viable life for ourselves?  But you – in particular you, of this generation – may have noticed a certain cyclical quality to ambition.  You do well in high-school, in hopes of getting into a good college, so you can do well in the good college, in the hopes of getting a good job, so you can do well in the good job so you can….

And this is actually O.K.  If we’re going to become kinder, that process has to include taking ourselves seriously – as doers, as accomplishers, as dreamers.  We have to do that, to be our best selves.

Still, accomplishment is unreliable.  “Succeeding,” whatever that might mean to you, is hard, and the need to do so constantly renews itself (success is like a mountain that keeps growing ahead of you as you hike it), and there’s the very real danger that “succeeding” will take up your whole life, while the big questions go untended.

So, quick, end-of-speech advice: Since, according to me, your life is going to be a gradual process of becoming kinder and more loving: Hurry up.  Speed it along.  Start right now.  There’s a confusion in each of us, a sickness, really: selfishness.  But there’s also a cure.  So be a good and proactive and even somewhat desperate patient on your own behalf – seek out the most efficacious anti-selfishness medicines, energetically, for the rest of your life.

Do all the other things, the ambitious things – travel, get rich, get famous, innovate, lead, fall in love, make and lose fortunes, swim naked in wild jungle rivers (after first having it tested for monkey poop) – but as you do, to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness.  Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial.  That luminous part of you that exists beyond personality – your soul, if you will – is as bright and shining as any that has ever been.  Bright as Shakespeare’s, bright as Gandhi’s, bright as Mother Theresa’s.  Clear away everything that keeps you separate from this secret luminous place.  Believe it exists, come to know it better, nurture it, share its fruits tirelessly.

And someday, in 80 years, when you’re 100, and I’m 134, and we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a line, let me know how your life has been.  I hope you will say: It has been so wonderful.

Congratulations, Class of 2013.

I wish you great happiness, all the luck in the world, and a beautiful summer.

The Pope keeps it simple

The Pope keeps it simple

-Bernard Fernandes

Pope Francis amazes me.  Ever since he was ordained the Pope of the Universal Catholic Church, he has not ceased to impress and inspire.  His training, his discipline and his strong beliefs do not make it difficult for him to reach out to and strike a chord with the masses.  Media, heads of states and religion, artists and ordinary people hold him in high esteem and have not stopped singing paeans of his extraordinary yet simple deeds.  

His jovial and emotional appearances are not to be missed. At the recent World Youth Day celebrations in the highly strung Brazil - remember the recent spate of riots and unrest at the time of the Confederations Football tournament - he went about with an ease that comforted millions. While Brazil may have pulled out all the stops to make this trip a safe and memorable one, yet much of its success will be owed to the strong magnetic personality of Pope Francis.  It was reported that he opted to travel in open-air vehicle instead of the insulated, armored Popemobiles of his predecessors. An estimated one million people surrounded him at every turn. On the last day he drew a crowd of three million at an all night-vigil.

He is known to speak his mind – and that is simple, down-to-earth, concerned, honest and brave.  Here is what he said to the youth in Brazil – that which has hit the headlines of every magazine, journal and social networking sites:

"We need saints without cassocks, without veils. 
We need saints with jeans and tennis shoes. 
We need saints that go to the movies, that listen to music, 
that hang out with friends.
We need saints who put God in first place, 
ahead of succeeding in any career. 

We need saints who look for time to pray every day and who know how to be in love with purity, chastity, and all good things. 

We need saints, Saints of the 21st century 
with a spirituality appropriate to our new time.

We need saints that have a commitment to helping the poor 
and to make the needed social change. 

We need saints to live in the world, to sanctify the world and 
to not be afraid of living in the world by their presence in it.

We need saints that drink Coca-Cola, that eat hot dogs, 
that surf the internet and that listen to their iPods. 

We need saints that love the Eucharist, that are not afraid or embarrassed to eat a pizza or drink a beer with their friends.

We need saints who love the movies, dance, sports, theater. 
We need saints that are open, sociable, normal, happy companions. 
We need saints who are in this world and who know how to enjoy the best in this world without being callous or mundane. 

We need saints."

In another message, addressing a rally, he said, ‘The measure of the greatness of a society is found in the way it treats those most in need, those who have nothing apart from their poverty.’  No wonder the Pope made an equally strong statement when he challenged priests to bring the message of the Gospel to the world’s slums.  “It is in the favelas… that we must go to seek and serve Christ,’ he told thousands of bishops, priests and seminarians from around the world gathered for a mass at Rio's St. Sebastian Cathedral. ‘We cannot keep ourselves shut up in parishes, in our communities, when so many people are waiting for the Gospel!’ Speaking exclusively to the Bishops of Brazil, he said, ‘It is not enough simply to open the door (of the Church) in welcome, so that they (the faithful) may enter, but we must go out through that door to seek and meet the people!”

The Pope will not stop challenging us. His message will continue to echo – lo, it should not be lost or forgotten – in the world, the streets and in the hearts of the people.  ‘Go, do not be afraid and serve’ was his parting message to the youth in Brazil; he invites each of us to do likewise! 

The telegram is history

BEGINNING TODAY, THE TELEGRAM IS HISTORY

-Bernard Fernandes

In the summer of 1981, after having answered my SSC board exams in Lonavla, I was a picture of nervousness at home in Goa. The results of the Maharashtra board were due any moment.  Soon, the postman was at our doorstep with a telegram addressed to me - the first of its kind for me!  And the start was indeed joyous - that of glad tidings!

A telegram was indeed something special.  It was feared and respected. In our family only the strong would step forward to study the contents of the telegram.  Was it about death of a relative, an accident, or some grave tragedy? Or could it be the bearer of good tidings - birth, success in exams, arrivals of loved ones from distant shores?  A terse statement that carried enormous weight!

In sending a telegram one had to 'measure' one's words, for every extra word meant extra money! It could beat the modern day Twitter for short effective statements.The telegraph service was deeply woven into the fabric of Indian society. It bonded families, gelled neighbourhoods and even held a nation together.  

I have not received nor sent many telegrams, but the few that my family and I received have left an indelible mark on me. That’s why I chose to celebrate the last day of the telegraph service in India – reports have it that the last telegram will be sent tonight - through this composition.  A telegram will retain its uniqueness - it could evoke deep emotions of joy and grief, tranquillity and anxiety, courage and fortitude in a manner only it could. No electronic media can ever replace this small piece of paper bundled with love and laced with apprehension. 

Au revoir telegram – beginning today, 14^th July 2013, you may be relegated to history but I pride myself in a generation that lived to see yet another illustrious ‘way of life’.