Choices

Is it weird that I like pain?

The sharp sting of a hockey ball crashing into my shin. The squeezing in my chest as my lungs scream for air after a grueling run. The dull shock in my knees as I land to the ground after a jump shot.

It's something that defines me. That proves I'm still alive. Sentient and capable of taking decisions myself, how rational they are is another aspect altogether. It's entirely my choice to quit the field as is, knowing I won't be judged, except by myself. Yet, I choose to push on, running, jumping, crashing.

Because I want to. Because I still can.

After The Earthquake: What the News Doesn't Show.

"You've possibly read this one before. It's something I experienced first hand but did not have the means to promulgate. I can now."
                                                                                   - Saurabh
 
         Devi, 25, is distraught. The earthquake of 18 September in North Sikkim is taking its toll. Her husband, who works for the GREF is nowhere to be heard of. He was last seen heading down towards Chungthang along with his work party. There is no phone in the area. The closest and only one is a satellite phone manned by the ITBP, 5 km away, across a land-slide prone remnant of a road. The quake has left her already rickety house in shambles. There is no place to store food. Ironic, as the only road leading up to this area is blocked and there is no way for rations to reach the shops.
            This is the case all over in North Sikkim, a place where a persons’ status is still measured in the number of yaks he owns. Where houses are constructed with yak dung and mud. Mobiles are not heard of here; there is no network coverage. Communication with the world outside is only when tourists visit and stop to take pictures of wooden houses and pagodas, or visit Lake Gurudongmar.  There are only a few television sets in this village of a population of about a thousand. There’s a collective sigh when one of them mentions having heard the villages’ name on the news. Perhaps there’s still hope, they think that the rest of India knows they exist.
            The damage is hardly visible here. A few cracks here and there, some leaks. All easily repairable; in due time. The real story begins inside with men mourning the loss of yaks, their only source of livelihood. Falling rocks have crushed in the skulls of three as they stood tethered outside their homes. Others have been swept away by the flowing mud or scared away. The continuous rains make it impossible for the families to dispose of the bodies. All construction work in the area has stopped. All equipment diverted to clearing roads. The men have no work to do. No way to earn their bread. Prema is here all the way from Nepal for the working season. The tin-sheet-house he shares with 6 other men and women has already run out of food. He has no clue what to do and spends his time foraging the mountains for edible roots and shrubs. Here, at 14,000 feet, vegetation is  scarce and the task dangerous. Without trees to anchor the soil, every slope is a potential deathtrap.
            The Army is helping out as best as it can. Temporary shelters and hot meals are being provided. Food, though, is turning out to be a dwindling resource. With roads cut off for 50-odd kilometers, there is no supply. Helicopters seem to be the only way to replenish this area. The helipad is teeming with collection parties every day, but the inclement weather and near-zero visibility is preventing any flights from being conducted north of Lachen. The ITBP is doing its bit too. Their sat phone is being used 24 hours. For the plethora of the Army personnel scattered here as well as the civilians, this is the only link with home. Most are rewarded with a couple of minutes of talk with loved ones back home, some turn back disappointed as the sat. phone does not connect with certain numbers.
            Television news loop clips of Govt personnel visiting the injured in Gangtok and Rangpo, the most accessible and fastest addressed places. The people wonder if anyone will glance in their direction, whether there will be any help forthcoming from their State Govt. They pray fervently for the Gods to deliver them from this disaster. A fresh bevy of prayer flags are placed all over the mountain sides to appease the Gods and prevent a land-slide from sweeping away their homes next.
            Any kind of deliverance, they still look towards the sky, be it helicopters bearing food and supplies or divine intervention.

Winning.

By all counts, I should be happy. My team won the local championship by a landslide. Brushed the competition away like they mattered no more than a pesky fly. Not once in the forty minutes that the game lasted, could the competition, if they could qualify for the word, even come close. My team played like a dream, intercepting passes like ninjas, shooting in impossible baskets, blocking the most likely shots, but none went back happy. There were no revelry when they handed over the trophy to the Commanding Officer.
Reasons, you ask? The concept of a "fair game" was tossed out the window much like a piece of waste paper. The referees, in whom the organisation placed complete and utter trust to conduct a fair and balanced game did nothing of the sort. Four, I repeat, four of my best men, with years of experience behind them, were benched. For supposed fouls, violations and what not. Blatant fouls by the opponent being overlooked, or worse yet, awarded in reverse. In a game with five men on the field, benching four is criminal.
I'm still very proud of my team. Not one protest. They only played a cleaner game. Passing with ease, scoring at every free shot, and not a word of protest to the referee. Calm, silent killers on the court they were. As a team nothing could shake us. We were the best out there. We knew it. The referees knew it. The opposition knew it. The crowd cheering us on knew it.
All in all it was nothing but a pathetic attempt by the opposition to wrangle an impossible win. I know how this post is in conflict with my previous post, "Anything for a win." But then again, despite the stacked odds, we still won. And that's all that matters.

                                                   "There are no runners-up in war."

What is in a Game?

Blood was spilled this morning. Abuses flowed across as fast and as smooth as a pair of well rehearsed ice skaters. The tension on the field was palpable. In the winter chill, 10 sweaty bodies stood heaving, no mercy in their eyes, purpose in their posture.
It was just another basketball match. The expected spectators and the mandatory cheers were all present. For the teams,that did not matter, inconsequential, they might as well not have been. The only thing that mattered at the end of those 40 minutes, was victory.Whatever the price.
I'm writing this post sitting on the sidelines, waiting for the second quarter to end so I can replace the officer playing. It's our routine. 4 fouls or half-time, whichever comes first. I can feel the pills kicking in, drawing away the soreness and pain till only a memory of the hurt remains. It's been two weeks that I haven't been able to button up my left sleeve; two weeks since the hockey stick crashed into my thumb, leaving a fractured thumb and rendering it temporarily vestigial. There's a bit of movement now, but the pain-killers make it better. Why do this? Why risk damaging it permanently? Rest is always an option, it never is.
I see one of my men stumble, a dangerous foul by the opponent sends him reeling, almost crashing into the post. He's lucky his head doesn't ram into the iron post. His knee isn't so lucky. With a sickening crunch that I can hear at the side-lines he falls; team-members rush to check whether he's okay. He limps out to the side and sits in the chair beside mine, the agony visible in his eyes. Yet, two minutes later, crepe bandage in place, he ran onto the field; and went ahead to score 19 more points for the team.
Exactly why. How can I expect my men to play against the odds, despite injuries or imminent loss, if I give up? "Lead by Example" is what they always taught us at the Academy. Isn't a game somewhat like war? Two opposing parties, striving for victory, arraying forces against one another, strategising, willing to go to the extreme for a win. Anything for a win.

That's what I love about a game. Anything, just about anything for a win. The throbbing in the thumb and the fore-finger is now down to a dull ache and it's almost time for me to get in. Anything for a win.

EX-NDA

It's over.. At last, three years, of blood, sweat, toil and tears. Three years of an adventure, three years of torture,three years of close friends, three years of subdued enemities. The culmination of three years of rigorous trainingin PT, drill, equitation, computers, humanities, weapons, field and basic engineering, battle-field tactics of the lowest echelons, day and night navigation, first aid and basic combat, the 10 metre jump..
It's all over. I've pushed my body to the edge of the envelope, my mind, even further, all for it to boil down to a slow march beside the mast of a now defunct ship to the haunting tunes of "Auld Lang Syne", having been granted the title of "Safal Cadet", in a number of disciplines.
I'm not saying that I'll miss it, then again, I'd be hard put to forget it in a hurry. The rush for the cold coffee, the last piece of pastry, the innovative ways of extracting some much needed sleep in classes, rushing of to change for PT right after an exhausting 40 minutes of drill..
Just that.. something feels wrong.. incomplete. A voice that says, it's far from over..
IT'S JUST BEGUN..

Being IT

So five things about Pune, huh? Tough one that.. It's just too small a number. Anyway, here goes..

1. Cycle rides through the city at 5am.. everything deserted.. no sound but the steady click-click of the cycle..
2. Sunrises at the top of FC tekdi.
3. Jogging at the track at the Univ in the rains.
4. Pani puri and Bhel at Sambhaji Baug with nani.
5. Playing in the old fountain at the University Circle.

Not really fair, Mals, there's simply more to go.. later then!

CRAWLING..

Anger, red hot, all consuming anger flows through me.. I can feel it.. seething, ready to burst.. I'm afraid.. I don't know what to do.. I haven't been so angry ever.. I'm afraid I might hurt somebody.. physically... or worse.. It grows with every minute.. every incompetency remembered.. every act of irresponsibility, of promises not kept.. It seeks an outlet.. to burst out.. overwhelm me, then all around me.. like a living thing winding it's way through my veins.. I'm trying hard to maintain a facade of normalcy.. it's not working.. I need a release.. something that can divert this .. this thing, inside me.. A Mr Hyde lurks.. waiting to pounce.. help.. I'm fraid of me...