The Last Burmese?

The train slowed down as the Chennai beach station came into sight. The morning rush was evident, as passengers clasped around poles and railings in an effort to hold on. As the train finally came to a halt, the madness began. People jumped onto the platform with little regard for safety. The bridges connecting the platforms seemed pointless as people rushed across active rail lines. Students, going to schools, men and women rushing to work, and even vendors trying to push their merchandise; the Beach station was as busy as always.

Step out through the exit, and the iconic Burma Bazaar comes into sight! It was in 1969, that the Tamil Nadu government built this market for the Burmese community who had settled there. Thousands of Burmese families had migrated to Chennai in the mid-1960s. The market gradually became the focal point of their livelihood and their culture. It has evolved over the years and has created its own niche. Lined parallel to the road, there are around 200 shops which sell imported merchandise like mobile phones and perfumes. The shopkeepers continuously beckon you into their shops as you walk through the narrow pavement. People can be seen packing CDs, repairing gadgets, and making last minute preparations before the rush hour.

I strained my ears to catch nuggets of a language which my ears would shrug off. Tamil, and Hindi were easily recognizable; but nothing that stood out as foreign. For a market, almost exclusively run by the Burmese community, this seemed strange.

Right opposite the centre of the bazaar, is the Tamil Burmese workers’ union. A couple of desks, arranged with aesthetic disdain, piles of folders, screaming for attention, and the soothing voice of S P Balasubramaniam welcomed visitors. A lone man ensured that the office wasn’t desolated. He was staring intently at the tiny remote, possibly fiddling with the idea of changing the channel. My arrival spurred him to action.

Syed Mohammed has been working in the Union office, since his retirement from government service. “Everyone here is of Burmese descent. But you cannot find anyone who had actually migrated in the 60s”.  “I have spent around 10 years in Burma though…”, he continued with a mischievous smile. With this, he turned down the TV’s volume; a subtle invitation to talk more.

An internal conflict was evident on his face. He was contemplating the idea of talking to me without a nod from the secretary. “I was born in 1950, right here in Chennai. Then at the age of 4, my family went back to Burma. We returned in 1964.”, he said.

Suddenly, Syed jumps out of his chair and takes out a ruffled backpack and begins rummaging inside it. He took out what looked like a very old piece of parchment. It was his passport. And sure enough, there was a picture of teenaged Syed, with a glint in his eye, and the same quirky smile. Time has not been kind to Syed, but he is content with life in Chennai. “Now we are all Tamilians”, declares Syed. Like all other instances of cross-border migration, the third and fourth generation gradually assimilates to the extent of forgetting their roots.

“Most of us live in colonies across Chennai. Some have moved out of the colonies, but most prefer to live together. I live in Netaji Nagar, which is one of the bigger colonies.” With this, Syed stretched his legs and gave a half-hearted yawn. It was time for lunch, and he was not about to miss it for me.

Time and distance are slowly breaking the emotional connection that the Burmese Tamilians had with their ancestral land.

Netaji Nagar is a short bus ride from Burma Bazaar. The state government had granted the Burmese migrants land across the city to build exclusively Burmese settlements. Netaji Nagar has a similar story and has now fledged out beyond the original area. It looks like any typical Tamil neighborhood. There is nothing about the appearance of the area that even remotely suggests that it houses Burmese migrants. The narrow and crisscrossing streets were lined with houses stacked wall to wall. The familiar sight of ‘rangolis’ outside the house affirmed what Syed had told me about cultural homogenization.

 Netaji Nagar has a predominantly Muslim population with the Burma Tamil Muslim Jumma Masjid, being the de facto centre for all activities.

The Masjid is located at the heart of Netaji Nagar and is a very busy place. Community leaders were huddled together inside the Masjid. The school across the street had dispersed for the day, and parents were eagerly waiting outside with their scooters already purring. A quick enquiry at the Masjid revealed that Abu Hanifa was the man to talk to.

The Mosque runs a school which most of the Burmese Tamil
children attend. 

A kind gentleman offered me a ride to his house. As we sped through the uneven street, I noticed an atho noodle shop. Atho noodle is a Burmese delicacy and has been a great ambassador for Burmese food across the world. The dish is made by Burmese Tamils, but is an Indianized mutation that is a lot spicier.

The atho noodles is often had with plantain soup which customers pour
from a boiling cauldron. 

Abu Hanif is a respected community leader who is never shy of sharing his stories. He was waiting in his room when I went in. Clad in a dhoti and vest, he was finishing up lunch as I drew a chair.

“I came to Chennai in 1969, aboard the SS Saud ship on 26th December. We spent around one week out in the sea before reaching Chennai on the first.”, said Abu. “The ship journey was gruesome.”, he continues. “There were around 1500 of us. The food was horrible.” For a moment you could see the horror flash across his face as he traveled down what was surely a traumatic memory.

“But life has been good after coming here. We started an attar store in Burma Bazaar which is still run by the family. Life was difficult in Burma. The unrest and the spiraling economy had made coming to India a natural choice.” At this point, Abu gestures his wife to bring him his passport, along with a new line of attar which they were going to sell soon. Abu’s wife had a perennial smile on her face. She disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms and came back with her husband’s passport and a few boxes of attar. The 18 year old Abu Hanif looked impressive, with longer hair and a faint moustache.

 “I have a lot of relatives back in Rangoon.”, Abu Hanif declares. He then takes out his phone and skims through pictures of his kin from Burma. His face betrayed the giddiness that he was suppressing. Abu still calls his cousins and nephews in Burma and mostly talks in Burmese. “I can talk well in Burmese.”, he says. “But the language has undergone a lot of changes back in Burma, but we have no clue about those changes. Only a handful of us who were teenagers when we came to India can still speak Burmese.”

Abu called up his friend Mohammed Ismail, whose Burmese can apparently shame even the pundits. Ismail came to Chennai in 1970 and has lived here ever since. Lean, and soft spoken, Ismail is a man with no match in Chennai. “I lived in a Buddhist monastery for around 5 years, back in Mandalay. We used to beg for food and eat only when the sun was directly over our head.”, says Ismail and immediately breaks into a Buddhist proverb about happiness. The multitude of identities that Ismail carries around with him is truly inspiring. He is a Muslim Burmese Tamilian, who is well versed in the Buddhist way of life. In an era of receding cultural heterogeneity, Ismail is truly an exception.

Abu and Ismail then engage in a conversation about their relatives back home. The relationship is built on a very stable foundation, and the emotional attachment is quite evident. Abu’s wife slowly walks in with a bright orange sling bag. “This bag was sent to us by my cousins back in Burma.”, Abu informs me with a wide smile.

 After a steaming cup of cardamom tea, Abu and Ismail take me out for a quick tour.

The whole community looks up to both Abu and Ismail with almost spiritual reverence. Most passersby salute them and enquire about their health. The first place that we went to was a kitchen that made a traditional Burmese delicacy called Paycho, which is essentially fried atho noodles. A father-daughter duo were busy frying noodles in circular shapes. The father talks to Ismail and Abu in Burmese, as I and his daughter share the same blank expression! While a quick look might suggest that this community has lost their cultural genome, strands of Burmese culture lives on in each of these Paychos.

Our next stop was at a madrassa run by a man called Aftab. The madrassa is home to around 20 orphans of Burmese descent. Interestingly enough, none of the kids can speak Tamil or Burmese. But they are quite fluent in Hindi. The kids were sitting on the floor in their white kurtas and caps, with the Quran in front of them. The sound of the recital reverberated across the dimly lit room. The role of religion in holding this community together is evident. These children will one day become the flag bearers of a community that they know little about.  “One of the first things we did after coming here, was build this mosque.”, says Abu. “We used to save rupee by rupee, and the whole community pitched in. Slowly, but steadily, the Tamil Burma Muslim Masjid became a reality.” The call for namaaz suddenly boomed in the distance, as if a re-affirmation of the heavenly blessings the community counts every day.

“What started out as a community of a few hundred helpless migrants, has now become a powerful and self-sufficient community of responsible citizens.”, says Abu with a sense of pride. Ismail gives an acknowledging grin. As the sun started showing signs of tiredness, we headed back to Abu’s house. Over some surprisingly sweet coconut water, Abu talked about the dynamics of the Burmese Tamils. “Unlike in other parts of India, there are no religious problems in the community. Hindus and Muslims live like brothers. When we first came to Chennai, Hindus and Muslims used to eat from the same plate. Even today we partake in their festivals, and they come over during Ramzan. We are a community first, and our religion is secondary!” Even after half a decade of relocation and generational gaps, the famed Burmese traits of tolerance and secularism have not disappeared.

Ismail had left us at some point during our walk, and so I offered my gratitude and bade goodbye to Abu and his wife. A quick observation would suggest that the Burmese Tamils are a community whose cultural connection to their homeland is being attrited by a strong and overarching Tamil culture. The current generation cannot understand their ancestral language, their cuisine has been tweaked and now leans towards the Indian palate, and there is nothing about the way they dress or look, which would be suggestive of their Burmese ancestry. But culture is not just about material attributes like food and attire. The culture of a community is best represented by their way of life, their temperament, and the strength of their relationships. In this regard, the Burmese culture is very much alive in Chennai. The youngsters cannot speak Burmese, but they know what it means to be a Burmese. Their secular and tolerant attitude is part of their Burmese heritage. Every time a Burmese Tamil bites into some atho noodles, he is acknowledging his ancestral roots. In this sense, culture can never be taught or instilled. It is inherited. It germinates into habits and chores that may seem corollary, but are actually the desperate thrusts of a long forgotten way of life trying to resurface.

The last generation of Burmese Indians are not living in Chennai. While Abu and Ismail may one day stop sharing their stories, their experiences will never fade away, their contribution to the community will never be forgotten, and through them, a part of Burma will always be alive in Chennai!

An over-rated Sanju!

When the trailer for this movie came out, everyone was going gaga over Ranbir and his uncanny resemblance to Sanjay Dutt, and the sad part about this movie is that the resemblance is probably the best part about this film. From his drug abuse to his jail term, Baba has been shown to be a good guy, who the media has slandered and defamed. While the film is successful in laying out the actual facts of Sanjay Dutt's case, it creates a false sense of acceptance about something as serious as the Arms Act. While brandishing Baba as a terrorist was truly an error beyond reprieve, the film tends to focus more on Sanjay as a product of unfortunate circumstances. Rajkumar Hirani has successfully created a movie that showcases Sanjay Dutt as a misunderstood man, who was castrated for an apparently benign reason. While most biopics end up being hagiographies that portray the subject with godly semblance, Sanju takes it to the next level. The story about the duplicitous drug peddler is no way an excuse for Sanjay's drug addiction. His apparent fear about his house being mobbed does not justify hoarding guns in his backyard. And most importantly, discrediting the media for one's bacchanalian attitude is a worn out cliche. The movie could have portrayed Sanjay as a bad guy, whose affinity to drugs and alcohol had ruined the lives of those around him. Instead, the movie tries to justify Sanjay's addiction and in a failed attempt, tries to pass it off as a phase in his life. The despicable way in which the movie showcases the number of times Sanjay has bedded a woman is unfit for contemporary cinema. While having multiple sexual encounters is perfectly normal, the sleazy and dismissive manner in which the portion has been shot is indeed disappointing. While Hirani has tried to make it appear like a gladiator's kill count, the moral balance is tipped towards chauvinism.

One of the greatest things about this movie though is a character called Kamli, who the makers claim is a combination of many of Sanjay's friends. The undying loyalty and love that Kamli carries for Sanjay is truly a reminder of what true friendship is and what a true friend's duties are. But even this seemingly infallible character is shown to be misjudging Sanjay and wrongly accusing him of compliance in the Bombay blasts. This in essence, encapsulates the film's whole problem; it portrays Sanjay as perfect guy who was screwed up by unfair circumstances. But the filmmaker fails to inform the audience, that its the ability to remain steadfast in the face of distasteful experiences, that determines our true mettle. One truly endearing aspect of the film was the character of Sunil Dutt, portrayed with utmost conviction by Paresh Rawal. It would be right to say that Raval has captured the stable-minded, and charismatic persona of the much loved Dutt Sahab. The bond between Sanjay and his dad is truly moving, and provides a good handbook on parenting by proving that love can truly help rid us of our afflictions. The pictures of a desperate Sanjay hitchhiking and begging his way to New York is a vivid representation of what drugs can do to someone. His journey from being a junkie to essentially a non-junkie doesn't invoke a sense of optimism or appreciation which is usually associated with recovering addicts. Maybe it has something to do with him being born with a silver spoon and yet throwing away what could have been a good career.

Sanju is probably the epitome of film making and good acting. Everybody who enters the frame leaves an everlasting impression and does a magnificent job in convincing us about the helplessness of their character. As a biopic, Sanju fails to create an impression. While its true that people continued to hold him accountable for compliance in the Bombay blasts, the rest of the film fails to portray Sanjay as the true bad boy that he was. Hirani blames everything from his tentative age to his mother's demise for Sanjay's woes and never once tries to blame Sanjay for his bad choices. The part were he sleeps with his best friend's girl friend is also trivialised to an unbelievable extent. While the former would be a deal breaker in most friendships, Sanjay and Kamli brush it aside as something anodyne. Sanju was a great opportunity for Hirani to essentially create a handbook on how to steer away from trouble. Instead we get 3 hours of brilliant actors, backed by excellent film making trying to convince us that Sanju Baba was a misunderstood man, who was screwed up by life! The irony being that life screws everyone without distinction!

How is the royal family still a thing?

Who are the most entitled people in the whole world? The heirs of hugely successful businessmen? The scions of powerful political dynasties? Or maybe a bunch of people who personify the combination of both! The British royal family are the most entitled bunch in the whole world! How they have continued to retain their prominence in a widely democratic and progressive society, is indeed a mystery. While successive generations are often not blamed for their forefathers' mistakes and crimes, its actually a popular practice in contemporary society. How the royal family has absolved itself of its blotted history and duplicitous actions is a secret only known to them! The family actually has the entire country believing that they are a part of Britain's great history and culture, and have therefore convinced the people to accord them respect and authority. In reality, they are undeserving of both. In a democratic society, nobody has the mandate to assume a grandiose position from where they can look down upon the general populace. At least when our politicians do it, we know we've voted for this humiliation. If the British royal family was indeed as righteous and principled as they are often made out to be, they would have disbanded the monarchy and become ordinary citizens. Instead they idle around in sprawling palaces and milk the treasury with their laziness and arrogance. If we do live in a world that rewards merit, the monarchy must be abolished. What has Prince William or Prince Harry achieved that makes them superior to ordinary middle-aged Britons? Nothing! They were born into this family by a mere stroke of luck, and thus have the right to never work and earn as much as they want? The very existence of the British royal family is a slap on the face of hardwork and merit!

The root of the problem lies with the British society who places the family on a pedestal. A family which has given the country extra-marital affairs, many vendettas, conspiracies, and blatant arrogance! You would think that the family might at least try to set a good example in return for the peoples' admiration; but even that is beyond them. As long as the British people accord importance to these people, they shall exist. The fault also lies with former colonies of Britain which continue to be a part of the Commonwealth, and accept its leadership by the British monarch. The Commonwealth was Britain's way of appeasing the imperialists among them; the last remaining vestige of a history of exploitation and cruelty. And it continues to grow, with farces like the Commonwealth games and cultural exchanges. The world needs to realize that the rules of the game have changed, that the royal family cannot bully them anymore, and that there is no point in according them any respect as they are undeserving of it! Sure, they may be good people, but there are plenty of good people in England, but not all of them are paid 82 million pounds annually for waking up everyday! Any pragmatic society would have abolished the monarchy the moment imperialism fell, but Britain's history is quite complex. Many monarchies often given way to democracy after bloodshed and intense rebellions. The example in neighboring France comes to mind. But in England, the people never fought for democracy. The monarch initially appointed a prime minister to rule his kingdom, while he enjoyed the fruits of his DNA; and gradually this prime minister became an elected official. Thus the British democracy can be said to be a gift from their monarchs, which would explain why they have continued to live the life they do. But surely a family with the wisdom and desire to create democracy would have realised the hypocrisy in letting the monarchy continue! Or maybe the copious life, and the undying loyalty was too much to sacrifice! Either way, the times have changed and the monarchy is nothing but a horrific flashback to the wrongs of colonialism and to the British affluence, built on the sufferings of her colonial subjects.

While it seems unlikely that the royals will abdicate power themselves, there seems to be enough people who see the disutility in their existence within the country. Thus any kind of backlash seems unlikely. India's approach to royalty has been a good one. We forced them to sacrifice their kingdoms with promises of rich titles and pensions until Mrs Gandhi felt it was time to boost her popularity and abolished the privy purses. We realised that the source of their riches was the sweat and blood of the ordinary Indian, and thus we broke the Nizam of Hyderabad, once the world's richest man, into a man submerged in personal debt! The royal families of India are very much a part of Indian history, and some of them like Sivaji and Maharana Pratap Singh are indeed very close to our hearts. But we had the acuity to understand that we now had the power to disregard the very people who had exercised illicit control over us, that we had the power to write our own destiny, and not bow before entitled fools with a false sense of superiority and power! Unfortunately, the British population still consider themselves to be the Queen's subjects, as her little playtoys who work hard every day, and pay taxes so that the Queen and her family can live a happy and comfortable life! That this is happening at the birthplace of modern parliamentary democracy is truly unnerving. While my angst might seem directed at the British Royal family, it is aimed at all countries which have preserved and supported their monarchies, and especially to countries like Australia, who actually let the Queen appoint a Governor as their head of state. The country down under seems to hate the Barmy army, but not the Queen! Its important to understand at this point that while the members of the royal family are not at fault for their parentage, and may not be bad people as such, the fact that they continue to leech off the public's money and satisfy their gargantuan need for dominance with traditions like the knighting ceremony is a testimony of their unwillingness to accept progressive thinking and democratic norms, and most importantly....equality before law!

The North Korean Starbucks!

If I had gotten a penny for every time I predicted a Korean bonhomie, I would have been broke as hell! The laws of physics are often considered to be the zenith of rigidity and adherence. But if one thing could have scored higher on the zealousness and rigidity chart, it would have been the North Korean society. Their inherent sense of hatred towards the western civilisation and an unyielding fidelity to their Supreme Leader had made North Korea a very dangerous international player. North Korea is like that random neighbour who has unnaturally high compound walls and an insanely short temper. He hates his neighbours for no reason, and his social life is non-existent. Basically, North Korea is the 'psychopath' among nations. The eccentricity of their leader has contributed to this tarnished image, but the society has not been faultless. There are no leaders in the world who would not love to crush freedom of speech, and rule with an iron fist. Self-importance and narcissism are the most universal hallmarks of all leaders, and only spiritual leaders can claim any deviance from this template. National leaders are often so full of themselves, that their actions and perspectives seem bullet-proof and any opposition to them feels pointless and irrational! Combine this trait with unlimited power and dynastic legitimacy, and you get a dangerous concoction called Kim Jong-Un. Kim exhibits all qualities that a rogue leader must posses- arrogance, blatant disregard for the world, narcissism and most importantly, a keen sense of entitlement. Kim is part of a dynasty that has achieved high-standing in North Korea. His father and his life is the stuff of legends that the North Korean kids grow up hearing. There is actually a generation growing up in North Korea, who are unaware of the Avengers and what Thanos has done to them! The North Korean way of life revolves around the mythical aura that the Kims have created around themselves. There are stories about how a 10 year old Kim lifted a hunting rifle and shot the bull's eye thrice in a row. How this great marksman grew up to be a chubby and ruthless dictator remains to be understood. The North Korean problem, is an outcome of poor administration and a misplacement of trust. People claim that Kim never sleeps, and that he shoots fire from his arse. But none of this points towards how he might be an efficient leader. Or even a pleasing entertainer. Kim allows very little of North Korea to be seen by the outside world. There are regular reports of poor living conditions and draconian restrictions on civil liberties. The press is literally non-existent and the citizens are completely brainwashed. The type of government that Kim runs is based on convincing the citizens that affluence is a state of mind and that he is the guru who shall lead them there. There is no other explanation for the heightened spiritual pedestal that his family is given. It is this vice-like psychological grip that has created loyal citizens in the midst of utter poverty and serfdom. North Korea is basically like Wakanda, but without the technology and the money!

So how does an arrogant spiteful leader like Kim Jong-Un come to the negotiating table. What has caused this abrupt capitulation to western interests? A change of heart seems unlikely, and any sort of compulsion can be ruled out. While the conspiracy theorist in me is hoping that this is all an elaborate plan hatched by the North Koreans, it doesn't seem likely. North Korea has an impressive arsenal of nuclear weapons, which may not have flattened San Fransisco or Portland, but could have most definitely destroyed US allies in the east. So the only reason why Kim might have thrown in the towel, is cause he wasn't the biggest predator in the jungle anymore. Donald Trump is as near a Kim Jong-Un as an elected leader can be. With grandiose statements and an aggrandised sense of his own capabilities, Trump is a character that Kim has never encountered. Both leaders have an insatiable ego, palpable arrogance and total spite for the fate of the world. But as Trump pointed out, his nuclear weapon is much bigger than Kim's. The world's accepted solution to North Korea was a pacifist approach aimed at conciliation and appeasement. They continued to let Kim bully them, while their Gandhian appeal to his conscience made little to no progress. Donald Trump proved to be a different animal. He didn't seem to care whether a nuclear war broke out or not; this was a battle of two egos, and Trump was not going to back off.  To say that Trump was truly concerned with the Korean problem and felt a moral urge to relieve tensions is beyond any sense of reality. The recent events are a classic example of a new bully taking on the old bully, except the new guy is much more powerful. Kim has reached a point where disarmament is his only strategy to retain his country. A nuclear war would devastate Korea and non-cooperation would surely have drawn the American wrath. So the god-like mythical saviour turned out to be nothing but an opportunistic man who crumbled when his existence came under threat. So much for legacy! The Republicans have always had a more decisive stand on foreign policy and their eagerness to exercise the USA's hard power is well documented. Combine this with an egotistic president who wants to etch his name into history, and the present is what you arrive at. While there is no denying that President Obama's carrots only policy had allowed North Korea to fester into a bigger threat, the ramifications of  what is about to happen might be too much for the North Koreans to bear.

Imagine being told day in and day out, that the Americans are Satan's henchmen, only to see your very leader hug it out with the enemy commander. The emotional shock for the people might be too big for Kim to contain. And if North Korea follows the Chinese way of opening up its economy, Kim might find himself out of power very soon. Economic freedom is the seed from which civil liberties are born, the sapling from which the desire to speak one's mind germinates! While the Chinese Communist Party is largely like a caucus, the North Korean communism is based on dynasty and personality trait, two things that never survive the test of time. Western society and western culture bear the hallmarks of freedom and excellence, the epitome of affluence and enlightenment. And the wave of resistance and demands that this shall create in the North Korean society will be too much for Kim to quell. The alluring light of western luxuries has been the coupe de grace to many civilisations, and North Korea doesn't seem different. An exposure to the American dream might be the end of the Kim dynasty. If Kim feels that Trump will adopt laissez-faire once the disarmament is complete, he is completely mistaken. Trump remains a businessmen at heart and he will pressurise North Korea to join mainstream international politics and be party to international agreements and organisations. Trump will try to create a vassal out of Kim, which is unlikely meet a successful end. In the end, Kim's decision to let up on the arms race so as to protect his sovereignty, might have been the worst thing he could have possible done, and it might be all downhill from here for the evil King T'Challa!

Lets scrap the IPL!

Lets look within ourselves for a moment and accept the fact that the IPL is just a platform for rich people with way too much money and time to make fools out of a million people! Sure the first season was exciting. Nobody knew what this tournament would do, or what purpose it would serve. But the IPL has pretty much done it's job. It's made the game more febrile, the players have become household names and club loyalties have been solidified. One would think its time to wind up this charade and get on with some good old inter-national matches, but the BCCI is just too unresponsive. The organisation has a strange allure which creates money mindedness in every person who holds office. The sole purpose of the IPL was to garner support for the new 20-20 format which suddenly gained traction once India captured the World Cup in South Africa. The IPL definitely achieved some great things. Its been a source of livelihood for many out-of-favour players like Gambhir and Uthappa and has introduced new stars like Sanju Samson and Ambati Rayudu. But how long can this go on? Surely at some point these players have to break into the national side and prove their mettle! But how many have done this? And who is answerable for all the money that has come into the game? The IPL has hijacked the game of cricket and made it so attractive, that it has become an obligation to watch each and every one of these matches.

Lets start with the auction process. Even if one is to let the seemingly antediluvian concept of selling people slide, what logic does a pre determined pay cheque make? Think back three years and you'll remember an absolutely appalling performance from multi-million dollar man Yuvraj Singh who was paid upwards of 10 crores for his dismal show. Many guys who were paid with lesser zeroes ended up making a mountain of runs. So at the end of the day, its not talent or performance that earns you money in the IPL, its your reputation. So in theory, a player could bring in 20 crores for himself, and not make even 20 runs throughout the tournament. This logic is lost on me and hopefully many others. The IPL is thus the clash of well founded assumptions made by affluent people on who is likely to make runs or take wickets. In foreign leagues there are scouts who traverse the geography in search of fresh talent. But in IPL, scouting is delegated to statisticians and the new talents are often benched or given a few matches at most. If the idea of the IPL was to win the trophy, then why is there a limit on the number of overseas players. The IPL was envisaged as an effort to develop grass root cricket and discover talent, stashed away in oblivion. But discovering and shaping talent is a long and arduous task, which often collides with the self-serving interests of the team management. After 11 years of IPL, the highest point of many great players' career has been representing their club!

The actual IPL matches have become facetious to the point where the lack of context has become all too obvious. The people of India who ignore their state's Ranji team and yet catch a flight to follow their club are also at fault. Beyond money, there is no loyalty that the players share with their club. Some matches are simply begging for more relevance and sense. The reverse fixtures are often monotonous and the lop sidedness of the teams is becoming too huge to ignore. Come the second half of the tournament, dead rubbers dominate the schedule with table toppers feeding their egos by steamrolling physically and emotionally drained bottom-placed teams. The umpiring standards have dropped this year, and understandably so. There are literally more than a dozen games to be played for each franchise. To put this in context, 20 teams in the La Liga play each other twice. And so do the meagre 8 teams in the IPL. If the goal is longevity, then surely their must be some context. The passion and fervour of the international fixtures is completely absent from IPL matches. Most of the stadiums are occupied by people who are out to have fun. To spend the evening and unwind themselves. But there is nothing unwinding or relaxing when India is playing! The tension is palpable and the crowd is genuinely involved. This fanaticism is what sets cricket apart in India, and the IPL is slowly killing it. The yearly overdose of irrelevant fixtures and nonsensical pre-shows which are basically like a pension scheme for retired cricketers is a dull script which begs to be scrapped. IPL matches need to bring more meaning to the players involved. There must be appropriate incentives for victory and dire consequences for failure. This would probably make the viewers more interested and the players more responsible. With around 14 games to be played, almost every team is bound to win a handful of matches, but with no effect on the overall result.

Almost everything associated with the IPL has become trivial. The cheerleaders look disinterested, the contest winners look like they'd rather be somewhere else, and the stadiums get emptier every year. This brings me to my next problem. The venue of IPL matches. Home grounds are an asset to every team, but the IPL was never like any other sporting league. The La Liga is all about the prestige of the Spanish cities and the honour that comes with lifting the cup. The city based clubs in IPL are only auxiliary to the ultimate goal of improving Indian cricket. Thus home grounds make little to no sense. Bengaluru has a population of 1.43 crore people. The Chinnswamy has a capacity of 40,000. It would take 50 seasons of IPL for everyone in Bengaluru to watch an IPL match. During this span, not only would the population have exploded, the second generation of players after the current crop would have retired. Since making the IPL matches a universal right seems impossible, it would have made a lot of sense for the BCCI to shift games into newer stadiums and smaller cities, where the experience of a live cricket match remains novel. The IPL is not a birth right of all metro habitants! The continuous change in venues would make the tournament more interesting and also socially penetrative. The opening ceremonies are an event in themselves, where Bollywood's overpaid celebrities make it a point to delay the cricketing action with their dance numbers.

The IPL was supposed to be about cricket. To bring out the best in the game that has evolved so much over the years. Sure, the IPL has created a niche for itself in the cricketing world, and yes it has revitalised limited overs cricket, but at what cost? Regular reports of corruption and narcissism, coupled with an unending schedule of exhaustive fixtures, the IPL has made cricket, a mere adjunct to the whole concept. I think its time the BCCI puckered up and decided to scrap the IPL and replace it with more meaningful international fixtures. The Champions League of the past made more sense! The IPL has grown beyond India and the BCCI. It has lost relevance and has become a tradition which is carried out annually. We would do well to take a leaf out of the Big Bash league, where Australians have found some good limited overs cricketers. The IPL still caters to the ego of already established players who have no point to prove. Soon, the IPL will dominate Indian cricket in such a way that international fixtures will loose prominence and the cricket lovers will have to be content with meaningless matchups between genuinely disinterested franchises. The alternative of course, is to scrap the whole thing!

Ball tampering- the Australian way!

If cricket is a religion in India, then its a way of life down under. This is a country which prides itself in the raw and in-your-face brand of cricket that it plays. A country which sets the bar and stews in its own arrogance for so long, that the bar is now invisible to it. There is nothing gentle, or pristine about the way the Aussies play their cricket. They are brash, they don't mind some verbal abuse, or 'banter' as they apparently call it, and take the occasional sojourn to the dark side. When Australia toured India in 2017, and Steve Smith had his 'brain fade', many people interpreted it as an honest mistake; a momentary lapse in concentration. But it was representative of a much bigger strand of DNA that the Aussie cricketers imbibe. A trait of entitlement, and an air of superiority over the other cricketing nations. But pre-meditated ball tampering is a different animal altogether. This ongoing series between South Africa and Australia was dubbed as the dual of pace. With a literally seducing roster of players on both sides, this might have ended up becoming one of the most competitive test series in recent times. But instead, this series will be canonised for 'sandpapergate'. The distasteful footage of a novice in international cricket, tampering the ball with a pre-determined plan, and then shoving the tool of mischief inside his trousers will haunt every cricket fan alive. But is this the first time a cricket ball has been tampered with? Is this the first time a captain had been in the know-how about such a dubious plot?

Ball tampering is as old as the game itself. While the modern day cameras and ever-vigilant officials have made it a dangerous affair, one would imagine that in the good old days of un-televised sports, it was a regular affair. But that does not make it right. Indeed the sight of reverse swing is glorious. The red cherry darting in late and castling the batsmen is what made legends out of Akram, Waqar and even young Starc. Make no mistake, reverse swing is one of the most febrile aspects of test cricket, and if executed properly, pristine to watch. But does that make ball tampering alright? Surely you can't give A B De Villiers two wickets just because the fans love watching him bat! There are legitimate and proper ways to make the ball reverse. None of them involve sand paper! Even the South Africans managed some reverse swing when they were bowling; so surely it wasn't so unobtainable. The truth is, that the mental state of most of the Aussie players was mixed up. Smith has been churning out hundreds with alarming frequency, yet this series had been a bad harvest. Warner has been in the news, but for all the wrong reasons. The Australian side which had made the English team look like a bunch of schoolboys, was struggling! The odds of going down 2-1 seemed all too real. And tampering the ball, seemed all too easy. To say that Warner was the chief conspirator wouldn't be far fetched. He has had a dismal series, he isn't new to controversies, and his mental state is vulnerable given the vitriol he has received from the African public. To say that Smith was probably unaware of the entire plot, also seems plausible. But would the number one ranked Test batsmen, with half a dozen good years of cricket left in him, take up the blame for a plot he had no clue about? Many players have been caught while tampering the ball, but none of their captains have taken responsibility for their actions. So why would Smith make the ultimate sacrifice? And why would he burst into tears of guilt for a crime he didn't commit? Smith is definitely to blame for the atmosphere that prevailed in that Aussie dressing room. The game of cricket is the true representation of the English culture. It is played in a very punctual and orderly fashion, with neatly pressed whites and tightly combed hair. A sport, where contact between the players is frowned upon (imagine football) and where courtesy and graciousness accompany failure. Cricket truly is a gentleman's game. And this is where Smith failed as a leader. Winning is the ultimate goal, but competing is the true objective. The Aussies got so held up in winning the prize, that they never realised what they were giving up-the unflinching pride of the Kangaroo nation.

Cricket has survived two world wars, many economic depressions, the fall of its maternal empire, and the hegemony of a behemoth called soccer, all due to the unwavering army of fans that the game boasts of. One can describe basketball fans as deeply analytical, soccer fans as die-hard, but there is only one word for a cricket fan- pious. There is a reverential relationship between a cricket fan and the players. Sachin is indeed a god to many, in the sense that he represented the best of India. But when gods are caught cheating, the blow might be too severe to recover from. One thing about India and Australia is that we take our cricket very seriously. We disregard a life-taking drought to water the plush grass at Wankhede. We disregard our exams in the hope of seeing Kohli take apart bowling attacks. And i have seen that very zeal in the eyes of my Aussie counterparts. The passion and vigour, as they furiously wave their hands and spill the fizzy beer that they later down in joy! Aussie fans are a religious lot! So what happens when a guy who holds an office older than that of the country's Prime Minister's owns up to cheating. Pandemonium! From scathing tweets to public protests, the Aussies were up in arms. Even the Prime Minister got involved. At this point, there was very little that Cricket Australia could do. The world was baying for blood. They wanted a high profile casualty, and that happened to be two blokes who accounted for more than 40% of the runs that Australia had made in recent times. The entire world, which now apparently means only social media, is now batting for Steve Smith. While a one year ban does seem a bit harsh, it was also a bit hurried. If Bancroft was given a lesser sentence because he was only doing the seniors' bidding, shouldn't Smith also have been given a reduced sentence, considering even he wasn't the agent provocateur? There is, or was mischief in the Aussie dressing room. Whether it was Warner or Smith, or both of them together who hatched this conspiracy, the pride of the game has been stained. Steven Smith is too good a batsmen to miss out on one whole year of international cricket. And he doesn't need a lawyer to convince Cricket Australia, as the current crop of Aussies playing in his place, are doing it for him. The sentence will be reduced, and Smith will be back, with his awkward stance, and leg-side flair. But will the world see innocence in his idiosyncrasies, or will they see the shadow of a man who once betrayed their trust?

What happened in South Africa is a message to the world. No one is incorruptible; and not a 100 year old wine, but the winners' champagne is the tastiest drink in the world. Sports shall always be marred with questionable choices and regrettable decisions. The yearning to win will again drive many sportsmen to explore the boundaries of 'what is legal' and 'what is illegal if caught'. But in the name of victory, values must never be compromised, ideals must never be forgotten, and the baton which legends have so gracefully carried.....must never be dropped!