Poet On a Motorbike...

Welcome to a world of pleasure and relaxation... a literary art gallery which aims to engage ones spirit....

Monday, 17 June 2013

The Tail of Sreesanth

This was written a week before the whole spot fixing fiasco broke out.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, jotted down lines of a poem or contemplated on an underlying feeling. I needed to break this writer’s block, and why I choose this topic and this particular personality out of all the million possibilities that lay presented is something that amazes me as well.

Santhakumaran Sreesanth (can’t be arsed to find how it’s spelt, especially given the number of times he’s altered it) is a right arm medium pace bowler who is/was/aspires to be a seam bowler for the Indian National cricket team. Sree, as he is lovingly called by many, came into the limelight with impressive performances in the One day format of the game. Malayalees nevertheless took a special interest in the peculiar character due to the lack of Keralites breaking into the Indian team, finally they had someone to cheer for they thought.
Sree performed, pundits started talking, he had the pace, the best wrist position in the Indian team and he could make the ball talk. I for one rejoiced at seeing a young Indian pace bowler, that too from the same state as I was, making it big, finally an Indian bowler who could beat a batsman for pace. Sree, however was a mixed bag, he is to date the most expensive bowler in the IPL series with regards to his economy rate. And he also captured more than 150 wickets in both forms of cricket combined.
But what’s made Sree a household name is his on field and off field frantics. And I truly adore the man for that. He might resemble a monkey in tantrums when celebrating a wicket; he might literally dance down the wicket to celebrate hitting a rare six. But hey, that’s entertainment.
I remember an interview where Sree was pitted against a politician/writer who had referred to Sree as a monkey in his column. Sree obviously was furious and absolutely bombarded that certain individual with abuses, it was a sight. And in his arrogance, he was right, he was the only player from Kerala to make it big in cricket, and it seemed a bleak possibility that anyone else would play for the country from Kerala. He is infact the only player who I can think of who can get an ad endorsement even when he is not in the squad! When a man’s reputation can speak volumes, ah!
More than half the population of Kerala hates the guy’s guts. They absolutely despise him. Pundits talked again, this time they criticized him, they advised him to change, Sree did try, but the tame Sreesanth was no where near as good. It’s again a wonder that people, especially Indians find it okay for Australians/ South Africans to sledge. But when we sledge our opponents, they say it’s not Indian thing to do? Give me a break, stop being pussies!

But the real honest truth about following Sree, is for the simple fact Sree always makes it interesting. Isn’t that what we want from our life? Something different from the mundane, something so crazy that would indeed transport you away from your sorrows and worries and daily tensions. I could only hope that he keeps playing, both for India and in the IPL, just to watch that small quotient of unpredictability that he brings to the system. I am not saying that he is interesting just because he abuses his opponents, no, it’s the whole package, the funny hair, the dance, the arrogance and of course his the pace bowling.  This indeed is the tale of Sreesanth.


Saturday, 8 June 2013

The Boy who lost track of time....

I woke up today with a profound emptiness inside of me, the sort of feeling that makes you numb, the sort of hysteria that leaves you ragged. I get up and meander through the mundane duties that prepare me for the wistful day that awaits me.  I put on a shirt and tie and glance at the crooked image in the mirror that was happy once. His heart, it’s till there, the beat it still echoes like it always used to, a tear rallies down his freckled face, just a solemn drop of tear.

The Boy who lost track of time....

I wave goodbye to the soul in the mirror,
And venture out with a hollow unsung tune,
The images, the memoirs still keep flickering,
Yes, it’s a beautiful lass; it always has to be...
The smile that led me to believe that there was a better place out there
A place where I’d build all my dreams
But, them dreams,
Can’t be built on ones forlorn trance

I look around for your wasted smile
Rummage around for pieces of you here and there
Your smell, your things
I wander without a clue to my name

I drift through the empty corridors
Feeling only my lost soul
Still I trip, hoping that one day
You’ll greet me with that plastic smile

This mundane life has buried me with lies
And I can’t get around, when there’s no detour
Every dawn I stop, longing for that precious smile,
And I wait knowing that one day; your memories will all fade,
And I’ll eternally be the boy, who lost track of time. 


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