The timing aint right, with the current economic slow down life is a bitch for all, the uprising its begun, war cries are writ large on the faces around me, I am back at work, neck brace, bandages and a 5 day stubble. Someone even commented I resemble Dev anand from the movie Guide ( the moment where he is about to die) says a lot about the way I look. I did think of shaving this morning but couldn’t grip the damn blade. Images of me running out of the washroom all cut up and bleeding stopped me from committing this act of self-improvement.

Despite the physiotherapy and the forced bed rest, the neck and the depressed nerves haven’t improved. I wonder when I shall wake up without my neck feeling like a lead anvil.

Office is still the same, ac’s don’t work, the new ones haven’t arrived and the boss is ignoring my presence, she is obviously mighty pissed coz I was ill.

I do foresee another showdown today and I promise to walk out for another few days if she even says a word to me. I have 32 days leave left and I intend to use them this time around.

Now coming back to the economic slow down, the situation is bad enough for most of us who are thinking of leaving of actually staying back and taking more shit coz at the end of the day the stomach needs to be fed.
I had a friend who told me a month back, its easier to think of quitting and walking away when the stomach is full. I guess his words of wisdom stuck.

It was bound to happen, it was only inevitable and it was only a matter of time before the burn out set in. I had been fighting it for so long that I had forgotten how to survive without the fight.

Then d day struck, the pain in the neck (both literally and otherwise) wasn’t letting up, the boss was shouting for no joy and then it struck me and I let go.

The world spun and everything came to standstill. The work, the clients, the boss everything was shown the middle finger. Head rolling, anxious, sweating, I got up, barely able to walk, I crawled to my car nauseas and ready to die and went home and havent returned for sometime now

I sometimes search for those moments which have passed me by, I sit and gaze into the abyss, playing all those moments in my head, wondering what happened, wondering why I cant go back in time and live them just once again?

Just yesterday, I was at the Supreme Court, running my life like I have done for the past two years, riddled with fear and subjugation, the boss making demands uncalled for, for those few moments which I had for my self I was walking to the corner we smokers call our own, with a friend who knew me from law school ( and now works for another tyrant) and we couldn’t help but muse about how life has changed, the two of us were rebels, the ones who couldn’t take no shit from no one and now look what life has thrown at us, a platter full of shit, bosses from hell, who live only to make your lives hell, bosses who cant stand you smile or be happy, where there is no recognition for you work, where there is no encouragement, there is just this dark hole, the rabbit hole which sucks you in deep.

For all those who suffer as much as I do at our office

The time is ripe, for how long can we sit and have shit thrown at us, for how long can we sit and have someone walk all over us.
We are all qualified and hard working and for how long will these two important facets be ignored.
I call for unity, I call for all of us to stand together, rise above this shit and stand up for our rights.
I call for us to stand by each other, if there are factions that want politics and want to divide us all, then the time has come we give them back their own medicine.
I urge you all to help each other to end this rein of tyranny.
I call for boycotting the retreat and any dialogue, I call for mass joint bunks.
I call for not staying in office a minute after 6 30
I call for working on a go slow basis.
The time has come when people realize that this machinery cannot run without us and for that I urge one and all to stand up together and fight.

Our fucking useless Prime minister has no right to say that that 1984 and the 2002 Gujarat riots are a blot on the secular image of this nation, ( http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/1984-riots-Gujarat-riots-blot-on-secular-India-PM/articleshow/4395370.cms) after everyone involved with the mass and macabre killings go scot free.
Fuck all the politicians and fuck all the judges, I am sick of the system I am sick of this lack of accountability.
Just today after a hearing in the court on the Gujarat riots and after arguing for certain directions I realized that the judges and the amicus have all made up their minds not to go after the big fish and are happy to maybe and just maybe prosecute a few, who were unfortunate to be used as scapegoats by the state machinery.
At the end of all of this, two years of work and lives of hundreds have gone to waste. Fuck this system

By this morning i was convinced that terrorism or no terrorism i was by now a huge fan of the Afghanistan Cricket team and i hoping and praying they make it to the world cup.

Here is another piece off www.cricinfo.com worth reading

Fifteen months across the world with Afghanistan

Early last year a documentary crew began following Afghanistan - in team buses and through hotels, from Jersey to Dar-es-Salaam - on their quest to qualify for the World Cup. They're still on the trail

Leslie Knott
April 8, 2009


One Briton, a Canadian, a girl from Germany, and 11 Afghanistan cricketers: it's an odd mix, but that is what it took to make Out of the Ashes, a documentary following the Afghanistan team on their quest for World Cup qualification.

"Not only are we going to bring the cup back from Jersey in Division Five," declared Taj Malik, the first coach of the team, in May 2008, "but we are also going to the World Cup." It was a far-fetched statement. Afghanistan have no pitch and only a handful of ramshackle batting cages. There is a bowling machine, but power is intermittent at best in Kabul.

Facilities aside, we weren't in a place to judge the team. We had never seen them play, and two out of the three of us film-makers could barely figure out what a wicket, a six or a four was. The nuances of Duckworth-Lewis were lost on us.

The idea for the documentary came from Tim Albone, who had written a story about the Afghanistan cricket team when working as a journalist in Kabul, and decided to follow them on their qualification quest. Taj agreed, and we couldn't have wished for a better guide into the world of Afghan cricket. With blind faith and our fingers on the record button, we boarded the plane to Jersey. Fifteen months later, much to our surprise, we are still following them and have found ourselves honorary members of the Afghan Cricket Federation.

This group of men, who mainly grew up in refugee camps in Peshawar, pride themselves on their faith. The team is Pashtun, a tribe of Afghans known for their fierce loyalty and honour. The only women they have been in contact with are their wives, mothers and sisters. The thought of two women working - Lucy Martens and myself - without the presence of a male relative was initially shocking. They wanted to know about our families, our relationships and how we led our lives; how we approached love in the west. The concept of dating, or of having more than one love in your life, was alien.



"I have seen people die and I have not shed a tear. But there is something about cricket that gets me here [pointing to his heart]. Cricket is our chance."
Hameed Hassan, Afghanistan fast bowler

When they travelled to Jersey, their luggage was stocked with homemade bread and kilos of nuts and green tea. For Afghanistan's players, having the comforts of home are of the utmost importance when you are on tour. It soon became clear that food was a big problem. Finding halal meals in Jersey was next to impossible and with their limited budget the team was forced to eat Filet-o-fish from McDonald's, every day. After one week in Jersey, they were still eating the hard and slightly mouldy bread that their wives had packed for them. In Division Three of the World Cricket League, in Argentina, the physio managed to track down a halal butcher. Hasti Gul, the fast bowler, spent many of his days off in the hotel kitchen preparing chicken kadhai.
On the pitch in Jersey, their style was unpredictable. They tried to whack every ball for six, and once, the team prematurely stormed the pitch when they were seconds away from a win. The spectators in Jersey, gin and tonics in hand, were sufficiently shocked. Jersey's side, made up of investment bankers and hedge-fund managers, were intrigued: what kind of place did this team come from? The woman serving the lunch couldn't believe that the team would eat with their hands, or that they would pray on the pitch. She asked me if they spoke French. When Geoffrey Boycott handed over the Cup to the Afghans, they erupted into a frenzy of traditional dance.

Taj had said before going to Jersey that they could well be the first Afghans to ever visit the island. A bold statement, and possibly untrue, but I can guarantee that for those from Jersey who watched the last match, Afghanistan's unbridled exuberance will not be forgotten.

After finishing triumphant in Jersey and Tanzania, the team began to get used to being filmed and enjoyed it. Although the question, "How are you feeling? Are you happy?" soon came back to haunt us. After each match they would come off the pitch asking us how we felt, and if we were happy.

After their victory in Division Four in Tanzania, the Afghan Ministry of Haj rewarded each member of the team with a trip to Mecca, the religious pilgrimage that all Muslims must make. As non-Muslims we couldn't go, so the team volunteered to bring a camera with them to document themselves on their holy journey. For some of the team members it was an instrumental turning point in taking their faith more seriously. For Ahmad Shah, now the assistant coach, his western clothes went back into the closet; he now only wears traditional Afghan dress when he is on tour.



Because the team grew up together as children in refugee camps, unity is strong. Unlike other Associate teams, the Afghans have had the questionable luxury of travelling with a faux-extended family. The team bus is a festive place. The microphone is constantly used by a few of the more flamboyant team members, Hasti Gul and Asghar Stanikzai among them. When the Bollywood tunes are cranked up, you can usually find Karim Khan or Shapoor Zadran dancing in the aisle. They entertain the rest of the team by impersonating mullahs, Mr Bean, or just taking the piss out of each other.

The players are all gentlemen. Ahmad Shah, the former left-arm spinner and now assistant coach, makes sure we have been served lunch before he eats. They also have an eye for beauty, and covet flowers, especially roses.

Like most young cricket players, the Afghans idolise the greats. The whole team still reminisce about the time Hasti Gul bowled Mike Gatting out for a duck in India. They are unforgiving on the pitch, sometimes commenting on the weight of opposing players. Rambunctious shouts of "Shabash shabash" (meaning "Come on, come on") have piqued the interest of spectators in every tournament.

Most members of the team were introduced to cricket when they heard the firing of celebratory gunshots in the refugee camps when Pakistan won the World Cup in 1992. The team has overcome war and poverty to get where they are today. Cricket began in a dusty refugee camp with a tennis ball. Most in the team have lost family members to war. When the Afghans almost lost Division Three against the Cayman Islands in Argentina, Hameed Hassan, the fast bowler, came off of the pitch in tears. When I asked him why he was crying, he said, "I have seen people die and I have not shed a tear. But there is something about cricket that gets me here [pointing to his heart]. Cricket is our chance."

The next few days will reveal if they have what it takes to push through and show the world that Afghanistan has not only arrived but is beginning to cement a place on the world stage. It has been an amazing journey that has taken us all by surprise. When we started in Jersey we had no idea how many months we would be following the team for. As Ahmad Shah said a few days ago, "You took a big risk on us for your film… you didn't even know if we would get past Jersey."

Leslie Knott is the producer of Out of the Ashes, and is joined by Tim Albone and Lucy Martens. Click here to watch the trailer

Cricket is not a sport, it’s a passion,

Thanks Dad…

My father the man who introduced me to the game of cricket, died more than three years ago, ironically my last conversation with him over the phone and across continents was amongst other things about cricket, I remember him asking me from his hospital bed, “do you think India will win on the tour of Pakistan” and I replied, yea get well soon so that you can watch Shewag plunder the Pakistani's on their home turf. Unfortunately my father didn’t live long enough to watch the upcoming series, as I often put it in cricket jargon, my dad was run out. (More so coz I believe he died due to extraneous factors just like what happens during a run out.) A Crazy analogy, but its true, my father’s passion for cricket was inherited by me and I am proud of it.

Cricket runs through my blood and controls my actions more than I can imagine, waking up at 4 am just to watch cricket is insane especially after you slept at one am after a long days work, but you still do it. There are days when I don’t even read the newspapers coz I cant read about India losing a match.
My memories of cricket honestly run back to 1985 and not 1983 when India won the World cup, I was just over two and don’t recollect much, I don’t think we even had a television back then, but I have heard a million times how happy my father was and how he bought sweets and distributed it amongst all his patients and staff (my father was a doctor).

1985, India the World Champs were in Australia playing the world series, matches would start at 4 am, and I would wonder why my dad and sometimes even my mother would wake up and sit before the big black and white box (they called a tele) over copious amounts of tea and cigarettes and cheer for the sport. On most occasions I would be up with him, sitting by his side, amazed at the color clothing and white ball (even though we had a black and white TV, my father did remind me that in world series they wore colors, a concept still alien to cricket which was primarily played in whites)

By the end of the tournament India beat Pakistan in the finals, Ravi Shastri was declared the Champions of Champions and was gifted a sliver Audi, the images of the entire cricket team riding on top of the brand new Audi were priceless and are etched in my mind for all times to come. That was my initiation to the sport, and I had passed the test, coz my father rarely ever watched another match without me.

I move on to 1986, the dreaded day when India was again playing Pakistan in the finals of the Australasia cup at Sharjah, my father was chain smoking, he was stressed and so was I, Chetan sharma was bowling the last over and it finally came down to the last ball, one ball and Pakistan needed 6 off it, an improbable but no impossible task, my dad though still tensed was convinced we would win, but Javed Miandad had different plans, Chetan sharma bowled a leg side full toss and Javed hit the infamous six, images of Javed running back to the pavilion, arms raised and running like he had conquered the world were the last images I saw on a tele for the next two years, coz my dad broke the tele with his ashtray and stormed out of the house. I was left teary eyed and broken, but my father was a shattered man. Cricket did have its sorrows too.

1987, the Reliance world cup had started, and it was time to put all aside and concentrate on cricket, my father would spend most of his times at the Club where he would watch cricket with his mates, I was confined to following cricket over the radio, (since Javed’s six we still didn’t have a tele). I think it was the second week of the tournament when my father came home one afternoon and found me glued to the radio, following every ball in the words of the radio commentators who were, now when I look back extremely useless yet funny.

I don’t know what happened to my father, but he was rather upset all afternoon and by the evening we had a brand new 21-inch color television, (a rather expensive luxury back in the days), I was over the moon, I was a 7-year-old boy whose cricketing dreams were just being fulfilled by his father. (It was only years later that my mum told me that he had secured a loan to buy that tele) (that television was though broken in 2003)

Between 1985 and 1988, my love for cricket was fuelled by my father buying my first cricketing gear, bat, pads gloves, ball et al. I don’t know where he got the money, (he was an under paid government servant), but he did. Not only that, but being a government servant, (and among the few perks) we lived on a sprawling estate once run by the British servants, there was a huge field which was duly converted into a cricket field, a pitch was created, and considering that the only time I could play cricket was after school and study sessions and by the time the sun had set, my father even installed lights so that I could play when it was dark.

It was my father who taught my how to hold a bat, I was a natural bowler, who couldn’t bat to save his life, but by 1987 I was plundering batsmen too, who enjoyed his batting and modeled himself on Krishnamachari Srikanth, the maverick mad cap in the Indian team who loved hitting boundaries.

Over the years I made it to the school cricket team, as an all-rounder and then a selfish captain who was sacked by the coach for trying to hit a six when all the team needed were two runs and getting out in the process. But that’s of irrelevance here.
1988- 1991- I don’t remember what happened but I guess India’s loss to England in the semi finals of the Reliance World cup in 1987 put my father off cricket, for three years I don’t think my father watched any cricket and neither did I, and suddenly the sport of choice was football, the 1990 football world cup was followed with the same love.

1989 Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar made his debut against Pakistan and I missed it, coz cricket was no longer a passion, it was shelved.

1991- My father by then had been transferred out of my hometown and I was living with my mum and out of the blue one October morning I rediscovered my love for cricket. That was also the first time I saw Sachin bat, like a dormant giant, like Russia’s invasion of Georgia, my love for cricket found its home. I spoke with my dad over the phone and realized that he too was glued to the tele, even though India lost to Pakistan yet again in the finals, the love for cricket was here to stay.

1992- Cable television was the new big thing; door darshan the Government run channel was deprived of its rights to telecast the 1992 world cup. Father was home and duly cable television was installed and used to watch all the matches. (India lost yet again, but beat Pakistan in the round robin matches,)

1992-1996- Father being a doctor was by 1996 appointed by the BCCI (Board of Cricket control of India) as a medical advisor, which meant free tickets to matches, and my first tryst with a live match was at the Mecca of Indian cricket, the Eden Gardens. The year was 1993 and India was hosting the Hero Cup. India had qualified for the semi finals against South Africa and I was there, awestruck and dumbfounded I found my self in the stadium speechless. Sachin bowled the last over and India snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

The finals were a different ball game, India beat the West Indies and we were the champions. What a moment, Eden Gardens lit up with firecrackers and joy all around. Images that can never be described or forgotten
1996- The World cup was back, and my father had tickets for all the matches to be played in India, I was in my 11th grade and had exams round the corner, duly enough my father wrote out a medical certificate claiming that I was suffering from typhoid and thus had to be excused from school and the exams, and so I found my self traveling across the country watching all the matches of the world cup live. It was fantastic, a month on the road, watching every possible cricketer perform on the biggest stage of all.

Two matches stand out, the India -Pakistan quarter final at Bangalore, Ajay Jadeja launching Waqar younis for six’s and the ball that got Aamir Sohail out. India had set Pakistan a stiff target and Pakistan came out all guns blazing, hitting the Indian bowlers to all parts of the park. Aamir Sohail took a special liking to Venkatesh Prasad, hitting him for consecutive boundaries. It was after one such boundary, Aamir Sohail mockingly pointed his bat towards the boundary, gesticulating to the bowler that no matter where he bowled, the result would be the same. Everyone was livid including the bowler I am sure, Prasad came running in for the next ball and Aamir tried to play the same shot only to realize that the ball had crashed into his off stump. For me that was the high point of the World Cup, in fact the high point of my life, watching the ball of the century live, I can proudly say I was there.

But it all came crashing down a few days later, when India played the then marauding Sri Lankans in the Semi final. On a dirt track, India were outclassed and screwed over more by the pitch and the decision not to bat first on a rank turner after winning the toss, the crowd couldn’t handle it and pandemonium broke loose, bottles were thrown onto the field and stands were burnt down, I stood crying with my father as we watched Vinod Kambli walk back to the pavilion crying inconsolably. The match was abandoned and Sri Lanka was awarded the match and again I was there.
Later that night my father and I were sitting at Calcutta airport crying, a sight I must say.

Life moved on, my father retired and I moved to college, India kept playing and kept loosing more than winning, but we watched and talked about cricket over the phone.

2003 World cup, India made it to the finals, they played brilliantly but came up against the Mighty World Champions Aussies in the finals and were trounced, my father again broke the television which was bought in 1987 and I spent my evening sitting on the streets of pune crying not for the tele but for the fact we were so close yet so far.

2007 ICC 20./20 World cup- My father was long gone by then, but I really wished he was there to watch Sreesanth catch Misbah ul haq to hand India the world cup and a victory over its arch rivals Pakistan that too in the finals. The last time India had won a world cup I was barely 3 and the feeling was unparalleled, I cried out of joy, I jumped, ran on the streets, hugged strangers, even went for the midnight celebrations at India Gate in Delhi. Moments of joy unparalleled and yea I missed my dad.

This morning India beat New Zealand after 41 years, another feather in the cap. Cricket has changed over the years, but my love and passion for the sport grows with every passing minute and I have just my dad to thank for the same.

Of Prejudices and Cricket as a solution to World Peace

It’s strange how prejudices set in, its strange how the politico legal scenarios affect the way you think and perceive things and situations. The word Afghanistan is suddenly synonymous to jehad, terrorism, AL Qaida and Osama bin Laden.

Just the other evening I was, over a few drinks discussing the sudden and amazing rise of the Afghanistan cricket team ( who are recently performing brilliantly in the World Cup qualifiers in South Africa) with a mate and we couldn’t help but joke ( albeit totally unfair and unjust) how the Afghan cricket team would walk onto the playing field with Ak 47s and grenades and maybe some of the them would have bombs strapped across their chests, and threaten the opposition of jehad if they were defeated.
What we overlooked were the struggles of the common non jehadi Afghan, who has grown up in refugee camps devoid all modern amenities, who has spent all his life surrounded by violence perpetrated by the Russians and then the Americans, what we failed to see were the struggles of the common man, the rise against all odds.

Just yesterday I read this interview on www.cricinfo.com of an Afghan cricketer and was left moist eyed and touched. I smoked a cig and even cried, thinking how we, who sit in our comfortable patios and living rooms judge those who have fought all odds and risen to shine. How those cricketers who played with sticks and balls made out of old clothes once worn by them, while we spend hundreds buying balls for our dogs.

I again reiterate that sport and cricket are the only solution to world peace, and in light of the same I have to share that interview will all here.

Raees Ahmadzai
Cloth for balls, shoes for stumps
Against the greatest odds, Afghanistan's team of refugees are rapidly rising to the top of the Associates pile. One man epitomises the story

Will Luke
April 6, 2009 http://content.cricinfo.com/magazine/content/current/story/398424.html

Kacha Gari was a sprawling maelstrom of tents and mud huts and poverty, a camp home to tens of thousands of Afghanistan refugees fleeing the Soviet invaders in the 1980s. Situated in Pakistan's North West Frontier, near Peshawar, some of the camp's population began to migrate back to Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban in 2001.

For one man, among the thousands who were born in Kacha Gari, not even war-destroyed Afghanistan could dampen the excitement or quell the wide-eyed wonder that there existed a world rich of opportunity outside the barbed-wire claustrophobia of refugee camps.

That man, among similar thousands, was Raees Ahmadzai, a middle-order batsman who represents Afghanistan.

We meet in the relative opulence of Senwes Park in Potchefstroom, where his team are taking part in the World Cup Qualifiers for 2011. He is barefoot and beaming, ushering me up to the pavilion and eager to talk. He is casually indifferent about how old he is. "Talking to my mother, she works out my age by seeing who the president was," he said. "Unofficially I'm nearly 25, give or take three years. Or four. I could be 21 or 28." Deep-set wrinkles and a calm demeanour hint at the latter.

That Raees and his side have risen from obscurity is a tale of rare romance for a sport that lately has ingratiated itself with farce and calamity with depressing regularity. The team are frequently termed as fearless, justifiably so after winning three tournaments on the bounce. Given their difficult upbringings, belief is endemic throughout the squad.

"We never saw outside the camp. We just felt that everything else in the world would be the same. But I realised later that I led a very, very simple life. For a long time there was no electricity, computers, phones, facilities or anything. Very hard, very difficult. It was so hot. Sometimes it was nearly 50 degrees [Celsius] and we had no fans or air conditioning. So maybe that's why we are a little bit strong. When we see these kind of facilities, it's just so easy. Playing in these temperatures is easy."

How did a team of mostly Pakistan and Afghan refugees learn the nuances of the sport? Young Pakistanis are weaned on to the game in dusty gullies with "tapeball" cricket, played with a tennis ball wrapped in gaffer tape or similar. These balls fly through the air and off the (usually concrete) surface. Raees, though, didn't have access to any sort of ball.

"We'd make cricket balls out of anything. Cloth from a shirt, wrapping it round and round. And we'd cut trees and lay down bark for a wicket. We'd have two shoes for stumps, and if the ball went through the middle, you'd be out… otherwise the batsman would play all day and no one else would get a chance."

The 1992 World Cup provided him with the spark to play the game, but it was an Englishman, not a Pakistani, who inspired him. "We asked everyone: 'Why are people so happy?'. 'Ah, Pakistan won the World Cup,' they would say. 'What World Cup?' The cricket World Cup.



"I heard the name Alec Stewart - and I immediately thought 'Okay - I want to be like Alec Stewart.' I couldn't understand or pronounce the other names, but Alec Stewart? That was easy. And cricket started for me there"

"In one house, they had a television, a tiny black-and-white TV and there were highlights of the final. And I heard the name Alec Stewart - and I immediately thought 'Okay - I want to be like Alec Stewart.' I couldn't understand or pronounce the other names, but Alec Stewart? That was easy. And cricket started for me there.

"It was a huge, huge camp. Thirty thousand people - can you imagine? Then slowly we began playing with a tennis ball in 1996, and I'm lucky that I became very famous playing tennis-ball cricket. Within five or six months I was playing for a local team against another side outside the refugee camp, a side with local Pakistani players. In 12 overs I made 114 runs out of 167, with 13 sixes. Some of the Peshawar first-class bowlers were playing. And in the refugee camp, I suddenly became famous. I was like Sachin Tendulkar. People came to watch my game, calling 'Raees! Raees!' Karim Sadiq [Karim Khan, wicketkeeper-batsman] was also there, and also famous. And his brother too. And his big brother, Taj Malik [former coach] was also there. And his older brother too."

Operation Enduring Freedom, the American-led invasion to oust the Taliban in response to 9/11, signalled a change in fortune for Raees and many in Kacha Gari. Once Kabul had been taken, Raees saw his opportunity to escape the refugee camp and dream of playing cricket on a full-time basis, albeit travelling to a country still in the midst of a war and leaving his family behind.

"There were a lot of problems. It was like a different world. We adjusted very slowly but there were so many problems. No telephones, the houses were all destroyed or damaged, the roads ruined, and it was still so dangerous. But I got my first trial with the national team," he says, rather flippantly.

Cricket, as he later said, is all he and his team-mates ever think or talk about. "I was lucky to get selected for a grade match back in Peshawar. When I played my debut, against Hong Kong, I was so happy about that. They were a really good side and I was playing my debut against an international team. With my offbreaks, I got Rahul Sharma [the captain] with my second ball, stumped down the leg side. It was rubbish - a wide, but I got the wicket, and I was the first Man-of-the-Match by an Afghanistan player outside of our country."

Statistics and figures are important to these players. They know the game inside-out; they know players' averages and strike-rates and idolise the world's best. Some, like the indefatigable wicketkeeper-batsman Karim, believe they can take on the world. Raees was initially less bullish. "At the start, we didn't believe we were very good cricketers. But when we saw the players in the ECC Trophy, in 2004, we felt we had to work hard and be better technically and, Inshallah, we will play better cricket.

"We play professional cricket. We don't have a job. We only ever talk about cricket, always searching [online, on Cricinfo] about cricket. No one has a job - we can't. No one can pay, we have no sponsor. The only money we get is for our clothes. The ICC pay for the flights. So no one gets a monthly salary and I've never had a job, in fact. None of us have. Thanks to our families, we are so lucky."

Given the Pakistani heritage running through their blood, their style of cricket smacks of the Imran Khan and Wasim Akram eras, though as yet without the refined talent. "Plucky" is the most accurate word at the moment, though even that might be downplaying their ability. Their performance to beat a complacent Bermuda was not achieved out of luck. Bermuda were out-batted, out-fielded and outbowled - though their captain, Irvine Romaine, cheerfully denied that they underestimated their opponents.


Ahmadzai with Shazada Massoud, president of the Afghan Cricket Federation © Leslie Knott

There are rumblings of discontent among Associates that Afghanistan have risen so fast. Their "we're here to win" attitude in Jersey, one journalist told me, was ill received by opponents. But they won.

Others find the team's mostly-Pakistan, not Afghan, players an unfair advantage. Yet all of the side, wherever they may have been born, are committed to their country.

"I am the lucky man," says Raees. "I can do something special for my country. I am very proud of myself; my family and friends are proud of me. We were not involved in the war. We were not involved in the bad things. We bring peace to our country. I sometimes feel like…" He paused for a while, unsure whether he should go on. "I don't know. In fact, yes, I am right - I am an ambassador of my country. I will show my culture to the rest of the world that we are not warrior people. We want a good relationship with the world - that we respect people and we have no problem with anyone.

"It is our mission to give a good name to our country. Like Maradona, he gave a good name to Argentina. We have a lot of support. Our cabinet minister even calls me, saying how we are the heroes of Afghanistan and that he's proud of us. And we were on the news, congratulating us for winning.

"When I go shopping, they ask my name. And they recognise me from television, and always hug me and smile and shout my name. 'Let's go and have tea,' they say. 'Let's have lunch.'"

The answer to whether he believes Afghanistan will reach the World Cup is predictable: "Inshallah". Given all that they have had to overcome so far, you wouldn't bet against it.

Will Luke is assistant editor of Cricinfo
© Cricinfo

Walking into homes, people leaving forever, a life moving on, moments in time stand still, packed boxes, wee treasures for sale, the broken chairs, the rickety beds, the shelves once donned with books, spaces once filled now stand empty, the cat follows my footsteps, I still cant find what I came looking for, but I found a memory, a memory worth writing about.

Its strange when I look back to the two years I have spent here and the period just before. I had friends write out my obituary for joining this place of work, it was scary, but being me ( read psycho) I took the opportunity with both hands. Two years hence things have changed quite a bit, I am jaded and frustrated and cant wait to get out, but the only thing that comes to my mind are the lyrics of hotel California ( “you can check in but you can never leave”). I have a few offers but they are all too sketchy, everyone is too scared to piss the boss off by hiring me.

Leaving her would mean burning my bridges and how? And I am ready to do the same, I believe some bridges need to burnt to successfully move ahead, but with the boss, she stands at the edge of the burnt bridge with an assault rifle and a bazooka and keeps firing till she has got her kil..

I sometimes wonder what would it take to run from here?

Of Taxes and Blunders

March is over and April dawned with realization that I committed the mother of all blunders which has led to my financial ruin.
I hate taxes, I hate them with a passion, with a government that gives me shit I am totally against taxes, a country that wants to use my money to pay for its elections .

So as it stands I forgot to pay my house tax, and now I have to pay double plus 75% fine, which means complete financial ruin for the month of April.

Fuck taxes and fuck this government.