The End of another Phase.

The smell of leather and cologne was thick in the air, the grey light that filtered in through the French windows was eerie.

The uber expensive upholstery stood out and demanded attention.

The chair I rested my sorry arse in felt warm, I just wanted out, leave out the nuances and just walk away.

I sat across him, wondering what to say, my intentions were clear, his grey as ever.

He sat across me oblivious to my existence; my physical presence was just an aberration.

Ipad in his hand, he continued to look busy, till I realized he was playing darts on his idart app!!!!

Strange things have happened to me before, but this was as strange as they got.

No words were spoken, two souls, one tormented one distracted caught in a whirlpool of nothingness.

At the end of it all I just walked away, a year a quasi aberration was over.

So, apparently i had a long chat with Richard yesterday and some how managed to convince him that getting my new webpage up and running is rather imperative. So who knows by the end of next week the new site shall be ready.

So my thought for the day before i hit the sack-

" sometimes its a wee bit better to take a step back, if you need to move forward"

A year, maybe at some levels an aberration is over!!

Sitting here winding up a year is not easy. Sometime in September i took the decision to take this plunge and i guess even though i do have mixed feelings about it, i am hoping its the right decision.

All this corporate bull is great, but its not for me.

And yes i hear it all the time, that converting your hobby into a source of income is not the best way to take on life, but i guess at some level i am ready for it.

Lets just hope for the best and see where things take me.

The Russian invasion of Goa, where every sign board reads in Russian too!!!

Sighhhh

As for my pledge of not going crazy with the camera, i think i did pretty well, only 500 odd shots over a period of 3 days, not bad i must say!! considering i had on one occasion take 96k shots on a 12 day project back in June and July.
On that note, i do think i did get some crazy sunset shots at Vagator. Will transfer the pictures tomorrow at some point.

Back home after a long and overtly boring flight and longer and excruciating wait at the baggage reclaim carousel.
Its frustrating as hell when you have to wait 45 mins for your baggage to arrive!! Seriously its almost as long as the darn flight.
I remember when i had shot the entire T 3 i was hoping such issues would be take care off but i guess i was wrong, as usual there is no such thing as a smooth transition when it comes to public welfare projects.

And while I wait for this darned airlines to start boarding, I cannot get over the russian invasion of goa. More on the same later

Goa you shall me missed. Flying out in an hour, a great weekend. Reality awaits my return

In just a few hours i shall be away from this urban mundane existence, sitting on a beach, sipping on some schnapps, and taking in the sun.
No laptop, just two lenses, one camera and yes the resurrected blackberry. Honestly i tried not taking the same with me, but it just couldnt be done.
That said there will be no postings till Monday
Hope we all have a great weekend, and who knows maybe i get some magical shots in Goa.

Drowning the blackberry.

Yes, I am now an expert at drowning that darn blackberry!!

Second time in a month I have dropped my blackberry in water, the last time around it was a bucket of water and this time it’s the winter rain puddle.

As we speak its drying under my studio focus light.
Its nothing but pure déjà vu!!
When will I learn?

Weekend where art thou!!

I can’t wait for this weekend, finally a much-deserved getaway. I am headed to Goa, the beach, the sand, the sun, the wine, the vindaloo, no blackberry(s), no laptops, just me and maybe my camera(s).

Not sure if I want to shoot anything in Goa, have promised my self that I will not take more than two lenses, and only one 16gig memory card, which shall seriously hamper my ability to shoot like a junkie on coke!!

All I really want to do is give my ever aching shoulder some rest, just sit by the pool or on the beach and vegetate.

Another night spent hunting down the mutant mosquitoes, its been rather crazy the entire year, I don’t know who to blame?

Mr Kalmadi? For digging up the entire city? Or the MCD for not taking enough actions to curtail this epidemic?

I did write a bit about the commonwealth games but never managed to post it, maybe the time is neigh to do the same.

On a different note, I am stuck to the OST of The Moon- Clint Mansell has kicked arse!!!
Bloody brilliant I must say.

Website Glitches.

The past 4 months I have been trying to get my website reconstructed, the only glitch is the guy who seems to be working on it!!!

Off the record he seems to be going through a quarter life crisis, talented as he might be, he seems to be stuck in a constant state of high!!
Stoned immaculate, its hard to get anything across to him, every week or so I do catch him on chat and all I get is the same answer. –“ dude I am soo stoned and your website is almost done”

I wonder when Mr. R would finally wake up and have my new website up and running.

Morning blues

Its strange how you wake up hung over, despite the fact that the evening before you didn’t even touch alcohol.

Is it all those chemicals I sprayed to annihilate the mutant mosquito infestation?

Possible!

But then again its never normal to function after only a few hours of sleep.

Unfortunately I have a shoot in the next 20 minutes and I badly need my fix of coffee. The client is slightly stuck up on the hand that needs to be shot, it can neither be too aggressive or too submissive, just the right expression needs to be captured.

Have already shot for them three times, the same hand in all plausible postures.
Lets see what I get now!!

Winter where art thou?

My obsession with winter is well documented. Cold foggy days, the lack of sunlight, the comforts of a warm bed, the hot cup of coffee, large glasses of cognac, and the black jumpers that hide the paunch, all beautiful.
As I pen this, the 15th day of November has dawned on most of us (unless you are in the far west) but the fans still buzz overhead and the mutant mosquitoes still feed on me like I am a big fat juicy steak.

O winter where art thou?

PAIN

Its simple, you learn to live with pain, physical or otherwise, you just learn to adapt. With the passage of time it becomes a part of your soul, integral.

Honestly I cant remember the last time I was close to a 100%, age and years of abuse have finally taken a toll on this body I call mine.

Even though I lost 18 pounds the past few months, the pain in the neck (thanks to the multiple collapsed disks followed by three surgeries) never seems to abate.

Things seem to have taken a turn for the worse since I was laid low by a mosquito in October. Dengue!! Yes in all its glory laid me so low that I never thought I could rise again. A month later, and I still lie awake in my bed with my joints hurting like a bitch.
I can only dream of the days when this pain would abate and life would be like its meant to be, free from the shackles of pain.

A year gone by, and nothing to write about?
I should be ashamed of my self, the world changed while the days turned to months.
Job changes, profession altering decisions, bouts of dengue, et al.
So as i sit awake in my bed at 3 am while my dog snores at my feet and the urge to smoke is great i do hereby pledge to write in as much as i can before this year ends.

My Photoessay on Afghanistan

http://snehazareen.wordpress.com/2010/04/24/time-travel-through-kabul-guest-post-mehak-sethi/

30 and beautiful

I have heard it a million times- Life begins at 30?
Does it really, so what happened 30 years ago? What the hell was that?

At 30, everything is different; a slight sepia tone descends on your very existence. The entire picture looks a wee old and worn at the edges.

By 30 you have already gone through a lot in life, a childhood spent being victimized by the education system, where your school bags were heavier than your mother, where competition almost killed you, where all your freedom was curtailed by a dictator styled regimented existence, aimed at making you a better person and/or preparing you for the tempests that lay ahead( like really).

A childhood where it was the birth right of every teacher to treat you like you were in Auswitchz. Where all your parents ever worried about was whether their son would end up as a doctor or an engineer. Existence back then was beautiful. A peerless mirror of what lay ahead.

Teenage came with a BANG!!! literally, if it wasn’t the acne it was the million heart breaks that killed you. You suddenly realized you had a heart, which was meant to be trampled over. Baggy trousers and cool shirts with copious amounts of hair gel were your best friends. You were cool (or so you thought?) You were the epitome of every girl’s dream (who were you kidding?)

Teenage lasted almost forever, for the longest time you kept wondering would this ever end? It dragged along till you almost got sick of it and were even ready to sell your soul to devil just to be an adult.

And then one fine day just out of the blue you were an adult, teenage was passé.

Life was brilliant, alcohol, and drugs took over. Bright colors, drunken orgies and more bright colors were the edifice of your existence. Green was your favorite shade. You were never ever satisfied with your surroundings, everything always had to keep changing, it was fast but far from furious. There was an animal inside that needed to unleash. That’s when you became the rebel, you grew a beard, you had long hair one day which was gone the next. You had unleashed. You wore kurta’s and jeans you had to be different, you had to fight the system. You took part in every student union rally, you even went on hunger strikes, you were lathi charged by the police, you called your professor a wanker, you picked up fights, you bled, you made people bleed, you were arrested, you were bailed out, you were just discovering life.
You were an adult!!

And just as soon as this storm had hit you, it was gone, you were out of college as an adult, soon the animal within was tamed by the very system you fought. Bad paying jobs and idealism were now your building blocks. Hunger and cheap cigs kept your going. Women came and women went. Love what was that? You wanted to fall in love but it was a one way traffic.
On your own, with pennies in your pocket, you felt like a King, you wanted to buy gifts for your entire family with your first salary, but…
You were 20 something and broke. Savings? What were those?

And then in your mid 20s you wanted to study more, so you earned scholarships to go abroad and educate your self.
It was all new, you were a professional out to get a cutting edge education. But you were brown, poor and on a meager scholarship. You worked part time jobs as cleaners, waiting tables, on construction sites just to make sure you paid your loans and ate two decent meals a day. You worked very hard, harder than ever, you were always almost home sick, you missed your comfort zone, the animal turned king within was now beaten black and blue. You were never the same. A part of you died by the end of this.

Nearing 30’s and you were back, educated and regulated. Decent jobs with psycho bosses took over your life. You dreamt work, you lived work and almost died working. Your bosses always came from hell and you kept wishing for them to go back there.

They made your life painful, very painful. You hated your very existence.

Things were different now, you suddenly discovered stress and hyper tension.
The word blood pressure now meant more than some medical jargon your parents babbled about.
Pharmacies were now your favorite hang out joints. You also discovered that your hairline and waistline were now your worst enemies, they hated you and connived against you at all times.

Life nearing 30 was a relic of a once glorious past.

And then 30 dawned on you, it crept like cobra on a dark night and bit you. The poison caught you unaware, you were 30 and you were told that life has just begun.

3 vintage blue label’s on the rocks, and the urge to write this hot sultry and sticky April night is rather strong. Weird fishes plays on repeat, Radiohead croons for the 34th day on the trot.

My head and mind roll slow, I am tired but I cant sleep, like always I lie awake, musing about the unknown, tripping on the same song.

Spent the evening discussing plans to get to PNG to shoot the cannibals, honestly I am not sure if I will make it, but the prospect of having discussed has me quite excited.

A month, out in the open, with the stars as my ceiling and the earth as my bed, my cameras and me, has me super excited,

Why?

I believed, I could change the world, I believed I could make a difference, I believed that I could make this world a wee bit more sane. Sadly I also believed the lies, the deception, the farce.

On that hot and sunny day in Kabul when I sat a meter away from the landmine, my life changed, I had this to say when asked what happened that day? “i guess when you sit a metre away from a land mine in a war torn country surrounded by nothing but rubble and bullet shells, smoking high grade afghani charas , introspection comes easy”

To be honest I gave up, yes I am a quitter, and I aint proud to be one.

I couldn’t take it anymore, the lies the deception were too overwhelming, I couldn’t lie to my self no more, I couldn’t idolize those who spent their entire lives making the world believe that they were changing the world when in reality they were just filling their coffers.

Its not about the people, it’s the system, as cynical as I might sound, I had had enough, I had seen enough to make up mind.
I just had to walk away, it was tough, it was extremely tough, I fought my very constitution, my foundations when faced with the choices.

11 years of selfless struggle had to end.

Shot

Having crossed the ‘pond’ and having survived being labeled a terrorist I took on one of my greatest photo ops. Driving 4300 miles across America from Chicago to Arizona and back was mind blowing.

The open landscapes, the shades of blue, the crystal clear light, the windmills in the Nebraska, the Rockies in Denver, the snowstorm in Utah, and finally the Grand Canyons!! Breath taking.

I remember reaching the South Rim at around noon on the 24th, the light wasn’t great, a thin layer of cirrus clouds curtained the blue of the sky and I wasn’t too pleased. This was my only opportunity at the South rim and the light was killing my pictures, but by 4, the clouds slowly lifted giving me some breath taking shots, some of which don living rooms in Dubai, London and Chicago.

But what stood out for me was the light just post the sun set, hues of orange and blue dancing in the shadows of the canyon, lighting up the entire canyons in a surreal haze of enormity.

An almost successful day I must say.

Though I do have my regrets of not having spent more time at the South Rim, the reason, even though I did walk 5 miles along the rim, I didn’t venture down into the canyons from the South Rim, I mistake I guess. After reviewing the 2000 odd pictures I did click through the day at some level I felt they lacked depth and looked too flat.
However and thankfully I corrected the same on the following day when I drove 200 miles north towards Page to raft through the canyons.
More to follow…

Creativity doesnt come easy especially when you know you arent really 'creative'.

I have spent the past few months doing something i have always loved doing, photography, having quit human rights law and as some wise people put it " wasting your fancy foreign education" i seem to have come out unscathed except that when you concentrate really hard on one aspect of your creativity, the others are always almost certainly ignored.

At peace with my self and my surroundings, i have constantly felt that i should revert back to writing and the said feeling has been shelved for the longest time, but i guess the time has come when i can start writing again.

I hope to post a lot more soon, but it shall take time to shake away the writer's block and the cobwebs which easily find their way around one's thought process.

Website down for complete reconstruction... bear with me folks...

GRAND CANYONS CAPTURED

Finally

www.mehaksethi.com

Its Easy for me to Sum up 2009

i guess when you sit a metre away from a land mine in a war torn country surrounded by nothing but rubble and bullet shells, smoking high grade afghani charas , introspection comes easy!!!!!

Divide it’s so cool

Another new state? Why not, I think it’s not fair, I have always wanted my own state, Sethikhand, and I am sure Zara wants one for herself too Zara Pradesh.

As an example of such an act of stupidity of unimaginable magnitudes, Uttrakhand was a state born through this whole useless state struggle and what was the outcome?

A state sooo fucked that the Chief Minister once stated on national TV when asked how the hill state would generate funds “ It is very cold here, we will impose higher taxes on alcohol and shall sell the same at a higher price and thereby generate the much needed funds.”

What followed suit was even worse, millions were spent on sign boards congratulating those who fought for the new state, money which could have been used for development was used for erecting the ugliest signboards ever. (Literally the world’s ugliest erection(s) )

Trees were chopped coz the new government offices and residences had to be created, only fair don’t you think, trees they are useless, after all what is a tree without a government?

At the end of this I say why stop at a new state, go-ahead fuckers demand for a new country.
In the present instance The Republic of Telengana. (ROT)

That sounds like a plan, print your own new currency on old recycled banana leaves, make mutton biryani your national dish and print a picture of the same on your national flag.

Then comes the most important issue of national income, funds and revenue for the country.
Raising an army and declaring war on every nation that eats biryani without paying a royalty to the ROT can sort that bit out.

Charge 25% per plate consumed in every country except the US who will be given a special discount of 15% thereby only charging them 10 % keeping in mind the size of their army and their past conducts especially in Afghanistan.
Just to ensure that Obama administration doesn’t send in 45,000 troops to invade and take over every biryani eatery in the ROT.

ROT should also cut all ties with India, thereby ensuring it’s perpetually landlocked for all times to come.

Further it shall be made mandatory for all families to herd goats to ensure a never-ending supply of mutton for the biryani.

Rice if not grown shall be stolen from neighboring India using Naxals as allies.

Really , just line these fuckers and shoot em all.

The only thing constant is change, and change surely it is, life has changed for me over the last few months, a surgery, never ending rehab and a God sent sabbatical.
The anger has abated, I have time to breathe, I have time to live, my life no longer revolves around the whimsical demands of a deranged boss. I no longer wake up in the middle of the night attending her phone calls or recalling a nightmare where she was busy screaming her ugly guts out.
Life is different now, i am relearning how to live.

BMW - thats ours!!

And so as things stand, the boss( read ex) just bought herself a BMW, its not your everyday run of the mill car its a fucking BMW that costs more than just a wee bit. It fucking hell costs a lot.

And for someone who is allegedly so poor, i wonder how she managed to get that car? I mean all her talk of. ,” i am so poor, i have no money, i cant afford to pay anyone, i cant even afford a cup of tea…”, a BMW is just pushing it a wee bit much don't you think?

I mused over it all night and obviously concluded; that she bought that BMW from our money, money that is rightfully ours, money that we have slogged our sorry arses for.

And here is the break up of the same.

For all those days when i have bought her tea and food in the Supreme Court Canteen, for the photocopies i have done for her without ever getting paid for it, for all the time i have driven her around town and never smelt even a drop of petrol and for never getting paid enough

For all those who worked for her but were paid through the NGO, for all those who were hired to be her slaves but were somehow shown to be working on projects that were defunct.

For all those instances when she bought stuff for herself from people's per diems and made them even account for every coffee they consumed, so that more money could be saved to enable her to buy herself expensive and useless wine openers.

For all those instances when she borrowed over coats from neighbors, coz really they are expensive garments.

For all those instances where she made people pay from their pockets so that our defunct magazine could go into print

For all those instances when she threatened to cut everyone’s salaries coz its Recession but went and bought her self a prada bag and an omega watch after bargaining with the salesman using me as a translator.

For all those instances where she paid people who didn't deserve to be paid, but didn't bother paying those who killed themselves for her

For all those instances when she cut her maids salary coz she refused to do extra work

For all those instances, where she was just a hardcore miser.

Therefore i conclude.- It is us who own her BMW. all of us.

Ill take the back wheel, the cd player and the steering wheel
Asmita can get the front two wheels.
Ayesha can get the front right rearview mirror and the indicators
Sangita you get the radiator, and front seat.
Bratty- you can take the rear windscreen
Rashi gets the other rear view mirror
Mandy can get the wipers and the front windscreen
Saptarshi can get the boot, i know you need a cupboard
Jhuma can get the remaining wheels
Udiksha can get the mud flap
Kritika can get the other mud flap
Ajay singh can get the rear seats
Kamolika can get the speakers
Afreen can get the front left seat
Sonam can get the 4 doors
Samridhi can get the ashtray
Shama can get the horn
Tenzing can get the front and rear bumpers
Yadav can get the speedometer

The engine will be sold in the black market and the money divided equally

For those who were left out of the list, could make a written application stating reasons why they deserve a share and a standing committee comprising of the AG and SG of India would consider their case and hand over their share through the proceeds of the sale of the engine in the black market.

Note- Terrorists and people affiliated to terrorists will only get mud flaps and deserve nothing else.

Now that’s justice to that BMW

I have heard a lot of people say, the world changed post 9/11, but I don’t think the world has ever changed, man has been fighting man since the beginning of time, first it was food, then land, things moved to oil and weapons and freedom has always been a bone of contention.

I often question my self, about freedom, what does it really mean, what does it entail? man has been fighting for freedom all along, lives have been lost and many more will be dead before we all realize what freedom really means.

The world for me will change when these nonsensical killings will stop, when man will learn to love man, when guns will be reduced to relics of a macabre past.

August- Strange place to be, especially if you are me, the boss, as previously mentioned got appointed as the ASG- crazy fucks who thought she fit the bill, really what were they thinking? You give someone who abuses power coz she can, all the power and what do you get, a manic psychopath, out to screw the world over.

The last month has been crazy, working 7 to 12, 7 days a week and along came Kabul, just coz no one else wanted to visit the alleged Most Dangerous place on earth and I grabbed it with both hands.( frankly a lot of places in India are far more dangerous)

Friends and family scowled, but for me this was just the getaway I had dreamed off for the longest time.

So 5 days here and there is so much to write, so much to share and I am just shaking off the writer's block.

Anyways penned an informal report for colleagues back home, thought it would be worth sharing.

Dear All,
A big warm hello from sunny and utterly dusty Kabul, (I know the last sentence made it sound like a beach resort) but it isn’t, it’s a far cry from anything most of us have ever imagined or experienced. The fact is no matter how much you read or hear about a place, experiencing it from ground zero is a different deal altogether.
This experience has been utterly enriching for me, not only for the knowledge I have gained from the people I have met, but also understanding how things work here.
Afghanistan is a nation that has been battered and bruised and the scars are everywhere for all to see, the Russian invasion, and the Taliban and Mujhaeedin have literally turned this once beautiful country upside down and given it a good shake.
Even now the scars are everywhere, lack of roads and trees, bullet-ridden buildings and housing blocks destroyed by rockets and bombs.
No matter how much you try to ignore it, you just cant miss it.
Though things are changing for all, Afghanistan is on a really slow path to recovery and normalcy. And when will things be normal, is a question for which no one even here has an answer.
The biggest problem has been the international community including the UN, who forgot the whole concept of Nation Building after the invasion of 2002.
They just came in tried to destroy the Taliban and pretty much left a nation gripped with poverty and destruction to fend for itself. With no infrastructure, no roads, schools, government, it was a mighty tough task.
Nation Building was only an after thought, when it should have been the primary concern for the international community. The result of which is things have worsened since 2005, with Taliban making a come back and even today 8 provinces in Afghanistan are still under Taliban control. And on Monday night I experienced my first and I hope only tryst with the Taliban, when indiscriminate rockets were fired in/towards Kabul, one landing a couple of minutes from where I am camped. It was very early in the morning and I was thrown out of bed, the huge explosion was followed by rapid gunfire which lasted a good ten minutes, to be honest I didn’t know how to react so much to the displeasure of the Anti tobacco unit and Ms Jaising I smoked a cigarette. The guards at the guesthouse were running helter skelter asking me to hide in the bathroom and pulling out more guns.
Another thing I have noticed here, guns, there are more guns than you can imagine, there are more guns than people, everyone dons a Kalashnikov like it’s a toy. Much to my amazement I was handed one too, not like I knew what to do with it, but holding the infamous AK 47 in my hands was a feeling I cant explain, a weapon, which has caused soo many deaths, my feelings were hard to fathom.


As for me I have been here since Sunday and have since met a Supreme Court Judge, a Professor for Sharia Law, People from the Ministry of Health, Members of the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission, Ngo’s dealing with returnees, drugs and HIV positive people, members of UNODC, members of IOM and some HIV+ patients/clients.
The knowledge I have gained is precious, some things that stand out and come to my mind while I pen this, is that there is no court fee in Afghanistan, they have a working legal aid system, there are at least 4 women judges who are members of the Supreme Court, and there is reservation for women in the Parliament.
And just this morning I was informed that the Ministry for Women, here has prepared a draft bill for Domestic Violence which will be tabled soon before the Parliament, so Afghanistan might have its own Domestic Violence Law by the end of this year. I am in the process of getting hold of the afore mentioned draft.
Further everyone here consumes drugs, almost everyone, including half the security guards here and my driver (Shakib, who doesn’t let me out of his sight and carries two pistols and a fully loaded Ak 47 at all times, I even saw him sleeping with his gun the other day). Its like Drugs and opium are a part of life; charas is available like candy across almost every shop, which is scary considering the ease with which children can access it.
The UNODC a monitoring body is trying hard to eradicate the evils of drugs vis a vis opium cultivation, but without other factors intrinsic to development I don’t see how they will succeed.
I was informed that before the invasion by the American forces in 2002, Afghanistan was opium free, which is no longer the case. If and only if Nation building had been carried out by the International Community things would could and should have been different.
What the international community including the UNODC needs to do is not just go out there and distribute wheat seeds to the farmers ( which is what they have done so far), but build an infrastructure whereby the farmers can sell their produce, build roads, build cold storages and have a proper transport system amongst other things.
There is so much more that needs to be done, that the task at hand looks ominous if not improbable.
Finally for me, I stay locked in my room apart from the times I am out with Shakib interviewing people and cant wait to get back home where I like most of us take things like food and clean water for granted.. Its more to do with a promise I made to lot of people before I came here of coming back alive and without any holes in my body.
I still have two days to go and really hope the remaining interviews go well and as planned and I can be back home by Saturday evening.

Signing off
Your personal Afghan correspondent

What happened to June? I wonder? July dawns on me, and with it comes more work than I can handle. My boss got appointed as the ASG of India and we find ourselves on the other side of the fence, fighting for the government and not against them, it’s a strange place to be.

Moreso, last week we won the huge case which de criminalized homosexuality in india..

There is too much to say but too little time, maybe some day ill take out a few hours and pen all my thought.. maybe?

The New AC its finally here.

Back in March I had predicted 78 days before a new ac is installed at work ( http://legallyunsound.blogspot.com/2009/03/never-ending-battle-for-new-air.html) , I was close enough, 5th June at about 16 32 hours the new ac was finally installed. A coconut was broken and sweets distributed, the struggle was finally over, the heat was no longer a constant companion.
But the last 75 days have been pretty exciting on the AC front, the boss denying that she hasn’t signed the cheques, the admin insisting that the boss hasn’t signed the cheques, the constant haggling with the retailer ( who for the record has still not been paid and I was forced to switch off my phone to ensure that I am not houded by his merciless calls)
WE are after all a bunch of wankers atleast the top brass and the admin, stuck deep in a non existent self created bureaucracy and apathy towards the needs of others.
We have enough funding to live comfortably but no, what is life without making it hell for others.
To be honest I am just glad we have a new ac that works, even though this office needed more than one I have been telling all something is better than nothing and beggars ( read us) cant be choosers.

This year the summer is back with a vengeance, after going easy on us last year, the summer God’s decided to unleash hell on us this year.

Thought for the day

We must learn to choreograph our madness as best as possible.

The month ahead..

May, what can I say? Another month, the heat shall burn us all, the office shall as usual relent from providing us with new air conditioning, we shall continue to fall sick, my neck shall not heal, the pain shall not abate, life shall be the same if not worse.

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.

Of Pink dogs and Scotch

Time and again, I believe, you have to do mad things, just to ensure you are alive and maybe even still young, so a few nights back, a bunch of us got drunk and decided to go out and grab a bite.

A beautiful cool night, some metallica playing on the radio, we were waltzing through the streets of Delhi, when the four of us spotted a dog ( read pig), it was the first pink dog we had ever seen, and it was extremely fat, so being psychos, we decided to chase it. The music got louder, the engine was revved and there we were chasing the pink dog, and soon enough there was a loud bang.
We had conquered the pink Dog, we got out of the cars only to find the pink dog looking rather angry and chasing us instead, we escaped unhurt and so did the pink dog.

It was only this morning when I sent my car to the garage and the mechanic called back with the bil,l that I decided never to chase a pink dog ( PIG) after a bottle of scotch.

If only hard work was always equated by the salary you received, some of us in this office would be living in villas and riding BMW’s.

It sucks to work in an organization that hates to pay you and a boss who thinks that we should pay her for employing us.

I hate to say this but, but despite charging the clients my personal fees I never seem to get it, the boss keeps it for herself.

Its even worse when she refuses to even pay for your tea at court and expects you to pay for her as well as her friend’s cups of tea.
It’s a completely shit situation.

I finally did it, I resigned, there is only a point till where one can take shit, and I am tired of swimming in shit,
So now I shall join the millions of unemployed people in this country

What do you do, when the only thing constant in your life is a boss who is bent to screw you over and deprive you of your inherent human rights?

Is it a norm that the bosses need to be rude 24/7 make you work on matters which don’t need working on and after you have completed the work reprimand you for doing something that didn’t need to be done?

Its so shyte that even when you are away, you never really are , this morning i even threw the blackberry away, except that the damn thing didn’t break.

I pretty much made up my mind that I would just disappear this day, turn off the blackberry and vanish, but alas I didn’t, though I still might…

The never-ending battle for a new air conditioner enters its third summer, for two long summers we have fought, cried, jumped, thrown tantrums and done everything possible to get a new ac for the office but it hasn’t worked.

For those who are thinking what’s the big deal? Picture this, the never ending Delhi summer, where temperatures range between 43- 50 deg C, add to that a large room with no windows and ventilation, 20 computers and at least 15 people all breathing and letting out heat and you find your self stuck in a sauna from hell.

Summers have come and summers have gone, people here have all at some point fallen ill, but the ac has never been replaced.
Finally this year things look just a wee bit bright, I have been informed that the boss has finally sanctioned the purchase of a new ac (even though it’s a measly 2 ton,and what we need is at least need a 4 ton ac for this office) but this joy I am sure will be short lived and the reasons are stated as under.

First and foremost the super inefficient admin staff has been asked to collect quotations for the purchase of a new ac, a week shall pass before any quotations shall be received and passed on to the boss, and knowing the boss she shall and will rubbish them straight away citing costs and over priced products. So ten days from now we will be at square one.

Day 11- new quotations shall be summoned for, there will be constant bargain deals stuck with some poor dealer who will finally relent and give a discount of 500 rupees, at least 3-4 days shall pass in the process

Day 14- new quotations shall be handed over to the boss, now the success of the ac instillation shall depend entirely on the boss and her whimsical moods ( which are as unpredictable as the english summer and the incessant rain in Hamilton). This is where the question of timing comes up, the key being the time when the boss is handed over the quotation. For instance if the quotation is handed at 10 am while she is on her way to court then we can consider the never bought ac as history, similarly if the quotation is handed at some point in the evening, when she is tired and sick of all of us, the results will be same. As I mentioned earlier, the timing is CRUCIAL, the window of opportunity needs to be exploited.

Hypothetically lets imagine, that the afore mentioned window of opportunity was exploited and finally the boss does accept the quotation, but that’s just the beginning of the problems galore, the same are pointed out as under

First and foremost, 16 days have lapsed, the heat has just gone over the top, Delhi has begun to boil and people have already started to melt, Secondly, as per the information received from the admin staff, to have successful air conditioning in the office, it is imperative that the entire wiring of the office is replaced.

So here is the problem, Day 16 has come and gone and the admin is still mulling over finding a suitable electrician to replace the wiring.

Day 17 has dawned and finally a consensus has been reached on who the suitable electrician would be (the criteria for selection unfortunately is not the capability of the said electrician but the low cost that the electrician has to offer).

Day 18- the Electrician has been summoned, who cites ill health of a distant cousin and informs the admin that he will only be available after 4 days

Day 22- (Delhi is getting hotter)- the Electrician Mr. X finally shows up, brilliant, people jump with joy, and someone even smokes a cig to celebrate. The electrician after much examination provides a quotation, which would include the complete costs for the replacement of the wiring.

Day 23- (Always keep in mind the window of opportunity)- the said quotation is passed onto the boss, who throws a fit and rejects the quotation for reasons of excessive pricing.

Day 24- Mr. X is informed to cut the costs, he reverts back saying he would and could think about it and get back

Day 26- Mr. X informs the admin that he could cut the price by 2%, and the same is communicated to the boss who says that she wants the new quotation in writing ONLY, the admin head is admonished for approaching the boss with an oral quotation, which Mr. X informs can only be provided in a day or two

Day 28- Mr. X’s new quotation finally arrives, the window of opportunity is not exploited and thus the new quotation is rejected forthwith. Further Mr X is accused of being a over priced thief who wants to exploit a poor NGO through his over the top prices.

Day 29- the search for a new electrician has begun, in the meanwhile Mr. X has informed all the electricians that there is no point doing business with a bunch of measly wankers, so no electrician is found for sometime to come.

Day 30- 45- finally and after much ado an Electrician Mr. Y( who is unearthed from the anals of Old Delhi) is found and convinced to do the job for a price which is acceptable to the boss.

Note on Mr Y- He is 74, his father and his father's father were all electricians,( it is even believed that his grand father, and this is before someone discovered electricity was repairing candles and oil lamps for Bahadur Shah Zafar, the erstwhile Mughal Emperor of Delhi), he owns a wee, run down shop in one of the lanes of old delhi, the last time he undertook a job of this magnitude, he was 45 and expecting his 8th child. In the interim, his children joined his family business ( read wee shop) and left citing father's insanity and senile behavior. Since 2006 Mr Y has successfully replaced 4 tube lights and 5 light bulbs in Jama Masjid and failed at repairing someone's switch board. Mr Y spends most of his days holed up in his shop sitting in front a fan that doesnt work and drinking corpus amounts of tea which is replaced by corpus amounts of alchohol in the evening. On most days Mr Y is found passed out on a mat while wee flies make his body their airport and landing pads. However Mr Y is still sexually active,( you must wonder why this piece of information is necessary- for the answer to the same read on)

Day 46-Cheques are prepared for the purchase of the Ac's

Day 47- the boss refuses to sign them, as she is too busy, one of the members of the admin is pretty much killed as he tried getting those cheques signed while the boss was reading about her self in the newspaper.

Day 48- the cheques are finally signed while the boss is rushing to the airport

Day 50 – the bank calls to inform the cheques have not been en-cashed, as the signatures on the cheques didn’t match the ones on their records.

Day 51- there is a small rebellion in office, as the temperatures touch 44 and 4 people go down with the heat flu.

Day 51- new cheques are prepared and couriered to Bombay

Day 53- the new cheques arrive at Bombay, the boss blows her lid off, saying she won’t sign them again, and she would sue the bank and fire the entire admin staff, a direct result of this outburst is a few phone calls made to the Delhi office where everyone is summoned to the phone and blasted for not meeting non existent deadlines.

Day 53 evening, the boss is finally convinced ( after much begging and pleading) to sign the new cheques ,which she does after blasting her lid off and giving everyone more work than they can handle.

Day 54- the cheques are couriered back to Delhi

Day 55- Cheques are cleared-

Day 56- 60 – the office leaves for its annual retreat, the electrician is sent back as there is no one in office to supervise his work

Day 61 The Ac is purchased, massive celebrations, a coconut is bought and broken (in typical Indian Tradition), and there is a wee puja as well.

Day 62 The Ac's in their new boxes rot at the back of the office as Mr Y has gone back to his village to meet his wife who is expecting his 13th child

Day 63 - 67- riots break out in office, the sense of uprising is paramount, the boss to crush the rebellion burdens everyone with more work and out of office duties, which entail visiting all offices in Delhi which don’t have an ac

Day 68- 71- Mr Y finally arrives and the work starts, people work in candle-lights to ensure that all the wiring is changed

Day 72- it’s all done- the new ac is installed, it works it works it works, cries of joy

Day 74-without any prior warning and coupled with a big bang the new wiring develops a fault, causes a short circuit, and burns half the office down including the new ac. Three people are injured, the fire could have been doused but the fire extinguisher didn't work and the sand used to douse the fire was least effective. The boss throws a fit and blames the staff for rushing the admin and her towards installing a new ac. To teach everyone a lesson, more work is handed out and deadlines are set which cannot be met.

Life has come back a full circle we are all screwed and lo behold the summer is over

The wannabe dope head, thats me, I advocate for legalizing cannabis, a once ardent dope head I gave up the habit a few summers back, sans the occasional joint.

As I sit at my work station this balmy afternoon I cant help but think of the green leaf all rolled and dried ready for a quick wiff.
The inherent yet subdued junkie within jumps with joy, I can smell it in the air, I can feel it in my lungs, I can taste it on my breath.

I am a pot head leashed by the realms of this society, I am a junkie who can’t wait to be unleashed.

I speak...
The perfect solution for world peace is cricket….

Frankly Bombay is a place, which brings back memories, I rather not deal with, but time and again I end up taking unavoidable trips down to the coast town.

The past weekend was no different, on a flight, which refused to land for over an hour and spent the hour circling a hill 10 minutes from the freaking runway which was under some sort of supervision. Dizzy by the time I landed and all set to throw up on the first person around I found my self-swimming in an ocean of humanity.

The heat ,the people, the black and yellow pre historic taxis just add to the chaos they call Bombay.

People don’t live in Bombay, they survive, the exist but they don’t live, it’s an existence skewed beyond redemption, the never ending traffic snarls, the humidity, the 20 tons of untreated human excreta, Bombay hits you like a freight train on a suicide mission.

What strikes you more than the aforementioned is the undying love people still have for the place, its true and unadulterated, frankly I think its living in denial.

But coming back to the issue at hand, (and after having lived there for two years) I just had to take the local train to work, the life line of Bombay. Choosing a Saturday morning, (when the traffic levels are a wee bit under control) I decided to jump on to one from Andheri to CST or VT ( the site of the recent terror strikes in Bombay). The smells the sounds the cool breeze riddled with the odor of dried dead fish was all too nostalgic…

When I landed at Vt, the ground zero for the terror attacks on 26/11 and as I walked slow through the station, taking in all that the great Victorian structure had to offer I couldn’t help but picture in my head the sounds of gun shots, blood, gore, bullets, misery, death, the sounds of the AK 47 ringing loud in my ears, the smell of fresh blood and gun powder was all to overwhelming…

It brings me back to the question I pose to my self all the time, Why? Do we need this, why do we have to resort to this hatred and mayhem, why? Why?

A Terrorist and a never ending trial…

It baffles me , it hurts even more to think that 4 months have passed since 26/11 and the only terrorist caught is now being put through the rigors of the typical Indian trial, an overtly long chargesheet, a trial which shall go on forever, then the appeals and finally the clemency petition which shall lie pending before the president for atleast 7 years.

Do we need this shit then? Do we need to safeguard that killer’s constitutional rights? To start with lets observe that the intrinsic rule of criminal law is to prove someone guilty beyond reasonable doubt?

Some one, any one please stand up and show me the doubt here (if any)? Please show me why would you want to put this bastard on trial when there is enough evidence against him to summarily declare him guilty and then torture him to death.

I am, at the end of the day a civil liberties lawyer, but I am sorry I don’t think people like M Ajmal deserve civil liberties, as a matter of fact I don’t think any terrorist or jehadi deserves one.

The need to be lined up shot, all of them, summarily executed.

Our system, our politics are baffling and extremely hurting.
Please someone end this all….

The Monster Within.

It runs deeper, the erosion has a different meaning now, for almost a year now I have been crying hoarse for a break, for a holiday, where my laptop and blackberry are no where close, where its just me and the mountains.

Its strange how this worked, or rather what came out of the same, its even more strange come to think of what it has turned itself into. The answer is a monster.

A monster that cant stop growling, rumbling, biting and gnawing at everything around.

When the urge for a break first arose, I was just struggling to meet my deadlines and get my head to things, days turned to months, and months to year and this lill monster grew into something big and deep.

As time passed the wee monster dug deeper and deeper, hiding it self into a cave I didn’t know existed, as days turned to nights the monster hid deeper and deeper and before I knew it, I had lost it, thinking all the while that it had left me for good. But lill did I know that it was hiding deep within and eating me slow without me having an inkling of the same.

Now the monster has taken over, and has complete control of me, it commands my actions all day and rules my dreams at nights, there is no peace, there is no sanctity of my existence.
Its madness, its mine and its here to stay

Eddie Speaks-

"And the wind keeps rollin'
And the sky keeps turning grey
And the sun is set
The sun will rise another day"

Thought for the Day-

My Boss’s Dog leads a better life than me and the rest of my colleagues’. Further more the boss’s dog can bite her, which we can only wish for.

February rolled on like a wolf on fire and I woke up to March wondering what lay ahead, will the anger abate, will the frustration vanish?

Answers to questions I don’t have, all I know is that the deadly Delhi summer is here to fuck us. Further more I cant help but miss my days of cycling in the mountains every summer.

Maybe if I get a wee chance ill pick up my mountain bike and leave for Rishikesh, pitch a tent and chill for a weekend

I am really close to killing the bitch who sits near my work station and smells like a skunk had an orgasm

What next? Key words, I wish I knew, anger refuses to abate, slavery, exploitation, a raging angry bull waiting to explode, looking for a fight, looking for a victim, looking to devour on a soul.

Adrenalin is brilliant, you can feel it right down to the tips of your fingers, enhanced senses, high strung, you cant do without it, its your only high, its your only release, the anger shuts out the world, your sepia vision is reduced to red, you dream blood gore and death, you hate people, you hate everything, you hate yourself, you hate the very ground you tread on.

Even alcohol doesn’t help, bottles and more have been downed, and the ensuing hangover doesn’t feel all that bad, it shuts out the pain, it shuts out the anger only to return soon after.

You know your brains are fucked when you start finding Metallica as soft rock… when even Rammstein sounds like a gay ballad, and when System of a Down sounds and feels like a boy band’s orgasm…

Eddie- " Jeremy spoke in class today"

I don’t have too wonder to hard to figure out what it must have been like within a Nazi concentration camp, I have been in one for two years.
The constant screams, the constant angst is finally taking its toll on me, as mentioned earlier, my minds fucked beyond redemption.
Constant evil thoughts plague my existence, maybe I need to get into a fist fight with someone random, maybe that will help, its times like these when I appreciate the whole concept of a fight club, walk in, beat the shit out of some random fuck, get your self reduced to pulp…

I am just scared ill end up in prison soon, I am soo close to assaulting people at work that it’s a wee bit unnerving,

This morning again the boss has been unleashing hell on all for no joy, I wonder what fucked her brains this morning, even now I can see her scream her head off at someone

You know the problem with dictators is that they have a narrow vision of perspective, look what the Jews are doing to the world; just set your eyes on the Gaza strip and you will realize that those once fucked will eventually fuck back

I find myself at crossroads, I find my self so deeply fucked in the head that redemption is no longer an option.

I promise my self every night that I will not unleash angst the following day, but it fucking hell never works.

I can only think of blood gore and murder for everyone here at work, the sight of most of them makes me sick and angsty
Just this afternoon I overate so that the others around would starve and be deprived of their meal.

It’s a crazy place my head, I want to walk into my boss’s chamber and shoot my self,
I want to walk into office and kill everyone

Maybe all I need is a fucking holiday, which I will never get,

The problem with deadlines is that there are times they just cant be met, I am facing a similar predicament, to save my self from sure annihilation, I have been avoiding my boss like plague, but as I write this ( I know I would be better off just working on that darn deadline.. but I cant its just an utter brain dead job), she lurks around looking for prey to feed on, to put it mildly she floats elegantly like a dark cloud of death. Lord save my soul.

Batman Returns

I didn’t have my car on me this morning, a friend was making great use of it, the only other option was my Yamaha R 15, my quasi black super bike, 250 cc of pure unadulterated power.

So there I was sitting at my work station when the boss sent me a mail, informing me of a matter that needed to be argued in the next 45 mins, and I was summoned to the Supreme Court, left with no option I had to literally fly to court, dressed in black from head to toe, donning a black helmet and my black cape ( read advocates gown), I was zooming on the streets of Delhi at near neck break speeds, even touching 120 through traffic, I felt alive, I felt me again.

Though I pity the people who almost got run over but nonetheless a great afternoon, especially since the matter I was rushing to court was adjourned for a month.

February is almost over, the last I remember I was in Geneva struggling to get back, and now I am back at ground zero wondering what happened to the last couple of weeks, a forced break, an alcohol problem and a major plumbing fiasco, all seem like a distant dream.

I am just waking up again, bleary eyed, stubble et al. I am finding it hard to cope with reality.

I came soo close to a complete breakdown, that having to kick-start my system seems like an uphill task, lets hope this passes too…