Makar Sankranti: Gujarati Mardi Gras Minus the Swag

My father is a self-proclaimed “active person” who loves playing “games” and “sport”, which, for him, include (illegally) plucking cherries from the neighbour’s farm, jumping over gutters, playing with bottle caps, throwing kids into the river so they figure out how to swim, and playing with marbles in the dusty veranda. In his own words, it was a very “different time” back then. Of course, this was the ’60s and the only fitness apps they believed in back then, were glasses of milk and plates of fruits.

In his lifetime, my father has witnessed the erosion and eventual extinction of things that were #lit during his childhood. And like many people of his generation, it has made him a wee bit bitter. This is evident when he occasionally bursts into rants about the “mindless” video game and mobile phone culture that has shaped my childhood.  

But there’s one day in the year that makes my father forget all the ranting, and gets his eyes lit up like Harry Potter’s after he spots the Golden Snitch.  

Yes, it’s the day of Makar Sankranti, the Gujju equivalent of Mardi Gras minus the swag. Makar Sankranti aka Uttarayan is as important for us Gujjus as undhiyu, dandiya, stock markets, and Narendra Modi. We simply can’t stop fangirling over these things (sorry, Rahul baba). This is also the day my otherwise mellow father brings out his competitive best — and his arch nemesis is Bunty ke papa, Apollo Creed to my father’s Rocky Balboa.

But before the competition is family bonding. There’s an age-old Gujarat adage that goes, “A family that flies kites together, stays together.” So we all get together and scream, “Kai po che” like our life depends on it while we pass around til chikki as if they were weed cookies and down Rooh Afza like tequila shots.

My dad is nervously excited ahead of Sankranti. He is the only guy I know who looks forward to January, the most depressing month of the year. It’s like my father has two personalities, one reserved for the rest of the year and one for January, when he goes from Bruce Wayne to full-on Batman, patang and phirki in tow.  

Dad, who avoids shopping like Rahul Gandhi avoids election season, the man who won’t go to the market to buy bread, gets his hands on the finest-quality manja, sourced from the markets of Surat. The manja is made by men with razor-sharp wit and it is so fine that it could cut your soul. It will certainly shred Bunty ke papa’s kite.

Once the kites and manja are in possession, dad decides to delegate. While he’s planning his moves for the D-day, my cousin and I tie the kannies (knots) to the kites, the job of sidekicks, not the superhero. He doesn’t want to waste precious time doing manual labour while the opponents are ripping out one kite after another during the practice games. But dad’s a pro, net practice is for noobs.

On the day of Sankranti, he’s up early, dressed to the nines in his superhero suit of starched white kurta-pyjama. He’s pacing around the house, restless, waiting for us lazy folks to get out of bed. “You young people should go up on the terrace and have fun, these are your days to enjoy,” he tells us. What he doesn’t tell us though, is that he is jonesing for a round with Bunty ke papa, who is also probably pacing around his living room.

As he makes his way to the arena, the building terrace, expert commentary is first delivered on the wind conditions and what it’ll be like throughout the day. (The met department better take note, this is where the real weather expert’s at.) After an in-depth analysis, it’s time to get down to business: One kid holds the phirki, the other one helps with the kite getting elevation.

It is in these moments, when I see my father at his childlike best. Screaming “Kai po che” with such fervour that it would put Sunny Deol in Border to shame. He sends up his kite and fights for it as aggressively as an investment banker trying to close a deal. The competition is serious AF, but I am most amused: I find my non-confrontational father’s change in personality hilarious, especially if he is losing a kite fight. And nothing angers him more than losing to Bunty ke papa.

Last year, Dad didn’t have a great run. This year, he’s all geared up for the clash as the challenger. But no matter what happens today, my scoreboard will always read the same: Dad 1, Bunty ke Papa: 0

How to Sledge with Style, a Lesson from Tim Paine and Rishabh Pant

“It’s red, round, and weighs about five ounces in case you were wondering,” said Greg Thomas to the great Vivian Richards after going past his bat with some rippers in a county game between Glamorgan and Somerset at Taunton. The Welsh fast bowler did get Sir Viv charged up, as the next delivery was smashed out of the ground and landed into a nearby river. The charming West Indian turned around to a hapless Thomas and remarked, “Greg, you know what it looks like, now go and find it.”

Sledging is the fine art of verbal exchange among opponents. The intention is to hurt the concentration and focus of your rival, to piss them off so they can make a mistake. The Americans call it trash-talk, Indians call it bakchodi, and if you’re an Aussie cricketer, it is known as Monday morning at The Gabba. The Australians, for long, championed both the game as well as the verbal barrage, earning a reputation as the bad boys of cricket. Australian legend Dennis Lillee had a famous routine where he’d tell a batsman, “I can see why you’re batting so badly, you’ve got some shit on the end of your bat.” When a gullible batsman looked at the bottom of his bat for some dirt, Lillee would walk away saying, “Nah, wrong end mate!”

With the game going global, the influx of different cultures and the monetary stakes involved, the sport got incredibly competitive and teams started to give back as good as they got (and the Australians haven’t taken it well). Dada’s Indian team in the early aughts, shed all the politeness that its predecessors were known for. Sourav Ganguly and his boys were no longer submissive. There was a cultural shift in the way the game was played. Who can forget the Indian captain violently waving his jersey from the Lord’s balcony at the end of the NatWest Series final in 2002?

Today, aggression has become the norm. Now when India play Australia or the Ashes are around the corner, there are op-eds in newspapers and debates on TV about on-field behaviour and chatter on the ground. Indian skipper Virat Kohli has become the poster boy of aggressive cricket; the bat, his tongue, and his provocative fingers all come into play.

There have been multiple instances over the last couple of decades where situations got out of hand and lines were crossed on the field. One such undesirable incident featured Aussie great Glenn McGrath and West Indian batsman Ramnaresh Sarwan.

Glenn McGrath: “What does Lara’s dick taste like?”  

Ramnaresh Sarwan: “I don’t know, ask your wife.”

Sarwan didn’t know it then, but Jane McGrath was undergoing treatment for cancer and the Aussie pacer was furious, with the players almost coming to blows with each other on the field. Who can forget Monkeygate, featuring our very own Harbhajan Singh and Andrew Symonds, that caused a storm between the two teams as well the cricketing boards?

“Cricket civilises people and creates good gentlemen. I want everyone to play cricket in Zimbabwe; I want ours to be a nation of gentlemen,” said former President of Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe. For the cricket purist, sledging is a violation of the “spirit of the game”.

There is also a cheeky demand that Fox Cricket and Sony Ten share commentary remuneration with Rishabh Pant and Tim Paine, for all the entertainment they’ve provided from the stump microphone during the India-Australia series.

Image Credits: Getty Images

Sledging, much like Virat Kohli, has always divided a crowd, with one side deeming it ungentlemanly and crass, and the other side defending it as a bit of fun banter. There is no right or wrong answer. Test cricket has the capacity to get dull, and a humorous comment can lift up spirits of those out there in the middle. It can act as a tool of motivation. But at the same time, players are role models and you don’t want to showcase a version of the game that is vitriolic and mean-spirited. The general belief among fans and experts has been that there’s nothing wrong with a friendly quip or a witty remark but personal abuse and swearing is downright unacceptable. The art of sledging lies in knowing where that line is.

Sledging isn’t about getting personal with your opponent or putting him or her down, it’s simply about getting them distracted, to get them to make a mistake, with a funny observation or a chirp in their ear. “To sledge with style requires a ripe vocabulary, an ear for cadence, a fastidiousness as to the positioning of epithets and respect for your opponent. You want to topple him from high estate to low. You don’t want him down and out to start with,” said British novelist Howard Jacobson.

The ongoing India-Australia series has been a glorious endorsement of two things – competitive Test cricket and a good old-fashioned sledge. Tim Paine and Rishabh Pant seem to have auditioned for a roast battle that the entire cricketing world would pay to watch. With a smile on their faces, they’ve constantly had a go at each other in the most civil and hilarious manner, setting new standards in harmless, uncontroversial, and top-class banter.

Right from Tim Paine’s “Can you babysit?” to Rishabh Pant’s “Ever heard of a temporary captain?”, the “contest” has been loved by commentators and fans alike, with the clips going viral on social media and the remarks attracting discussion in post-match shows. There is also a cheeky demand that Fox Cricket and Sony Ten share commentary remuneration with Pant and Paine, for all the entertainment they’ve provided from the stump microphone. The fact that there is no bad blood but good camaraderie among the players was evident from Bonnie Paine’s (Tim Paine’s wife) Instagram post, where Rishabh Pant is playing with the Paine kids and the image is captioned “Best babysitter!”

The India-Australia series has been a testament to the fact that the games can be fiercely competitive, but they can also have an edge about them that doesn’t make us collectively cringe. That the gentleman’s game can not only survive, but thrive with a bit of healthy sledging and banter. Let’s have more of it, for not only does this keep us entertained and injects a bit of life into Test cricket, it also makes for wonderful anecdotes for years to come.

If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It: Virat Kohli’s Aggression is Essential to Who He Is

If a rupee was donated to the Reserve Bank of India every time someone said “Virat Kohli is such a great batsman, if only he controlled his aggression a bit…” we could bail out all the struggling public sector banks in the country. Twice.

Virat Kohli is not the best batsman in the world, across formats, despite his aggression and combativeness, he is the best because of it. Like all elite sportsmen and sportswomen at the very top, Virat Kohli hates to lose. He hates conceding even an inch, or being bullied on the pitch. The relentless and unending desire to win every single moment in the game, to dominate every ball with the bat, to stop every single run on the field, to encourage his troops every single minute on a hot day of a Test match, to constantly be performing at 100 per cent, is what makes him Virat Kohli.

With great success comes greater criticism, and this is true for all sports. From the ranting John McEnroe, to the short-tempered Wayne Rooney, and angry Serena Williams, premier athletes have always come under heavy criticism for their competitive, aggressive, and in-your-face attitude that has been an essential part of their sporting make-up and what elevated them to the highest level in their field. As fans, we wish they were perfect athletes without the aggression, forgetting that without the attitude they would’ve not come this far.

Kohli wouldn’t be half the player he is if he didn’t ecstatically send off every opposition batsman or show his disappointment at every decision gone the other way. If he is your captain, you love him to bits for how passionately he backs each of his teammates. If he is your opponent, his brash and arrogant presence makes him the perfect bête noire.

Kohli loves a challenge, a fight, a combative experience. If you give him a daunting total on a tricky wicket in an ODI game, he thrives on chasing it down just to prove all his critics wrong. If you taunt him to find a gap while batting, he will take on the challenge and pierce the field to establish his supremacy. If you try to intimidate him with bodyline bowling, he will eventually hook one for six to let you know he means business. If you try to get under his nerves by sledging him, it only charges him up further, bringing out the best in him. Ask Pat Cummins.

The aggression and determination goes far beyond his mouth, his expressions, and his provocative fingers. It is ingrained in his personality – a typical Delhi chaud, if you will. On the third day of the Perth Test on a difficult wicket, Kohli was first hit on the elbow by a Pat Cummins delivery, and then on the forearm by a searing Mitchell Starc bouncer. The physio was on the ground and play was halted for a good five minutes as visuals of Kohli’s swollen arm beamed across the world. Injury scare? From Kohli’s body language during treatment, one could almost hear him say, “How dare they try to intimidate me, I’ll show them.” Virat Kohli did what Virat Kohli does, scoring a fantastic 123 as more records tumbled.

Columnist Rohit Brijnath writes about Kohli, “Why he has a beard and tattoos is unknown because he is intimidating enough. His look is plain: Are you ready because I am.”

Actor Naseeruddin Shah recently commented on the Indian captain, saying he is the “world’s worst-behaved player”. He may be right in his assessment. But Kohli doesn’t take the field to be the world’s best-behaved player, or the world’s worst-behaved player. He goes on the field to win. And you might say what you like but the truth is, that is what it’s all about – winning. “The Gentleman’s Game” is an empty moniker that has long stopped meaning anything, with the incredible money, pressure, and stakes at play.

We either have Virat Kohli with all his hundreds and his motormouth, or we don’t have a Virat Kohli at all. I much prefer the former.

Friendly banter or sledging isn’t an excuse for horrible behaviour, which is why we have umpires, match referees, and microphones on the ground. Checks and balances exist in the system, and the ICC must come down strongly when the line is crossed. Kohli has been fined in the past, and should be heavily in the future as well, when fault has been established by those in charge. But as long as the chatter is healthy and within the rules of the game, it should be allowed to flow, as has been the case in the India-Australia series so far. Human sport should have human element to it, because without the emotions of those playing it, sport might just be a boring endeavour of athletic display by robots.

As  a fan, I will chuckle for years at gems like “Shaam tak khelenge to inki gand phat jaayegi”, as well as enjoy the majesty of the 123 scored on a challenging wicket at Perth. Let the bat, as well as the banter, do the talking, as long as it lies within the rules of the game.

Leaked! RBI Governor Urjit Patel’s Resignation Letter to the Indian Government

Dear Government,

Congratulations on the Statue of Unity, it’s a marvellous structure. While I appreciate you building a statue for one Patel, I am uncomfortable with the idea that you wanted to turn another Patel (me) into a living statue. Accuse me of overreacting, but how did you expect me to feel when so much happened in the last couple of months? The independence of the RBI was under so much threat that I had to change the subject line of my resignation mail to Preserve Bank of India.

I preferred our arguments over those long mail threads with half the office marked, but when Arun Jaitley decided to make the feud public, I had no choice but to awaken the Gir Lion inside me. On purpose, I chose a guy named Viral to issue comments on my behalf so that the message would be loud, clear, and… viral.  

I get it, this is election year and you want more money so you can roll out some schemes and campaign across the country to tell us what an awful Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru was. Who doesn’t want to dole out cash just before election season? Even my neighbour’s three-year-old son wishes he could buy a new phone everyday but it’s a stupid idea and that’s why he doesn’t handle finances at home. Remember the time you thought demonetisation was the best thing since sliced bread? The brahmastra that the Indian economy needed – and you laboured that metaphor further by calling it a “surgical strike” on black money? Well, guess what? You asked for our advice and we told you it was a shitty idea but like that drunk friend who texts his ex, you went ahead anyway. How did that work out for y’all?

There’s a reason the RBI and the Finance Ministry have distinct jobs, and it’s best if you didn’t interfere in ours and we didn’t interfere in yours. Did you see what happened when Raghu Ram was asked to do comedy in Tees Maar Khan? People are still recovering in hospitals. At this point, our story feels like a retelling of A Series of Unfortunate Events. In August, you appointed S Gurumurthy, an RSS ideologue, to the RBI’s central board. First off, the only thing the RSS has in common with the finance folks at the RBI is a terrible fashion sensibility. But Gurumurthy surprised everyone when he claimed that India’s liquidity problem could be solved if the power to print currency was in the government’s hands. My economics degree from Yale University cried actual tears.

I really wished you lot could make up your minds. One day we were accused of reckless lending in the past that led to the current bad loans crisis. The next day we were accused of choking up the banking system with too many regulations. Which one is it?! Aadmi kare to kya kare?

As we speak, you are drafting new regulations to enable closer supervision of the RBI. Why don’t you take my Gmail and Windows password while you are at it, eh? You also wanted to invoke section 7 and give us direct orders, something that has never happened in the RBI’s 83-year old history. Sure, that’s what I want on my CV – to take directions from people who thought demonetisation was a great idea and get blamed for the next blunder.

I have to say, though, that I have one thing to thank you for. For the first time since the RBI started, the general public is aware of what goes on behind our closed doors. Even when Raghuram Rajan was the governor, folks would only discuss him as a thirst trap. Now, however, people ought to be discussing the India-Australia cricket series and not RBI vs Government.

I know you don’t like me, and can I just say, the feeling is mutual. You may not have respect for me and the institution I represented, but the markets and the world looked at us as an independent regulator with a strong influence on monetary policy. Now that I have quit right before a national election, congratulations on the alarm bells and the ripples that will be felt in the market. It’s like changing the captain from Virat Kohli to Rohit Sharma in the middle of the World Cup, you simply don’t do it.

Now that I have quit, I am looking forward to grabbing a drink with my mates Raghuram Rajan and Arvind Subramanian so we can do what employees usually do after quitting – bitch about their former bosses.

Yours faithfully,

Urjit Patel

Isha Ambani’s Sangeet, aka Gujarati Coachella, Has Set #WeddingGoals that No One Can Match

Is it an Apple product launch? Is it an award show? No, it’s Isha Ambani and Anand Piramal’s sangeet. This is Gujarati Coachella, the sangeet of the century, one that will set #LaganNaGoals for years to come.  

Ordinary Gujaratis have a three-hour sangeet celebration where everyone first dances to garba and then the DJ plays “Gangnam Style”, “Despacito”, and other songs from his 2016 playlist and you once again break into a garba. But not the Ambanis. For one, it’s not called a “function” (so middle-class); it’s called a pre-wedding bash. And secondly, they don’t play songs from a pen drive on a music tape like us mere mortals from Malad. They get Beyoncé to sing for them and the whole of Bollywood to dance for them.

The Ambani sangeet is nothing like what we’ve seen in recent times. The Virushka shaadi created history – this is the first time someone used an ad to announce their wedding. The DeepVeer wedding was full of drama and suspense: Will Ranveer and Deepika fight over a lehenga? And Nickyanka took the hype to the next level, with choreographed Instagram posts and Sansa Stark doing an item number. The Indian public thought they’d seen it all.

But had they?

Mukesh Ambani reportedly saw the footage from these events and said, “So cute these guys try so hard to hype it all up. Why can’t people keep it simple like I did for Anant’s fifth birthday party, where we got Messi and Ronaldo to play football for the kids.” On a scale of Diwali firecrackers, if Virushka, DeepVeer, and Nickyanka were sutli bombs, then the Ambani shaadi is like 10,000 ki ladi. It was loud, non-stop, and made at least three people go, “Jio Dhan Dhana Dhan?”

Obviously, everyone at the sangeet was either rich or famous or both (except Anil Ambani). Karan Kundra and Anusha Dandekar might be cool at the Nickyanka wedding, but there’s no place for mediocrity at the Ambani-Piramal sangeet. The last thing Mukesh Ambani wants is for a drunk Jackie Shroff to start misbehaving with former First Lady of the United States Hillary Clinton. Yes, Hillary Clinton was in the house (palace, actually), as was former Secretary of State John Kerry. How well do they know Isha Ambani? Who cares, just enjoy the carnival.

What can you do in life with hard work, determination, and a net worth of $43.1 billion? A lot. For one, you can get Salman Khan to be a background dancer to an even worse dancer in Anant Ambani. On a Shah Rukh Khan song. And in an embarrassment to Gujaratis everywhere, the GUJJU song from Kal Ho Na Ho was recreated on stage (who woulda thunk?), which led to thousands of people throwing up in Surat and Ahmedabad. Mukesh Ambani has single-handedly managed to do what no director in Bollywood has managed to do – get Shah Rukh, Salman, and Aamir to perform on one stage.

The sangeet was a Christmas miracle in itself – Abhishek Bachchan managed to “dance” (if we can call it that) for more than three seconds. Hillary Clinton finally got more than half the crowd on her side as her bhangra performance with John Kerry was cheered by all. My faith in the power of money was restored when Beyoncé, who has never toured India, agreed to perform at the sangeet and risk her credibility by following Salman and Abhishek on stage. It is amazing what you can get people to do, if only the right amount of money is on the table. India’s Richie Rich was the conductor and the whole world was dancing to his tunes.

The Ambani-Piramal duo has blown the world away, and the wedding hasn’t even begun. This was just a pre-wedding bash. How do you top this? Is the wedding going to be on Mars? Is Modi going to announce a special currency note with Ambani’s face on it? At least one thing is loud and clear: Stop trying, everyone else, India’s Royal Wedding has arrived and it has won the wedding season.