Spanish Caravan

Yesterday, I was part of an evening power outage after a long time. I realize now how much I've missed it. I went over to the home of a friend and we were sitting out by the river on the most beautiful Strand I can remember. But more than that I had thoughts of home. Of evenings where schoolbooks were joyously put aside to run to the window and curl up with the summer breeze blowing. All of civilization awash with varying shades of the milk of moonlight as the lunar cycle progressed. The candle flickering in the kitchen as the eggs were still curried, the rotis still rolled and toasted on the stove. That moment when every single light went out on the Strand? That was my madeleine dipped in weak tea. And I couldn't think of better company than my friend sitting next to me. She claimed that her town was pulling out all the stops for me and apparently she was seeing sights with me that she'd never seen happening before. Felt very good to know. Sense of powerless power, if anyone can understand what that means. I'm not sure I do myself. Except that it feels right describing it like that.

This is not a picture of the blackout. This is a generic blackout. Sort of glad it isn't.

There are moments which are meant to be magical. That evening was one of them.

I realize I've missed a power outage much more than I ever thought I could or would.

Dramatis Persona: Act I

My third semester was not fun. Not by any stretch of the imagination. On an academic level, it was difficult, demanding and mostly unrewarding. On a personal level, it was disappointing, frustrating and had me doing things I needn't have. There were a few bright sparks in this mostly gloomy semester, though. Art history classes in our course, a powerful poet going by the name of John Donne, and various others. And then, in the most unlikely of circumstances, acting.
Very frank confession: I had never, ever been a comfortable actor before this. Or maybe I have. I have a theory on this which I might need to flesh out. But till then, let's agree that I had never been a very comfortable actor.
My acting 'career' was one that I might have missed by seconds. It needed a lot of things happening at the same time for all the gears to click. And indeed, looking back in March from the chain of events that started as early as August in the third semester, I think about chaos theory and wonder.

JUST made it. Great success.

There needed to be this big-ass intervention over an issue blown way out of proportion that made irrevocable changes in the personal dynamics of my immediate peers. There needed to be personal problems coming in like a bolt from the blue leading me to question myself more critically than I am wont to do. There needed to be me walking down the stairs of the department to (over)hear an offer being made for parts in a rendition of A Streetcar Named Desire, as far as I could tell. It had to have me, against all rhyme or reason or stage fright fears, to want in. With no experience in drama beyond a couple of bit-part roles I had been forced into at school, I had to see myself as something like...

...this.

Otherwise, all of this might never have happened...

It scares me a little to think about that.

But it did. My first wrangle with drama was an interesting breakdown and rendition of a couple of Tennessee Williams plays, The Glass Menagerie and A Streetcar Named Desire.

AND IT WAS SO VERY AMAZING.

This group just gelled together very well. It had three of my peers in it, three people in my year but not in my circle and two seniors who I had never interacted very much with.

It was all so very odd at first, compounded by the fact that we had to do the play at San Javier's Carcel. It entailed going over to the place on multiple occasions under many less-than-ideal circumstances (including on short notice one afternoon in the driving rain), but thanks to it, we bonded like crazy. It was sprawling and disorganized and terrible under the two "resource people" (as we will forever know them now) and within it, ours was such a tight microcosmic performance. Our director Trisha made sure we were on our toes at all times. She could swear like a sailor who missed out on the tobacco ration when we were being unprofessional and had the very useful ability of making us feel...

...THIS small...

... when we would fuck up. But she is one of the most amazing and talented women I have ever met and probably will ever meet. She makes everything so very funny but will then admonish you for laughing at it. And don't get me started on her ability in theatre as either actor or director. We all owe her one for 8 months of a learning curve like no other.
It was so very rebellious of the whole Jadavpur contingent in that seminar-as-performance. There were at least four other colleges there, but we were the only ones who refused to knuckle down under the ridiculous demands of the resource people (I will not forgive them for traumatizing me into my first whole cigarette, though), and bloody 'ell, did it get oppressive.
Even before we'd met the resource people, the first few weeks were pretty difficult to get used to. She runs a tight ship, does our Director. Highlights included an Italian accent, waving an umbrella around, a marching scene which no one could quite perfect, the famous "STE-LLLLAAAAAAAAAAAHH!", and the now-famous insider's quote of "Tui ki manush na parabola?!" ("Are you human or a parabola?!"), a very loud and very real slap, a trance-like Blanche soliloquy and the self having to run around the University begging people to teach me the proper way to mime smoking a cigarette.
But on the day of the performance, it all just came together and how. It was just bang, bang, bang. Everything went without a hitch. All rivalries forgotten, all creases smoothed over, each pray'r accepted and each wish resign'd. And this not before the resource people still tried to throw a spanner in our works by politely commandeering all the men in the group to act out extra parts because there allegedly "weren't enough men." But we managed. And all the scholars of the Jadavpur University Society for American Studies reserved their loudest round of applause for us. That appreciation. So much satisfaction was had right then.
And that right there, with new friends made and new sides to older friends seen, was curtain call for my first ever performance in the dramatic pursuit.
And we ran out, triumphant and umbrella-less into the August rain, ran all the way down Park Street with clothes and bags soaked and into that fine old establishment, Golden Dragon. And we talked and laughed and chatted and ate. And we felt like we were worth every second of the time we were savouring.

[Exeunt]

Fill up yer glasses with brandy and wine

The Irishmen and women have always held a soft spot in my heart. In context of the last few days, weeks, months even, I do feel that I am sharing their famed luck. No shamrocks or nothing, I swear.

Even though she is tempting...

And because of it.. actually, no, I'd loved her and them even before this, I'd like to introduce a couple of Irish weaknesses I have. Their modern music is really underrated and two exponents of the form I particularly favour are Sinead O'Connor and The Pogues.

This is Exhibit A, Sinead infusing an old Irish rebellion song with her own brand of Celtic rock. "Oro se do bhaetha abhaile" translates into "Hurrah, welcome home".

Just to compare, here's a more traditional treatment by The Dubliners.

Another band that's really done something for the Irish music scene from the mid-eighties are The Pogues. Celtic punk is their genre, but don't turn away with wrinkled nose upon hearing 'punk'. It's like no punk you'll have ever heard. The very traditional, intrinsic (stereotypical, even) sounds of Ireland are pristinely preserved by The Pogues. But there is a little bit of wild in there. You couldn't expect any less of a band whose name came out of the anglicization of the Irish for "Kiss my arse." But why don't you hear for yourself?

Knock yourselves out, wee lads and lassies.

I feel summer creeping in

Tom Petty has become a sudden obsession. This song in particular.

As has 8tracks. And a host of other things. The year 2013 really has been a bit of a blur. There have been moments that I would objectively think of and go lolwut? at. Is it too late to wish my readership (Hah! Wishful thinking) a Happy New Year? It's the thought that counts, innit? No? You're right. I'm sorry. But, hey. HAPPY NEW YEAR! Imagine this accompanied by a sad, solitary reaper sort of party trumpet sound. That's me on the trumpet. Have some sympathy? Have some taste?
But really, post-exams (and I had one right after my birthday; so that was the day ruined) I've been so busy I hardly realize that we're nearly halfway through this semester. It's been wild, friends, WILD. No rest for the wicked during the winter vacation. I've found myself entrenched in acting. Yes, acting. This from a man who had acute stage fright till mid-2012.

Well, not THAT kind of stage fright

And then, decision makers took it into their heads that me and a bunch of my friends could act and act well enough to represent the University at an all-India competition. And with adaptations of Shakespeare! SHAKESPEARE, I ask you. Why not just give a monkey a microscope and expect it to eradicate malaria, eh? I'll have a huge-ass post on my experiences at said competition along with my experiences in the dramatic pursuit very soon. But I'd like you to know, whoever you are that is reading this, I've been very, very happy ever since my return from Delhi. It really has been a happy New Year for me. Which is why I wish you one too.

Equating stability with ability: The Fergie Complex (Part 2)

Continuation. Part one here.

But at this point we must find out whether Chelsea are the norm or the exception in the footballing climate in general. We will start small, looking at Chelsea's new 'competition', Tottenham Hotspur and Manchester City. In the Abramovich era, as Chelsea history circa 2003 onward has been called, Spurs have employed 7 managers and Man City 5 including the incumbents. Chelsea have had 10 in the same period. Looking at continental opposition during the Abramovich Era, the 10 most recent winners of the Champions League (going backwards from 2011 and not counting them more than once), have employed: 6 (Barcelona), 10 (Internazionale), 1 (Manchester United), 3 (AC Milan), 5 (Liverpool), 8 (FC Porto), 10 (Real Madrid), 7 (FC Bayern Munich), 5 (Borussia Dortmund), 9 (Juventus). Chelsea then are clearly NOT the anomaly. Chelsea are definitely not the first 'super sackers'. A look at the number of managers elite Italian and German clubs have had would put to rest all ideas of a Chelsea-centric sacking culture. Perhaps it is the financial clout, the obscene amounts of money Abramovich has put into and sometimes thrown out of the club (in terms of managerial compensation), combined with media scrutiny bordering on the ridiculous that has influenced several opinions. And this claim of scrutiny is neither paranoid nor Chelsea-centric, but rather, a problem (yes, a problem) in football as a whole.

Internazionale most notably have had the same number of managers as Chelsea in the 'Abramovich Years'

A dynamic example of the increasing intensity of the same would be the Wikipedia pages of 21st century footballers. One notices in their club career segments, a Miroslav Klose or a Wayne Rooney get increasingly detailed descriptions for effective non-achievements as opposed to the abstraction of only the most important facts in their earlier careers. Can we also then abstract the pressure to perform onto this same scrutiny? Perhaps, but a detailed study would be inconclusive at best. But that is beyond the purview of this current stream of thought. Returning to the issue at hand, if the culture is one of quick managerial changes, we must then first ask why it is so before we ask why Chelsea are the pantomime villains, the Guy Fawkes to burn whenever there is a managerial casualty somewhere in the big leagues of Europe.
Football in general has become more and more dependent on its financial side, and with Financial Fair Play, which primarily posits that a club cannot spend more money (on transfers and the like) than it earns (and hence ideally negating the possibility of a 'sugar-daddy' owner investing heavily to create another footballing superpower), on the European horizon it will be even more so. Then for the daily-management aspect, the manager-owner relationship becomes strictly one of employer-employee and now more than ever has this aspect of the football club mirrored the face of businesses worldwide. Where is the problem then? It would be with the consumers, or in this case, the fans. The essential problem with football ever having a complete and democratically discernible business aspect to it (from a lay-fan's point of view) would be in the fans themselves. The product they see week-in, week-out is one they believe (correctly, to an extent) is produced under the stewardship of the suited man they see week-in, week-out. Perhaps the simplest analogy to bring in here would be that of a recognizable company. Say we take Apple. If they relieved chief industrial designer Sir Jonathan Ive of his duties to replace him with, say, (wishful thinking here) Dieter Rams, there would be a discernible change in product aesthetics that would have some wondering and several complaining with the ain't-broke-don't-fix argument.

A crucial advantage Sir Alex Ferguson has over most current managers is that few (fans and media alike) can judge him in terms of his predecessor. Heard the lines, "Oh, Ron Atkinson would have done a better job!" lately?

However, the crucial deviation here is that it would not be a change with limitless public exposure as is the case for a manager of a football club. Every week, he is a living reminder of the owner's making the choice over his predecessor. For a team like Chelsea, with repeated managerial changes, it would be similar to every generation of iPod having different aesthetic roots as opposed to a unified, understandable, familiar sentiment and aesthetic it has found under Ive. The problem then is not (completely) one of the personnel as much as that of Identity. The ability to have a unique (if gradually developing) signature to anchor in the security of a system that still works. And this is a crucial point, to be addressed later especially in context of the English game. What we should question now is the necessity of identity (and perhaps, crucially, the new aesthetic of dissimilarity) for what is essentially a product. Let is break up the word itself to ask whether an 'entity' (which I posit here to be non-living) requires a unique 'id' for its successful and competitive functionality in its sphere of action. The obvious answer here is that it doesn't. The need to go against pain and unpleasure (seeing as I did bring in Freud, might as well extend the analogy) is, in fact, the footballing unconscious and it is at the heart of every player and manager.
In answer to why Chelsea have become representative of this quick-hire-quick-fire culture, it would essentially be a price of their instant success with the coming of the Abramovich era. Becoming too famous for their own good, one might say. But the fact here remains that Chelsea are just one in a pantheon of impatient clubs who will see perceptible success at the cost of replacing the man hired to engineer the same. This is not something new to football or business. But this is a side gaining more and more indecent exposure at the cost of Chelsea's image in particular. Why not other clubs so much? The reason is simple.

To be continued..

(note that all managerial statistics include caretaker managers)

Image credit:
UEFA.com: http://www.uefa.com/MultimediaFiles/Photo/competitions/Comp_Matches/01/49/15/73/1491573_w2.jpg

Austin Osuide: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/14/Alex_Ferguson.jpg

Equating stability with ability: The Fergie Complex (Part 1)

A questioning of the protest against Chelsea's culture of managerial sackings in six not-so-easy pieces


It is an interesting disintegration of the power structure of the Premier League that has brought us to where we are today. From Manchester United's domination 1992 onward, to the United-Arsenal dichotomy of the late nineties and early 2000s, to Chelsea's challenging of their supremacy in the middle of the decade, and now the Manchester City-Tottenham Hotspur addition to the mix. Liverpool have never been a classical power in the Premier League, but are perennially one of the toughest challenges all of these team and are always on the fringes of being in a serious trophy challenge. Historical rivals of Manchester United, the Merseysiders' diminished abilities have not made the derby games any less bitter and the Reds of Liverpool have had a smattering of cup successes to their name (notably the UEFA Champions League in 2005). There was a point where the quadrangle of Manchester United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool were called English football's 'Big Four' as a testament to both their footballing and their financial ability. It is generally accepted that the 'breaking' of this Big Four came about in the 2009-10 season when Tottenham Hotspur finally pipped Liverpool to fourth place in the league table. Ever since, the power structure has been unstable to say the least. The top four slots allow entry into Europe's elite (and more importantly in the current footballing climate, lucrative) competition, the UEFA Champions League. With six 'powers' battling it out among each other and with a few surprise packages every now and then, there is very little margin for error at these six clubs.

The broken monopoly of the perceived Big Four has made the stewardship of Chelsea and Liverpool, at least, extremely tenuous

Chelsea have long been vilified as the problematizing factor in a nice steeped brew of historically successful clubs who had stability as their watchword in the beginning, or at the very least, in the early days of the Premier League. In the first decade of the Premier League, it was Arsenal of all clubs who were the most 'unstable' of the United-Arsenal-Liverpool triad. With five managers in the decade spanning 1992 to 2002, the Gunners of North London outstripped Liverpool's three and United's emblematic Sir Alex Ferguson. In contrast, Chelsea were a minor irritant in cup competitions and a near-competitor in the league and they had seven managers in the first decade itself. Hardly the paragon of stability. But then again, historically speaking, they never have been. To Chelsea's total of thirty two managers throughout their history, Arsenal answer with 23, Liverpool with 20 and United with a miserly 17. And note that they have all been around for at least six years longer than Chelsea. Is there anything to say as a Chelsea apologist? Though Facebook pages like Troll Football (sparkling humour most of the time, by the by) don't know it in historical context, they've labelled the club right. They ARE the 'super sackers'. But as a corollary, one also needs to understand that it is not Roman Abramovich, Chelsea owner and opinion-divider, who has newly introduced a hire-and-fire culture into the club. Rather, he has just added a chapter to it. It is the problem of media exposure and by extension, their unintentional pressure, that does not blow out of proportion as much as give infinitesimal and contextually, largely unnecessary details about the internal running of a club. Of course one can argue about the right to information and the need to know, and that is not being questioned at all. Instead, the purview of this particular examination is to question the necessity of the same information. This is not a request for censorship and should not be viewed as such. Instead it is a call for abstraction along the lines of, do you need to know how your smartphone app works?

To be continued.. Part 2 here.

Image credit:
epltalk.com : http://epltalk.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/the-big-four.jpg

Did you sail across the sun?

It's fun and stupid and nostalgic when you realize what an angsty and immature poet you once were. Rummaging through old text files before an exam. Never a good idea. This is one of the relatively better ones. I'm too embarrassed to put up the others. Written in the winter of 2009, if I recall correctly.


Dreams of Mexico, dreams of Spain
Dreams of drought, dreams of rain
Dreams beyond dream's mortal sight
Dreams beyond dream's chartered flight
Dream that take forever too
Dreams that can't be dreamed anew
Dreams of fantasy, dreams of fable
Dreams of wire, dreams of cable
Dreams of mortar, brick and stone
Dreams not meant to be dreamed alone
Dreams of Freud, of Jung, of all
Dreams of derelicts and Marc Chagall
Dreams of beakers, crystals, glass
Dreams of science, of speed, of mass
Dreams of life and blood and bone
Dreams of my grandmother on the telephone
Dreams of graphs, curves, equations
Dreams of pleasure and titillations
Dreams of football, dreams of tennis
Dreams of London, Brest and Venice
Dreams of foggy, steaming streets
Dreams of spaghetti you cannot eat
Dreams of whiskey, wine and song
Dreams that cannot be held for long
Dreams of children, playful, merry
Dreams of one fresh blood-red cherry
Dreams of linen, cotton, nylon
Dreams of swinging from a rubber pylon
Dreams that don't stop and wait for you
Dreams that make you cabin crew
Dreams of warm, lost sunny days
Dreams of grass, of time and space
Dreams of Rutherford and Hawking
Dreams of romance and of stalking
Dreams of anger, wet ones too
Dreams of flushes in Waterloo
Dreams of spiders, worms and gnats
Dreams of Herge and bowler hats
Dreams of pigs and Aristotle
Dreams of skin, grey-green and mottled
Dreams of Kubrick, of Alex DeLarge
Dreams of Dufresne and Madame Defarge
Dreams of Jesus and Mary Magdalen
Dreams where Chelsea sign Paul Allen
Dreams of 9GAG and StumbleUpon
Dreams of Coke and Elton John
Dreams of knighthood and the Nobel Prize
Dreams of blue and green, mismatched eyes
Dreams of Benedict and toad-in-the-hole
Dreams of awful-smelling filet of sole
Dreams of hyphenated horoscopes
Dreams of acrid azeotropes
Dreams that rhyme and dreams that don't
Dreams that will and dreams that won't
These dreams are mine in whatever way
And in mine head only, I hope they stay.