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The Omniblogus - Tangent 2: The Lagaan Discourse



Our particular generation has had the honor of being born in an era where we can enjoy one of the great debates of the ages unfold in front of our very eyes, namely - which is the best Khan?
Salman and Saif can both make credible claims for various parts of their career, but the real contest begins and ends with Aamir and SRK.
SRK aka ShahRukh Khan, had made it big with his roles as what the indian cinema dictated to be the anti-hero.
then he decided to ditch that for DDLJ, and proceeded to become a monster-class superstar.
in essence, after DDLJ the man who gave us the stuttering stalker gave us the stuttering schoolboy, forever 21, forever Raaj, or Raj, or Raju, forever the same character for the next for 15 years.
In contrast, Aamir Khan started as the "papa-kehtain hain" good boy who loved purely and passionately...
...but ended up as the "art-cinema" hero, bringing a unique hollywood sensibility to India, by doing historical movies,
changing his physical appearance for a role and getting in "character,"
and (the number one hollywood superstar move) - making a movie with a retarded kid.
Shahrukh took the crass route, and got a wax statue in London, Aamir went classy, and went to the Oscars.
Shahrukh went meglomaniac, Aamir went anti-colonial intellectual.

but as for me, I never like Aamir. even though i admired his latter-day endeavors, i could never get past his early years. back then, he was one of the few indian actors who would kiss women on the lips. it was a horrid affair comprising of no tongue, and literally a forceful jamming of two awkward pairs of lips, but in those days, in that pakistan, it was scandalous. and what made it worse for me was that he was a Muslim. Oh Lord.

i like to believe my prejudices have altered since then, but i still don't like Aamir Khan. Of course, he did do a great service to cricket. he made one of the best movies involving the game - Lagaan.
this unfortunately, is not the forum for a discussion on how good it was. suffice to say that it was. what was interesting was the cricketing narrative - that the indian team had to rely on its batsmen to get them through, with Aamir of course playing the heroic batsman who remains undefeated.
that speaks volumes about cricket in india. indians like to bat. always have, always will. that predisposition meant that india only had good spinners, and never had fast bowlers.

despite centuries of living together, and having the same culture, memories, traditions and languages, despite all of that, pakistanis and indians are different.
and this is the reason.

in pakistan, the ultimate hero is the bowler.
the pakistani narrative has batsmen as exciting, inventive, breath taking, exhilarating, but also as suicidal,
circumspect,
timid,
spineless
and plain stupid.
inevitably, the pakistani batting fails, it goes out with a whimper, it flatters to deceive, it self destructs, it mutilates, it self-mutilates and flagellates and defecates.

in pakistan, the savior twirls his arms.


a pakistani bowler is all bravado.


he bowls like a dreamer,


he loves the audacious,



he is a born predator,



his sense of vengeance keener than that of Jack Bauer.


he is our "shock & awe,"



only he treads the "Rah-e-rast."


if there was a pakistani lagaan, it would involve us bowling last, the batsmen having been shout out for a ridiculous total, and the opposition merely waiting to celebrate their victory. for the archetypal pakistani victory involves coming back from nowhere, and it involves the bowlers being magnificent.

in 2003, when wasim and waqar retired, it appeared that shoaib and sami would fly the flag. but sami proved to be a mystery.
and as for shoaib - well, he was clearly unplayable when he chose to be, but catastrophic otherwise. just look up genital warts to know what i mean.

As for asif – he was the ultimate case of KLPD. (kharay lun pay dhoka – loosely translated as a betrayal to an erection.)

when sehwag murdered saqlain in multan, it felt like a part of pakistan was slowly withering away, and not to a marxist utopia either.

and if proof was needed that the apocalypse was nigh, india discovered ishant sharma. a genuinely quick bowler who could bowl with pace and bounce.


on the wounds caused by pakistani bowlers attacking one another with bats and pulling hamstrings on esha deol's g-string, the discovery of ishant sprinkled acid-riddled salt.

if india were to have fast bowlers and reverse swing, would pakistan have any purpose left in life? they'd taken away what made us pakistanis, so what would we be left with now? was God dead?

The Omniblogus - Tangent 1: The Man U Fan




In 1999, something else also happened. in fact, that event went on to galvanize a certain Mr. Steve Waugh, whose team was almost down and out in the world cup of that year, until he witnessed said event and was inspired to fight back just as heroically.
the event was manchester united's miraculous win against bayern munich in the champion's league final.
man u were dominant in england prior to that win, but after it became larger than life through out the world. for a country like pakistan, where everyone is forever looking to the west as a dream destination, or a source of consternation, man u became a delightful status symbol.

after all, we had just seen the dish antenna become ubiquitous. we had a new ruler hell bent on enlightening and modernizing us.

and so, enraptured by the lures of big dreams and big wins, the upper class pakistani boy decided to become a man u fan.
now he could forever cower over the vanquished, he could always point to being the best, he could become part of something that awkward fans through out the world had in common - unwavering veneration of the theater of dreams, the red devils, the richest, bestest, greatest team in the world.
it didn't matter that united were not even the biggest club in manchester, or that 99% of their pakistani fans couldn't place manchester on a map. it didn't matter that their fans were still learning what the offside rule meant. what mattered was man u.
most man u fans went on to become bankers. because like a bank, a man u fan can invest his faith and joy in his team ensured of steady, healthy returns. there is little risk, you always know that there is going to be a profit at the end of the year.

so what if it's soulless number crunching - you can always gloat and be a shallow bully to one and all by pointing to the number of zeroes in your account, or the number of premier league titles in your trophy chest.
the steady drum of boring seasons of predictable titles helped to deflect any criticism regarding the vacous corporate nature of a club that would prise away a cherished hero with a few shakes of their massive purse strings. say what you want about chelsea, it was manchester united where the red devil bought football's soul.

as time went by, there were other waves as well. the "immortal" season gave birth to the arsenal fan,

the abrahamovich takeover saw the rise of the chelsea fan,
the miracle against milan brought us the liverpool fan.
there were no organic connections, no intellectual reasonings, no risks.
the Big Four all had their rabid fans, all ensured of weekly successes, of midweek champion's league appearances, of fa cup wins and trouncing of minnows, and the endless, endless transfer intrigues.
it wasn't about football - it was about supporting something that you knew wouldn't break your heart, which wouldn't cause your balls to shrivel and tear your nerves, which wouldn't leave your hair tattered in clumps amidst your shaking fingers.

something which wasn't the pakistani cricket team.
[End of Tangent One]

(to be continued)

The Omniblogus - Part One

It begins, like they all do, with 1992.
I had recently moved into a new neighborhood. It was my summer vacations. I didn't know anyone there. So in the afternoon, i went out on the street. There was a game of cricket in progress. My uncle asked the older boys to let me play. i was wearing a replica of the shirt worn by the pakistan team in the world cup earlier that year. i was nine. they asked me to field at third man, and called me world cup.
my cricket playing career moved little further throughout the rest of my life - no one needed to know my name, no one wanted me in their side, and i was always at third man.

i couldn't hope to bat; a fact i blame it on whoever taught me how to bat when i was really young. as a left hander the right handed grip imposed upon me meant that i was forever trapped being a leg-pay-lapparroo type rightie rather than a cover-drive-smoking leftie.

as for bowling, let's just say that most batsmen i got out would say 'i didn't realise it would get to me so slowly...' the people to blame here are wasim and waqar, since because of them i was obsessed with being a fast bowler. unfortunately if i couldn't bowl - for some inexplicable reason - anything which could be classified as fast. i would have had the sense to see that and move onto something new if those two hadn't made being a fast bowler such an essential aspect of being a badass.
i realised the only talent i had was at sledging, and being a crooked umpire.
i also realised - which you may also be able to after reading the above excuses - that like every pakistani, i was prone to blaming every personal problem on nefarious forces beyond the realm of my control.
the sad truth was that i could never ever play cricket.

but that didn't mean i couldn't love it.
i was part of a generation - a generation that first tasted cricket on that wondrous world cup of 1992. it was like watching irreversible, the ending of the movie came at the beginning. my first taste of cricket was at the top. inevitably, the only way to go was down.
but of course, pakistan being pakistan, the journey went down, but it went every where else in between as well.

bitch slapping the poms with the 'dark art',

the ball refusing to scrape through symcox's stumps in faisalabad,
the first time i kissed a man (saeed anwar on the tv screen following that innings)

all out to kumble,
invincible in sharjah

watching the ultimate houdini by razzaq,


and grounds in nairobi becoming part of folklore...

then, a seminal event took place.

in 1999 world cup, pakistan looked set to conquer the world. the loss to bangladesh meant that we had even satisfied the bookies' hunger.

but then the world came crashing down.

the narrative of pakistani cricket changed course. in ancient times, entire civilizations would die out if a river changed course. now, pakistan too, became to transform.
slowly, but surely, pakistan began to change.

it has often been argued that the pakistani identity - surely one of the most fraught concepts of contemporary times - is best crystallized in the game of cricket, and embodied by the cricket team.
that identity was rapidly coming under threat.

[End of Part One]