Heroes

Why do we cheer for complete strangers during a tennis/cricket/football match? Because we want our individual/country/team to win. Or maybe somewhere in our head, we think that cheering them will absolve us from the actual duty of performing in a match. We aren't good (read: fit) enough to participate anyway. Or maybe I'm mistaken as usual. It's perfectly normal to want others to accomplish what we possibly couldn't. At least that's the case with Indian parents. Intriguingly, there's a sense of achievement in others' success when it comes to sports. However, our species is not known for exhibiting such behavior as far as non-sports activities are concerned. Although we envy our neighbours we make sure we respect the brilliance of a guy wearing an opponent's jersey. That's how a sport rolls! Simply put, it allows us that exclusive space to be noisy, euphoric, sad, abusive, contemplative, opinionated, wasted, speculative and alive. Simultaneously. Plus, there are moments to take note of. For instance, when Federer lifts a grand slam title, you experience unchecked happiness although you won't extract even a cent of that million dollar cheque he just received. It's OK as you want the super-rich Swiss to bag five more such huge titles. On the downside, you empathize with Sachin when he goes limp in his final days and 'abruptly' declares retirement from ODIs. You acknowledge the burden those shoulders must have carried for more than two decades. The reason why you do so is you know that nobody can replace him. You'll neither watch a match for the sake of one cricketer nor switch off the TV when he gets out. In simple words, you'll never ever love a batsman more. On the other hand, when Messi scores 91 goals in one year, you are elated. To you, the Argentine defines the struggle of an athlete who had everything going against him—even his growth hormones. But you also notice that his triumph marks the victory of human endurance and hard-earned skills, coupled with uncanny humility. You want him to helm that World Cup in Brazil so that his detractors can shut up in peace. That's the fan in you talking to you. Like you have yours, every sportsperson has a melodramatic story to boot too. But very few amongst them make you feel their joy and pain. And that's precisely why they are your heroes. 

The return of our jungle boy

Dear Mowgli, wherever you are, my thoughts and this codswallop I'm about to write shall always be with you. You were grossly underrated. For someone who fought Sher Khan—who most might not know was actually a British agent in disguise—on his own thus accelerating our freedom struggle, you don't even have a proper citation in our history books. If somebody as vague as Buddha or a Jesus (both of whom never wrote a single memorable word in their entire life) can get elaborately detailed, then our little hero deserves a far better treatment. Here's a guy who grew up amongst the wildest of animals, spoke their language fluently, adapted their way of life, left close friends like Baloo and Bagheera for that gaon ki gori Radha. But what followed next was ugly as well as inexcusably real. Apparently, Radha ditched Mowgli compelling him to have second thoughts (and that too in his mother tongue, Wolfish) about his decision to leave the good ole jungle for a human failure called society. Besides, it was too late and he ended up as an alcoholic who couldn't even afford the luxury of calling himself a poet. Remember he can't write a word just like those two rockstars i mentioned before? Well, that's karma. Speaking of which, Radha used to be my first crush nearly two decades ago. And Mowgli is what i used to look like then. At least that's what i keep telling others. Anyway, to set things right, Mowgli should be awarded a posthumous Bharat Ratna along with Dhyan Chand. One yielded a boomerang and other, a hockey stick. Sachin, like his retirement, can wait. In the meantime, we should gain pleasure from the karmic fact that Mowgli and Sher Khan reincarnated to become Calvin and Hobbes.