Prick, my friend

I thought about whether I should refer to my friend by his somewhat rude nickname or his actual name, which he shares with me. I settled on the former and I am sure he would not have it any other way.

My first encounter with Prick was at the IIT Madras workshop. We had to fashion some sort of electrical circuitry on a wooden board. He had an innate knack for engineering, and turned `out something rather neat looking. His roll number was MT 91285 and I, MT 91286, was next to him on the workbench. Unfortunately, my effort paled in comparison and ended up as a twisted mish-mash of wires that appeared as though it had been chewed by a dog at some point. To make matters worse, Prick said something like, “Your circuit is really good – how do you do it?”, with all sincerity. “What a patronising ?#$%*!” I thought.

He was a born entertainer and this shone through even when we were all getting ragged as freshers. A standard question from seniors during this phase revolved around techniques of er…stimulation. Prick, obviously, had to stand out from the crowd and let it be known that he personally favoured a Venezuelan technique which, from what I recall, involved cutting holes in mattresses. The reaction of the seniors ranged from complete disbelief to howling laughter.

He never shied from telling any visitors to his hostel room about his digestive problems and had strategically placed some Isabgol containers on the window sill/shelf to advertise the fact. Whereas most hostel rooms featured posters of Madhuri Dixit and the like, his wall hosted a multiple-chinned SP Balasubramaniam, striking a singer’s pose. He worshipped SPB and reportedly fell on his feet and cried when the famous singer performed at the Open Air Theatre at IIT-M.

Prick was an enthusiastic jogger, and together we did many laps of the IIT stadium. On one such evening, after our run, he wanted to do sit-ups. Though hardly fat, he harboured aspirations of developing a rock hard physique and really pushed himself hard. He kept doing sit-ups until he went red in the face. After one sit-up too many we heard a click, and something in his shoulder had slipped out of its socket. We got him to Royapettah Hospital, where the doctors on duty literally twisted his arm and slipped his shoulder back in place. I remember his worried parents rushing through the corridor and heaving a sigh of relief on seeing their son smiling.

He had a real sense of drama, and was a fine speaker, wowing audiences with his rendition of a piece from My Fair Lady. He absolutely loved being on stage, and liked to stretch his performing abilities beyond the comfort zone. Although basically a Hindi/Tamil singer, he had the guts to sing Western before the ruthless IIT audience, and actually did pretty well. It’s no exaggeration to say that he excelled at whatever he did on stage.

His penchant for drama extended to real life as well. When I got into IIM-Calcutta after our engineering, Prick joined Telco. We joked about my good fortune at making it to IIM because with my suspect engineering capabilities I would never have been employed by Telco. Prick assured me that he would join me at IIM the following year. When I completed my first year in MBA, and the next batch came in, I was pleased to see that Mug, the 3rd Kart(h)ik in our trio, had joined. We chatted and made our way to the library, where I was strategically directed to a couch where, to my surprise, sat Prick. He looked up and gave me a Blue Steel look. Dramebaaz!

Prick - singer, SPB mimic, thespian, elocutor par excellence, born engineer and self-styled auto mechanic, friend and soulmate.

I can still see you - white banian, sacred thread, shorts, stubble, wide grin and giggle.

You leave behind a big emptiness. But there are so many who hold cherished memories of their time spent with you, and when I meet them, hopefully we can recreate some of those happy memories. Rest in peace, my friend.

Oh, what a feeling!

I watched the winning moments of India’s World Cup win of 1983 on a black and white TV in a friend’s house in Calcutta. There was great joy on the occasion and on the following day The Telegraph screamed “The World In India’s Pocket”. But the passion for cricket in India had not yet attained the fervour that it has today. There was a sense of refinement about the celebrations, perhaps in keeping with the exalted image of Lords, the spiritual centre of the gentleman’s game, where the trophy was won. Also, hardly anyone expected India to beat the mighty West Indies, so there wasn’t a reserve of expectancy built up waiting to release itself in that final moment of triumph.

This time around it was different. Over the last few years, India had established itself as among the top cricketing nations – most notably winning the T20 World Cup in 97 and becoming the top ranked test playing nation in 2010. But everyone knows T20 isn’t the real deal, and topping the test rankings, while a great achievement doesn’t deliver the knockout punch that winning a World Cup does. I mean, how many more people would know Carol Wozniacki if she actually won a Grand Slam than if she just remained tennis’ No 1 ranked player?

This time, we knew there was a real chance. We were on home turf and Australia were no longer as dominating as a couple of years back. An opportunity like this did not come along too often and we all wanted it for ourselves as well as for cricket’s most loved personality over the last twenty years, for whom this was likely to be the last appearance at the event . Almost half the nation wasn’t alive when India won her last World Cup, and they needed to feel what it meant to be World Champions in the only sport that matters in the country,

At 31 for 2, a few overs into the Indian innings, most Indian cricket fans must have felt the familiar sinking “it is not to be” feeling. But it was to be. When Dhoni dispatched the white ball into the Mumbai night sky a couple of hours later, it opened the floodgates to the pent-up anxiety (now euphoria) of the last six weeks which overflowed onto the streets, through the bylanes into millions of homes

Twenty eight years ago, Kapil Dev and his team brought great joy to the country by causing a huge upset. A generation later, Dhoni and his men ensured there was no upset and in doing so sparked off the wild celebrations that the country had long awaited.