Federer

2^nd July, 2001 was an ordinary day for me, the excitement over my performance in my 10^th boards having subsided by then. Wimbledon was the only interesting thing around. That day, my then favourite sportsperson of all time, Pete Sampras, was only playing the fourth round. His opponent was some Swiss kid. It was obviously going to be a breeze on that particular day, but I was worried about the future. The draw ahead had Sampras possibly playing the eternal British hope at Wimbledon, Tim Henman, in the quarters, and Goran Ivanisevic, whose serve at that time was still ballistic, in the semis. Though I was an eternal optimist, I had to objectively concede to myself that my icon was aging. His reflexes were slowing down, and for once, it looked like he could truly be beaten at Wimbledon. (The ’96 quarter-final against Richard Krajicek was an aberration that I’ve always managed to conveniently forget.) I wanted Sampras to win this year so bad!

And then I felt those shivers. The pleasant chill up my spine that I often get, when I think of some iconic people whose very existence has helped shape me. ‘It is Sampras! Pistol Pete! He will show what a true champion is made of!’ I thought then of his serve, that bullet down the T. I throw an imaginary ball up in the air, and it stays up there for an eternity, all the while revolving in slow motion, so slow that that phenomenal fluorescent shade of green is nothing but a blur. And then it descends, again in slow motion, the carpet of grass 8 millimetres high beckoning. Just when it feels like nothing can stop it from uniting with Mother Earth, it makes contact – with my racquet. The ball hurtles like a bullet from a pistol, clean past the net, towards the white centre line. For an instant, my opponent is confused. ‘That ball will be wide for sure. A fault!’ His folly. The ball finally makes contact with the grass exactly where it was meant to. Amidst cheers and claps at Centre Court, I hear the Umpire call. ‘Ace!’

I just knew it. In one week, Sampras would lift that familiar trophy for the 8^th time, possibly against his only true rival of that generation, Andre Agassi. And my hero would be hailed as the greatest grass court player in the history of the game, the only thing stopping him from being called the greatest tennis player ever – his lack of Grand Slam success on clay.

In order to derive some near-sadistic pleasure out of watching Sampras obliterate a young kid, I sat to watch the match that day. A nice bit of information I got just before the match started was that this would be Sampras’s 100^th win at Wimbledon. As the match started, I felt like being fair to the 19 year old with the ponytail, so I prayed that the experience that day would hold him in good stead for the future. And then I sat back to watch the demolition.

5 sets later, I was numb with pain. Sampras quietly congratulated his vanquisher, the kid with the ponytail, and walked off the court, his legions of fans cheering him. They were also cheering the kid. As I stared at his red face, in tears, at having beaten the man who, I’m sure, was his idol as well, I felt a surge of anger within me. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I truly felt rage. I hoped and prayed that I’d never have to see that kid again. I felt like ripping his ponytail to bits, and then breaking his arm with his own racquet. That day, for the first time in my life, I felt genuine hatred towards another human being.

That moment, the moment of pure hatred, is perhaps the single-greatest ironic moment in my life.  Because that man, the man who I felt that hatred for, taught me years later, that it is possible to fall in love a second time. That man, is Roger Federer.

Some of the people, apart from Pete Sampras, who make me feel that pleasant chill I mentioned earlier are Saurav Ganguly, Amitabh Bachchan, Michael Schumacher, Michael Jordan, Al Pacino, Lal Bahadur Shastri, Steffi Graf, Aditya Chopra, Akira Kurosawa, Satyajit Ray, and most of all, my father. And then, there is Roger Federer.

That day, when Sampras lost, I had an inkling that he would not win a title at Wimbledon ever again. And I knew that I would never, ever come across a sportsperson whom I would like more than Pete Sampras. Little did I know that merely two years later, that same kid with the ponytail would not just start off his journey towards the at-one-time-unthinkable - displacing Sampras and becoming my favourite sportsperson ever. More importantly, that he would also start off his epic journey towards being the greatest tennis player, perhaps the greatest sportsperson of all time.

From a viewer’s point of view, watching Federer play is arguably the greatest joy in modern sport. His near-perfect serve, his movement across the court, his amazing forehand, his sublime backhand, his serve-and-volley, everything, absolutely everything about his game has that touch of genius, that grace, that beauty, all of which makes Federer’s tennis the closest that a human being can get to God on earth. But the greatness of Federer lies, then, in his humanness. His mistakes on the court (that silly shank he gives to the ball in eagerness, causing it to sail into the spectators’ stands), the tears following a victory, the tears following defeat, the sight of Mirka watching him every game, game after game, all this and more. The greatest thing about Federer is that he is not God.

Due to circumstances, I could not watch two of the most momentous occasions in Federer’s professional life – his victory at the French Open earlier this year, equaling Pete Sampras’s record of 14 Grand Slam Singles titles, and his moment of victory at Wimbledon yesterday, his record-breaking 15^th Singles title. ‘Is Federer the greatest ever?’, is a question that will be long debated. But there will be a debate only for the sake of a debate, only because we as human beings love to debate. Taking an opposing point of view is as intrinsic to human nature as wetness is to water. As glaring-but-intentional-omission-from-illustrious-list, Shahrukh Khan says, ‘Genius is prolific.’ So, if nothing else, then the numbers speak for themselves. Federer is the greatest tennis player in history.

The most crushing moment of my life, when Federer lost to Rafael Nadal in the 2008 Wimbledon Final, made me realize just how much Federer means to me. That was when it was truly sealed as far as I was concerned. For me, Federer is Number One in any list, even if it is a list of my favourite fruits. 2008 was the most important, the most amazing, the most significant, and in a sense, the most tragic year of my life, the reasons for all of these adjectives being too many. It was also the year when I did actually fall in love for the second time in my life. And the hope for that, the belief that it could happen, again, was Roger Federer.

There are too many things that can be said about Federer’s monumental journey. A journey which is as yet unfinished. Records, statistics, observers of the game, fans, writers, contemporaries, legends, critics, everyone will chronicle his career better than I ever can. But I can state for a fact, that for me, no one can come even close to Roger Federer now. The irony here is the simple fact that it was Federer who taught me that, when it comes to what you feel, Never say ‘Never’!

 

Dis-Oriented!

Prologue:

I last posted ten months ago, on August 1st, 2008. I cannot really put my finger on why I have not posted since then. Feels odd, not writing anything for ten months. 

And then, suddenly, for the first time in ten months, I was forced to write, with a sudden 'assignment' given to us on our first day at SIMC. The brief was only this much - "Write your thoughts about the first day of orientation, in your own words. Be free, do not attempt to be politically correct. If you want to write a poem, then write one. If you want to write a letter of grievances to your granny, do so by all means. Write whatever you want, about the orientation."

This is generally not something that I would have written, and would certainly never have posted as a blog. The reasons for that would be numerous, with the prime reasons being the boring nature of the topic itself, as well as the sheer (lack of) quality of what I eventually wrote. But since I wrote something after so long, I felt that I might as well post it. 

One of my friends described my last post as 'the smallest epic in the history of forever' - a compliment that I am yet to digest, and feel humbled by, in spite of not really feeling the same way. This one here, shows my true level. 

And here we go...

Boring! Mind-numbing! Great excuse to sleep in an air-conditioned, dark auditorium! Before I actually attended the SIMC Batch of 2011 Orientation, these were some of the few descriptions that I heard flying about, in the boys hostel, about the first day of the orientation session, scheduled for us new SIMCians. In many ways, I am glad that I got to hear all of those descriptions before attending it, simply because the first day of orientation was something that cannot be described in just those few words. 

The first day of any new phase of life is always filled with nervousness, trepidation, and of course, a heightened sense of excitement and expectation. And so it was with my first day, the prospect of a grilling orientation session looming large. There were too many things swimming in my head, for me to be hungry. So after a farcical breakfast (which in retrospect seems like a king's feast, considering I'm about as hungry as a starving bison right now), I trooped, along with my future classmates into the auditorium, awaiting the start of the orientation.

The first surprise came right at the start, when the stage curtains lifted at 10:00 AM - the scheduled start time. I have seen two years of pre-primary education, four years of primary education, six years of secondary education, two years of higher secondary education, four years of professional engineering education, and nearly two years of professional work experience, and I have NEVER known anything to start BANG on time. (If this is how I can expect the adherence of timings to be at SIMC, then the prospect of missing every single deadline suddenly seems like a distinct possibility. They don't call me Mr. Procrastination for nothing!) 

The programme started with a short film about SIMC, followed by a brief talk from the Director, Mr Ujjwal K Chowdhury, on the proceedings of the day. I was fairly excited when I heard that Nandita Das's directorial debut, 'Firaaq' was about to be screened. It was a film which I had really wanted to watch, but had missed due to various time constraints (and of course, the film's blink-and-I-miss-it run at the cinema halls). I had no doubt that 'Firaaq' would be a fine first attempt by Nandita Das. However, I had not expected to be so moved, and so profoundly impressed with the film. 

As someone who follows the news keenly, I had watched a lot of the post-Godhra riots covered on the various news channels, and was deeply affected by it. Das's taut story-telling, the moving performances, and the sheer nature of the story being told, brought back all those memories to me, and had me completely silent for a long time after the film. I have watched all kinds of cinema, with language and genre being no barrier at all, and this one will certainly be a film that I will remember for a while.

But what I had truly, genuinely not expected, was that Nandita Das herself would turn out to be so down-to-earth, so intelligent, and so sensitive at the same time. In fact, the interactive session that we had with Nandita immediately after the screening, was as interesting and impactful as the movie itself. Never have I known someone to speak so much sense, someone whose thoughts ooze so much meaning, and so much sensitivity, as Ms Das. It is just now, while writing all of this, that I suddenly remembered that I have always thought of Nandita Das as a very beautiful woman. The fact that this thought never struck me while she was on stage speaks volumes about her personality. Her session was truly, one of the most illuminating experiences of my life, one that is sure to have its own little impact on my own method of story-telling. 

Immediately following the interactive session with Nandita Das, was the lighting of the lamp, (which, many say, symbolizes that once the course starts, the lights will always be on in our hostel room. Considering that I am writing this in the middle of the night, I am sure that is exactly what it symbolizes!) The lamp-lighting ceremony took place with some of the heads of the Symbiosis family, including the esteemed Dr. Mujumdar present. Another point which really caught my attention was how simple a person Dr Mujumdar is. I tried to crunch some numbers in my head, and thought that the top boss, head honcho of a group of 36 institutes, comprising a total of over 25,000 students, each paying many lacs in fees, would really move around in style. However, his simplicity and demeanor really made me feel that there is hope for this world yet. 

Once all the dignitaries had spoken, we broke for lunch, which was again a mere formality, because we had a lot more to expect in the post lunch session. 

The post-lunch session was kicked off by a few drab presentations, which  started reminding me of the first few words that I used right at the start of what I am writing. 

I was then shaken right out of my drowsy stupor once Mr. Anupam Siddhartha, the Deputy Director of SIMC, made his way to the stage. I recounted all the phases of my educational and professional life earlier, and in all of those phases, here again I faced another 'first'. This was the first time ever, that I have seen a faculty member of a college of which I am a student, orate and speak the way Mr Siddhartha does. He is confident, knowledgeable, lucid, funny, impactful, and, well, I could go on. The most important thing about the way he speaks is that he makes his point well. Which, of course, means that I am absolutely petrified with the sheer expectation of what I am going to go through, over the next few years. Summed up in the least possible words, I can probably say - I am doomed!

With thoughts about what I would be going through till May 2011 playing a frantic game of water polo in my head, we also got to see who would accompany us on our trying journey ahead, with Mr UKC proceeding to introduce the entire SIMC staff to us. It was nice to see all of them together on stage, and I couldn't help hoping that they were a nice, helpful bunch.

What followed after that were a few last words of wisdom, which basically were those words which most people don't listen to anyway. 

At the end, as I walked back to the hostel room, along with my new classmates, I was nowhere closer to being more comfortable with this new phase of life than I was in the morning. My mind was filled with all sorts of thoughts about how life here would be. I've always dreamt of owning a God-gifted device which would answer every question I throw at it, including questions about my future. Never have I wanted that device more than I did when the first day of orientation was over. However, as I sit with my buddy, my MacBook, typing all this out, reminiscing about my day and thinking about my future, I cannot help confessing that if I had such a machine, then life would be no fun at all!

Epilogue:

I had to submit this before 10:00 AM on June 2. I eventually submitted this a few minutes before 10:00 AM, after a lot of struggle. (Read: Viruses and Windows). I later got to know that those who attempted to submit their assignment after 10:00 AM, were not allowed to do so.