Just another cricket post..

So, a cricket post. How to resist at a time like this. So many are going to be analyzing this match that I'm not even gonna try. Just wanted to put in my two cents regarding the amazing spirit that makes the Sri Lankans stand out among the rest. Stuck in this cricket-less country, relying on dodgy web sites to watch the matches, I rely on cricinfo for my daily cricket- fix. And I have come across many a blog that delights my Sri Lankan soul. Articles like this and this make me proud to root for a team that not only dismisses racial and religious differences at a time when they are made out to be ever-so-important, but also play the game in the simple, cheerful manner reminiscent of a backyard tennis-ball cricket game. Forget furrowed brows and bowlers cussing out batsmen, the Sri Lankans are all smiles out on that field to the point where half the pictures in the cricinfo gallery consist of Mahela jumping on some poor soul or the other. In a completely happy, makes-me-grin sort of way, of course. The first time I saw any dampening of this mood was today, after two seriously bad umpiring decisions, and then the continuous hounding of Dilhara by Umpire Whatshisface.

Ok, so before you get the proverbial panties in a bunch, I am aware I am sadly uneducated to the technicalities of cricket, so cool your heels. No need to leave scathing comments about my cricketing ignorance. Yes, Dilhara was completely untidy. Yes, I saw that ridiculous 20-run over. Yes, I saw his shameful 9.0 economy rate. HOWEVER, where was all this nitpicky attention to detail during Dilshan and Silva's obvious UNlbws? You have an ear piece man, pay attention!

Stephen Fleming went on and on about how Bond was the man for this game, how they would target Sanath, how our middle order was weak. Psh. Don't underestimate us, my good man. Your failure lies in you inability to see that we play as a team, this is no one-man show. So you got Sanath out for 1. Guess who stepped in? Our 'weak' middle order, that’s who. Bond was your weapon? Yeah, good job with that 1 shouldn't-have-been-a-wicket wicket. Even in the super 8 match against NZ, people were all 'oh no Malinga's not playing. Now what?!' Now what indeed. Make way for Vaas and Murali, that's what. In a game that raves on about player stats, highest score this, so many wickets that, we forget that it takes a team to pull off a victory. No secret weapon is as powerful as a comprehensive team effort with everyone pulling their weight. And if one falters, there are others to step up. That's what a team sport is about.

And so we prevailed, this time. Its gonna take a lot more than dubious decisions and 21 extras to break our spirit. And that is what makes us special. And that is why we deserve to win this world cup. Simply because we exemplify what cricket should be all about. 11 guys with oodles of talent, proudly representing their country, in a game they love. Blue-and-yellow clad supporters coloring up those stands. Papare bands and booze. A gentleman's game with an island flair. Let’s show them how it’s done boys!

Spring time

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils ;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude ;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Wordsworth

...

I have spread my dreams under your feet
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Yeats

Demons. Sex. Sleeping Women.

Incubus. A pretty cool band with a pretty hot guy on vocals. Music that is so much more than words and tune. Truth, inspiration, emotions. Reality.

I would like to say I am their biggest fan, but I would probably be wrong. I don't have all their albums. Ive never seen them in concert. Ive never visited their website. I only know the lead singer's name (and that too, since recently). I am a fan nonetheless. (I do print out the song lyrics and tape them to my wall, if that counts). The band by which I measure all other alt rock. The band which can ascertain whether you and i will be friends or really good friends. The one band I would give an arm and leg to see in concert. They had me from Drive.

And go on I could, and would, had I the time or the inclination, about their greatness, the ingenuity of their songs, the emotion behind the concepts, the truth in their words. But I wont. I will concentrate, therefore, on their latest album 'Light Grenades' which has me completely and utterly awe-inspired. I loved Morning View; I love this even more. Having heard from an acquaintance about the latest release (no, I wasn't waiting for it. I didn't even know they were coming out with one. Sue me why dontcha), I, being the poor sri lankan that I am, limewired the damn thing.

The songs were a continuous torrent of sheer musical genius. It is very rarely that I like a song on the first listen. Most songs I need to grow into. 'Love hurts' wasn't such a song. I listened to it the first time. I listened to it again. After the 5th consecutive time I wondered if I would ever tire of it. I forced myself to move on. 'Dig' was next. What a song! Dig kept playing while I dug out my photo album (yes, pun intended) and spent a nostalgic fifteen minutes turning pages and replaying the song. Next, 'Paper shoes'. "I’d rather be alone. You’re about as reliable as paper shoes in bad weather". Can you not relate? Enough said. Replay for half an hour, move on. 'Pendulous threads'. One of my faves. Brilliant guitar work, amazing drumming (at least to my musically uneducated mind). 'Diamonds and Coal'. 'Anna-Molly'. 'Earth to Bella'.

Needless to say I didn't get much work done that day. But all was well in my world, I was blissfully happy. Incubus music, to me, is poetry. The soul-searching, heart-touching, mind-reading kind. 11/10, two thumbs up, ten gold stars and anything and everything else. Brandon Boyd, you are god. Oh to see you live!

Blogging Etiquette?

Having been recently introduced to the whole blog scene, I must say I'm very impressed at how many open-minded, creative Sri Lankans are out there. Its become routine for me now to scroll down kottu and read a variety of opinions regarding pretty much everything. The arguments and counter-arguments are witty, intelligent and damn entertaining. I was, however, disgusted at the comments left by some on certain posts. I realize that people have different views but really, how is referring to someone as a slut or a whore constructive criticism? How is it relevant to bring a person's religion or sexual preference into the discussion? In true Sri Lankan style, the aim is not to engage in open, intelligent dialog, but to slander and mud sling. And then the very same people turn around and blog about racism and government corruption. It's people like you who create and prolong the stereotypes we have to fight against everyday. Be the change you want to see in the world and all that.

in mourning

So the sudden and brutal death of my computer has left me in mourning; wondering aimlessly through my classes with images of its silent, inactive form on my desk, spending hours in the lab trying to finish work I could have been doing in the comfort of my room, and then returning to my room in the dead of the night to.. silence. No music playing, no familiar background of smiling faces, no cheery msn and aim msgs saying wutsup.. just emptiness. Who would have thought I would become this attached to a machine. Two years ago I didn't even own a damn laptop. I don't even LIKE computers!! But it's gone. And I miss it.

There is no point to this story. It is just an expression of my sorrow.

Men are like shoes

Ok Iroms this one is for you. Pls note I am not a man-hater, (far from, and everyone who knows me, knows what I'm wishfully thinking about right now!). However I wrote this to a friend of mine, who has for all of eternity been subjected to varying degrees of disappointment and emotional floggings by men. She is, sadly, a glutton for punishment. This was for her.

Men are like shoes. You get the ones which are like the Manolos of the shoe world, high maintenance but oh so good looking, and then u get the Nikes and the Adidas which have more endurance and are good for the long run, and then you get the BATAs, low maintenance but so comfy and goes with any outfit (at least for me). Now the thing about men, as with shoes, is that we don't really need them. We WANT them, but we don't NEED them.

Life with shoes, as with men, is enjoyable and pleasurable, but if you think about it, it prevents us from really experiencing a lot of things in life. Like if u wear shoes u can’t really feel the surface your on (ok so my analogy gets a bit iffy here but stay with me). Think about walking on the beach, and how it feels so much better without shoes, sand between your toes, waves lapping at your feet. Or walking in the grass, with blades tickling the undersides of your soles (keeping a sharp look out for dog poop of course. Which you would do in any case, shoes or no shoes). Now think about walking on the pavement in the afternoon when it’s hot and rough and burns your feet. Not always pleasant but an experience nonetheless yes? This is when we want shoes, but we can still make that walk without them. And our feet will be rougher and tougher for the next time.

In my opinion, this is what men do to you, they soften you and make you think you really can’t do without them, and make you want, when in reality you really can do without. Now the occasional man, or shoe, is fine, and even necessary but when you make them a central figure of everything you do, it’s to your disadvantage. So here's my suggestion. Lay off the men (shoes?) for awhile. Just enjoy being by yourself, and at the risk of sounding like a therapist, I’m gonna say find out who you really are. Maybe you'll realize you don’t really need all those pairs of shoes after all.

:)

Words for the Soul

"for life's not a paragraph
And death I think is no parenthesis"

gives me the shivers. every time.

Many years ago, in my quest to be knowledgeable and well read, I started reading poetry and literature. Shakespeare, o great writer, I have yet to complete a single one of your fine works; Dante, as appealing as your Inferno sounds, I’ve never gotten around to it; Austen & Bronte, I’ve read abridged but never had the courage to attempt the originals.. I will one day; Frost, you I like.

And then, quite by chance, I happened across E.E. Cummings. I was hooked from the first line. So simple, yet so profound. Small words, big thoughts. The first poem I read was 'I like my body when it is with your'. I actually blushed when I got to the end. And yet, I knew what he was talking about. I needed more, so to trusty google did I turn and pulled up site after site of Cummings' poems.

I am, by nature, somewhat of a cynic, and cynical and jaded am I when it comes to love and feelings and all that jazz. But somehow, these poems move me. Maybe the key lies in its simplicity. The 'here's what I think, no rhyming, no 4 lines; these are my thoughts, make of them what you will' approach that Cummings has that gives the poems the 'oh I don’t feel stupid because I can actually understand what he's saying' feeling.

'Since feeling is first'. 'you said is'. 'if strangers meet'. 'I carry your heart with me'.

Solid gold.

Silence

im awake at 2 in the morning
talking to someone i like
talking about nothing
and everything
and anything

and he said lets have a beer
and i said i dont like beer
and then he said boys are full of bullshit
i said i know you are

and we laughed
because boys are
but so are girls
and so is this world
but we're ok too
and we love
and smile

and we are beautiful
and expressive
and disturbing
and i think he knows now
because i told him
roundabout like

but she said it has him all over it
and it kind of did
but now he knows
and its his choice

but i dont really want him
but maybe i do
a little
so what about that girl they say
shes not really my problem i think
well lets talk abt it he says
but i dont feel like it

because im tired
of trying
and trying
to explain to everyone what i feel
when i can feel them judging me
and i know they cant help it
because i do it too

so silence is the way to go

Never underestimate the power of girl talk

So I had a long skype session today with my best friends. It felt good, to say the least. Of course, I can’t say that they are good for my education: after 4 hours, “guys I have class now”. “anay cut T, just cut it!!”… “sigh, ok”…

Five hours later, I’m lying in bed. Have I actually been away from them for a year? How have I survived? I guess the podu email thing helps, but really, what is a good substitute for the live version? Colorful K with her “telllll T tellll!”, and the duckling with her “aiyo I can’t with you”. Needless to say, all the English grammar we ever learnt goes out the window during these conversations. Frankly, if anyone heard us, I doubt they’d understand a word we say. As Confab says, blame it on the Pereras.

However, talking to them was like cleansing my soul. Dramatic I know, but really, it’s true. It felt like I regained a small piece of home that has been drifting further and further away ever since I left. I’ve been losing myself here, caught up in the freedom and liberal ideas surrounding me; not that there is anything wrong with that, but I’ve been forgetting who I am. I know if I hadn’t left home I would be a lesser person today. The small town syndrome had been eating away at me. I needed to get away from the familiar faces, the sights, sounds and smells I had been immersed in for 19 years. Away from the authority of my parents, the comforts of home, the constant presence of my boyfriend, the large group of friends. I needed to find myself, and now I need to go back.

Back is where they took me. It was like mornings in the arts class all over again. The gossip, the discussions, the “omg let me tell you what happened”s. It felt like I had been away from them forever, and yet, not at all. I believe that many things today are over rated: relationships, virginity, sex. But not friends. In fact, friends are under rated. Very very under rated. Over the years, I have seen friendships fall apart and die due to the silliest of reasons: gossip, boys, change. I should know, I was constantly at odds with someone or the other. Now I realize the value of true friends. The girls, and boys, who’ve got your back no matter what. They are the ones I’ll keep forever. They are the ones that matter. They bring me home.