rewriting our epitaph

Shiva and his family were back in Kailash.

The recent hectic schedule had made each and everyone nervous – whether it was the tiny mouse that carried Lord Ganesha or the proud peacock with Kartikeyan astride. Even the ferocious lion heaved a sigh of relief on reaching the familiar mountains of the Himalayas. With each passing day, people were losing sight of the basics of creation. Nature should be allowed to take its own course. You just cannot dictate terms to her and order her to match your whims and fancies. A certain amount of restriction needs to be imposed – you should not play with Nature.

As Shiva was glancing through the morning papers, his mobile rang. He looked at the caller ID – it was his daughter Sarah, alias Saraswati. Holding the instrument gingerly to his ears, he grunted to make his presence felt.

‘They have axed some players,’ Sarah informed, casually.

‘Did it hurt?’

‘How should I know?’ Sarah replied. ‘It is strange that players who do not do what they are supposed to do keep getting selected. Ultimately, it is the poor captain who has to answer. It is really unfair.’

‘No, I do not agree,’ Shiva drawled in the newly acquired accent he had picked up during the Puja festivities down in Bengal. ‘The poor chap has so many obligations to meet not just in his own backyard but also in his own city. He does not have time even for his wife and kid. It is a wonder that he can still face the cameras with a deadpan face.’

‘Want to bet on the outcome of the next face-off,’ Sarah instigated her father.

‘What’s the use?’ Shiva was not in any mood to oblige. ‘Of course, Baruna, the rain god could have played an important role in the earlier encounter and become the saviour. But, the timing was all wrong. In an effort to please your Mother Parvati, the Team Manager forgot all about Baruna. He must take the full blame. After all, he is supposed to manage the complete set up. If he is unable to predict such situations and anticipate the basic remedies, the axe should fall on him first.’

‘Anyway, we are waiting for the Sphinx to rise from the ashes!’ Sarah said.

‘Our priorities are all wrong,’ Shiva sighed. ‘Whilst every country is grooming the team of the future – with their eyes on the next World cup - we are contented to watch our own players struggle to reach yet another landmark. A day might very well come when we will be humbled by our Eastern neighbors.’

‘You will have very few supporters if you talk so loosely about our wonderful team,’ Sarah cautioned.

Shiva roared with laughter.

‘Second to that of the Aussies, as some over enthusiastic individual said not so long ago. Sometimes I wonder how you could be so foolish,’ he continued. ‘In this modern age, with so much equipment available, winning is not just a game of chance any more but a planned output of a group of dedicated individuals who pride on wearing their country’s colours. What is the use of boasting about our software and laptops if we do not display our knowledge on the field where it matters?’