Tina Sharma Tiwari

A couple of days ago, a very senior and very successful female colleague of mine loudly proclaimed “If I were Pakistani, I’d vote for Imran Khan… I’m Punjabi after all, shakal dekh ke vote dete hain!”  I laughed because she’s normally a pragmatist, not to mention a very sharp political analyst. And none of the Pakistani political pundits are willing to give Imran Khan a chance. Not for a majority, and certainly not for the top post. All they are willing to concede to him is that he may be a ‘game-changer’.

I write this as Pakistan votes today. General elections that are being fought under a dark cloud of death threats, assassinations and terror. Elections that are historic; for they mark the first transfer from one civilian government to another, in the history of Pakistan. But I’m not about to dwell on the political minutiae here… I’d rather leave that to experts. But what I do want to say is that sometimes things happen that defy logic and calculations. And little as I know about Pakistan and its turbulent politics, I do feel that this time, it will be different for the charismatic cricket legend-turned-politician. And I’m not just saying that because I’m basically yet another sports journalist who’s spent their entire lives idolising this man.

There IS something different this time, don’t you think? There is a restlessness in Pakistan, an angry youth that is fed up of the current crop of politicians and wants a better future. In the run up to these elections Imran has said on more than one occasion that the youth voters will make all the difference. It remains to be seen if indeed that will be so, but the fact is – in all the years that Imran Khan and his Tehreek-e-Insaaf have been around, they’ve been laughed off as political lightweights. No one’s laughing this time.

Interestingly, he’s the only major player unscathed by the Taliban threat – while other political parties have had to virtually cancel all election campaigning under the shadow of the gun, Imran’s rallies have been given a free run. Bilawal Bhutto Zardari was scared all the way back to the UK, robbing the PPP of its star campaigner and even the tiger of Punjab, Nawaz Sharif (the man tipped to win these polls) was forced to significantly lower the tenor of his roar in the run up to the elections. Add to that the sympathy waves that flooded in when Imran had that near fatal 15-foot-fall (the kind of sympathy that elicited the above comment from my colleague) and you have a situation where suddenly the wind seems to be blowing in one direction. Towards Imran Khan.

He may not win a majority; yes I accept that, because I really know nothing about Pakistan’s politics. But I’m sure he will be a key player, a king maker perhaps, winning enough votes to decide who gets to sit on the throne. Whether he forms part of the government or takes up a position in the opposition, his days in political wilderness seem to be over.

Some people are born with shining destinies and we already know he is one of the blessed few – World Cup winning captain and all. And you simply can’t deny the charisma (how could Jemima ever leave?!) And I know enough people here in India who’d love to see Imran Khan become the head of state of Pakistan. I think I would too, if I wasn’t so disconcerted with his closeness to the Taliban. The Taliban are no friends of ours, remember? And if indeed Pakistan shakal dekh ke vote dete hain, I wonder what that will mean for India. Interesting times.

I have been trying to paint again these days. There was a time when I was an active artist, always an easel standing at attention in one corner of the bedroom, brushes dipped in freshly changed oil. But over the years, as home and family responsibilities swamped my life, I found lesser and lesser time for this one private passion of mine (everything else – sports, reading, writing, travel – I either do for a living or pursue actively). Since last year, I’ve been trying to paint again. And while I don’t have too much to show for it, just a painting or two, the fact is that art is on my mind again. Inspiration keeps striking me, and even though I may not find the time immediately, I file away the sketches to be translated into a painting at a later date. So, I thought I’ll share with you all some of my favourite paintings of all time.

Let’s start with The Lament for Icarus by the English artist Herbert James Draper. This one punches me in the gut every time I look at it. The tragic beauty of a young corpse – so exquisite that it draws the ‘lamenting’ nymphs to it – is soul stirring. Yes, it has an undertone of eroticism in it, and combined with the morbid magnificence, it has me mesmerized.

Now you might say I’m obsessed with death but another one of my absolute favourites happens to be Ophelia by yet another British pre-Raphaelite painter Sir John Everett Millais. The fact is, she’s not quite dead. The painting in fact depicts Ophelia from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, singing while in the process of drowning in a river. Just that concept itself makes it a masterpiece in my book! Like, how warped and wonderful is that? Not to mention the sheer craft of painting employed, with the near-photographic depiction of flora. I just can’t stop looking at Ophelia’s face; it’s so vacant and lovely.

This next one is one of those paintings that everyone knows about, like Monet’s Water Lilies or Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. The Birth of Venus by Sandro Botticelli is right up there, with the most famous paintings in the world. But what makes it stand out for me, much more so than any work from Botticelli’s fellow Italian Renaissance masters, is the face. That face of goddess Venus, as she emerges from the sea. Having seen the painting in person at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, I can tell you it leaves one spellbound. There’s an almost Dali-esque quality to the patterned background with the flower and wave motifs, culminating in the surreal froth at the base of the shell. It really is divine.

Of course, that brings me to the best artist EVER in the history of mankind – Spanish surrealist Salvador Dali. What I wouldn’t give to have a mind like his. There’s something truly original and evocative in every single painting of his, but even more than the melting clocks (Persistence of Memory) and the camel-legged elephants (Temptation of St Anthony) I am overwhelmed by these two works of his:

1. Swans Reflecting Elephants – Surrealism to the core. Swans that become elephants in the reflection of the lake… I mean, who thinks like this? Dali really was pure genius. Stunning imagery, illusions that are almost hallucinatory in nature, and yet the craft itself, so sublime.

2. Christ of Saint John of the Cross – is my no.1 favourite painting in the whole, wide world. How many artists have painted the crucifixion? Countless. But how many gave it to us from this perspective; as though looking downward from a brooding heaven? Only Dali. Doesn’t it make you scream out in joy?! Wow. Just writing about these paintings inspires me. I hope I too, can find my original voice through my paintings.

Hmmph. Us ‘liberated’ lot, or rather those of us who like to believe that we are truly blessed having been born women, are in all probability, a rarity. Never mind all those ‘we own all 365 days of the year’ kind of tweets and Facebook status updates. The reality is that most women don’t respect themselves enough. Even the urban, educated and affluent ones.

Case in point: Last night, which also happened to be International Women’s Day. We were having dinner at a hip new lounge bar in the eclectic Hauz Khas Village, when a particularly inebriated man at the table on our left started making a spectacle of himself. Talking loudly, throwing his feet across his partner’s chair – yes, while she was still sitting on that chair – abusing the waiting staff, flinging cutlery off the balcony (yes, really!) and generally making a nuisance of himself. The worst came when he decided to dramatically stand up and address the entire restaurant saying “my mother is a slut and I am a bastard”.

Okay then.

Naturally most patrons tried to just ignore him. Others were trying not to laugh. But what incensed me most was the total lack of reaction from the woman that sat at the table with him – his date, girlfriend, wife or whatever she was. She just sat there silently while he grossly misbehaved and ruined the ambience for everyone. Not a squeak, not a word of disapproval from her. More than him, I wanted to shake her. Had I been in her place, I would have not only thrown a glass of water on his head and walked off, but also given him ‘One Tight Slap’ (exactly in that MTV-India tradition).

I can’t speak for rural, illiterate India, but in the urban scenario it is women like her – passive, inert and submissive – who skew the gender parity equations. If you allow your man to behave like that in public, insulting his mother and bullying waiting staff, then you are not only condoning it but in fact, encouraging it. Have the guts, woman, to walk off from an ogre like that. But then again, for all I know, some weird, warped brand of women may actually like their man behaving like a belligerent, drunken buffoon.

Either way, it brings me back to my original point – if women don’t respect themselves enough, nobody else will. So much for bloody women’s day.

It makes me so livid, I want to scream. One of the barbarians who brutally raped and murdered that poor 23-year-old in Delhi on the night of December 16, 2012, is about to go virtually scot-free. Because our blind, deaf and dumb legal system is allowing that to happen. All because he is seventeen years and six months old and not quite eighteen. So he’s technically a minor. Who cares? Apparently the juvenile justice board does. So six measly months are going to make the difference between life and death (because the other five accused face the death penalty and rightly so), and more importantly between justice and absolute travesty. This man brutalized, tortured, raped and murdered along with the others, but he’s going to get away with three years in a correctional facility. Just the thought of this monumental injustice makes me seethe with rage.

What is it going to take to ensure this doesn’t happen? That he doesn’t just cool his heels in a juvenile remand home instead of paying for his heinous crime. Do we, the ordinary citizens of India once again need to throng to India Gate and Jantar Mantar, candles in hand, just to make the powers-that-be see the light? Are they that blind? That heartless? Can no one think beyond the prescribed doctrines of legal textbooks? Can the judiciary not make an exception? Isn’t our system hopelessly flawed if this monster is allowed to give justice the slip?

I hope my lawyer friends enlighten me on what can happen from here on. I hope someone tells me that yes, exceptions can and will be made. Because otherwise I am spiraling into despair, thinking about this impending miscarriage of justice. I am losing my mind wondering how that poor victim’s family must feel in this face of all this. They know what he did to their daughter as do we – and the police report makes it amply clear that this so-called ‘minor’ was perhaps the most brutal of the lot. This country is not worth living in; if all that happens to him is 3 years in a remand home. I mean it. We cannot let that happen. If it takes more protests, let’s do it. If it takes further outrage and demonstrations, let’s hit the streets again. Let us, in the media, go hoarse shouting about it yet again. For someone needs to do something.

But if he does get away with it, then I promise whoever is instrumental in allowing it that justice will be delivered, one way or another. Let him just step out of that remand home after three years. He will not make hundred yards. The hundreds of thousands who stood tirelessly at Safdarjung Hospital and India Gate and Jantar Mantar will be there. They will be waiting to pounce on him and rip him to shreds. And he will get his due at the hands of the public. He will be lynched and stoned to death. And he deserves no less.

Well, I hate to say it, but I told you so. (Actually I love to say it!) Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter would have known that I knew Andy Murray would beat Roger Federer in the Australian Open semifinals. And predicted it in as many words. I also did suggest that it might go to five sets, which it did, but that’s not the point. The bottom-line is: I truly believe Andy’s got the measure of the top guys now. That Olympic triumph last year got the monkey off his back for good and he’s not going to be a one-Slam wonder. In fact, I think he’s got a good shot at beating Djokovic for the title on Sunday, just as he did at the US Open 2012.

It’s the way he played against Federer today that really amazed me. He should have won the match in four sets, or maybe even three. He was the better player by FAR throughout the match, and it got pushed to five only because Federer is pure genius. Not to mention, uncannily lucky when it comes to tie breaks.

Just like Novak Djokovic turned into the Green Goblin (for explanation click here) two seasons ago at the 2010 US Open, Andy Murray has now turned into the Incredible Hulk. Seriously. And it’s not just that green T-shirt – very cleverly designed by someone at Nike to give the illusion of muscles that are larger-than-life. (Must say, that very clever someone probably took inspiration from nature and creatures that display startling ‘deimatic’ patterns to scare off predators… what a brilliant idea for sportspersons’ attire and it was staring us in the face all along!)  Anyway, point is, it’s not just that comic-book-hero-like T-shirt. Take a look at his legs, they look like tree trunks now. Ivan Lendl has undoubtedly done some excellent work with him and it is finally beginning to show. Good on ya Andy. Now, don’t disappoint us.

It’s really so pathetic. The Indian Olympic Association suspended by the International Olympic Committee. I mean, really, can we not get our act together enough to convince the world that we’re not a bunch of morons? But that exactly, is the problem: sports in our country are in fact, run by a bunch of power-hungry, greedy morons. Which sports official has ever actually been interested in sport?

Okay, there may be a few. Like I believe Abhay Singh Chautala has done some good work for Indian boxing. Perhaps like him, there are a handful of others who command respect from the athletes themselves. But they are the exception rather than the rule. Mostly you sense frustration and anger when you talk to sportspersons about administrators. (Cricket is an exception here, but then, that’s not a sport, it’s a religion).

Anyway, it’s been guys like Suresh Kalmadi and his long-term sidekick Lalit Bhanot who’ve been running the show since my grandmother was born. Can you picture Lalit Bhanot ever having run even 100 metres in his life? Or Suresh Kalmadi playing anything other than drinking games?

That’s where the IOC had a problem. The IOC announced the suspension after a meeting at its Swiss headquarters in Lausanne (lovely city, that), saying the IOA had ‘failed to comply with the Olympic charter’. So what is this charter and what exactly did they fail to comply with? The crux of the problem here is Mr Lalit Bhanot.

The IOC Ethics Commission had actually written to the IOA in October this year, specifically warning them against allowing Bhanot to contest the IOA elections. Why? Because they actually HAVE ETHICS and we don’t. Lalit Bhanot happens to be one of the main accused in the multi-crore Commonwealth Games scam, went to jail for it and is currently out on bail. And yet, he has not just contested the election, but contested unopposed, mind you. So his taking over as General Secretary of the body is a foregone conclusion even as I write this. The IOC recognizes that such people shouldn’t be running sports. But we don’t.

For that reason, I’m actually glad the body has been de-recognized. And I’m not alone. Sportspersons around the country have welcomed the developments, hoping that Indian sports administration may finally get cleaned up as a result of this. Unfortunately I’m not too sure that’ll happen. Call it cynicism but I’ll believe it when I see it. Until then though, there’s always hope.

Guess what my mom found while she was clearing out the old storeroom today? Mementos of the happiest day of my life!! And no, I’m not talking about my nuptials. Sorry to disappoint all you mushy sods, much as I love my husband, I count my wedding day as the second happiest day of my life. And uh, the kids’ birthdays come a distant third and fourth. (No apologies for that, I’m afraid. If producing a couple of kids was my only really notable achievement, I’d have lived a pretty sorry life till now, wouldn’t I?)

So, among the happiest memories of my life, I count all of the above and also… hmmnn… lemme think, this is an excellent exercise in encapsulating the milestone moments in my personal path to happiness:

10. My 10^th birthday, when I received a new, gleaming red boys’ BMX bicycle as a present from my father.

9. Winning the senior school elocution competition when I was 11-years-old and in Class VI, beating the 17-year-old XII standard kids.

8. Receiving a reply to a love struck letter I had written to a Hindi film hero (I WILL NOT reveal who!) complete with signed photographs and all. That made my year! The year was 1988.

7. Meeting Stefan Edberg and Michael Stich ON THE SAME DAY!!!

6. That summer day in May 1998 when I and 23 other NIFT Delhi graduates showcased our Final Design Collections in front of an eminent audience; our whole lives rolled out like a red carpet ahead of us.  

5. When I became Harsha Bhogle. (You’ll have to read Running on Full to fully understand that one, but the gist is: The first time I anchored live international cricket with heavyweights like Kapil Dev, Arjuna Ranatunga and Wasim Akram in my studio. This was Zee Sports, 2005.)

4, 3 and 2 are aforementioned.

And Lo and Behold! (Bugle sound please) … the best, unquestionably happiest day of my life was…

… The official end of Sports Week in my final year of school (1995) as I stood on the podium after being named Athlete of the Year, with four medals strung happily around my neck. Gold for Cross Country and 1500m, silver for the 800m and bronze for the *ahem* (I usually say this one very quietly) for the tug-of-war. Hee hee. So what? Four medals, dude! And until this day, my husband always had a sceptical twinkle in his eye, whenever I mentioned this euphoric day.

Now, thanks to Mum’s latest recovery from the old storeroom, he not only has no choice but to believe me, but will also have to stare at them 24X7 as they take pride of place on our mantelpiece (okay, we don’t have one, but you know what I mean).

After playing his last professional match, Andy Roddick outside the locker room to his teary wife Brooklyn: “Honey you won’t throw me out now, now that you’re the bread winner, will you?”

Classic Andy Roddick. You gotta love him.

In the beginning, I didn’t really. Love him, that is. I’ve never been a great fan of American tennis players, for some reason. Not John McEnroe, not Andre Agassi and certainly not Pete Sampras. I can’t explain it, but to me the European players always had more character, personality and elegance. (I’m sorry, screaming “You can’t be serious!” and swearing on court does NOT amount to personality. I actually like Mac better as a commentator now.)

Anyway, so initially when American Andy Roddick and Swiss Roger Federer sort of burst upon the scene simultaneously, my natural inclination was to dislike Andy. Perhaps only because he was the kid the yanks were making a big song and dance about – the chosen one, who would carry on the domination of Sampras and Agassi. And I was firmly committed to Camp Federer, after the Swiss prodigy ended the reign of seven-time champion Pete Sampras at Wimbledon 2001, beating him in five sets in the fourth round. (Wow, memories of that match still give me gooseflesh. As I witnessed the throne being usurped, I remember actually dancing around my bed with joy!) So Andy was relegated to the role of villain. After all, if you have a hero you must have a villain and this was supposed to be the next BIG rivalry.

Unfortunately, it didn’t quite work out that way for Andy. After that initial triumph at the 2003 US Open and the ascent to the No.1 spot, Andy’s career never quite took off the way it was meant to. Roger took the No.1 spot from Andy on February 2, 2004 and never looked back again (at least not for 237 consecutive weeks!) Andy went onto lose four Grand Slam finals in his career, all of them to his Swiss rival – Wimbledon in 2004, 2005, and 2009 and the US Open in 2006. And even as the 2009 Wimbledon final, with a thirty-game fifth set, is remembered as one of the greatest matches in tennis history, I always felt 2004 had been as a good a chance as any for Andy.

Andy had come out all guns blazing in the first set of that 2004 final. Commentating for the BBC Boris Becker had remarked “did he plug himself into some socket before coming out on court?” That’s how electrifying he was in that first set. But then a rain delay, as it often does, changed the momentum completely. And Roger was back on track, back on his inevitable path to glory. Who knows what would have happened if Andy Roddick had won that 2004 Wimbledon final? Who knows how many grand slams he could have won if he had not been serendipitously born as a contemporary of all-time greats like Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal?

Of course, by that logic, neither Novak Djokovic nor Juan Martin Del Potro should have won a grand slam in these last 10 years either. But they did, so of course there was a key to unlocking the Federer-Nadal puzzle. Andy Roddick just didn’t find it. And he’s the first one to admit that himself, loathe to blame his lack of success on fate. I still remember one post-match conference around the 2004-2005 period when asked about his rivalry with Roger, Andy said “It’s not a rivalry until I actually start winning once in a while, you know.”

I was an absolute convert after that. And so were millions of tennis fans. Despite being a one-slam wonder, Andy has been one of the most popular and celebrated players of this generation. Over the years, everyone grew to love him for his wit and humility. And an attitude that was all heart, no excuses. Pity that he couldn’t win more grand slams or establish himself as one of the greats of the game. But he will always be one of the greatest personalities ever to have played tennis, no doubt about that.

And he also went out in characteristic fashion, with a press conference that had everyone laughing and teary at the same time. Asked how he would like to be remembered, he said “I want everyone to look back and think that I was awesome.”

Awesome Andy Roddick, you will be missed.

There was something so utterly delightful about watching a bunch of teenaged kids getting wide-eyed with wonder as they registered the rather improbable fact that they have become nationwide celebrities. The sheer delight on the faces of some, absolute astonishment on others and heartwarming, genuine grins on all.

I was thrilled to have been anchoring the news when the World Cup winning Indian Under-19 cricket team touched down in Mumbai this afternoon, to a rapturous welcome – the kind normally reserved for the superstars of the senior team. The boys’ overwhelmed reactions literally made me laugh out loud.

This is a talented bunch, no doubt, as they only lost one game through the tournament – the opener to the West Indies. And although I didn’t watch that (only started watching from the humdinger quarterfinal against Pakistan) I saw enough in the semifinal and final to know for sure that at least a couple of these youngsters have serious talent and will make it to Team India eventually. Obviously, it’s not just me. Bona fide experts (read former cricketers) like Ian Chappell have gone on to say that the likes of wise-beyond-his-years captain Unmukt Chand (right) and left-arm spinner Harmeet Singh are ready to make the transition to international cricket. Of course, skeptics feel its way too early and that a premature push into the deep end will only lead to them sinking in the quicksand that is international cricket. Unmukt’s endearing father perhaps summed up the fears best when his first reaction to the media after his son’s World Cup-winning century was “hope these boys don’t go astray, hope they get the right guidance.”

Of course some of them might go astray. They’re going to be heroes in their schools and colleges now, not to mention recognized on the streets. They’ll have girls lining up for them and marketing men with pockets full of cash wooing them. And they’re just kids really, so of course it will go to their heads, at least some of them. And I say, let it! What the hell, let them have a ball, they’ve won the World Cup for Christ’s sake! And sooner rather than later, water will find its own level. Those who have to waste away will and the genuine talents will find a way to swim and thrive. After all, don’t we have perfect examples in Yuvraj Singh and Virat Kohli? Both of them came into the limelight after their respective U-19 World Cup wins (in 2000 and 2008), both made celebrated debuts into the senior side, both lost their way and their head somewhat before striking maturity and becoming mainstays of the Indian cricket team. So, I say, some of these boys are ready. Give them a go and see what they’re made of.

In any case, I’m tiring of some of the old faces. The decent, self-respecting ones have already called it a day, hanging up their boots themselves, but it’s about time some of the other superstars of yore realize that they’ve overstayed their welcome, that they’re past their sell-by date. Move over old fogies, make space for the newcomers. Let’s bring in a breath of fresh air.

I’m betting on Unmukt Chand making his senior debut within a season or two and Prashant Chopra and Harmeet Singh in perhaps a little longer than that. There are others too, like Baba Aparajith, Sandeep Sharma and Smit Patel who may also come into the reckoning in the years to come. What fun to wait and watch!

On the third day of action at the London Olympics, three shocking incidents have left me seething. First, there was serious controversy at the North Greenwich Arena, when the judges of the men’s gymnastics team apparently denied the silver medal to Japan, despite the team deserving it. The Japanese team protested the score given to Kohei Uchimura on the pommel horse, and eventually the judges were forced to accept the team’s appeal. Japan was awarded silver at the expense of Great Britain.

India, unfortunately was not so lucky. 19-year-old boxer Sumit Sangwan put up an absolutely heroic performance against Brazil’s Yamaguchi Falcao in the 81-kg category bout. The first round was fair enough, Sumit losing it closely, 4-5. But he was by FAR the better boxer in the second round and the world was gob smacked when the stupid, dumb, blind, idiotic judges once again ruled 5-4 in favour of Falcao. Even the commentators (impartial firangi ones, by the way) called it ‘daylight robbery’. I’m no boxing expert, so I checked with a friend of mine, who is, and he too said it was outrageously biased. In the end, Sumit lost narrowly, 14-15 thanks to highly controversial judging. The decision enraged the present Indian contingent to the extent that sports minister Ajay Maken paid the mandatory 500 USD out of his own pocket to lodge an official protest, but in vain. It wasn’t entertained. And just like that, one of India’s bright medal hopes was snuffed out. I’d like to give those judges a punch or two.

Lastly, and perhaps most dramatically, South Korean Shin A Lam sat alone on the women’s épée fencing stage for an hour and a half, tears streaming down her cheeks as she was denied the right to fight for gold. Shin was in prime position to win her semifinal against German Britta Heidemann, only to see her hopes for gold fall by the wayside as a result of a confusing ruling at the end of the match. With the clock on zero, the match was tied and Shin would’ve won on an advantage she already held. But the clock was re-set to one second for some bizarre reason, and Heidemann struck the winning hit in that extra second. Shin A Lam sat and wept while her team lodged an official protest. Again, to no avail.

Does it strike you as suspicious that all three athletes at the receiving end of biased, unfair judging were Asians? You know, I’m just saying.