Lest We Forget Goa

Like most self-respecting Maddus, I don't dance - at least when I'm not inebriated, I don't. However, that's where my similarities with the stereotype end, for I don't sing either - not for the public at least. So, when the lady at the bar asked me to sing karaoke, it was only obvious that I'd decline.

We had come to Goa for a whole lot of things - bikes, beer, babes, beaches... Karaoke, however, began with a 'K'. So, the bearded one just said "One Budweiser, please" before the blonde waitress bothered us any further. And thus began our story at the second bar of my first ever pub-crawl.

Rounds of vodka, rum, gin and fenny can do weird things to your head. All the same, yours truly was clever, as he had switched off his mobile phone and taken out the battery, lest he should fool around with it and end up as a fool the next morning. A few more beers were thrown in by the courteous waitress, about whom someone commented - "These foreigners are so pleasant, man! Why can't Indians be like them?"

I cannot vividly recall all the happenings of that night - but I certainly remember poring through a song catalogue, complaining about the randomness of the list and Pink Floyd's conspicuous absence. The senti one, who was thoroughly hammered by now, suggested that he's return to Goa in December if they promised to get new songs. Drunk people are particular when it comes to such matters, but they're not finicky. So we sang.

My cacophonous rendition of 'Hey Jude' quickly put Jetty's utterly horrendous 'Yesterday' (which sounded more like Bieber's 'Baby, baby, baby') to shame. The lady was there to rub it in: "You told me you wouldn't sing!" she said. "Well, I wasn't drinking then, was I?" was my deft reply.

Jetty continued to hog the title of 'worst singer ever' with consummate ease, even as the bearded fellow sank into a conversation with the waitress.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Zena," she replied.

"Like the Warrior princess?" he ventured.

"No. With a 'Z'," she smiled.

Sadly, their romantic chat was shredded apart by Jetty's 'Yellow Submarine'. The chorus was insane, with Jetty convincing the rest of us with irrefutable logic that we all do, indeed, live in a Yellow submarine.

Soon, it was time to leave, so we could reach the next shack. The bill came and we paid. As we left, the waitress ran after us a hundred yards just to say goodbye. After all, I've never tipped like that in my life!

Contenders For The Championship!

Well, its been a long time since I've made a post but thats mostly coz I didn't have much to write about but now, todays achievements cannot be ignored। And hence this post... Not very often do I do somethin so remarkable in the field of sports!

An intense fear swept over us as we took the field... Playing the 'Playboys' in the ICL semis, we had quite a chance to get into the finals to vanquish the 'Destroyers'. Well, we were determined to rewrite history - The revenge of the Meta-ans would be complete if we took the trophy as the 'Destroyers' had defeated our brethren, we had vowed to fight to the finish and avenge them! But first, in the way were the Archi guys of 3rd and 4th years। Would we survive till D-Day H-Hour?

The 8 players took field। Soon the coin was tossed, one which we lost... But who cares? We still had the game to win!

First Over: Dot। Dot. Cheers all around and the oppenent was psyched out... A swish and a miss. The few guys in the stand were proving that they could create much more of a ruckus than a filled Eden Gardens... Another dot - Brilliant stuff! Then a six... The supporters of the opponents were up on their feet cheering wildly as I felt helpless. Last ball and chants were around 'Lappa! Lappa!' - (literally meaning 'Fluke!') The next ball was a full toss. He was bowled!

It continued on this note and soon the opponents were crumbling under the crowd's pressure। The strangest fact is that 'their' supporters outnumbered ours 5:1... But they had chosen to stay quiet and we took full advantage. Following a series of ordinary bowling, electric fielding and deafening crowds, they had only 57 on the board when they ran out of batsmen.

Our innings was going just fine; then a hiccup - My opening batsman was out. He cursed his luck as he walked. Then a quick wicket and the pressure was on us...
The 'Playboy' supporters cheered and my supporters applauded them mockingly. They were quiet soon! Inwardly I hoped it will not come down to the last batsman (as they were an inexperianced lot). Then luck smiled upon us - A missed run-out, 2 dropped catches and an endless array of wides which stopped only when the batsman pleaded with the bowler to not bowl any more of those... I wanted to win with the bat! As the saying goes - Its not whether you win or lose... Its about how you win!

6 runs needed... Single. Double. Dot. Overstepping - No Ball. Next Ball - Batsman is caught in the deep... Of a free hit!! (Single) Next ball... (pleeeez DONT!!) WIDE! We won!! Here we come 'Destroyers'! I'd done my part in the team's victory and I am proud of it...

Before I get too carried away, did I tell you I wasn't playing the real match. No I was more important than that... I had urged the team on from the crowds!