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I, Sparrow

Once upon a time, it was crowded here on this fence

We have a lot in common, you and I. The Bombay summer is upon us and time seems to slow down during these months. The list of things that annoy us seems to grow tenfold, and our mutual nemesis - the crow, is louder and even more boisterous than usual in this season. The sun features high on our list, for just as your olive skin reddens and burns under his searing breath, my chestnut wings suffer greatly - smouldering under his yoke, making every flight an enormous effort. My miniature beak is awfully dry, but I have just enough energy to speak to you.

I am a sparrow, and because you human beings are less rational beasts than I, you're scolding yourselves, "Sparrows don't talk," you're saying. "Stop being ridiculous!" Nevertheless, I'm confident you will read on, because I know, that Allah has made you human beings, just like us sparrows, highly curious creatures. Truth is, sparrows do talk, but only to those who know how to listen.

With your permission, I'd like to recount the things I've seen in Bombay this summer. Do let me? Why thank you, it does pleases me to see you smile. A sparrow seldom smiles in the summer; it takes up too much of our dwindling energy. We do, however, take immeasurable delight in seeing your dazzling white teeth, so do humour me as I chirp along.

As day breaks, I fly out over the Arabian Sea, hoping to soak my wings in the cool morning breeze. Sometimes I perch myself upon the metal rods atop ferries and catamarans, as they carry hoards of revellers and tourists towards the ancient Elephanta Caves and the Mandwa Jetty, near the coastal town of Alibaug. I cannot fly behind these boats like the mighty seagulls do; my wings aren't strong enough for that. Neither can I dive sharply to fetch the bread crumbs thrown at them by tourists; I am merely a passenger, like the tourists who shriek gleefully with every catch. I used to wonder at these revellers with their humongous sunglasses and colourful clothes, until I followed them one day to see what they did once they disembarked our boat. I saw wretched males intoxicating themselves heedlessly and females, dressed like the common prostitutes of the night, accompanying them in sinful ignominy and I thanked Allah for making me a tiny sparrow and not one of them.

Once the sun has reached its peak, all of Bombay rushes for shelter. People gather under bus stops, under flyovers, under trees and under the large cinema hoardings, securing temporary respite from their tormentor. Even the cricketers reluctantly pull out their stumps from the Earth and settle down to loudly scrutinize the day's play under canvas tents at the city's maidaans, their white uniforms now a muddy shade of brown. I enjoy these noisy conversations because while each expert is busy putting forward his analysis with great confidence without bothering to hear out anybody else, they all fail to notice my presence, rubbing my weary wings against a slab of ice kept on a table in one corner.  Absolute bliss.

Although I may seem lonesome and quiet, I have made a fair few friends during my summers spent in Bombay. An albino fisherman who sells mangoes instead of fish during these humid days allows me to rest in his basket, which he carries over his silvery head. He covers every backstreet of Colaba calling out to his faithful female patrons who in turn, flock to their doors and windows, their haggling helmets firmly fastened. A sugarcane-juice vendor who refreshes thousands of worshippers each day outside the Jama Masjid calls me his 'little friend' and laughs at me as I poke my beak at the piles of bagasse which he collects in large blue bins. I am proud to be an acquaintance of Mountbatten, a monstrous racehorse and champion of the McDowell's Indian Derby. Although he pretends not to, he secretly enjoys it when I race with him from above, soaring across the Mahalaxmi Racecourse feeling like an eagle. I busy myself in these friends thus, and unlike the families I observe from windows, I take no holidays, host no relatives and barely ever lose my temper.

Those amongst you whom Allah has blessed with a sharp and intuitive mind must surely be wondering why a sparrow like myself has no friends of the same species: sparrows. Well, the other sparrows have hidden themselves from your basely human eyes but I bravely decided to........uff, what is the use in lying? Most of my kind are dead; some killed because they inhaled the poisonous clouds that your cars and buses leave behind, others could not resist the call of Satan's Hair, what I believe you human beings have christened railway lines? The few that survived have either left Bombay for the safer sands of Mauritius, or have disappeared into some obscure neighbourhood that I have neither the will nor the energy in my wings to find.  It's no matter, I never asked you to pity me, why have you hidden your teeth again? Such shimmering white teeth you have, like the moonlight. After a few more sunsets, my seventh monsoon will be upon me and as a wise old Bombay sparrow once said: when your seventh monsoon nears, one must expect Allah to send His Angel of Death to your abode, for we sparrows have never lived beyond seven monsoons.

Please, I pray you wipe those tears from your eyes, sweet listener. Smile at once. The monsoon is my favourite time of the year - those elusive insects who sleep under the ground all summer shall crawl above it once again, and I shall feast on them for one last time. The Arab tourists will descend upon Bombay at long last, bringing with them the scent of that heavenly attar perfume that I so adore. Oh what a fine ending that would be, nestled comfortably on a branch with a whiff of attar as I praise Him for one final time. What? Oh yes, you're right. I know I said we don't smile in the Bombay summer but there you go - I guess I had the energy to smile after all.

In Potential Gaffe, President Weiner Admits Physical Exercise

Analysts Fear Premature End to Election Feasts

The New York Times. Monday, 1st April, 2075.

Too Fit For President?

WASHINGTON D.C - While most Americans struggled to lift themselves off their couches, President Bennedict Weiner  shocked the world this morning by admitting he takes walks around the White House's lawns in his free time.  The announcement was made after Mr. Weiner hosted heads of leading fast-food chains to discuss the need for further expansion, over a Presidential breakfast.

"It's obviously something I'm not very proud of," he said, wiping a piece of bacon off his face. "We Americans have proved over the past 50 years that our lifestyle, like most other American things, trumps those of all the other nations. It would be naive of me to try and change that, but I can't erase the events of the past few days."

His untimely confession lead to feverish discussions on mid-morning talk shows whether the President's actions have given Republican candidate Dick McHealey an unexpected edge in November's election. Some fear the President may be sending subliminal messages to the country that he plans to take us all back to the Thin Ages while others feel Mr. Weiner's actions resulted from acute stress-related psychobehaviorosis and he should be given another chance, provided he undergoes intense counselling, of course.

In an exclusive interview with The New York Times, Toby Friemuncher, star of the box office sensation The Burger Games, feels the President has been treated unfairly. "Americans need to look at the bigger picture", he laments. "Before Weiner took over the national obesity rate was a mere 63% and was even less than the unemployment rate! In just about three years, he has brought it up to an unprecedented 86% for which nobody seems to be giving him any credit. We cannot let one unfortunate act undermine core American values, people."

This is not the first time Mr. Weiner's basic American-ness has been questioned. Rumors emerged in February claiming the President kept a treadmill in the Oval Office but they were subsequently squelched following an episode of MTV Cribs. 

Killing It, US Army Style

"If we withdraw from Afghanistan, there will be senseless violence but if we stay, we can cause it.” - Andy Borowitz, American comedian and New York Times bestselling author. 

Over the years, the United States Army has served as a source of immense pride for the average American citizen. Solemn pledges are made in support of their troops battling bravely in different parts of the world, upholding democracy in countries like Afghanistan and Iraq. American schoolchildren aged as young as six and seven are made to write letters in class addressed to their courageous troops overseas, sending their innocent wishes to these seeming heroes.

On Saturday night, one of these courageous American soldiers, having had too many bottles of Guinness at one of the Army’s routine nights of revelry, stormed out of his base and killed sixteen innocent Afghan civilians at a village close to Kandahar. The dead included nine children. Reports have surfaced revealing that the soldier was laughing hysterically while committing these murders and even wrapped some of the corpses in blankets before setting them on fire!

What a lunatic, you’re thinking. But this is just one case of a soldier gone mad, he’ll face the punishment he deserves. I’m sure this sort of thing has never happened before.  

Think again.

In 2010, a group of US soldiers killed three Afghan civilians in a different part of Kandahar.  They are believed to be part of an ever-increasing faction within the US Army who murder civilians ‘for sport’ before dropping weapons near their bodies to make it appear as if they’re insurgents who present a threat and need to be eliminated. The strangest part about this incident from 2010 was that the soldiers posed for photographs with the corpses of their victims and even collected body parts and skulls as trophies!

 In January this year, a leaked video showed four US marines urinating on three bloodied corpses in the Helmand province of Afghanistan. One of the marines, evidently aware that he was being filmed, says “Have a great day, buddy,” referring to one of the dead. Back in Washington, a spokesman from the Marines reassured the world that the matter was “being investigated.” Gee, thanks for that.

Conflicting reports emerged from the Bagram airbase, near Kabul, as copies of the Qur’an and other religious literature were burned by American soldiers in February.  One group of investigators found the incineration to be intentional as the soldiers were lead to believe the books contained ‘inflammatory content’, while another group claimed it was an unfortunate error on the part of the American soldiers who routinely incinerate all belongings of deceased prisoners at the base. The sensitive nature of this incident lead to widespread anti-American sentiments across the Islamic lands, and understandably so. Violent demonstrations in different parts of Afghanistan lead to even more senseless killings, on both sides.

Every year, numerous incidents of killings within the US Army emerge – usually a group of soldiers killing a single ‘rat’ who threatens to report rampant drug usage or sexual abuse within a particular battalion. The authorities usually dismiss these soldiers as being ‘mentally unstable’ begging the question – why were they recruited into the Army in the first place?

The underlying truth behind all of this is that these cases fortuitously reached the hands of the willing media allowing the world to take in its sordid realities. Imagine how many cases of militaristic atrocities escaped our attention over the years? Are the victims of sadistic actions by misguided militia counted as mere ‘casualties of war’ – a rather frail and misused term itself, I’m sure you’ll agree?  An insight into why these atrocities continue to take place will lead us into a feverish debate over the United States’ foreign policy. The ongoing misadventure of those brazen folks over in Washington, however, is a story for another day. General Douglas MacArthur, Ex-Chief of Staff in the US Army once said, “In War, there is no substitute for victory.” In today’s scenario, though, even the most ardent hardliners will admit that the possibility of victory never existed ever since the US decided to invade every country with a whiff of black gold. The aim of damage limitation seems the most plausible course of action until American troops finally leave foreign lands, their tails firmly between their legs. You and I both share the hope, I’m sure, that this process of damage limitation is carried out in the most humane manner possible. 

It's Fantasy Football Time!

Who says footballers can't fly?

WARNING: Reading the following text without adequate knowledge of the beautiful game called football may result in severe mystification and a delusional belief that human beings are mercilessly bought and sold via the Internet. The author cannot be held liable for any actions of wrath or despair that may occur.

In an attempt to replicate the jobs of those suit-clad individuals who make multi-million pound purchases to eke out a living, premierleague.com, the official website of the Barclays Premier League created Fantasy Premier League, your ultimate fantasy football game. With an initial budget of £100 million, you have to pick a squad of 15 players and manage them on a weekly basis – earning points for their triumphs and losing points for their blunders.

Whether you already have a team or are looking to create one, read these guidelines carefully. Who am I to guide you? Well, I’ve played the game for the past seven seasons and have consistently made the national leader board. I know what I’m talking about. So if I were you, I’d take this advice:

1. Let’s start from the back – your goalkeeper. Traditionally, a goalie from one of your Top-4 clubs would guarantee you a bunch of clean sheets on a regular basis. Times have changed, though, and even the top clubs are finding it hard to enjoy consistent clean sheets. Do not spend too much money on a pricey goalie. Instead, pick someone who’s cheap and will make tons of saves.

Fuse Tips: Tim Krul (Newcastle, £5.0m) or Tim Howard (Everton, £5.4m)

2. Moving on to your defence – arguably the most difficult area to score points. Out of your five picks, make sure at least four of them are nailed down First XI regulars for their clubs. As far as possible, pick defenders who are likely to contribute in an attacking sense as well with strong headers from corners and assists from wide positions.

Fuse Tips: Micah Richards (Manchester City, £6.3m), Benoit Assou-Ekotto(Tottenham, £5.9m), Ryan Taylor (Newcastle, £5.5m), Martin Skirtel (Liverpool, £6.2m)

3. The midfield is an area where you can capitalise on creative players who will bag a whole lot of assists along with a decent goal tally. You may find it difficult to choose from the galaxy of stars plying their trade in the Premiership. Keep tabs on players who are enjoying a run of form and use your transfers to regularly update your midfield. Clubs like Manchester City and United adopt a rotational policy so you must have a contingency plan in case your player has been left out for a couple of matches.

Fuse Tips: Clint Dempsey (Fulham, £8.8m), Gareth Bale (Tottenham, £9.6m),Antonio Valencia (Manchester United, £8.3m), Matthew Jarvis (Wolves, £5.7m)

4. Your attack should consist of two absolutely fantastic strikers who their cubs cannot do without. These two strikers must guarantee you 20+ goals come the end of the season. Your third striker should be a regular starter for a lesser club, someone who is sure to score a few goals in patches and will serve as a backup to your main strikers. Always be wary of the form-factor as well as which strikers are out-of-favour with their club managers.

Fuse Tips: Robin Van Persie (Arsenal, £13.3m), Demba Ba (Newcastle, £7.6m),Bobby Zamora (QPR, £6.8m)

Appointing your team’s captain is another crucial decision as your captain’s points will be doubled every week. Robin Van Persie, Wayne Rooney and Gareth Bale are popular captains, with good reason too. Make sure you use your free transfer each week to freshen up your squad. In case things are going horribly for you, there’s a transfer wild card which can be used only once during the game, allowing you to make unlimited changes to your team.

Now that you’re all set, log on to www.fantasy.premierleague.com and join the Fuse Readers’ League (Code: 1430564-575546) where you can keep track of fellow readers’ teams and scores. Good luck to you, gaffer!

Let It Be?

It’s a typically crowded evening in the bustling streets of Mumbai. Our dear friend Cyrus is comfortably seated at the back of his BMW, his iPod plugged in as he grooves to some Beatles classics, on his way to Wadia Uncle’s 50^th birthday party. A shrill siren interrupts Let It Be and his earphones fall off as he jerks his head around to glare at his oppressor. He curses. It’s an ambulance.

A few cars around them slow down, hesitantly. His driver, Rajesh, slows down too, but only in order to swiftly open his door and spit out his accumulated paan.

“Rajesh, jara fast chalao boss, bahoot late ho raha hai,” Cyrus manages to say in his first-class dialect of Hindi.

“Yeh bloody ambulance sahib, I tell you koy patient-vatient hai bhi nahi, nonsense kahi ke!” Rajesh replies in his first-class dialect of English.

Cyrus tries to encourage him to speed up but his squeaky voice is drowned out by a symphony of car horns as Rajesh Schumacher cuts across the on-passing emergency vehicle with a vroom of the BMW’s powerful engine, causing the ambulance to brake violently. Rajesh laughs and curses triumphantly into his rear-view mirror.

*****

It’s said to be the most difficult part of a doctor’s job and it was the part Dr. Vipul Gawande dreaded most.

“I’m so sorry,” he ventured, helplessly, as a wife could only stare horrifically while two children let their tears flow.

“Perhaps if the ambulance reached a few minutes earlier, but it was just too late...Mumbai traffic, you see....there was nothing we could do. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

God, I am horrible at this, he thought angrily. A husband, a father, is dead. And why? Probably because somebody was too late for a goddamned party to make way for an ambulance!

*****

As per the Rules of the Road Regulations 1989, if a driver is in the path of an approaching Fire Service Vehicle or an Ambulance that is displaying a flashing blue or red light or sounding an alarm, the driver must move out of the path of the vehicle as soon as he can do so safely.

Red-Faced Red Nev Misses Manchester Weather?

Over the past twelve months, we have seen a number of international footballers enchant Indian audiences – Messi & Co. gave Kolkata’s football-crazed crowds quite a treat as Argentina took on Venezuela, Venky’s very own Barclays Premier League club Blackburn Rovers played in front of a packed stadium in Pune and German giants Bayern Munich enriched Baichung Bhutia’s testimonial in New Delhi. Many believe that this trend is part of a greater scheme to uplift India from the depths of footballing obscurity and transform it into a force to be reckoned with.

In keeping with this theme, the country’s most beloved foreign club Manchester United is in the process of establishing its world-renowned Soccer Schools program here in Mumbai. After club CEO David Gill announced a tie-up with the Western India Football Association (WIFA) back in November, ex-United captain Gary Neville arrived in the city to inaugurate the training program.

On a sundrenched morning at the Cooperage, hundreds of people gathered to welcome the man whom the Old Trafford faithful affectionately call Red Nev, and the man himself looked pleased as punch to be in India – signing autographs and posing for pictures until the scorching heat got the better of him. He then relaxed in the air-conditioned comfort of a new clothing and accessories store soon to be opened at the venue.  About half an hour later, he emerged in proper United training apparel, boots and all, and participated in a light training session with local schoolchildren, the beneficiaries of this whole endeavour.  Neville accompanied MUSS head coach Chris O’Brien in demonstrating ‘the United way’ of training youngsters with an array of dribbling, passing and footwork exercises while the crowd cheered his every movement. “Who do you think taught Giggsy his tricks?” Neville joked, as he pleased everyone with some elaborate twists and turns.

As the shenanigans concluded on the Cooperage turf, it was back to the grind for poor old Gary Neville with an impatient throng of fans waiting for their jerseys and footballs to be autographed and their pictures to be taken with a man they were only used to seeing week-in-week-out on ESPN.  “This is the best day of my life!” said one teary-eyed United enthusiast, proudly showing us his signed scarf. “I woke up at 6am, spent an hour and a half in the local train and waited in the sun for another couple of hours; it’s all worth it now!”

The sweat poured down Gary Neville’s face which had turned rather reddish-pink, as British skin does tend to, when faced with sunny conditions. We didn’t bother offering him a towel, though, ecstatic as we were with our autographed issue of Fuse safely in our hands, we took our leave, feeling rather pleased that India’s footballing future lies in excellent hands.