The Rogue Students

I like how everything is a record in cricket. Just about anything you do gets you a mention (no matter how mundane) in the annals of that year, etched forever in history for all times to come. We have seen maximum runs in an ODI, maximum runs in a test match, maximum score in a t20 match. Maximum number of wickets taken in a match. Most wickets taken in a row. Most extras given in a match. Then we've seen longest partnership. Longest partnership of openers. Highest partnership of third wicket. Highest partnership of tail enders. We have seen location specific records. Maximum runs scored in a particular cricket ground etc etc. Ok, fair enough. 

These are the rugged thoughts that compel my very existence to be an example... a well tailored story, a cautionary symbol of what we hope to achieve in our lives! So overwhelmingly lost in the delusion of control, of a planned life... we think our plans are what govern our future, we believe that the life we hope to live is but a push and shove away, hard work leads to true success. If even a single person would be given foresight to his life ahead, would it make no difference? If death chose to knock your door today, would you have lived life well enough to open that door yourself? And be glad when you look back to see what you have left behind that very door, as you walk those final steps of your mortal existence? Or would you cower beneath your beds, hide behind your curtains, bolt down the doors and try to ignore the undisputed truth.....? Life as we know it is fragile.

Make mistakes, be human, live a life that expunges regret, bestows the glistening charisma of your infinitesimal biography upon this time constricted, yet seemingly eternal universe.

"There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living." -  Neslon Mandela 

Written by: Ahmed Moin

Dear Mohammad,

The Backdrop

Being an advocate of classics, I feel starved as I see the state of today’s fashion, film and music industries. The Bryan Adams, Coldplays and Didos have been replaced by the *gulp* Biebers, One Directions and Nicki Minajs. Where we had The Shawshank Redemptions and Star Wars, we have The Silver Linings Playbooks (Yes, I hated it) and Iron Mans (Or should I say ‘Iron Men’? Regardless, Robert Downey’s cockiness fails to impress me one bit). The fashion sense once safe in the hands of the Marilyn Monroes now lies trampling under the feet of the Kim Kardishians.

After seeing Lindsay Lohan’s ‘Liz and Dick’ a few days back, I felt the urge to grab my laptop, don my safe-behind-a-computer-screen armor and blast the wretched woman to smithereens with my words. How it is possible to even imagine Lindsay Lohan portraying the legendary Elizabeth Taylor, I can never quiet comprehend. The absurdity of the comparison actually made me feel sorry for Lohan; you don’t compare two elements as many classes apart as the average modern actress and a queen of Hollywood. The reason being singular; there simply IS no comparison.

In the first of the ‘Head to head’ series, I would take out time to compare two actually comparable individuals; both received worldwide fame and success, both approximately belong to the same era of Hollywood prime, both were renowned for their ‘divine’ beauty, and both were loved by many while worshipped by more; “The Love Goddess” Rita Hayworth, and “The Blonde Bombshell” Marilyn Monroe.

  

“Now it’s van Persie in space… The Dutchman takes it onto his leeeeftt…. VAN PERSIEEEEE!! STUNNING! Absolutely stunning!” The ball took a delightful curl as van Persie wrapped his divine left foot around it, and nestled in the bottom right corner, as if it had been wanting to; Arsenal had begun their famous comeback, and had started to bridge the Infamous ten-point gap.

Owing to a mixture of terrible performances (just one win in the run-in), and terrible luck (Chelsea denying the footballing gods, against all odds), Spurs had been thwarted yet again by Arsenal in their quest for Champions League football. Luka Modric and Rafael van der Vaart left White Hart Lane for greener pastures, and I was left with no option but to curse my luck, for failing me yet again, and myself, for being in love with the daffy old club that is Tottenham Hotspur.

You find success where your heart finds its inclination. It has been said time and again. I don’t need to emphasize it. I cannot possibly comprehend what true success requires. But it does not ask you to work mechanically for the rest of your life, enslaved to a monotonous existence, no different than the machines that are your own design.