There isn't much to letting go apart from actually letting go. And that's proving to be way harder than I thought it would be.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Try as you might, there are some things that you simply cannot prepare for. This morning, I read that Edge is retiring from professional wrestling because the spinal stenosis he has suffered ever since reconstructive surgery on his neck in 2003 has deteriorated far enough for him to lose feeling in his arms and for doctors to be confident enough that they can never again medically clear him to wrestle.
Edge's retirement brings to an end his eleventh reign with the world title (and a record-breaking seventh run as World Heavyweight Champion), to go along with twenty other major championships, including a record fourteen world tag team championships.
Having a journey that started with a sixteen-year-old kid watching The Ultimate Warrior beat Hulk Hogan alongside 67,000+ fans at the Sky Dome in Toronto at Wrestlemania VI end by becoming the most decorated champion in WWE history is one of those stories only this wonderful business can produce. I have a million things that I want to say about Edge and how his character and performances have contributed to my formative years but I'm certain that nothing I say will quite capture what I'm feeling right now. So I leave the final word to Frankie Kazarian:
"True class act. A boy with a dream is now a man who has left behind an incredible legacy. Thank you for all you have given."
The fact that Edge evokes such a response from a wrestler who has never even been in the same company as him goes to show just how great an impact he has had on the wrestling business. So long, Edge - there will never again be anyone quite as "Rated-R" as you.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Thursday, April 07, 2011
This has been a long time coming. It really has. A while ago, I was told (and duly posted) a typical Eashan Ghosh blog entry and, in many ways, this is one of those. Yet, there are no dates I can remember, no ambiguous language I can ever remember using, no unsaid feelings that I can ever remember harbouring. However, just to comply with the stereotype, I shall call her Quidge, I shall refer to anonymous conversations and I shall tag this under 'Personal Crap' and 'Special People'.
Though I've never told her this, I'd heard a lot of negative stuff about Quidge before I really got talking to her properly. To some extent, a steady trickle of negativity about her continues to filter through to me even today. However, separating the meaningful from the irrelevant has never been difficult with Quidge. I know that her first reaction to reading this will be to rebuke me for not telling her what others have been saying to me about her. That, in itself, shows an imperfection that's very, very funny to observe, because almost all her decision-making will otherwise be based on what's good for her. :-)
Suffice to say, unlike several other girls who I have very openly and publicly been in awe of, my liking for Quidge was based on her imperfections, her very human reactions, her very obvious motivations and her very predictable thought processes. We've never had a problem understanding each other - our favourite phrase is probably 'you know what I mean, right?'
I remember the first time she was even slightly uncomfortable talking to me was when, for some reason, we discussed if it surprised her that we'd become so close as quickly as we had. We settled that conversation with a sort of indifference that made me uncomfortable. But by the time I went to my room that night, I was certain that the way out was keeping her focused on curiosities, on little things, on our ever-growing movie list, on who said what about whom, on a certain indie rock band from southern California, on pre-school entertainment.
More importantly, the way out involved keeping her insulated from what was happening around her and so, for the first time in my life, without ever intending to, I learnt what it was like to be protective of someone. I also feared then that it would all disappear without the steady flow of attention that was almost inevitable once I left Bangalore. I'm delighted that, in the ten months since I've left, this hasn't happened.
And that's because Quidge and I were always meant to just be there and nothing more. It's something she told me that night when we first talked about it, but I hadn't really believed it then because there was no reason to believe it then. But I've become more convinced - and thankful - for it every day since I left.
Quidge has shown me that silence, honesty, tolerance, flexibility and moulding your behaviour to adjust to other people can be very, very valuable things. I'd never have said that three years ago. Maybe that could be because I've grown a lot in the last three years. But I really doubt that. I think she's been sweeter than I wanted her to be, spent time with me when I sometimes wished she'd go away and foisted millions of her little thought bubbles onto me when, perhaps, I had better things to do. And for that, I'm immensely thankful. Because ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, I'll look back on this relatively brief period of time and mark this out as the first time, after (at least) six years of constantly being around girls, I was finally turned into a pliable, accepting person.
Yet, somehow, my lasting feeling about her from my five years in Bangalore will be one of incompleteness. In Quidge's own words, "I wish I had gotten to know you much much before I really did. But I know I wouldn't have treasured you if I had." That I have only one such instance to point to not only indicates that she doesn't get so directly emotional without reason but also that when she does, it tends to be the kind of stuff that you're likely to remember. I wish I could repeat everything she said to me then but, of course, I can't. But I will say that it means the world to me. And the only reason I've written this is so that she knows it does.
Monday, April 04, 2011
Sunday, April 03, 2011
I've seen Rameez Raja run like a lunatic after taking the final catch in 1992, I've seen Arjuna Ranatunga and Aravinda De Silva embrace in the middle in Lahore in 1996, I've seen Darren Lehmann square cut Saqlain Mushtaq for four in London in 1999, I've seen Glenn McGrath raise his arms in triumph in 2003, I've seen Ricky Ponting walk around as if he owned the world in Barbados in 2007, but Mahendra Singh Dhoni's monster six over long-on a couple of hours ago was probably the most emphatic of the lot.
I've long been a critic and I'm not saying I'm a believer now, but this Indian cricket team has seriously dominated the 2011 Cricket World Cup. And the joy that this win has given people already has been nothing short of extraordinary. This is a team all of us can be proud of.
Friday, April 01, 2011
I expect a "celebrity" to have her hand raised in victory, I expect 19-0 to happen, I expect at least one heel turn, I expect at least two title retentions.
Honestly, I'm not as excited as I was about last year, but certainly not something I would contemplate missing. Enough talk. Now on with the show.
P.S. The last minute call on the Road Warriors' induction into the WWE Hall of Fame was a very wise one. Ooohhh what a ruuussshhh! :-)
I'm not sure if there's a point to this story but I'm going to tell it again.
- Eashan Ghosh
- I've been wilfully caught up in the self-defeating quest to get to know myself for years. I've never expected anything beneficial to result from such a quest. I tend to evoke extremely polarised reactions from people I get to know in passing. Consequently, only those people who know me inside-out would honestly claim that I'm a person who's just "alright." It's not a coincidence that the description I've laid out above has no fewer than, title included, eleven references to me (make that twelve). I'm affectionately referred to as "Ego." I think that last statement might have given away a tad too much. Welcome Aboard.
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