The Last of The First

August 30, 2010 witnessed, among other things, the passing away of the last surviving footballer to have participated in World Cup 1930, in Uruguay. Senor Francisco "Pancho" Varallo, Center Forward for the Argentine national team circa 1930-1937. At 20, he was the youngest player in the 1930 World Cup thereby becoming the youngest player in the World Cup Finals in 1930 (Argentina lost the finals to Uruguay 4-2).

Varallo in action against Italia (you gotta admit the pants rock!)

I have never watched him play, nor seen any footage of this man in action. In fact I hadn't heard of him till I came across an article citing his death. However, I did read up on his life, and the man is an Argentine legend having scored 180 goals in 210 league games for his club Boca Juniors; a record that lasted till 2008 when it was broken by Martin Palermo. He even jokingly expressed his desire to come out of his retirement upon hearing the news of his record being finally broken by Palermo. He was 98 years old in 2008.

Senor Varallo lived for a 100 years. RIP.

ps: Picture from here.

Ja saala, My heart goes shala-la-la-la ..

HOTTIE OF THE MONTH : Caroline Dhavernas

She makes me heart squeak ..

Picture from here.

Aaj mere yaaron ka budday hain...

Steering clear of posts beginning with "Of", here's to inform everyone that a looong looooong (too loong) time ago 2 idiots, namely TJ Eckleberg and Niniel decided that enough was enough and it was time that they fulfill their destinies of being the eternal spot(s) on my poor innocent mind. They were born 364 days apart, with TJ leading the way as usual. Since then it was ordained that my life would not be... what do they say... a normal one, thanks to our aforesaid hero and heroine.

So here's to the 2 idiots who have forever been and shall forever remain hell-bent on making a 3rd idiot out of me. Happy 25th and 24th respectively buggers. And I won't forget to put roses on your graaaves.

Of being a Dilliwallah

Courtesy : Dinesh Kapur

I know, I know its offensive but the black bit cracked me up..

Of Time and I

Saala I wake up every morning to an alarm, 6 days a week, and get to Office and switch on my computer at about the same time everyday...for over a year now.

Just not so long ago during college Time was a slave to me. Now it seems like I'm a slave to Time, and will be forever mooore.

Lesson : Don't get a job or forever sing, I want to breaak freeeee ..

Of Life coming to a full circle at a Govt. Office

Place : The Office of the Registrar of Firms, Societies and Non-trading Corporations at 10th Floor, Todi Mansion, Kolkata.

Time : Bright hot muggy afternoon.

So I finally stepped out of the cramped lift onto the 10th floor of Todi Mansion after having waited for over 20 minutes to get into the said lift in the first place (the queue had spilled onto the street outside). A small doorway to the left blocked by a wall of sweating visitors, queuing up for reasons best known to themselves, seemed to be the entrance to the Office. I waded my way through the barrage of bodies while profusely muttering apologies and calmly digesting the "tsk tsk(s)" and "arre dekhe moshai dekhe(s)" to finally find myself at the first desk of the said Govt. office where a bespectacled bucktooth civil servant sat signing papers while vociferously elaborating on his family's illustrous history to another sitting beside him.

I was here to file a couple of applications under the RTI Act. On inquiring as to who was the appropriate person to receive my application, I was pointed toward 'choto babu' who happened to be another bespectacled civil servant with a more sombre appearance. On repeating my question to the said 'choto babu' I was directed to a 'madam', a middle aged bespectacled (again!!) lady who spared me more time and attention than the two previous officers. However, she had no idea what the RTI was, or atleast she did a damn good job pretending not to know. She directed me to the Registrar's office itself, 'bodo babu', informing me that "uni jaanben.." (he'll know.. what you're talking about...i presume). So I met the Registrar himself who very kindly and calmly directed me to approach the desk just to the left of the entrance and submit my application and also reminded me to keep a receipt stamped photocopy for myself.

So I headed out one last time and lo! It was the bespectacled bucktooth civil servant, whom I'd met first upon entering the said office, that I had to submit my applications to. Only by this time he was going on about how they used to have 35 bigha jomeen (bigha = acre??; jomeen = zameen = plot of land) in Chottogram(Chittagong) that the dirty mullahs snatched from them.

My first real experience with the Indian bureaucracy. In retrospect it was entertaining, if nothing else. I only wish it wasn't soo bloody hot!

(FYI, I did manage to file the said application, though only after I informed our esteemed officer that I was instructed to come to him by 'bodo babu' himself)

Of Help & Pride

The Hindu reports that "Over 1,700 people have died and the UN says more than 650,000 people are without basic shelter while six million desperately need emergency aid. Tens of thousands of villages are still under water" in the current floods that have plagued Pakistan.

In what could be a political or a humanitarian gesture, the Indian government has offered US $5 million in flood relief aid to its struggling neighbour. Pakistan is yet to accept such offer. While India's offer is worthy of praise, one can't be sure of the motivations behind the same. Especially if one is a Pakistan national. However, the people stranded without basic life sustaining amenities could sure use the assistance. But would you live a life of gratitude to one you perceive as your enemy, or suffer with your pride intact?

I hope Pakistan accepts the funds.