Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The Grand Finale - Ind Vs Pak -As Usual Unusual


Twenty 20 or simply called T20 sealed its firm place in cricketing history this monday
The match turned out to be nothing less than a nerve wracking , nail biting thriller , with full intensity and "cricketism" at its best ..
A dramatic final over,needing jus 13 runs for a World Cup Victory , starting with a wide ,
and then a huge six , and then the unexpected happened....
A huge Back Loft in the air by Misbah , expected to be a match sealer by going for a six , stopping the heartbeat for millions of Indians worldwide for those few seconds ,instead landed on Shreesanth's safe hands and also with it a pulsating, unbelievable victory ..

If u call it a game of cricket or even a world tournament final for that matter , people might still call u nuts..Cos it was not ..
It was intensity,patriotism , victory , laughter,cry, and every other emotion found in a Shakespeare play....India needs a lot of these and soon !!

The debate still continues if one really wants to see a 20 over match over the long run ,
but more matches like this , and it sure is paving the way for the demise for one of the finest forms of the game ,Test Cricket

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

O Captain My Captain

O Captain My Captain

"O Captain! My Captain!" is a poem by Walt Whitman. It was written in homage to U.S. President Abraham Lincoln after his assassination in 1865, and was first published the same year in an appendix attached to the latest version of Whitman's continually expanding anthology, Leaves of Grass.

The poem consists of three stanzas, its layout appearing like a ship approaching its destination, and begins with the famous apostrophe of its title:

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
Full Poem :

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! 5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck, 15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Ratatouille

Ratatouille

An Excerpt

The foll is an excerpt from the movie Ratatouille , when the food critic Anton Ego tastes the food at Chef Gusteau's and writes his review on it..
Its one of the finest and moving dialogues from one of the best movies Pixar has ever made..





Anton Ego: In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize that only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.