THE AGONY AND THE ECSTACY

THE AGONY AND THE ECSTAC= Y

The evocat= ive title has nothing to do with the woeful joys captured by Irving Stone in the life and times of Michaelangelo. This is on a more personal note- the month long ecstatic state that my husband is currently in and the thirty days of agony that I am currently enduring. Naturally I speak of the FIFA fever whi= ch the whole world is infested with and which by some miracle I have been exem= pted from. The agony and the agony, is also about the twisted interest that the = new media focuses on, and the eternal anguish that we readers/ viewers will hav= e to henceforth undergo.

The betting ‘goa= l maal’ has started- amongst friends and kids on = the prediction of the number of ‘goals’ and amongst the punters and bookies on the whopping amounts of ‘maal&= #8217; that daily exchange hands. Never mind the fact that the Indian Football Team can never have a sip of euphori= a from the prestigious World Cup. Yet it is astonishing, how the Indian media is so involved, covering not only every expression of the men with the world at t= heir feet but also every inch of the cheering women with their vital statistics. =

I know nothing about Footbal= l. Except that it is a game where a ‘ball’ is kicked, butted, carr= ied and propelled into each other’s territory with what else but the ‘foot’. So what is so thrilling? Except for an additional aching chore for my sore eyes (just as watching another tedious game called Cricket is), there appears to be no other goal. In fact, I swear I can even feel the excruciating pain of the poor ‘balls’ that are so mercilessly tossed around. And although I’m bombarded with R= onaldo, Ronaldino or Kaka, except for the charming Beck= ham, made famous by Ms. Gurpreet Kaur for bending ‘it’ so ingeniously, none of these names register. = Yet the world is going gaga over the Football saga, making me feel more and more like an oddball in my lonely little unsporting planet.

To top it all, the media giv= es full support to promote a Hinglish song that Bappi Da has come up with. ‘Football is our Life/ Football zindagi hai (a literal translation for the Hindi speaking perhaps)/ ‘Duniya bhar me/ Football se ro= shni (a poetic comparison to that round ball of fire rising in the East)/ Brazil= ho ya = Germany/ Italy ho ya England (no doubt an illustration of the extent of his geographical knowled= ge)/ Argentina ho y= a France/ Football se hai Romance (an indication for Cupid to let go of his legendary bow and arrow a= nd sport a football instead). I don’t know how ecstatic the die hard fans will be with the album, but just listening to these imaginative lyrics has doubled my agony.

I hear India did play for a World Cup before, somewhere in the thirties. Also, that someone, somewhere in Hyderabad in total anonymity, still exists, selling chana on the footpaths. Even with the football season in full spring, this Indian Soccer Hero’s story of ecstasy and agony is naturally far too dull to make it to the headlines- especially with the = 216;Mmmwah-Mmmwah’ smooching socialites hogging the limelight. The New media are very much People of the Present tense. They’d rather make a nonentity a luminary than resurrect and honour celebrated ghosts. Intellect, for them, has be= come a product of an icy divorce from their moral spirit. As for the public, priva= cy is a luxury none can afford.

Today is the twelfth day of = the football season. My countdown has begun. Like the rest of the world, I also eagerly wait for the grand finale, but for an entirely different reason. For the last goal to be scored! So I can go back to my sane, regular movie/sitc= om TV routine. How I wish there was a stipulated time period for the media mad= ness to end too. Fortunately, hope comes in spurts from rare journalists that st= ill continue to speak from their heart. While joy was apparent in the last pages with Ghana celebrating their surprise victory, the pain was clearly visible across the front page in last Monday’s Hindustan Times. “SORRY TO SPOIL YOUR WORLD CUP……..” the headli= nes boldly stated, catching my immediate attention, “But you should know = why kids are starving in India’s richest city.” The article highlighted the pathetic state of the Publ= ic Health Centres; its failure of the ‘Targe= ted Public Distribution System’ and how some children are so malnourished they don’t even have the strength to cry when they are hungry. Hats off to you Mr. Gigil Verghese, for placing Agony over a much higher pedest= al than that of Ecstasy. And for trying hard to keep up the spirit of a dying trade!

Nargis Natarajan=