The King and I

It's funny how I've gone a year w/o talking bout Roger Federer here. The night after yet another re-writing of the history books. The Man's done it all, and then some more. We've been here 7 times in the past. Wimbledon final. Centre Court. On the verge of Grand Slam success. But this one might just be the most special of them all. Considering where we stood less than a year back.

I won't be forgetting the USO semi-final loss to Novak in a while. Tsonga was the first to do it. Novak repeated it the very next slam. Devastating, considering Roger was playing tennis far superior to the Tsonga game. Another loss, rounding off a miserable 18 months for a Federer fan. Not because the Man wasn't where we'd like him to be, but more so because the boo-boys were getting louder and shriller. 

Look, being a fan and supporting someone means accepting the good with the bad. I get that. I get that Roger's not going to win tournaments in the very fashion he did 6 years ago. I get that he's 30 going on 31. I'm ok with criticism for the most part - especially when it's well thought out and going somewhere. But, as far as the past 2 years went, I've had to sit through a lot of bullshit. From the monotonous "High time he retired. He's doing tennis, nay his memory a disservice by playing" to the juvenile, everything from "16 Grand Slams don't mean a thing if he never had any real opposition", to him being a sore loser, to him being secretly the most arrogant Tennis player in history (this, because he "dared" to wear a personally designed jacket). I mean, if I'd heard the words "washed-up" one more time, I'd have blood on my hands.

       I'm not saying people don't have a right to criticize, but when the people who do the criticizing are ones whose Tennis viewership goes back to (gasp) 2006 while prancing around like they're meant to be the next Bud Collins ( yes, douches, I'm sure you don't know who he is. Hence, the reference) , I couldn't not get pissed off. I do fight back, but there's only so many levels of idiocy that I can get down to, to try to make sense at their level.

So, after the semi loss to Novak, morale was at an all time low. Even the actual Tennis pundits had written him off. Did I write Roger off? No, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't doubt him. And I'll be honest - I'd rather have him go out while he's near the top than playing on to mediocre insignificance the way Hewitt has been. But there was one reason I couldn't get myself to throw in the towel. Roger hadn't.

Over the years, there've been many things said about Roger. It's usually the classy, steamrolling, majestic, elegant types. Fight is rarely one of them. But that was what I saw Roger doing. 2011 had been his weakest year on tour. Dropping out of the Top 3, a title drought stretching 10 months, losing some close matches. Still, he was optimistic in his interviews; he was playing with a goal in mind, it just hadn't worked out. Then, it all clicked into place. Not really. Roger fought and clawed his way back. He took a break for 2 months. recharged. Then fought back. He won Basel, which broke the drought. Then, played Paris for the first time in years. And won without dropping a set. The World Tour Finals was won, with a very important win over Tsonga in the final. Hard fought, proving he could hang in there when it mattered. Ending the year on a high helped, and Roger continued his form into 2012. Losses at the two Grand Slams notwithstanding, Roger won two ATP titles, including a first on clay in 3 years. Still, it wasn't enough for the boo-boys.

Which is why this Wimbledon was perfect. Because it wasn't. This wasn't a Roger, all-conquering, majesting, winning in first gear. This was Roger, fighting all the way through. The Benneteau match exemplified that. For all purposes, Roger should've been out. All that remained was the knock-out blow. No one told him that. The Malisse match confirmed it. And while the quarter and semi were exhibitions in grass court tennis, yesterday's final was more of the same. Clean it wasn't. Roger looked second best for a lot  of the first two sets. But, he fought again. Murray had chances a plenty. But Roger hung on, to cap a magnificent win.

Yes, writer from the Times, Roger changed his game. Engaged in slug fests. Charged the net more. But, don't you dare tell me what you saw yesterday wasn't brilliance. The drop from the baseline in the second set was one of the shots of the tourney. Only someone stupid as you would criticize him for not adapting, then continue to call him out for doing it.

Do I think this win will silence the haters? Not one bit. They'll still come up with gems like they did today. "The 1,7,17 is selfish. The absent Davis Cup means Roger plays only for himself", OR "The ATP ranking suck. Novak is the true No. 1. Now and for ever". Right now, I don't care. The Man's back at the top. Thanks a ton, Roger, for being in my corner. I'll be in yours forever.

Death, Be Not Proud!

I do apologize for what seem like persistent pessimistic rants; true, my obsession with Death and the dying does reach depressing extremes. It doesn't behoove me, to try and laugh it off; and saying that Death and Disease are all around, like a perverse version of the Wet Wet Wet song playing on repeat, has me coming across a lesser person than anything else. I can very well attribute my somber tone to the fact that I've now started my Oncology rotation, perhaps, also, to the book I just finished reading - "The Emperor of All Maladies" - Siddhartha Mukherjee's cancer biopic.

  It's hard to try and put into words just how significant a role cancer plays in our lives. To some, cancer might still be just a statistic. Whether it's 1.6 million new cases in the US of A alone, or whether it's the 3rd leading cause of death, it's to be taken as a statistic, and stored at the back of their brains, or discarded as yet another "somewhat interesting" but ultimately useless fact. But,to a lot more, Cancer is real. Ever present. Honestly, if I asked the few dozens who I hope read this, everyone would know someone - friend or relative, living with or having had cancer.


   But, I believe I'm sidetracking. What really got me thinking about the big D this time was an interaction with a patient. I had to tell someone that we had "done all we could". That I believe, is one of the most testing conversations a doctor will ever have, that about giving up. Testing for the patient, and the doctor. I can never say I understand how it must feel to be in the patient's shoes, because I can't; and I'd rather have a life where I'd never have to. How do you react when you're told there's not a lot to do? How do you react to a timer placed on your life - a premium on the time left? How do you, basically, come to terms with the fact that you will die. "Soon". Testing for the doctor, because you will never be sure how exactly to play it( pardon me for my choice of words). How do you go in, knowing that what you say matters, but not as much as how you say it. How do you get the person on the other side to understand, at the same time sparing him/her from what could prove to most disastrous now - false hope. And how, and this is hard for me, do you not get affected? A stray conversation I can understand, but when you're in a profession where this might be, unfortunately, a not too infrequent occurrence - how do you detach yourself emotionally and yet manage to come across as someone the patient can trust in?


       And I did go and have the conversation. My first. One that I'll always remember. I was with my attending, true. He did most of the talking, but I felt that this hit hard somewhere. It's so easy when you study stuff. 5 stages of Grief, they say. When you do have to practice it, the "shit gets real". There I was, getting overwhelmed, trying to hold back, constantly thinking that I could never imagine having to repeat this conversation for the rest of my life; and then feeling guilty that I was being petty about a conversation when the person in front of me was having his life's notice being served.
       It's funny the things you notice when you actually pay attention. I went in expecting to see a man defeated. Someone who would break down at the news. Overreact. Be inconsolable. (Maybe it's just the "naive movie fan" talking). The little things touched me. the wife squeezing his hand ever tighter as my attending discussed the prognosis. The daughter trying hard not to break down for her father. And the smiles got to me. You know the kinds you put on to show that you might be ok, while you're really falling to pieces. What struck me was the calm in the room. The feeling that the eventuality that had been put before them would be dealt with, just like anything else. The sense that, despite everything that was happening, the father tried to stay in control. And the fact that he thanked us. Thanked Us, the messengers. What I'll take away from this, is the fact that I met a man who refused to let something as big as the looming eventuality of Death change who he was, and how he'd behave. Someone who would accept. Someone who would face death on his own terms. Go out being himself.


       That to me is perhaps the take-home message for me from the number of people that I encountered at Yale, and Siddhartha Mukherjee's book. Yes, Cancer (and death) is a dark and often unforgiving adversary, but what matters is how you choose to face it. The book, to me, is not so much about the history of Cancer, as it is about the personal struggles of the men and women who faced up to it. The survivors who soldiered through, and those who didn't. But chose to accept it. Go out doing what they always did.People like Susan Sontag. And that is what it's about, isn't it? Why do we remain so afraid of Death? Is it the pain, is it the loss that'll be, or is just the fear of the dark all over again, afraid of what we don't know. Which brings me back to the doubts I had before. What do you do, when you're faced with such an eventuality? I know there isn't a right answer, but learning to accept it seems a brave choice. To me, it's most of the battle won. When you can't "win" over death in the traditional sense, not letting it change you is a victory. Being yourself is a victory. Acceptance is a victory. To me, that is the closest you get to "conquering" Death.

      As John Donne put it, " And Death shall be no more. Death, thou shalt die"

Amreeka , the Superbowl and all that goes with it...

Really haven't written anything in a long time. Partly down to the fact that 800 odd bucks for an apartment doesn't guarantee you an internet connection - especially not in Manhattan; or rather to the fact that I'm too much of a lazy ass to actually go out and get one. Or the truth - I'm too lazy to just write one.

As usual, I dreamed up a convenient series of "articles" for me to write. An American Diary can keep me occupied for days - of course, once a week and I've still got ample "material". Just didn't end up getting down to it. So, apologies in advance, this is probably the prelude and the archetypal "first month" article rolled into one.

Here's the cliches I'll try to avoid - I'm not promising though - 1.) A paragraph about how excited I was/am; 2.) A second one about how "new"/"improved" everything is, at first , atleast 3.) A third about "missing" everything at home. 4.) Concluding that home IS where the heart is. OK, yesterday, when I was REALLY homesick - the article might have turned out that exact way; oh well, guess I haven't completely gotten over being homesick. Sorry for the soppy mess that'll probably follow.

It's been three weeks here. And a crazy mixed up experience. Not smooth sailing by any stretch of the imagination. Jet lag ( which surprisingly wasn't that bad, I'd say the pills worked, but waking up at 2.30 for the 1st two nights might prove evidence against that). Falling sick, again. I'm probably the only guy to go to the States and fall sick with a cold - pollution be damned right? The snow was great, but it lasted a day. Everyone's telling me that the fact that this has been the warmest winter in a while is a good thing for me, but hey, I gotta have my snow. Having said that - probably jinxing me to a dreary February - I'll still take my chances. Though, if you do find me complaining of its excess a month later, you're free to let me know.

Are those the only "bad" things I can think of? Hell no. But then, I'm not one to complain.

To be honest,this has been a totally "new" experience. (I told you I couldn't promise things) Three weeks, and I've done things I'd never thought I'd do. Ok, things Aai-Baba never thought I'd do. Live by myself. Travel by myself. Cook for myself. Do my own laundry. Do the dishes. Unclog a toilet. Actively go out and try and make new contacts. Yes, I've am an overprotected, 23 year old baby. But things can change. Saying that I won't is obviously stupid. Yes, I won't let myself get totally "americanized" ( Although if you find me talking with an accent when I get back, I shall conveniently remind you that I always had one.

Where does the Superbowl fit into this? In terms of trying out new things and promising to never change others, I actually ended doing something I could never have a few months before. Watching a NFL game and skipping( shock...gasp...curse) actually skipping a United game the same day. I'll give my always ready excuse - the TV wasn't showing Football ( yes, this is still Football, not Soccer) and that the Superbowl is obviously so hyped to eternity that it'd be crazy to miss it just for the sake of doing so. But, I did watch it. And for once, let myself watch it without the usual prejudices. Also, I probably liked my cousins too much to start arguing how Football is so obviously superior to a bunch of juiced-up jocks with no skill to speak off save the excellent ability to run into and through walls. And how stupid it is to call the winners "World champs" despite having no people outside the States care, or acknowledge the fact that they won. Or the fact that it seemed more people were actually interested in the adverts than the actual game.


But, and there always is a but isn't there, I watched it without prejudice. And I had fun. After all, sport is sport. And guys will be guys. ( There's another cliche I thought I'd never use - see, change...) So, I was destined to be one of the 114 million who watched it on TV, halftime show and all - and do as the Yanks usually do.Eat junk food. Chill with a drink( lemonade for anyone who knows my parents). Comment on every advert that aired. Actually looking forward to the next one. And having an opinion about every play that went on.

Yes, the Giants were lucky,three spills that they recovered. Yes, Welker dropped that cup. yes, tom Brady is probably an arrogant toe-rag, even Giselle by his side doesn't change that. yes, Eli Manning led another 4th quarter comeback. Yes, Eli Manning is the king of 3rd down conversions/plays. What a move by Mario Manningham. WTF was Ahmed Bradshaw thinking? No way even Tom Brady could rescue that with a minute to go. And yes, I didn't look away as he tried that Hail Mary pass that failed.

Moral of the story - there probably isn't one readymade. Do I think I'd ever like NFL more than Football. Hell no. But did I ever think I'd actually enjoy it that much? Hell no there too. Did I ever think I'd go to the States by myself? Did I ever think that i could actually live alone and make it work, for the most part? Did I ever think I could go through an entire article without mentioning my internship/medicine? ....Watch this space...(classic cliche, right?)