IPL- Inane Publicity League?

Come to think of cricket these days and the first name everyone has in their mind is of the Indian Premier League- our very own, beloved - IPL. It consists of various franchises ( I still don't know which player plays for what team) The league is "supposed" to provide a good platform for international T20 cricket rather than promoting controversies and conflicts.
First the cheerleaders ( everyone's so-called "eye-candy"), then it was a prime target for terrorist attacks (due to which it was eventually held in South Africa), then Cricket Australia complaining about the lack of security in India and Bal Thackerey showed his love for the Aussie players and now the Tharoor-Modi affair... These are some of the "famous" issues which have always resulted in IPL being in the top headlines slot. And when this is not enough, people call  it to be rigged from the beginning! Isn't all this more than enough to deteriorate the standard of International Cricket? Players are being auctioned, franchises/ stake holders are being the lords of this money making business, and everyone is busy racing to flash their show-off skills in the after parties- all just for the sake of good (or equally bad) publicity.
Even now, the entire media is buzzing with the Tharoor-Modi thingy which happened lately in regard to the bidding of the new Kochi IPL team. Amidst all this people are still wondering who's the clever game planner and who's the soft target. Is this what we can expect from a league conducted by a nation where Cricket is no less than a religion? The IPL is, in fact, a way of the commercialization of cricket, wherein we see less of the sport and more of the glam-shams related to it. No wonder, it has demoralized the basic funda of cricket.

P.S. I am finally back to blogging! :-)
P.P.S. Do suggest your own elongations for the term "IPL" :-D

It's a Matter of Perspective...

Since the past few days I've been running a fever and I couldn't think of anything else but reading some good novels... I found the following piece of peotry in one of them and really loved it.  Hope  you'll love it as much as I did... Here's the piece:

The Most Beautiful Flower

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read


Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.

Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,

For the world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,

A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.

He stood right before me with his head tilted down

And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,

With its petals all worn -- not enough rain, or too little light.

Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,

I faked a small smile and then shifted away.



But instead of retreating he sat next to my side

And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,

"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.

That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."



The weed before me was dying or dead.

Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.

But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.

So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."



But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,

He held it midair without reason or plan.

It was then that I noticed for the very first time

That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.



I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun

As I thanked him for picking the very best one.

"You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,

Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.



I sat there and wondered how he managed to see

A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.

How did he know of my self-indulged plight?

Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.



Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see

The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.

And for all of those times I myself had been blind,

I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.



And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose

And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose

And smiled as I watched that young boy,

Another weed in his hand,

About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

- Cheryl L. Costello-Forshey