The Great Kurukshetra Warrior Auction

Many suspect it was under pressure from N Srinivasan that Vyasa left out what was indubitably the most fascinating chapter of Mahabharata.

Well, Doosra can reliably reveal that an IPL-style auction took place on the eve of the Battle of Kurukshetra and Lalit Modi merely plagiarised the concept later on.

The Pandavas and the Kauravas staked every gold coin they had as auctioneer Vidur introduced the players.

Lord Krishna was the Team Pandava CEO, while Shakuni was his counterpart in the Kauravas camp.

Below is how the marquee players’ auction went at Kurukshetra.

Remember, you hear it here first.

Vidur: Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Kurukshetra Premier League Players’ Tournament. We’d start proceedings with Karna, the Anga King. His base price is 1000 gold coins. Do I see paddles going up?

Yudhisthir: Dear Krishna, let’s bid for him. Brilliant archer and a loyal team man. Generous, can sacrifice his wicket for teammates. We tried to fix the match and lure him into our squad but he not only turned down the offer but also threatened to report it to ICC. What say?

Krishna: Who’s the CEO here? Me or you? Listen, he’s a decent player but is doomed to choke in the end. Just like South Africa. He’s got a curse that he’d forget his deadliest weapon just when required. Let him go to the Kauravas.

Vidur: 1000 gold coins. Do I see the Kauravas raising the paddle?

Dhritarashtra: Duryodhan, from whatever little I saw of him…

Duryodhan: Cut the crap dad. You forgot you can’t see. Uncle, what do you reckon?

Shakuni: Sonny boy, break the bank but get him at any cost. Whadda player! He’d beat Arjun hollow. Dronacharya won’t coach him so he learnt under coach of all coaches Parasuram the great. Can play in all conditions. Vidur: 1000 coins one, 1000 coins two…Sold to the Kauravas! Well, next player is Bhishma with a base price of 2000 gold coins.

Krishna: We don’t need him. Too old for an 18-day battle and not retiring despite being well past his prime. Plays for personal milestones and behaves like a prima donna. Will pick and choose who he wants to duel with. No way.

Vidur: Will the Kauravas go for master blaster Bhishma? I see Duryodhan raising paddle. 2000 one, 2000 two…sold!

Shakuni: Good buy son. Bit of a pain in the neck for any captain but possesses most records worth possessing. No bowler can dismiss him. He can be out only hit wicket.

Vidur: Next player up for grab is Shikhandi and his…err…her…err whatever….the base price is 10 gold coins. Anyone for Shikhandi?

Shakuni: Hopeless. Who got this item in auction? I won’t take even if they put a gun to my head.

Vidur: Anyone for Shikhandi? 10 gold coins only…ah, Pandavas have raised the paddle! 10 one, 10 two…sold!

Yudhisthir: What did you do Keshav? What use is this Shikhandi? He…or she…has a suspect action and failed a sex test too.

Krishna: Don’t blabber. Bhishma can’t score off him. He’d keep one end tight and Arjun would dismiss Bhishma, who otherwise will bat on and on. So you spend just 10 coins and dismiss someone worth 2000.

Yudhisthir: Keshav! You’re a genius!

Krishna: Whatever.

Vidur: Well, now presenting the great Dronacharya with a base price of 1500 gold coins.

Krishna: No need to bid for him.

Yudhisthir: But he’s a great!

Krishna: We don’t need an over-the-hill player. He runs an academy in Hastinapur and is more into coaching these days. If he manages to score a few runs, you’d sledge him from behind stumps something about his son. That would unsettle him and even a Dhristadyumna can get him out.

Duryodhan: We’ll bid for him. I need someone to help me set the right field and he’s mastered Chakravyuh (raises paddle).

Vidur: Ah, so Dronacharya the great goes to the Kauravas. With that, we conclude auction of our marquee players. May the best team win.

If Not A Cricketer...

...Sachin Tendulkar would have been Albert Einstein!

And it does not take rocket science or any theory of relativity to figure out why.

If you correctly recall Tendulkar in his early days and compare his mop on top with that of the Nobel Laureate, the first thing that strikes you is their common gravity-defying streak!

So there you realize, the inkling was there and pretty early too. It's only that we missed the point.

Peep into their private life and there they come, walking down the aisle with elderly ladies. As a footnote, Einstein scored over Tendulkar, doing an encore subsequently.

Let's get into serious business.

Einstein propounded E = mc2. Tendulkar's riposte was a solid T20 = Dessert, an equally revolutionary formula with a gastronomic tinge about it.

Einstein was considered a science icon but Tendulkar does not lag behind either.

In fact, Tendulkar is a certified Mumbai Indians icon and the attestation was done by none other than Lalit Modi, the then master of the T20 universe.

And if you still insist on similarities, here goes the clincher.

If Einstein is the Father of Modern Physics, Tendulkar is...well...father of two.

Now that should settle the issue once and for all.

P.S. Those who prefer it the other way round, read If Paris Hilton Been a Cricketer and Had Harry Potter Been A Cricketer elsewhere at BCC!.

(A reproduction of a September 11, 2009 post)

Cartoon: toonpool.com

When Superman met Sehwag!

Superman: Hey man. I heard you are the Superman of Cricket and so came to meet you.

Sehwag: Who are you?

Superman: Strange! You don’t know me? I’m Superman!

Sehwag: No idea what you do but kids know you. Why they call you Superman? Have you scored a 400 in a test?

Superman: I mean....No.

Sehwag: 200 in ODIs?

Superman: Err...No.

Sehwag: So? Have you beaten Navjot Sidhu in a proverb contest? Did you out-cliche Ravi Shastri in presentation ceremony? Do you do more endorsements than Tendulkar?

Superman: Hang on. Well, to start with, I have x-ray vision.

Sehwag: X-ray? Not bad. Why don’t you join our support staff? We need a portable x-ray machine anyway. Someone is getting injured every day.

Superman: Man, it’s not like that. With it, I can see through.

Sehwag: What? What’s wrong with you? Are you a pervert?

Superman: What are you talking, man!

Sehwag: Forget it. What else can you do?

Superman: I save damsels in distress.

Sehwag: Why just damsels? Why not kids and the aged ones? Hero banta hai?

Superman: I mean I help all...

Sehwag: Then why said only damsels? What else you can do?

Superman: I can fly.

Sehwag: Why?

Superman: What do you mean why?

Sehwag: What’s the need to fly? What these aeroplanes are for? Hero banta hai?

Superman: Man, you are just impossible. Well, I’m an American cultural icon and I hope you know what I mean when I say that.

Sehwag: Icon? So what? I’m also an IPL icon player. There are several other players whom Lalit Modi made icon. What’s the big deal?

Superman: I give up. No point arguing with you. Can’t believe someone can be so...good bye.

Sehwag: Good bye. Waise bhaisab, don’t mind but you have worn your undie on the outside. No doubt in a hurry.

Superman: No. I wear it like this! This is my style. It’s when in hurry that I dress like you guys. Bye.

Sehwag: What? Dufferman.

When Santa met Bhajji!

When two boisterous men, both bearded to the teeth and turbaned to the gills, come together with Christmas in the air, bear hugs and mutual backslapping are expected to be the order of the day.

But at times, even the most perfect of scripts go awry and what follows is something starting with a P and has a demon in it. I think Pandemonium is the word I'm groping for, unless it's one of those chemical elements which sign off with an 'ium'.

So when Santa Clause met Bhajji, one expected them to hit it off like a house on fire. Instead, it turned out to be a harrowing experience for Father Christmas.

Bhajji was in a foul mood. In his elements, if you insist.

In contrast, Santa had enough warmth in his voice to force another Copenhagen as he greeted Bhajji.

"Merry Christmas!"

The bonhomie was somewhat missing on Bhajji's part.

"Oye Papaji, mind your language. Has your Pyo brought the exclusive rights that you go about the town claiming 'Meri Christmas'? If you don't want me to box your ear, tell 'It's Everybody's Christmas'."

Santa shielded his bafflement with a patronizing smile.

"Well, it's everybody’s Christmas of course."

Bhajji sort of relented but clearly wasn't convinced of the stranger's bona fide.

"That's better. By the way, haven't seen you earlier. Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Santa Clause."

Bhajji's eyes bulged again.

"Santa what?"

What followed immediately is the experience I have undergone more than once in my childhood.

It's the standard modus operandi of the neighbourhood bullies to grab you by your arm, twist it as if it's a doorknob and pull it up like a lever till it's horizontal to the terra firma – thus pre-empting any resistance – before planting some of the juiciest on your defenceless back.

More than the assault itself, its suddenness had unnerved Santa and emanating from the depth of his facial undergrowth was an assortment of Err, Hey, Oh, Ouch, Stop, What-the-Hell before he finally managed to free himself from the vice-like grip.

Massaging his mangled arm, Santa sounded less genial as he instituted an inquiry.

"What the hell...I mean why did you attack me? You nearly yanked my arm off!"

Panting after his attempt at disarmament of the opponent, Bhajji was clearly baffled by his naivety.

"Why I beat you? Santa CLAUSE! Must be a relative of that *&%$#@ Whereabout Clause. Don't I know you have a bottle in your sack and you have been shadowing me all along to see when I relieve myself?"

Last remnants of geniality gone from his eyes — and honestly one could not blame him – Santa finally exercised some authority.

"Stop it, you moron. I don't know what the hell you are gibbering about. See, there is no bottle in my sack."

Bhajji was clearly shaken. At least stirred, if not shaken altogether.

"You mean you don't even know Whereabout Clause? I'm sorry then. No hard feelings, ok? See I slapped Sreesanth also and he too made peace later. We exchange dance steps now. You know what? Lalit Modi had actually threatened to auction us, not in IPL but among the cannibal tribes in Papua New Guinea, if we did not kiss and make up."

The change in air did little as Santa still eyed Bhajji with no little suspicion. Bhajji, on his part, was at his garrulous best, trying to strike a conversation.

"Sure you aren't Ramesh Powar trying to make a comeback in disguise? (laughs) I'm kidding buddy. So you come from North Pole? What brought you here?"

Santa was under the impression that Bhajji's query was on mode of transport.

"Reindeers."

Bhajji was surprised. He outstretched his arm and then looked at Santa.

"Rain! It's not raining dear. Why should it rain in winter? And I don't see Duckworth or Lewis either. They appear without failing whenever it rains."

A little explanation was the need of the hour but Bhajji retained that baffled look.

"Why reindeer man? Get a life, get a Hummer. I have one. Dhoni has one. If you want I can talk to the distributor for some discount."

Having retained his sang-froid, Santa finally opened his mouth.

"Thanks but no thanks. Sonny, my arm comes in the way of saying it was a pleasure meeting you. Never mind, I have something to give you before I depart."

Santa fished out a rolled strip and handed it over to Bhajji.

"I don't watch cricket but I'm told you've forgotten the basics. So I give you this tape to measure your line and length. You still will be left with another yard or so and for humanity's sake, tape your mouth with that. Bye."

(P.S. Reproducing this 2009 post for those who missed it)

Missing chapter of Shoaib Akhtar's autobiography: WG Grace.

Not many know that the manuscript of Shoaib Akhtar’s autobiography “Controversially Yours” contained chapters in which the “Rawalpindi Express” offered radical views on most of cricket’s greatest names, except Ajit Agarkar.

Libel-weary publishers, with business to run and family to feed, naturally refused to publish them, making sure they do not see the light of the day.

Until Doosra accessed them, of course.

Here goes the first installment in which Shoaib assesses WG Grace.

“I can’t believe they called him father of modern cricket. Father! My number 14 foot!

No hanky-panky. Let me make it clear what I think of that big, fat chump. He looks an obese ass with enough fat to run a soap factory.

Frankly speaking, I think he was dead-scared of my pace and decided to play in another era. Such a coward!

Even though he scored heavily against Joey Palmer in his debut test, I tell you his legs were trembling. Of course I was not there in that 1880 test but Shahid Afridi, who remains 21, says he himself saw them trembling.

Like most of us, Grace used to blatantly tamper the ball. I got to know he was called ‘Doctor’. I guess because he used to doctor the ball. And people have problems only when we do it. It’s a mean world, buddy.

No dramas. I think Grace was a slimy fatso. He filled English cricket with his brothers, sons and even nephews. If this is not nepotism then I’d like to know what is.

Man, have you seen his photo? Awful, man. Inzy bhai will look like him 20 years later.

Seems the guy never went to gym. Six packs? He had six sacks. If you have a good knife and you know how to do it, you can carve six cricketers out of him. Such a waste of space.

His beard was against the spirit of the game. I’m surprised ICC or whatever it was in those days didn’t ban it. It was a deliberate ploy to shield the stumps and confuse the bowlers. Disgusting!

People called him Grace. I call him Disgrace.

I know most of you won’t believe me. I know necromancy and I've challenged him to face me. I don't trust Lalit Modi. Fortunately, Kerry Packer wrote on my Ouija board that he would sponsor the event. Will keep you posted. Take care."

Dravid, cricket’s Methuselah

A recent piece of statistics confirmed our worst fears.

Rahul Dravid has faced most deliveries in test cricket’s history. A staggering 29,125, before he resumes the self-flagellation in England.

It goes with the 15,124 in ODIs and 1303 in T20s. None of these, however, are likely to improve unless Ramalinga Raju does the computation for ICC. Put them together and Dravid has faced 45,552 deliveries.

For argument’s sake, let’s assume every delivery took two minutes.

After all the sightscreen has to be moved, the batsman has to make sure the rival skipper has not sneaked in an extra fielder, the non-striker has to conclude his chit-chat with the mid-on fielder wherein both inquire about the female members in each other’s family and so on.

Also, the ball has to be licked, rubbed, roughened, scratched and its seam assaulted – with nail, both human and iron, bottle-openers and even Afridi’s teeth – before the bowler starts his run up.

And if Shoaib Akhtar is the bowler, a batsman can afford a quick power nap without risking oversleeping as the Pakistani’s grunt would wake him up just in time to face the ball.

You can safely say Dravid has spent an estimated 91,104 minutes – quite a Lalit Modiesque number -- for the deliveries he faced in international cricket.

Any stout calculator will tell you that is slightly more than 1518 hours, which is nearly 64 days.

To give you an idea, it’s exactly the time a brow hair takes to grow back after it has been plucked.

Now it takes a lot of patience to do that and Dravid has been patient. In fact so patient that was promptly drawn to a doctor who became his better half. Three-quarters, if you fuss.

Returning to the point, if Dravid looks like cricket’s Methuselah, you know why.

He faced 45,552 deliveries, mind you. And that excludes his wife’s two.

Cricket's Alternative Food Movement

Was it only my TV set that showed Djokovic sinking to his knees, plucking a few blades of grass and putting it in mouth after taming Nadal at Wimbledon?

It seemed an honest, pioneering effort by a tennis player of no uncertain scientific bend of mind to find out the edibility of grass and see if it can be the answer to the global food crisis.

Taking a cue from Djokovic, Doosra prepares a list of cricket’s own bizarre biters, eerie eaters, champion chewers and leading lickers:

1. Shahid Afridi: A ball-biter par excellence;

2. Mohd Asif: Single largest importer of poppy seeds;

3. Sourav Ganguly: Human Nail-Clipper. Mad enough, at his pomp, to chew nails and spit rivets;

4. Ewen Chatfield: A unique swallower of his own tongue;

5. Lalit Modi: A reckless biter but limited chewer;

6. Harbhajan Singh: Premium finger-licker;

7. ICC: A steady eater, out of BCCI’s hands.

P.S. Would be unfair to put up the shutters without a word about Kamran Akmal, held as the most promising of all. Even jealous teammates admit he’s so endowed that Akmal can start a bat-manufacturing business rightway without buying a chainsaw.

Exclusive: Tendulkar is broke!

The Pranab Mukherjees and the Montek Singh Ahluwalias would look pretty silly now.

Exposing the hollowness of their GDP growth mumbo-jumbos, another Indian has just slipped under the Below Poverty Line (BPL).

Is it a Dicky Bird? Is it a plane, carrying homesick Lalit Modi? No, it’s Sachin Tendulkar!

Well, hear it here first.

Tendulkar, whose annual income was the closest statisticians got to infinity, is dead broke!

First he sells off his red Ferrari 360 Modena and then he applies for home loan to buy a 1 BHK flat outside Mumbai!

The twin developments merit close analysis and I want you follow me here closely.

Why did Tendulkar sell off his Ferrari, presented by no less than a Michael Schumacher?

Was it his legendary anticipation that warned him of the fuel price hike that was barely 48 hours away?

Was it the political analyst in him that closely monitored the West Bengal election and realised red was fast going out of vogue?

Can it be possible that he had a tiff with Schumacher – suppose Schumi calls him and mistakes his sing-song voice for that of a maid -- and a mighty annoyed Tendulkar did not want to keep any memory of him?

Or was it because he felt let down by Ferrari who did not resist DRS in F1? So what if this DRS stands for Drag Resistance System and not Decision Review System? After all, once you accept the initials, you are not far from accepting the whole thing!

Well, Doosra risked life and limbs to unearth the truth and here’s how the Little Master turned pauper almost overnight.

Tendulkar earned the stuff by sackfuls but didn't trust banks -- including the one he endorses -- and used to stash all his money in the cellar.

And he got the shock of his life when he found termites had eaten up all the notes!

And the rest, as they say, is his story.

P.S. Sources tell us the sole purpose of Tendulkar’s Wimbledon visit was to try and borrow some money from Roger Federer.

7 Reasons Why Tennis Is a Better Sport Than Cricket!

1. Tennis players don't crib about pitches despite made to play on all kind of surfaces;

2. They don't look like offspring of a Michelin Man and a mummy;

3. Women players get equal – in fact more -- attention;

4. Umpires at least get a chair to seat on, are not treated as cloth-hangers and don't have to do funny things with their hands to earn their bread;

5. Players refrain from unhygenic practices, such as applying saliva to the ball;

6. There is no recognised skullduggery called Duckworth-Lewis system to determine the outcome of rain-hit matches;

7. Lalit Modi has no role in it.

(P.S. It's the sight of Maria Sharapova in yellow treading on French Open’s red clay that provoked this post which can alternatively be called Why Tendulkar Attends Wimbledon but Federer Does Not Care About IPL).

7 Cricketers and their Favourite Books!

Apparently, George Bernard Shaw -- contrary to rumours he didn’t grandfather Hashim Amla, it’s their common beard that triggered the speculation –- once said his favourite book was his cheque book.

Many suspect the cricketers are no better.

But recently the ICC listed favourite books of some of the cricketers we never suspected of being anything beyond a game-reader.

Well, Dravid probably reads Duckworth-Lewis method at leisure but others?

Doosra compiles a list of possible favourite books of some of our favourite players.

1. Harbhajan Singh: Geetanjali by Tagore. He bought the book under impression that it’s a biography of his actress-friend Geeta Basra.

2. Mohd Asif: Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh.

3. Rahul Dravid: Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. He is looking for tips how to catch all 22 opponents batsmen in a Test.

4. Ramesh Powar: Who Moved My Cheese? by Spencer Johnson.

5. Kamran Akmal: Jaws by Peter Benchley.

6. Salman Butt: The Trial by Kafka

7. Lalit Modi: A Passage to India by E M Forster. Modi is searching for one.

Doosra Annual Awards 2010

Time for red carpet, stealth light, stretch limos, bowties, pinstripes and satin gowns.

Ladies, gentlemen and otherwise, here goes the Doosra Annual Awards 2010:

1. Alternative Food Promotion Society's Man of the Year: Shahid Afridi, for his pioneering ball-biting act;

2.Annual Boom-to-Boomerang Medal:Lalit Modi (He can't enter India, hence sent legal counsel to receive the award).

3. Ravana Reincarnation Medal: Shane Warne, for his wife-stealing act that prompted Arun Nayar to update his Facebook status back to singles;

4. Sholay Lovers' Association's Real Viru Award: MS Dhoni, for his inability to win toss; Dhoni also gets Ranchi Milk Supplier Association's special discount coupons and Hush-Hush Society's Man of the Year, for keeping teammates in dark about his marrige;

5. The Annual Shit-Midas Trophy: Greg Chappell wins third straight time to retain the rolling trophy. He ruined Australia this time;

6. The Fake Rajnikant Trophy: Daniel Vettori, who was captain-coach-selector of the NZ team that got whitewashed by Bangladesh.

7. Sri Lanka chapter of We Mean Mean Society's Mean of the Year: Suraj Randiv, for that century-denying no-ball to Sehwag.

8. George Bush Medal for Extraordinary Hurled-Shoe Ducker (largest nominations): Jointly to Tony Blair, John Howard, Asif Ali Zardari, Omar Abdullah and Neveen Jindal.

9. Promote Facial Growth Society's Man of the Year: Hashim Amla.

10. Houdini Act of the Year: Zulqarnaine Haider, for vanishing in Dubai and resurfacing in London.

P. S. Doosra Annual Awards 2009, 2008.

An environmentalist’s appeal to Shashank Manohar

We all know sir that you don’t use a cellphone.

You don’t wear a watch either.

And you hardly fly – so much so that you didn’t have a passport till the other day.

Eco-friendly is the word that leaps to the lip.

Then why this series of showcause notices to Lalit Modi, sir?

One showcause notice invited a 15,000-page reply. To give you an idea, you roughly fell two trees to get 16,000 A4 size pages.

Sir, every time BCCI showcauses Modi, he vanishes into the nearby forest with an axe in hand.

No scruples at all sir, his replies are triple-spaced!

Spare a thought on the World Environment Day sir. Spare Modi.

Exclusive: How Lalit Modi was suspended!

(Vijay and Siddharth Mallya suspend Lalit Modi in Monaco)

Well, when you take such an inverse view of things, no wonder all you want is to turn the world upside down. 
 
Pardon the poor quality of the pix. But then, some say, the man is hardly any better.

Pix courtesy: Lalit Modi

7 reasons to denounce T20 WC

1. Any WC with India not in final is racist;

2. Any WC with Pakistan not in final is a BCCI design;

3. Any WC with Australia in final is bigotry;

4. Any WC with England in final is a nihilist anachronism. To be honest, it’s not cricket WC at all. At best, it’s a soccer WC and that too some four-decade old;

5. Any WC with an Australia-England final is actually an Ashes prelude;

6. Any WC where Lalit Modi doesn’t dole out the gongs is rebel;

7. Any WC where Yuvraj has to broker peace in a pub brawl is absurdist.

How KKR can still win IPL III

Apparently, we have seen the last of KKR in IPL III.

Ganguly’s rare athleticism, Gayle’s blings and shades, McCullum’s tattoos, Shah Rukh Khan’s soppy tweets, Juhi Chawla’s smiles that actually met at the back of her head, the foulness of the jersey's colour scheme…nothing could bring home the bacon.

But not everything is lost yet. Miracles do happen, although not as frequently as Lalit Modi’s Twitters.

With a pinch of enterprise and bit of luck, KKR can STILL win IPL III and here is how.

1. First the cinch. SRK unleashes a charm offensive and convinces Herr Lalit Modi to pluck Ramalinga Raju out of Chanchalguda jail and entrust him with the number-punching job.

It would take some persuasion indeed but once achieved, the only job left would be to put the bubbly on ice for an April 25 uncorking. Golly!

2. SRK gets Fuhrer Modi to tweak the rules and decide that the title would go to the team owner with most Tweets against his name. And no prize for guessing that SRK wins hands down here. Yippee! 

Of his rivals, Nita Ambani apparently reckons Twitter is another oil company owned by her husband and you can’t blame her for that. Among others, Preity Zinta suspects Twitter is a sequel to ‘Twister’, Vijay Mallya is cocksure it’s an F1 videogame while Shilpa Shetty believes it’s a reality show and is in fact planning to sue the racist producer for leaving her out.

3. SRK seeks divine intervention and the script goes along these lines.  Ganguly and gang are, as his wont, late in arriving for the prize giving ceremony at DY Patil Stadium and a devastating earthquake gobbles up other seven teams.

Deals have been signed and TV rights have been peddled. So Monsieur Modi sees no other option but to handover the title to the lone survivors KKR, who go home praising Ganguly’s vision. Whoopee!

4. IPL turns out to be actually a Karan Johar movie in which SRK looks utterly unconvincing and sensationally silly all along but still ends up on the winning side in the end.

Inside the Palace of Lalit (IPL)

Servant: Sir you have been so busy, no Max Mobile Time Out at all. Couldn’t tell you that one of your dogs is missing.
 

LM: What? Which one?

Servant: Million Dollar. We were airing her along with Tender, Franchise and Eyeball when Million Dollar broke loose.
 

LM: Gosh! What the hell you people do? All incompetent nincompoops. Now the Million Dollar question is where it could have gone?
 

Servant: Sir, actually Million Dollar had an affair with neighbourhood Subhashbabu’s dog.
 

LM: Subhashbabu’s dog! You mean that ICL! Have to teach a lesson to Subhashbabu. You just can’t have your dog hobnobbing with Million Dollar when you don’t have the official flirting rights.
 

Servant: Too late sir, damage has already been done. Million Dollar has delivered six kittens.
 

LM: What! A DLF Maximum! But that is an unauthorized association! We have to lure away the entire dog family. Dangle that Amnesty dog biscuit and bring them back. Whole family, you understand?
 

Servant: Whole family! Including ICL? Wow, that will be a Karbonn Kamal Catch sir!
 

LM: Yes, I’m waiting for that Citi Moment of Success when all the dogs will be here and Subhashbabu will have only himself to go airing with. Hahahah.

Unveiling Pune Pupas...err...Pune Pachyderms

Lalit Modi has delivered! And lo! it’s a twin!

Metaphorically speaking, lest I’m misquoted. ‘Delivering the goods’ is how it goes, if you know your metaphors well.

So at best, Modi merely midwifed it.

Well, now that the babies have arrived, the next logical step is the christening ceremony.

So expect the IPL franchisees to summon all their creative bankruptcy and throw up a repulsive name that you never suspected anyone of decent upbringing capable of.

We already have some of the most obnoxious names in circulation and no wonder Pune and Kochi would jump onto the bandwagon, hoping to lower the bar.

Doosra has certain ideas for Pune and it maybe worth a dekko.

If you follow me closely, you’ll see the animal theme is pretty strong in IPL. Logos are littered with lions and bulls and what not!

Why spare the name?

In fact, I foresee a day when Meerut Monkeys will take on Gorakhpur Gorillas and Ballabhgarh Baboons will lock horns with Ootacamund Orangutans and the tournament will be shown on National Geography.

No prize for guessing that Arun Lal -- Piggy to friends, if any -- would be the only commentator to retain his job.

Continuing with the animal theme and showing solidarity to IPL’s save-alliteration-campaign, Pune Ponies seems sensible.

After all, it’s a rookie outfit, new to an existing eight-horse race called IPL.

And when the cookie crumbles, fans can wash their hands of, saying they backed the wrong horse.

Pune Pupas is not bad either, capturing its nascency and promising the caterpillar will become a butterfinger…err...butterfly someday.

Even if not an IPL butterfly, a social butterfly at least?

Pune Puppies sounds smart as well and who better to lead the side than Michael Clarke! Pup is free of engagements at the time of going to press.

Talking about merchandising, Pune Puppies can market footwears that would rival hush Puppies!

In contrast, Pune Pachyderms sounds odd but imposing. It would suggest their immunity to criticism.

It may lack phonetic sophistication but at least getting under their skin would be next to impossible.

IPL, a lexicographer’s perspective

Had Samuel Johnson or Noah Webster been around, it would have spared me the trouble. Since they are not, I guess someone has to step in, spit on his palms and get on with the job.

So here are seven IPL words which Doosra believes should straightaway be in the lexicons.
 

1. Laliterature (la-lit-ray-chur): any text rich with recurring phrases like ‘multi-million-dollar deal’, ‘tender’, ‘rights’, ‘franchise’ etc. (e.g. The eunuchs who came to listen to Pranab Mukherjee’s budget were disappointed, admitting they could not make heads or tails of the Finance Minister’s laliterature.)
 

2. Yusuffering (yu-suff-ring): See-saw, yo-yoing. (e.g. Elin Nordegren finally handed Tiger Woods his hat, saying the golfer’s yusuffering fidelity was to be blamed for their parting.)
 

3. Mandiraxed (man-di-raxd): Dumped unceremoniously. (e.g. Sarah Palin says she is clueless why Barack Obama mandiraxed her and fell for that Chicago lamppost called Michelle.)
 

4. Yuvinile (yuv-nael): Excessive penchant for nightlife. (e.g. ‘Shoaib Akhtar had all the ingredients to be a great bowler but for his yuvinile indiscretions,’ rued Imran Khan.)
 

5. Shilparasites (shil-para-saets): gatecrashing relatives of your lady boss. (e.g. I had invited only my boss in my anniversary but she turned up with hordes of her freeloading shilparasites.)
 

6. Gangulyse (gang-u-lies): revive, mend. (e.g. John Terry’s tormented wife today made it clear that no amount of counseling can gangulyse her relation with her Casanova husband.)
 

7. Sehwagon Wheel: A wagon wheel where 4s and 6s far outnumber 1s and 2s. (e.g. Arjun Tendulkar’s Sehwagon Wheel reassured us that the youngster is following in his father’s footsteps.)

Yusuferman!

Make no mistake, we still hate Lalit Modi. But let’s face it, IPL isn’t skin-deep cricket. 

Yes sir. There is intense drama. And there is heart-wrenching tragedy too.

Come March and the Athenians had their Dionysia where Greek tragedies were staged. 26 centuries since then and March still springs tragedy on us.

His profile says he is from Baroda. Actually, Yusuf Pathan is straight from the pages of the great Greek tragedies of Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides.

Make Hashim Amla Gujarat’s Brand Ambassador!

It won't probably come under 'Off The Rocker' head but sample the recent decisions and you know the celebrated Modi acumens too have their occasional feet of clay.

Simply not at their best, neither Lalit nor Narendra (NM henceforth).

Take the case of the Gujarat strongman. Otherwise a sound egg, NM made Amitabh Bachchan (AB henceforth), God bless his daughter-in-law, Gujarat's brand ambassador!

This is when the moth-eaten fabrics, smelly hair oil, stop-start pens and rummy cements that AB peddles on telly are certified dust-gatherers.

And AB visits Gujarat only when his flight can't land in Mumbai and needs to crash-land in Ahmedabad.

Paris Hilton is more Gujarati than AB, you might say.

So why not make Hashim Amla (HA henceforth) Gujarat's brand ambassador, NM?

HA has Gujarati roots at least!

And like all successful Gujaratis, he has only roots in the state while the trunk and branches continue to flourish abroad. What's the Big (B) deal?

Pluck a beard each and HA beats AB, and beats him hollow.

Also consider that HA doesn't even wear alcohol logos, which would have fitted like glove with the state's policy of sobriety.

If NM's heart can bleed for the Gujaratis in Kenya, why not the nearby Durban?

One plausible reason could be that NM doesn't like the name, Hashim Amla. But there is a way out!

Call him Hashmukh Amin then and make him Gujarat's brand ambassador!