#howzzat

[tired-yashublr]

here is my plan desiblr: wearing desi clothes on navratri and posting with a caption: "ab mera bole chudiyan kon dekhega?" and the first guy who comments karan johar wins.

[blogloops]

How to Use the Howzat Fantasy Cricket App?

An online game of fantasy cricket is catching on in India. This is a great way to play the game and earn money. Download the Howzat app.

[hubhopperapp-blog]

Listen to Howzzat!, a Cricket Podcast on Hubhopper

Howzzat!?!?! Keep up to date with the latest news and analysis from the world of cricket in this new Hubhopper Original series. There’s a lot to look forward to with international tours and series, to the IPL and, of course, the World Cup! So don’t let yourself be caught out, and subscribe now.

Listen to Howzzat!, a Cricket Podcast on Hubhopper.com or download the hubhopper app for your Android or iOS devices. Howzzat!?!?! Keep up to date with the latest news and analysis from the world of cricket in this new Hubhopper Original series. There’s a lot to look forward to with international tours and series, to the IPL and, of course, the World Cup! So don’t let yourself be caught out, and subscribe now.

[nishantjn]

Don't Do Drugs

I had a funny dream. I don’t know if this was it.

I popped it in my mouth, grimacing at the terrible taste on my tongue, and fell back on the beanbag, waiting patiently to begin. Not many trips start with falling back heavily on a beanbag, but that’s why this is special.

Seconds passed, turning into minutes, like slow, ponderous magic. Just waiting, waiting, waiting. I tapped both index fingers on my knees, slowly increasing in speed. I took the left one off by one beat, nodding my head to this newly created groove, musing for a while about the great drummer I would surely make. Then when tapping my fingers got boring - pinnacle of success - I fished behind me for the remote and flicked on the tv. Telly. Television set.

Oh I’m sorry, they call it an ‘entertainment system’ now.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, I flicked through my mini universe of free market, high definition entertainment. They say the violence on TV is ten times the violence actually occurring in the real world. So maybe it’s not so mini after all.

Reality show, saas bahu sepia tone and sound-effects and zoom from three angles, advertisement, advertisement, advertisement, screaming politicians, shouting news hosts, hip hop bhangra punjabi munda in da house, close up of actress shivering with eyes closed and face turned away - so seductive … yet so chaste! - while the actor taps his head against her navel to the rhythm of a high-pitched nasal croon and trippy lights flick in the background, twenty odd background dancers swaying in slow motion, dressed in sparkly clothes which reduce them to animated scenery, like a dynamic wallpaper for the eyes to rest upon, as I take in the spectacle laid out before me. The hero wears glasses in a darkened night club. Cool like that.

Flick. The suddenly dark tv screen reflects me back to myself.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s not my first time, but it’s the first time in a while. Should I read something? Is that what I want to do? Read? A book lies across the room - classic prose, long plots, longer sentences. Too far, decision made. How about some musi- No! Free style, free thought, free flow, let go.

Let go…. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Maybe I fell asleep, and it was just a silly dream. Maybe. I don’t know. Things crystallized and stuff started happening, and there was no time to waste for wondering, or for second thoughts. Finally, let’s go!

It turns out I have a cat, which is odd because I certainly don’t have a cat. Never really liked them, all judgmental and sly. Can’t tell what they’re thinking. Want food, and jump around everywhere. None of these objections occur to me, however, for here she stands. And here I sit, and stroke her back. She purrs. Am I a super villain? Is this a lair? I call her Jackie. Really? She purrs again. I guess I do. It’s wonderful the things locked inside a mind, I say to her. I didn’t even know you. Oh well.

I’m not too ecstatic about it though. It’s a little chilly, and the visions are late, as usual. "Where are the feasts I was promised?" I shout into my suddenly vast hall, voice echoing in the suddenly long, suddenly dark chamber. Flames lap gently on the torches suddenly fixed to the pillars. I have pillars now. Apparently.

It really is getting warm though. And my fingers are scraped from all the stroking, which is odd too. Why are these scales so sharp? Why are these scales…? Looking down, further inspection reveals that Jackie has now become a dragon.

This is clearly not turning out the way I thought it would. Not only did I not want a cat, I want a dragon even less. Can’t I have the cat back? Is the Iron Throne mine by birthright?

Maybe I said that out loud, or maybe I didn’t. Who knows? But Jackarys took offense, huffing and puffing heavily, eating up a sofa and peeing on the rug before flying away out of the open dome hundreds of feet above us. I have a tall castle. It’s very old school. And now the thermostat is all messed up because of the dragon smoke. So I take off my woolen robe.

This turns out to not be such a great idea after all, because strong winds start blowing around me and I’m being flown somewhere completely out of my control, like a helpless cow mooing into a mad hurricane. (Mental image courtesy - the movie Twister.) The wind buffets around me, all vision is lost and the rush of the vortex is all I hear, low pressure traveling swiftly past lands and seas. I fly for a long time, I grow a stubble, I lose some weight. I finally find time to trim my nails. And then, just as I begin to develop some good ideas for a short film - there’s just so much you can get done with time and no distractions! - we land.

The good news is that it’s warm again, and I’m dressed in white. Thank you, I say politely, my cheeks flushed with excitement and nerves tingling, as Sachin hands me my Test cap. I’ve dreamed of this moment for all my life. He smiles, ruffles my hair, and walks back into the dressing room, just as Ravi Shastri runs over with a microphone. I ask him how he’s feeling, and he admits to being a touch out of breath, the atmosphere in the ground is electric and he’s hoping for at least a couple of consecutive boundaries. I promise to try and walk back into the dressing room to pad up, just as a dark shadow descends upon the stadium.

Strapping on my knee pads, I feel that something is not right, something is just off about it all - this day, even this moment. As I tie my laces, I pause to wonder what it might be. I feel a sense of loss and separation. Maybe it’s the heat, I say to myself. Loss? What from? Did I forget my … no, no, that’s okay. Putting on the gloves, I begin to feel distinctly uncomfortable, as if I’m hot under the collar. Hot over the collar too. It really is quite hot. I don’t understand, but it’s my debut and I don’t know how things are done, so I turn to speak to my fellow teammates. Who knows, maybe it’s just me?

It’s clearly not just me. Around me, my teammates run screaming, hair and body alight in bright searing flames that I can barely even look at. Their shrieks pierce through me, shattering my pre-game concentration. Now thoroughly irritated, I take off my helmet and decide to take a look outside.

Everything is on fire, the stands, the grass, some signs saying 6 and 4. No one is screaming - “We want Sachin! We want Sachin!” - which is odd for any sort of time.

And that’s when it hits me. The bulb switches on. The gong strikes. I run out of metaphors, and finally realize what’s happening. Jackarys! I hear his dragon roar, much louder than his cat roar used to be. Everything around burns in dragon fire. The smoke is unbearable, and I take out of my handkerchief (because no one wants lung cancer).

His wings flap loudly as he descends onto the ground, landing between the wickets. A solitary umpire approaches him, to warn him for stepping on the pitch. And with a sinking feeling in my heart, I watch him devour the umpire whole - baggy sweater, and raised finger and all.

I have the sinking feeling because such, indeed, is the nature of tragedy, is it not? I see my lovely cat, a mental image of that delightful kitten Jackie, bobbing on my lap, vying for my attention, falling asleep all over my dinner, and I see her overlaid with the sight of Jackarys, patiently chewing on the umpire. Good chewing is essential to good digestion. Once, long ago, I had taught her that.

Yet now she stares ahead, the fire in her eyes cold as ice, like ice-fire, metaphorically ironically. She is a stranger to me now, no doubt. I don’t approach her. We have grown apart since her magical transformation into a massive, fire breathing vessel of hellish destruction. All that remains of old Jackie, I think, smiling wistfully to myself amidst the smell of charred flesh and melted box seats, is the passive aggressive cat rage. Why else would she burn the stadium down, before I even have a chance to take strike? Oh Jackie!

I could feel the sweat roll down my back, as I watched her munch next on the square leg umpire, who had come over to confer on the subject of the pitch invasion. The wickets burn like bright candles, and the bails are dislodged. I sigh, fall back heavily, to rest my tired legs, and that wakes me back up on the beanbag.

I have a glass of water. I eat a special brownie to calm down the crazy vibrations. I then ate a regular brownie, because munchies. Taking a moment to remember my forever lost friend, whom I have really now lost forever twice, I decide to find a new dealer.

[salmankhanholics]

★ Howzzat !

Salman Khan surprised a few street kids by gifting them cricket kits...