I just had to post this. :)
This is the transcript of one of the Greatest on-screen Monologues Ever… Truly Inspirational Stuff!!! Phew! I recently saw the movie on WB but the transcript which I first read in July 2008 still revs me up. I still do read it every now and then and let it take me to a different plane each time.
Use your discretion to share it with your teams, friends… and whoever else you might think will draw value from mere words that have so much depth. Be well, Do well & Stay Close!
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Al Pacino's ‘Inch-By-Inch’ speech from ‘Any Given Sunday’ (the movie)!
I don't know what to say really.
Three minutes
to the biggest battle of our professional lives
all comes down to today.
Either
we heal
as a team
or we are going to crumble.
Inch by inch
play by play
till we're finished.
We are in hell right now, gentlemen
believe me
and
we can stay here
and get the shit kicked out of us
or
we can fight our way
back into the light.
We can climb out of hell.
One inch, at a time.
Now I can't do it for you.
I'm too old.
I look around and I see these young faces
and I think
I mean
I made every wrong choice a middle age man could make.
I uh....
I pissed away all my money
believe it or not.
I chased off
anyone who has ever loved me.
And lately,
I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror.
You know when you get old in life
things get taken from you.
That's, that's part of life.
But,
you only learn that when you start losing stuff.
You find out that life is just a game of inches.
So is football.
Because in either game
life or football
the margin for error is so small.
I mean
one half step too late or too early
you don't quite make it.
One half second too slow or too fast
and you don't quite catch it.
The inches we need are everywhere around us.
They are in ever break of the game
every minute, every second.
On this team, we fight for that inch
On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us
to pieces for that inch.
We CLAW with our finger nails for that inch.
Cause we know
when we add up all those inches
that's going to make the fucking difference
between WINNING and LOSING
between LIVING and DYING.
I'll tell you this
in any fight
it is the guy who is willing to die
who is going to win that inch.
And I know
if I am going to have any life anymore
it is because, I am still willing to fight, and die for that inch
because that is what LIVING is.
The six inches in front of your face.
Now I can't make you do it.
You gotta look at the guy next to you.
Look into his eyes.
Now I think you are going to see a guy who will go that inch with you.
You are going to see a guy
who will sacrifice himself for this team
because he knows when it comes down to it,
you are gonna do the same thing for him.
That's a team, gentlemen
and either we heal now, as a team,
or we will die as individuals.
That's football guys.
That's all it is.
Now, whattaya gonna do?
-------------------------------
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
People Who Matter.
India offers the luxury that the west can never have. There are people everywhere and that translates to a far greater frequency of connect. These connects means dependencies which transpire into reverse enslavement. Yes, while we hold lofty views about freedom, we are actually very very dependent on the ‘People Who Matter’.
There was a post that I wrote a couple of years ago which is titled ‘Survival Ecosystems’ which you can find in the 2008 drop down.
I wrote that as an ode to the man who made sure that he ‘took care’ of my most prized material possession along with that of many other hurried office goers. Mishraji, the Lord of the parking cartel and his ilk continue to prosper even in these times. The job description for these brave souls almost never changes. And there there is never a frown or a grimace that appears in the line of duty. The contentment that they have in doing what they do, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, and year after year is unsurpassable and it just seems to reach stratospheric proportions. I moved on from that zone that Mishraji rules in, meaning I changed jobs. But I do manage to get to his kingdom every other month and he still can spot my car from a fair distance. He has the same smile that can lift the spirit of the most depressed souls on the planet. His simple demeanor that has a warm approach says it all. With a circular iron ring slung across his left forearm which has hundreds of keys that are worth over a couple of crore rupees, he commands his post like a General at the warfront. He doesn’t seem to realize the value he has and the pity is that neither do the hundreds of those who entrust him with their assets know it. I am probably the only one who knows his life’s ambition which is to go back to his village and get back to a quiet life of farming. But this can happen only after his four kids are up on their feet in the big bad world of urban indifference.
I am always in awe of people like Mishraji. I always imagine how life in India would be if these unsung warriors were not around. Who is going to fix the frequent disruptions that happen to our domestic lives? What would I do without Dinesh, the electrician who doubles up as my man Friday? What would I do without Rout, the plumber who almost always drops everything to come repair a leaking tank or a faucet? What would we do if Rupa, the cook, didn’t show up? There are many whose names are just a memory now but I have a deep sense of gratitude for them.
Every trip back home is mandated by a visit to Koti’s shop who prides in his snipping abilities. He is the same guy who snipped my mane from the time I was four years old. From those days of shearing the top to this day of ‘special’ treatment to the boy who he saw grow up. He looks frail now but his fingers still work the work with the same speed and precision that only a seasoned hand has mastered. Ashok, the kirana store owner on our street back home, is reminiscent of Pappu, the skylab icon at my alma mater. Both look very similar with those stained bunny teeth imploring the lips to make way for a world view. Ashok always had a candy ready for me when I used to return from school. It was probably his way of working at customer loyalty but the real reason (which I realized much later) was that he expected us to stop by every time we passed by. It didn’t matter if we bought anything or not, as most often we did. His store was at the corner of our street which had a dead end and he knew he had to ensure to stay well in the eyes of his captive customers.
Going further back, Mallanna was the man who instilled the confidence to try the untried. He was the milkman in Narsapur, who taught me how to ride a bicycle when I was there during the summer of ’86 to visit my maternal aunt. He even taught me how to ride a buffalo in his milk yard where he owned about nine buffaloes. While I mastered the bicycle, slow buffalo riding was not a sustainable option. Today, Mallanna is a grandfather who lords over this dairy business which apparently diversified into a couple of sweetmeat stores in the town. His brood of buffaloes apparently is over a hundred strong today, which is bound to be, as he must be servicing the sugar needs of Narsapur through his extended empire. Happy for him!
Today, I went to visit one of my four band of ‘barber brothers’ – Anwar, Riyaz, Usman and Salim. Usually, one of these four answers the phone and then gets to my place for a quick personalized snip session. This being the season of Id, I decided to go to their shanty shop and it was Salim for this time around. Riyaz and Anwar were back in their village for a brief vacation from the rushes of urban strife while Usman was at home recovering from the flu. Each of these brothers ‘know’ what is expected and they take special care for the little extra that they always get from my end for their personalized attention. What is more amazing to me is that our conversations border along philosophical lines and not so much about it being a monologue from them about bad their existence is. Salim told me that Usman was keen to get well soon so that he could go home with him to be with family on the holy day of Eid. Every Eid, they get a handsome tip and the only trade off is some yummy mutton curry that they are yet to get me to taste.
There are at least a couple of dozen more people about whom I can go on. In retrospect, I have always learnt something from each of them. I have smoked beedis with rickshaw-pullers with the same enthusiasm I have for conversations at work or at home with friends and colleagues. I have been amazed at their outlook towards life and the subtle humor they have developed to deal with the vagaries of life.
After many such wonderful touchpoints, life continues to be impacted by many more who are innocuously all around us. Most of them are simple hopefuls who do not expect more than a kind word and a friendly smile. They are not greedy by any stretch of my imagination. At least most of them are not from what I have seen. It is the proud silence and diligence with which they go about doing their work. And from this, I learnt that no matter what, it is passion for life and work that counts in the final analysis.
I continue to bow my head in awe and respect of those who appear to be God’s lesser children but are the true custodians of his creativity. These are the ‘People Who Matter’ who make things happen! Without them, the wheels of life will get derailed, at least in this part of the world.
There was a post that I wrote a couple of years ago which is titled ‘Survival Ecosystems’ which you can find in the 2008 drop down.
I wrote that as an ode to the man who made sure that he ‘took care’ of my most prized material possession along with that of many other hurried office goers. Mishraji, the Lord of the parking cartel and his ilk continue to prosper even in these times. The job description for these brave souls almost never changes. And there there is never a frown or a grimace that appears in the line of duty. The contentment that they have in doing what they do, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, and year after year is unsurpassable and it just seems to reach stratospheric proportions. I moved on from that zone that Mishraji rules in, meaning I changed jobs. But I do manage to get to his kingdom every other month and he still can spot my car from a fair distance. He has the same smile that can lift the spirit of the most depressed souls on the planet. His simple demeanor that has a warm approach says it all. With a circular iron ring slung across his left forearm which has hundreds of keys that are worth over a couple of crore rupees, he commands his post like a General at the warfront. He doesn’t seem to realize the value he has and the pity is that neither do the hundreds of those who entrust him with their assets know it. I am probably the only one who knows his life’s ambition which is to go back to his village and get back to a quiet life of farming. But this can happen only after his four kids are up on their feet in the big bad world of urban indifference.
I am always in awe of people like Mishraji. I always imagine how life in India would be if these unsung warriors were not around. Who is going to fix the frequent disruptions that happen to our domestic lives? What would I do without Dinesh, the electrician who doubles up as my man Friday? What would I do without Rout, the plumber who almost always drops everything to come repair a leaking tank or a faucet? What would we do if Rupa, the cook, didn’t show up? There are many whose names are just a memory now but I have a deep sense of gratitude for them.
Every trip back home is mandated by a visit to Koti’s shop who prides in his snipping abilities. He is the same guy who snipped my mane from the time I was four years old. From those days of shearing the top to this day of ‘special’ treatment to the boy who he saw grow up. He looks frail now but his fingers still work the work with the same speed and precision that only a seasoned hand has mastered. Ashok, the kirana store owner on our street back home, is reminiscent of Pappu, the skylab icon at my alma mater. Both look very similar with those stained bunny teeth imploring the lips to make way for a world view. Ashok always had a candy ready for me when I used to return from school. It was probably his way of working at customer loyalty but the real reason (which I realized much later) was that he expected us to stop by every time we passed by. It didn’t matter if we bought anything or not, as most often we did. His store was at the corner of our street which had a dead end and he knew he had to ensure to stay well in the eyes of his captive customers.
Going further back, Mallanna was the man who instilled the confidence to try the untried. He was the milkman in Narsapur, who taught me how to ride a bicycle when I was there during the summer of ’86 to visit my maternal aunt. He even taught me how to ride a buffalo in his milk yard where he owned about nine buffaloes. While I mastered the bicycle, slow buffalo riding was not a sustainable option. Today, Mallanna is a grandfather who lords over this dairy business which apparently diversified into a couple of sweetmeat stores in the town. His brood of buffaloes apparently is over a hundred strong today, which is bound to be, as he must be servicing the sugar needs of Narsapur through his extended empire. Happy for him!
Today, I went to visit one of my four band of ‘barber brothers’ – Anwar, Riyaz, Usman and Salim. Usually, one of these four answers the phone and then gets to my place for a quick personalized snip session. This being the season of Id, I decided to go to their shanty shop and it was Salim for this time around. Riyaz and Anwar were back in their village for a brief vacation from the rushes of urban strife while Usman was at home recovering from the flu. Each of these brothers ‘know’ what is expected and they take special care for the little extra that they always get from my end for their personalized attention. What is more amazing to me is that our conversations border along philosophical lines and not so much about it being a monologue from them about bad their existence is. Salim told me that Usman was keen to get well soon so that he could go home with him to be with family on the holy day of Eid. Every Eid, they get a handsome tip and the only trade off is some yummy mutton curry that they are yet to get me to taste.
There are at least a couple of dozen more people about whom I can go on. In retrospect, I have always learnt something from each of them. I have smoked beedis with rickshaw-pullers with the same enthusiasm I have for conversations at work or at home with friends and colleagues. I have been amazed at their outlook towards life and the subtle humor they have developed to deal with the vagaries of life.
After many such wonderful touchpoints, life continues to be impacted by many more who are innocuously all around us. Most of them are simple hopefuls who do not expect more than a kind word and a friendly smile. They are not greedy by any stretch of my imagination. At least most of them are not from what I have seen. It is the proud silence and diligence with which they go about doing their work. And from this, I learnt that no matter what, it is passion for life and work that counts in the final analysis.
I continue to bow my head in awe and respect of those who appear to be God’s lesser children but are the true custodians of his creativity. These are the ‘People Who Matter’ who make things happen! Without them, the wheels of life will get derailed, at least in this part of the world.
Rude City
It doesn’t take too much to lose it up north. There are two ways to read the earlier statement. On one hand, it’s about losing it in the head and the other, more relevant aspect is that people who live up north in India come to the planet with this trait ingrained in them.
Delhi is not an easy city to like. There was a day, during the months after I first started to live here, that I told myself that one year is all I will give to this city. That was not to be as the Lord above heard that resolve louder than any prayer of mine. He knew how to show he was the boss and decided to ground me in Delhi till date. When you are stuck, you can only so much to try to free yourself. So I decided to free my mind instead, to embrace the city of space. Yeah, it is really huge. This probably is the only definition that I can attribute to Delhi that still has a positive connotation. Each city teaches you a lot of things but Delhi teaches you a tad more than you can brace up to. You learn to deal with abrasiveness that is so in your face, aggression that doesn’t have a mother or a cause, callousness that puts devils to shame, crassness that will make you try harder to remember the last good thing you heard, insensitivity that sends shivers down the spine of even butchers, and many such more glorious attributes of the made it ‘Crude’. But I have grown to love it over the years. The mantra is to ignore respectfully as one can’t reason with madness.
Walk into a general store and you know you are not wanted. The shopkeeper doesn’t care if you buy are not, and he does not make the effort to sell. The economics of demand and supply play up, almost always. The mall culture promised to change that a bit but that was just an aberration. Talk to an auto driver and you will get a firm lesson on how to say ‘No’. Try to travel in a bus and you would get a first hand feel of how to grope. Road rage is commonplace which one can be subjected to even if you are walking. You can stay at the same house for years and not know your neighbor. People just don’t make the effort to be pleasant. They specialize in making life harder than what it is. There is anger and indifference everywhere. And it loves to provoke itself raise its ugly head at the slightest cue.
But there are extraordinary moments of endearment that I have experienced that made me tighten my embrace for Delhi. There also have been a multitude of instances that make one cringe as well, sadly. The predominant Punjabi culture and music does add that lilt to your life and a spring to your step. To smile is a concept that people up north doesn’t quite warm up to too easily. It’s the whisky and the chicken that almost always break the ice.
The average man on the streets is hopeful but scared. The Metro and the BRT have made their impact in opposite ways. The largest city of India and the nerve center of governance has a long way to go to be one of the best in the world. I won’t mention the fracas around CWG as it is an issue about national pride and not about the national capital.
For me, right here, right now, Delhi is a Rude City. Love it or hate it but learn to ignore for your own good.
Delhi is not an easy city to like. There was a day, during the months after I first started to live here, that I told myself that one year is all I will give to this city. That was not to be as the Lord above heard that resolve louder than any prayer of mine. He knew how to show he was the boss and decided to ground me in Delhi till date. When you are stuck, you can only so much to try to free yourself. So I decided to free my mind instead, to embrace the city of space. Yeah, it is really huge. This probably is the only definition that I can attribute to Delhi that still has a positive connotation. Each city teaches you a lot of things but Delhi teaches you a tad more than you can brace up to. You learn to deal with abrasiveness that is so in your face, aggression that doesn’t have a mother or a cause, callousness that puts devils to shame, crassness that will make you try harder to remember the last good thing you heard, insensitivity that sends shivers down the spine of even butchers, and many such more glorious attributes of the made it ‘Crude’. But I have grown to love it over the years. The mantra is to ignore respectfully as one can’t reason with madness.
Walk into a general store and you know you are not wanted. The shopkeeper doesn’t care if you buy are not, and he does not make the effort to sell. The economics of demand and supply play up, almost always. The mall culture promised to change that a bit but that was just an aberration. Talk to an auto driver and you will get a firm lesson on how to say ‘No’. Try to travel in a bus and you would get a first hand feel of how to grope. Road rage is commonplace which one can be subjected to even if you are walking. You can stay at the same house for years and not know your neighbor. People just don’t make the effort to be pleasant. They specialize in making life harder than what it is. There is anger and indifference everywhere. And it loves to provoke itself raise its ugly head at the slightest cue.
But there are extraordinary moments of endearment that I have experienced that made me tighten my embrace for Delhi. There also have been a multitude of instances that make one cringe as well, sadly. The predominant Punjabi culture and music does add that lilt to your life and a spring to your step. To smile is a concept that people up north doesn’t quite warm up to too easily. It’s the whisky and the chicken that almost always break the ice.
The average man on the streets is hopeful but scared. The Metro and the BRT have made their impact in opposite ways. The largest city of India and the nerve center of governance has a long way to go to be one of the best in the world. I won’t mention the fracas around CWG as it is an issue about national pride and not about the national capital.
For me, right here, right now, Delhi is a Rude City. Love it or hate it but learn to ignore for your own good.
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