Lounge for 18 June 2011

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Saturday, June 18, 2011

Vol. 5 No. 25

LOUNGE THE WEEKEND MAGAZINE

Cover­up: Cover­up Author: The Henning Mankell, 61, is best retractable has known as roof the creator of the iconic allowed Wimbledon detective, Inspector Kurt Wallander. to keep its schedule through rain.

‘LEARNING ARABIC HAD A HUGE IMPACT’ >Page 6

WEATHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT

The roof will prevent delays and logistical chaos, but rain remains as inseparable from the Championships as grass >Page 9

GREEN PUBLIC EYE

Steeped in vanity and tradition, the Championships—125 years old this year—quietly keeps up with the times while maintaining its appeal as a place of tennis pilgrimage >Pages 10­11

OUR DAILY BREAD

SUNIL KHILNANI

SAMAR HALARNKAR

CIVIL SOCIETY’S NOT A THE JOYS OF A RESERVE OF VIRTUES ONE­POT MEAL

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he story of Indian democracy sometimes plays like a soap opera. The latest episode— not the uplifting kind—involves a confrontation between the government and a mysterious something called “civil society”. Can this “civil society” cavalcade in to rescue a flailing Indian democracy—that once-proud system now being abused by a villainous governing class, ever more smug in its power and feckless in the face of corruption? Tune in for next week’s instalment of The Indian Conscience-Keepers’ Capers. >Page 4

CULT FICTION

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or the idle few who read this column and for the brave ones who try to follow its recipes, I take pleasure in announcing that my food will, hopefully, become more inventive. You see, I have moved south to Bangalore; where a day-long cooling wind (I call it the Bangalore breeze) blows through the remaining rain trees and gulmohars; where we wilt when the temperature breaches 30 degrees Celsius (yes, it’s still quite... >Page 5

R. SUKUMAR

WEDNESDAYS IN FULL COLOUR

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oon after I wrote my last column about not being able to find any new comic books, I found several, including what is perhaps the best-looking comic book to ever make an appearance on these pages. Meanwhile, Lounge’s editor probably felt I needed help, so she sent me a copy of a comic adaptation of The Alchemist (alas, not the Ben Jonson play but the Paulo Coelho pop-philosophy book) with a message asking... >Page 18

NET LOSS: END OF THE VOLLEYER

Slower grass has nullified the advantage of better rackets but also ended the dominance of serve­and­volley players >Page 13

OFF THE COURT

Here’s a list of things to do in Wimbledon when you want a break from the tennis >Pages 16­17

HOME PAGE L3

LOUNGE First published in February 2007 to serve as an unbiased and clear-minded chronicler of the Indian Dream.

LOUNGE EDITOR

PRIYA RAMANI DEPUTY EDITORS

SEEMA CHOWDHRY SANJUKTA SHARMA MINT EDITORIAL LEADERSHIP TEAM

R. SUKUMAR

SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

THE WIMBLEDON ISSUE

(EDITOR)

NIRANJAN RAJADHYAKSHA (EXECUTIVE EDITOR)

ANIL PADMANABHAN TAMAL BANDYOPADHYAY NABEEL MOHIDEEN MANAS CHAKRAVARTY MONIKA HALAN VENKATESHA BABU SHUCHI BANSAL SIDIN VADUKUT JASBIR LADI FOUNDING EDITOR RAJU NARISETTI ©2011 HT Media Ltd All Rights Reserved

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BLEDON ISSUE

ts lush green grass, which weathers and fades into the second week of the tournament, contrasted by the pristine white of the players’ clothing against a background shorn of advertising, makes Wimbledon one of the sporting world’s most recognizable brands. That’s why this Grand Slam is unique, says tournament referee Andrew Jarrett in our special issue.

In its 125th year, this annual event remains as relevant and significant as ever because of Wimbledon’s ability to keep up with the modern times while retaining its connection with tradition, writes Rohit Brijnath. So it shuns bla­ tant commercialization at a time when sport is a business and yet builds a modern retractable roof so that its schedule does not go awry.

Winning at SW19 emphasizes greatness, which players such as Goran Ivanisevic and Jana Novotna pursued relentlessly in another era when serve­ and­volley ruled on its fast courts. Since 2002, baseliners have done just as well on its newer, slower surface, altered to make the sport more spectator­ friendly. Over the years, records have been broken; stardom has been created and shattered as players have bent over backwards (remember Andre Agassi shedding his neon colours?) to rule at the All England Club. The great rivalries of the past (a toss­up between Borg­McEnroe and Feder­ er­Nadal for the greatest), last year’s 11­hour match, and great statistics make every edition memorable. Its popularity with fans, who have found joy in camping overnight through the proverbial rain and glorious sunshine, is a result of all that Wimbledon has to offer—tennis, a museum, Pimm’s and over­ priced strawberries.

It was an uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality when I plucked a handful of grass from Centre Court a decade ago just as Mar­ tina Navratilova had done before me, though the similarity ends there. The blades had withered and dried by the time I returned home almost two weeks later, which shattered a naïve belief that the vegetation would somehow endure the passage of time, just like the tournament itself had done. That’s the magic of Wimbledon for a believer.

I

THE WIMBLEDON ISSUE

Arun Janardhan Issue editor

THE WIMBLEDON ON THE COVER: PHOTOGRAPHER: PAUL GILHAM/GETTY IMAGES CORRECTIONSISSUE & CLARIFICATIONS: In “Identify the cliché from the object”, 11 June, the full credit for the photographs from Wikimedia Commons should have been: 1. Theo V. Bresler; 2. Rama; 3. USFWS; 4. FCB981; 5. Samuraiantiqueworld; 6. Gildos; 7. Aviad2001; 8. Giulio Nepi; 9. Massalim; 10. The Yorck Projects.

LOUNGE REVIEW | HAKKASAN, MUMBAI

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ts exportability has exposed Chinese food to the kind of Indian innovations that have created the term Indian-Chinese to differentiate the style of cooking from what’s “authentic”.

This quest to discover what’s real, having suffered MSG (monosodium glutamate) and takeaways over years, led to the Michelin-star restaurant Hakkasan that aims to provide a “modern offering of Cantonese cooking”. It’s tucked away inconspicuously on Bandra’s Waterfield Road, a signature symbol in blue outside the building the only indication of its presence. Started 10 years ago in London, and on 2 June in Mumbai, Hakkasan has a reputation that precedes it; the reason why, despite a quiet opening, it’s already the place to be seen at and is booked up in advance.

The good stuff For a city such as Mumbai, size matters—and that’s the first noticeable feature of the restaurant. It can seat 120 people, with a private dining area for 12. The more casual Ling Ling on one side has the bar and an informal buzz of conversation, while the more sedate dining area with the oh-Iwish-I-had-polished-my-shoes feeling impresses with its ambience. The minimalist decor, with lanterns, screens and a ceiling that looks like a reflection from a water body, exudes a sense of serenity.

Hakkasan regulars tell me the Bandra outlet has more vegetarian options than the British one and is

affect your appetite though the blue wanda cocktail is delightful.

Unusually for a Cantonese outlet, Hakkasan has an extensive dessert menu, which is a pleasant surprise.

Though I may not order the yogurt parfait, raspberry sorbet and black sesame foam (`400) the next time, there still is plenty to choose from.

The not­so­good

Beefed up: Stir­fry tenderloin. comparable in standard. The vegetarian hot and sour soup (`350) with bean curd skin, tofu, bamboo and shiitake mushroom, warms the cockles of your heart while the small plate crispy duck roll (`450) was simultaneously crunchy and chewy (and I mean it in a positive way).

My favourite was the braised Chilean seabass claypot (`2,300) with preserved olive, bamboo shoot and shiitake mushroom (the staff also recommended the roasted silver cod with Champagne and Chinese honey), with a layered texture that lingers on long after.

I could not try their speciality, Peking duck with Ossetra caviar—it requires a 24-hour notice—but it’s going to be a must on my next visit.

The extensive wine and malt inventory should not be allowed to

A sensitivity to shellfish hampered any chances of sampling the Hakka steamed dimsum basket (`850) with har gau, scallop shu mai, Chinese chive dumpling and zucchini prawn dumpling. Every piece contained prawns, which the staff failed to warn us of. The well-meaning vegetarian gai lan is probably for those who do not like a strong confluence of flavours.

The service, despite the reported few months of training, is not the most competent. The music, though bouncy, is too loud to be the ideal backdrop for a fine-dining restaurant.

Talk plastic Hakkasan is generously priced, though the portions are adequate for sharing. Soups range from `350-1,200, starters from `350-1,650, fish and seafood from `1,450-2,950.

No, there are no doggy bags.

Hakkasan will be open for lunch also from 2 July. For reservations, call 022-26444444/5 or email reservations. mumbai@hakkasanindia.com Arun Janardhan

L4 COLUMNS

LOUNGE

SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

PUBLIC EYE

SUNIL KHILNANI

THE SOCIAL

NETWORK

‘Civil society’ is a special kind of political capacity, not a repository of any special virtue—and it is not more inherently valuable than the state MANVENDER VASHIST/PTI

MANVENDER VASHIST/PTI

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he story of Indian democracy sometimes plays like a soap opera. The latest episode—not the uplifting kind—involves a confrontation between the government and a mysterious something called “civil society”. Can this “civil society” cavalcade in to rescue a flailing Indian democracy—that once-proud system now being abused by a villainous governing class, ever more smug in its power and feckless in the face of corruption? Tune in for next week’s instalment of The Indian Conscience-Keepers’ Capers.

Popular distaste for our professional politicians and public officials is not a new phenomenon, nor is the yearning for a different, better type of human to replace them. Not so long ago, many of us were happy to place our trust in technocrats: the e-government geeks who would devise impersonal systems, smart cards that—untouched by human hand—would deliver the fruits of “good governance” direct to citizens. Lately though, it is moral crusaders and yogic faith-breathers, activists and organizers whom we turn to in the hope that they will rinse clean our muddy politics.

This apparent “revenge of civil society” against the political class has provoked two opposite reactions. Some commentators have been enthused by what they see as a new public engagement, especially by the urban educated elites. Long apathetic, they have in recent months bridled at India’s high-growth corruption sectors (CWG, 2G—not exactly compatible with our G20 image), marching the streets of downtown New Delhi and—more consistently and energetically— tapping exhortatory SMSes into their cellphones. Their heroes are a breed of new, unpolitical men.

To other observers, such elite agitations led by populist mavericks are at once a symptom and a cause of the weakening of our democracy. These observers fret about the popular embrace of figures who indulge in what B.R. Ambedkar called the “grammar of anarchy”—non-constitutional

GURINDER OSAN/AP

methods, outside the formal spaces and arenas of politics. In this view, unorthodox populist movements threaten to undermine and trivialize Indian democracy, and to propel its beastly slouch towards authoritarianism.

On the malignancies of our current government, both sides agree, but the fretters find the remedy just as noxious: an activism that seeks to substitute the political process with a more direct, populist control over politics.

I find a dash of truth in both these positions. It is a fine thing when previously indifferent citizens call special protests to draw attention to misgovernment.

Long may they agitate. And if some of the protest leaders have been opportunistic in their manoeuvrings, so be it. At certain points in a country’s history, even blatant opportunism can produce good effects; just as a sense of moral purity and aloofness can sometimes encourage the worst opportunism.

But we cannot rely on the fitful interests of citizens to substitute for institutions and laws that are enforced. And this is where I find a distinct worry, even a danger, in the current trend.

This year we appear to have moved beyond a mere distaste for politicians and public officials towards a distrust in the very institutions and procedures of constitutional democracy.

That speaks of a new development: a weakening of the legitimacy of our democracy, of the very system whose success we have become accustomed to celebrating.

We can no longer take this system for granted, and we have to recognize that there’s a point at which the damage takes on a systemic character. In that sense, the invocation of civil society against the state is a risky proposition.

What is this civil society? Does it have magical remedial properties? As journalists study Wikipedia in search of definitions, it’s worth insisting on a basic point. It is mistaken to think of

AMAN SHARMA/PTI

We the people: (clockwise from top, left) Anna Hazare’s five­day fast in April triggered a popular outburst against corruption; crowds at a one­day fast at Rajghat on 8 June; a candlelight vigil in support of Baba Ramdev; and Ramdev addressing supporters in Haridwar. civil society as if it were a thing, to substantialize it: either in the form of particular people, groups, or kinds of association. For all these interpretations hint at the notion that civil society is a source of authority that stands outside politics, somehow precedes it.

Civil society is more aptly seen as a special kind of political capacity: a capacity to make the conduct of collective human life better on the whole.

It involves a capacity for civility, for restraint, which is an extremely complicated human social achievement. And it involves a capacity to create and sustain society, to conceive and arrange social life as a meaningful, rule-bound activity that is governed by laws. This sounds abstract, but the important point is to see it as a capacity and not a thing.

No more than government or the state, civil society is not the repository of any special virtue. It does not necessarily possess benign intentions or effective instruments of action. It is no more a land inhabited by angels than are the corridors of the state.

Goodness and virtue are seldom natural commodities—they are not the magical possession of that

proposed extra-political Eden, civil society. They are, more typically, the product of social effort and political struggle.

Politicians, rarely righteous, are inevitably prone to self-righteousness. So it is with ours today, as they bluster and out-shout one another on the talk shows about what is right for India, or as they cultivate an aloofness and silence that suggests it is beneath their dignity to be held accountable, and seek to insulate themselves through the protections of office. That smugness in turn incites angry reaction among the wider populace: It turns them away from politics, in pursuit of other solutions. Thus the dreams of rational technocracy, of revolutionary violence, of a moralized civil society—all hoped-for remedies for political ills.

But here lie not solutions but illusions. We have entered dangerous years in the life of our democracy. We can feel somewhat secure in the conduct of our elections; we have perfected the routines (by no means unimportant) of throwing the rogues out of office. But, once we vote a fresh lot into office, we are quite

impotent in trying to make the new knaves honest. And they have little incentive, or perhaps even skills, to become good practising politicians.

In fact the problem may even be structural. Our electoral democracy and our economic growth have combined to place us in an awkward double bind, and suggest a vicious spiral. On the one hand, the fruits of liberalization fall not just to the private sector but also to government. As the overall economy grows, so too does the government’s disposable income.

This makes the stakes of gaining access to the offices and patronage of government higher than ever. It necessarily leads to more electoral competition for office, and it requires competitors to devote more energy to honing the skills needed for electoral victory; skills that are not easily transferable to the different task of governing well.

On the other hand, precisely because government now has more disposable largesse, it requires effective governing. But the politicians who have managed to gain office are the ones who are best at winning competitive elections, with a different skill-set from that

needed to govern effectively.

And in a further twist, electoral politics in an age of economic growth will also see a vast expansion in the opportunity for corruption. There just is more corruptible material all round.

That’s precisely what we are seeing—what is rightly provoking a season of outrage.

Bad politics inevitably pushes people to look to other realms to find remedies. Narayana Murthy; revolutionaries with AK-47s; holy men: Take your pick.

Legitimacy in the modern world does not belong to anybody naturally. It has no organic source: it is to some degree always contested. It has to be worked for and sustained.

In this sense, the current stand-off between government and those who profoundly dislike it is more significant that just an indictment of the performance of current office holders. It suggests something more endemic: a weakening in the legitimacy of our democracy, our constitutional pact, itself.

Sunil Khilnani is the co-editor of Civil Society: History and Possibilities, and director of the India Institute, King’s College, London. Visit http://www.kcl.ac.uk/aboutkings/ worldwide/global/indiainstitute/ index.aspx Write to him at publiceye@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Sunil’s previous Lounge columns at www.livemint.com/sunil­khilnani

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SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011

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Eat/Drink

LOUNGE

SAMAR HALARNKAR

OUR DAILY BREAD

SAMAR HALARNKAR

The joys of one­pot meals Down south, one way of easing into a new city is merging the familiar with the local

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or the idle few who read this column and for the brave ones who try to follow its recipes, I take pleasure in announcing that my food will, hopefully, become more inventive.

You see, I have moved south to Bangalore; where a day-long cooling wind (I call it the Bangalore breeze) blows through the remaining rain trees and gulmohars; where we wilt when the temperature breaches 30 degrees Celsius (yes, it’s still quite an air-conditioned city); where the crumbling infrastructure and uncleared garbage are salvaged somewhat by a smiling civility absent up north; where there is so much more to life than the overwhelming northern staples of roti, dal, chicken and paneer.

You get the picture—I am happy to be home. Yet, I have struggled for familiar markers, as I do each time in Bangalore (no, I will not write Bengaluru; I’ve always pronounced it that way when I speak Kannada but to say it in English sounds silly). The first time I lived in Bangalore was 1969. The last time was 1999.

There is no Indian city that has

changed so much so fast. In 1971, I remember my father taking me to the fine, bougainvillea-clad promenade of MG Road (commonly called South Parade by old-timers who grew up with its colonial name). Today as I watch the MG Road Metro station take form, I am struck by horror—the trees have been decimated, and the promenade is consigned to nostalgia.

The horror is short-lived. After years of hand-wringing and despair, I have made my peace (or so I hope) with the newest version of Bangalore. Slowly, I find familiar anchors, none more important than food.

Within the first 10 days, I have pork curry at Koshy’s; biryani from the kindly Sait family on MM Road, Frazer Town; liver and kidney masala and brain curry at Bangalore Club as the singer belts out Stand by Me; Kane Fry from Mangalore Pearl on Coles Road junction; Syrian Christian beef fry from a new Kerala restaurant, and mango curry supplied by an old family friend.

I’m clearly not in Delhi any more.

Driven to gastronomic distraction, I have found it hard to start cooking. Also, we have not found a home. Last week, with my mother’s cook out of commission, I had no choice but to restart, sharing kitchen duties with the wife. Trying to balance work in a new city (professionally, it’s like I am starting over), baby and kitchen usually calls for some ingenuity, which has come to us from the one-pot meal.

The wife has a traditional Sindhi favourite to fall back on—sai bhaji, a nutritious, versatile curry that is a mix of many vegetables and can be had with chapatis or rice (for a recipe of sai bhaji, visit www.livemint.com/saibhaji.htm).

I am not so good with one-pot meals, so when it’s my turn to cook, I mix and match ingredients and spices, a trifle wildly sometimes.

It helps that Bangalore’s markets and stores have a diversity of offerings from across the south. I have fun trying them out. I am surprised and pleased to see so much culinary tradition modernized and repackaged for the time-starved techie, the consumer of choice in these parts.

My one-pot attempts presently centre on rice. Obviously, eating a whole lot of white rice is not

something the doctor recommends. I’ve solved that by using a high-nutrition, high-fibre unpolished black rice called Navadarshanam, sold by a village self-help group from Gumalapuram, Tamil Nadu. If you’re wondering how I found it, just look closely on supermarket shelves. You can also get traditional rice varieties in Delhi, from either the Navdanya stores or even online at the Altitude stores. When in Mumbai, I love the red rice of the Konkan.

Cooking black, brown or red rice is trickier than white rice (follow instructions closely before you get a feel for it), but once you master it, your one-pot options widen greatly. As the recipe below indicates, nothing is hard and fast in a one-pot meal.

Use your imagination and whatever local ingredients you can find. There is no better way to adapt to a new city.

Black Rice and Tandoori Chicken (or Chorizo, or Cocktail Sausages) Serves 3-4 Ingredients 1 mug black rice 2 cups water 2 carrots, peeled, cut into thin, round slices

Mix and match: Improvise by throwing in ingredients of your choice.

2 mugs spinach, cleaned and chopped 1 large onion, sliced K star anise 2 green cardamoms 15 black peppercorns 1 tsp red chilli powder 1 tsp ginger-garlic paste 1 tbsp olive oil 2 tbsp soy sauce Salt to taste Method In a pressure cooker, heat oil.

Add star anise, cardamom and peppercorns. When they start to pop, add the onions and sauté till lightly browned. Add 1 tsp ginger-garlic paste. Sauté, sprinkling with soy sauce and chilli powder when the paste starts to stick. Add carrots, spinach, rice, water and salt to taste. Close the lid and pressure-cook on high till the first whistle. Lower the flame to minimum and cook for 20 minutes. Let the pressure subside after switching off.

Spread out in a dish and add

non-vegetarian toppings if you wish. I certainly do. Leftover tandoori chicken worked like a charm, so did chorizo or leftover cocktail sausages.

Bear in mind that since spinach releases water of its own, it is prudent to reduce water. The instructions for black and brown rice usually call for three times as much water as white rice. I use less, even without spinach. If your rice becomes a bit watery, never mind, just think of it like a stew.

This is a column on easy, inventive cooking from a male perspective. Samar Halarnkar writes a blog, Our Daily Bread, at Htblogs.com. He is editor-at-large, Mint and Hindustan Times.

Write to Samar at ourdailybread@livemint.com www.livemint.com Read Samar’s previous columns at www.livemint.com/ourdailybread

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SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011

Spotlight

LOUNGE

Q&A | AMITAV GHOSH

‘Learning Arabic had a huge impact’ JAVEED SHAH/MINT

The writer as a wordsmith: River of Smoke is 55­year­old Ghosh’s eighth novel.

The author on his new novel, his love of language, how he travels and why Naipaul can’t be reduced to his absurd comments

B Y A NINDITA G HOSE anindita.g@livemint.com

···························· mitav Ghosh’s latest novel, River of Smoke, the second in his Ibis trilogy, follows a motley crew of storm-tossed characters to their destinations.

While in the first book, Sea of Poppies, the voyage was the story, with most of the action taking place on board the Ibis, here his characters are on solid ground, placed on a global canvas that stretches from the plantations of Mauritius to the crowded harbours of China.

In doing so, Ghosh expands his cultural detailing, from clothing to cuisine. But most of all, it is the realistic linguistic registers of his dozen or so major characters that make his novel throb with life.

There’s Bhojpuri, Bengali, Chinese, Arabic, Portuguese and Laskari, to name only a few.

Ghosh trained as an anthropologist. “And what else does anthropology do than train you to observe, and to listen to the ways in which people speak?” he says.

River of Smoke weaves in historical events and figures such as Napoleon into a thoughtfully woven tapestry of fiction. But it is the language of his characters, speckled with words such as the Bhojpuri girmitya (an ingenious term for indentured labour: a corruption of the English word “agreement”) and the Mauritian Creole gidigidi, that gives the tap-

A

estry a most unique texture.

When Poppies released, the critical discourse centred around Ghosh’s subversive retelling of colonial history and the Opium Wars. In River of Smoke, Ghosh uses language and etymology almost politically; as evidence to prove the intermingling of races, languages, words (even botanical species) in the 18th and 19th centuries.

Ahead of the launch of his book in India, we spoke to the author about the Ibis trilogy, his interest in Arabic and Bengali fiction and why V.S. Naipaul should be read, not heard. Edited excerpts from an interview: Did you intend for ‘River of Smoke’ to take off from where ‘Poppies’ ended?

I didn’t think of the trilogy as a linear progression. River of Smoke doesn’t take off where Poppies ends. It moves backwards and forwards in time and heads off in a completely different direction.

My idea was that the books would have a tangential relationship to each other that would allow me to explore new characters and forms.

How did the idea of embarking on a trilogy come about?

It was actually a selfish thing. As a writer, the most difficult part of the writing life is when you finish a book and have to let go of all these characters you’ve lived with for so long. I decided I wanted to live with these characters, their children and their grandchildren.

You’ve said before that your two years as an anthropologist in Egypt shaped the way you write fiction. When did your almost scholarly interest in language start to take shape and how does that define your writing?

My time in Egypt has a lot to do with that. Anthropology trains you to observe, and to listen to the ways in which people speak.

In many ways, Arabic is a sort of link between Indian and European languages. Learning Arabic

had a huge impact on me. I’d say I’m one of the few non-Arab writers who’s read a lot of Arab literature and it reflects in my work. River of Smoke is heavily inspired by a famous Egyptian novel, Zayni Barakat by Gamal al-Ghitani.

In what ways is it influenced by it?

It’s a book set in the 18th century.

What’s compelling about it is that the writer uses a lot of proclamations, judgements and letters of that time and puts them together in an intriguing way. It made me understand why official language has such power. I used the official language of China and of English merchants in my book.

Your trilogy comes with its own chrestomathy! I’m curious about whether it functioned as a self-compiled reference dictionary while you were writing the ‘Ibis’ books or whether it was something you created later?

I wrote the chrestomathy after I finished Poppies. More than for readers, it was for myself: It was something I enjoyed doing.

Words are real to me. I love words and that’s what brought me into writing in the first place. So it became like another chapter of the book.

Me playing with words and creating a word universe.

It has everything from Bhojpuri to Portuguese words. What sources did you use?

I used a wide variety of research material, including a book written

by S.N. Gajendragadkar, a linguist from Mumbai who’s written a splendid book on Parsi Gujarati.

From your very first book, ‘The Circle of Reason’ in 1986, your characters travel a lot; the readers travel with them. In the ‘Ibis’ books, you take travel to another degree altogether...

Look, in some sense it is a reflection of my own life. My life has been enmeshed with journeys and departures. When I started writing 30 years ago, it was thought to be a peculiar

thing…my first book was about Indians working in the Gulf. Now, years later, it seems that I was ahead of the curve. I was writing of the reality of the world which is coming to being: Cultures and languages are mixing up. But these sort of new connections in the world are actually not new and I’ve been interested in them throughout my life.

Your father was a bureaucrat and worked for the external affairs ministry for a while. Where all have you lived as a child?

I moved with them until I was 11 and after that I was in boarding school in north India (Doon School). But that in itself entailed the business of travelling—going home for the summer to wherever my parents were. I lived in Bangladesh, Sri Lanka and Iran.

Who were you reading as a young writer, or before you became a writer for that matter?

I’ve been a voracious reader—and I’ve been greatly influenced by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, James Boswell and so many others—but it’s interesting you ask what I was reading in my 20s. For one, Lawrence Durrell who wrote The Alexandria Quartet. I love those books. And now that I think of it, this trilogy reflects my reading of him. Each book is a different book, yet they play off each other.

Your writing is weighted on observation. It’s about the real, concrete world and its people. How is it that you count Marquez among your big literary influences?

Marquez’ journalistic books are fantastic and they’re some of his best works. He’s a great observer in the sense that his books are grounded in time and space.

Even though he’s always identified with what they call “magical realism”…look at how Marquez makes his scenarios so believable, so persuasive.

It’s somewhat of a contradiction

that you don’t like writing nonfiction any more.

Non-fiction has sort of faded for me. In any case, whenever I’ve done non-fiction in the past it’s because the subject has really provoked me. If such an occasion arises, I’ll do it again. I was a journalist for a year and a half too and I continue to write essays for The New Yorker, Granta, Hindu…

You’re in touch with contemporary writing in Bengali and have a lot of Bengali writers as friends. Did you read in multiple languages while growing up? How do those different writing styles work into the way you write?

I did read a lot of Bengali fiction growing up: Satyajit Ray and his father Sukumar Ray. There was also this wonderful writer called Sharadindu Bandyopadhyay who lived all his life in Pune and wrote a series of historical novels about a young boy who joined Shivaji’s army. Bengali writing has such a warm and inviting storytelling voice.

What is this warm and inviting voice?

The storytelling voice of Bengali fiction is distinctive. Writers such as Bandyopadhyay write in a way that invites the readers—draws them—into the narrative. That’s what I mean.

You’re celebratory of regional language books being translated into English. But the general rhetoric has been that regional writers are not getting their due; that they’re only there for tokenism at the Jaipur Literature Festival, for instance.

That’s rubbish, there are regional writers from India at every literary festival I go to and they’re feted. I was at a festival in Montreal a couple of months ago and I met a Tamil and Malayalam writer. I don’t think it’s as dark a situation as it’s made out to be.

One of the great things happening in Indian publishing is that many publishers have launched translating pro-

grammes and more and more creative regional writing is receiving attention.

Your books seem difficult to translate. What happens to all your wordplay in translation?

Poppies has been translated to 25 languages. I’m not particular about supervising the translation but I do work closely with the translators. They mail me all the time for help with certain parts of the texts and I do what I can to help. My Russian translator sends me pages and pages of queries! In fact, the book has done quite well in Hindi. It’s called Afeem Sagar.

You’ve been compared to Naipaul because you both attempt to subvert history as it has been written. What do you think of his recent misogynist comments about how “no woman writer can ever be his equal”?

It’s utterly absurd. Naipaul says these absurd things to provoke people and in that he certainly succeeds. There were meetings in England, television programmes debating it, now you are asking me. I admire Naipaul’s earlier works such as Miguel Street, A House for Mr Biswas. One has to remind oneself that Naipaul cannot be reduced to the absurd things he says.

Do tell us about the next and last ‘Ibis’ book. Is it a work in progress?

Not at all, in fact. I just finished River of Smoke so it will be a while before I start the third. My writer friends in Goa joke that after Sea of Poppies and River of Smoke, the title of my next book should be Lagoons of Goa. River of Smoke launches in Kolkata today. www.livemint.com To watch a video interview with Ghosh, and for our picks from the ‘Ibis’ chrestomathy, visit www.livemint.com/amitavghosh.htm Review of ‘River of Smoke’ on Page 18.

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Life after: After retiring in 1987, Jaeger Achievement: The Australian spent much of her life using her serve-and-volley exponent lost only one winnings for charitable projects. In 2006, THE set THE en route to winning the 1987 men’s Jaeger became a Dominican nun but, THE according to TheWall Street Journal, left WIMBLEDON WIMBLEDON singles title. He beat Ivan Lendl in one ISSUE of his onlyISSUE three major finals toWIMBLEDON win his the order in 2009. only major title. Pat Cash is also ISSUE remembered for his black-and-white LORI MCNEIL checkered headband, cross-shaped Achievement: For the first time in earring, and shocking the traditional Grand Slam history, a defending Centre Court crowd by clambering up champion lost in the opening round THE when Lori McNeil beat Steffi Graf in WIMBLEDONthe stands after his win.

Life after: Due to a series of injuries, 1994. She went on to reach the ISSUE Cash never reclaimed his form after semi-finals, where she lost to Conchita Wimbledon, though he remains popular Martinez. This came seven years after with fans to this day. Later, he became a her previous best Grand Slam B Y S IDIN V ADUKUT are easily eclipsed by the Borgs media analyst and has coached several performance, a semi-final at the US ···························· and Beckers. Which is a pity players, including Greg Rusedski. He still Open in 1987. wears the headband and earring. h i s h i s t o r y o f t h e because fans like nothing more Life after: While McNeil’s singles career Wimbledon tourna- than an underdog to back all the slumped thereafter, she had a much MALIVAI WASHINGTON ment is intertwined way to Centre Court. better doubles career, winning Achievement: He reached with the history of its This is a list of 10 such players tournaments right up to 2001 before his only Grand Slam final at Wimbledon retiring in 2002. But she continues to be winners and losers at an almost who punctuated Wimbledon hisin 1996 before losing to Richard atomic level. Telling the story of tory with brief moments of excepbest remembered for her win over Graf.

Krajicek. MaliVai Washington was the the tournament in this century, for tional tennis. first African-American after Arthur Ashe instance, is as much an exercise in CHRIS LEWIS in 1975 to reach the last stage.

Roger Federer hagiography Write to lounge@livemint.com Achievement: The New Zealander Life after: Washington would reach the as it is in picking through reached the 1983 final and then lost to fourth round of a Grand Slam only once statistics, numbers, archiJohn McEnroe. Chris Lewis, who beat after that final. He retired tecture and trends. What Kevin Curren in the semi-finals, was in 1999, largely due to often gets lost in this “hisonly the seventh unseeded male ever to MIKE HEWITT/ injuries, and then tory of titans” are the reach the Wimbledon final.

ALLSPORT became a TV presenter Life after: It was Chris Lewis’ only major upsets and meteoric and interviewer. runs by unlikely comfinal and in 1984, he achieved his petitors that shine career-high ranking of 19. In 1999, he BOB MARTIN/ GETTY IMAGES ANDREA JAEGER brightly but briefly. stood for and lost parliamentary Chris Achievement: Andrea elections in New Zealand before moving A journeyman Andrea Lewis Jaeger’s 1983 women’s to the US to start an online tennis baseline slogger Jaeger final came almost at somehow makes it to equipment store. the fag end of a short the semi-finals or final but successful career. even, is briefly the WESLEY MOODIE & STEPHEN HUSS After a traumatic toast of the tennis Achievement: The unseeded duo were falling out with her world, gets a massive the first ever qualifiers to win the men’s father, Jaeger lost the rankings boost, doubles title in 2005, when they beat the Pat final tamely to Martina top-notch Bryan twins from the US. before fading away Cash Navratilova. She later into obscurity, or Life after: Stephen Huss’ career never GETTY told a British top 100 anonymity. regained those heights. In the years GETTY IMAGES IMAGES newspaper she had The stories of the since, he has never made it past the Nathalie thrown the match.

MaliVais and Jaegers third round of a Grand Slam. Wesley Tauziat

Several players through history have had just one great run at the Championships. Here’s a list

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Moodie had much better fortune. He was a runner-up in the men’s doubles at Roland Garros in 2009 and won the mixed doubles event at Wimbledon last year with Lisa Raymond.

MICHAEL STICH Achievement: Astonishing in hindsight, but Michael Stich only played top-level tennis for less than a decade. His greatest moment was beating Boris Becker in the final and Stefan Edberg in the semis to win the trophy in 1991.

Life after: While Stich continued to be a force on the tour, he never again achieved anything close to that win. He never won another Grand Slam. He retired in 1997 going on to start an AIDS foundation and become a commentator for the BBC.

VLADIMIR VOLTCHKOV Achievement: The Vladiator was a qualifier in the 2000 tournament and made it all the way to the semi-finals before running into Pete Sampras.

Vladimir Voltchkov prepared for his match by eating fish and chips and watching The Gladiator four times.

Life after: A career-high ranking of 25 in 2001, it dropped outside the top 1,000.

Voltchkov last won a tournament in 2007 but continued to play Davis Cup for Belarus till 2008.

NATHALIE TAUZIAT Achievement: Nathalie Tauziat lost the 1998 women’s singles final to crowd favourite Jana Novotna. Tauziat was the first French female finalist since the legendary Suzanne Lenglen in 1925.

Life after: Tauziat reached two more Wimbledon quarter-finals in the next three years, and achieved a career-high ranking of 3 in 2000. But she never won a Grand Slam. In 2001, Tauziat wrote a book about life on the road as a tennis player.

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Wimbledon attracts epic encounters and record­breaking marathons. Here’s a list of the greatest matches played there

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B Y S IDIN V ADUKUT ···························· here is, we admit readily, no universal way of drawing up any definitive list of anything in tennis. Despite all of Roger Federer’s scintillating success in the sport, there are many willing to debate, at the merest drop of a tennis visor, whether he is the best ever, or merely a pretender. “Can you be the best tennis player ever if another player beats you six times in eight Grand Slam final matches?” begins one recent article on the Internet that claims the title of “Greatest of All Time” for Jimmy Connors.

Drawing up a list of best

Wimbledon matches is harder still. Besides mere superlatives—most aces, longest match, most match points saved—there are so many other things that could determine the “greatness” of a particular match. Did it signify the end of an era? The beginning of another? Did the loser break down in tears after the match a la Jana Novotna in 1993? Or did it simply feature superb tennis?

The following list of the 10 best ever Wimbledon matches—five for each sex— is a mixed bag comprising all those things. Feel free to disagree.

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WOMEN

RAFAEL NADAL VS ROGER FEDERER 6­4, 6­4, 6­7, 6­7, 9­7.

Final, 2008 Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe both called it the greatest tennis match ever played. Few would disagree (especially with McEnroe). Interrupted by rain twice, the match—that took 4 hours and 48 minutes playing across 7 hours to complete—started with Nadal winning two sets before Federer retaliated with two of his own. Nadal won the final set 9-7 after a match in which Fedex all but failed to break Rafa. It was Nadal’s first non-clay Grand Slam win.

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MARTINA NAVRATILOVA VS CHRIS EVERT 2­6, 6­4, 7­5. Final, 1978 Having defected to the US from Czechoslovakia in 1975, Navratilova was still officially stateless when she met her arch-rival in the final.

Navratilova had just attained World No. 1 status but was yet to secure a Grand Slam title. She dropped the first set but then came back strongly to beat Evert. It was a rivalry that would set courts on fire for another decade.

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BJORN BORG VS JOHN MCENROE

VENUS WILLIAMS VS LINDSAY DAVENPORT

1­6, 7­5, 6­3, 6­7, 8­6. Final, 1980 Thanks to Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer in 2008, this is now considered the second greatest men’s tennis match of all time. It is remembered most of all for “that tie-break” in the fourth set. McEnroe, not one known to go down without a fight or two, saved five match points to eventually win it 18-16. But he was unable to break the Swedish iceman’s serve in the final set. Borg won but his star was already on the decline. Next year, McEnroe would beat the Swede in a rerun.

4­6, 7­6, 9­7. Final, 2005 Venus Williams came from a Championship point down to beat top seed Lindsay Davenport in a pulsating and powerful final. While Davenport led for much of the match, Williams’ relentless forehand and mental strength carried her through in the end. It was the longest women’s Wimbledon final in tennis history.

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ANDRE AGASSI VS GORAN IVANISEVIC

PANCHO GONZALES VS CHARLIE PASARELL

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22­24, 1­6, 16­14, 6­3, 11­9. First round, 1969 Gonzales was a bruised, semi-retired 41-year-old when he took on Pasarell in this epic that heralded tie-break scoring. After the first set, Gonzales demanded the match be suspended due to poor light. The umpire refused. Gonzales threw away the second set. But next day, he came back and won all three sets. In the final set, Gonzales saved seven match points before winning after 5 hours and 12 minutes.

Two years later, Wimbledon adopted tie-break scoring to keep match duration under control.

JOHN ISNER VS NICOLAS MAHUT 6–4, 3–6, 6–7, 7–6, 70–68. First round, 2010 This is the match that simply refused to end. The Gonzales-Pasarell first-round tussle of 1969 may have hastened the adoption of tie-break scoring but Isner and Mahut found a way around that by playing a 138-game final set. The match started at 6.13pm on Tuesday and ended at 4.48pm on Thursday. In between, records fell faster than fatigued spectators. Both players scored more than 100 aces each. The fifth set alone was longer than the previous longest match in history.

Mahut lost after having scored a grand total of 502 points.

STEFFI GRAF VS ARANTXA SANCHEZ VICARIO 4­6, 6­1, 7­5. Final, 1995 Twenty minutes, 32 points and 13 deuces. That’s how long just one epic game took in the last set of this classic. Graf was expected to win, coming on the back of a massive unbeaten streak. Despite starting strong, the “Barcelona Bumblebee” was unable to come between Graf and a sixth Wimbledon title. Vicario would reach only one more final, in 1996, but lose to Graf again.

6­7, 6­4, 6­4, 1­6, 6­4. Final, 1992 One of the best servers of all time took on one of the best serve returners of all time. Ivanisevic served more aces in this one match (39) than Agassi had in the entire tournament. Still, the American’s remarkable baseline talents prevailed. It would become Agassi’s first Grand Slam title on his least favoured surface. Ivanisevic eventually won nine years later, ranked only 125 in the world, but having gained a wild card entry.

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MARGARET COURT VS BILLIE JEAN KING 14­12, 11­9. Final, 1970 In many ways, this was a predecessor to the WilliamsDavenport slugfest in 2005. Both players were in top form, but both were also carrying injuries. Eventually, after seven match points, Court prevailed in a year in which she would win all four Grand Slam singles titles.

While this would be Court’s last Wimbledon title, King would go on to win three more.

STEFFI GRAF VS JANA NOVOTNA 7­6 1­6 6­4. Final, 1993 A final that will be remembered equally for what happened after the match as much as for what happened during it. At one point in the final set, Novotna was just one point and one game away from victory. The Czech lost her cool and Graf didn’t give her a second chance. During the presentation ceremony, Novotna broke down and sobbed on the shoulder of the Duchess of Kent. Five years later, Novotna beat Nathalie Tauziat in the Wimbledon final to win her only Grand Slam singles title.

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WEATHER The roof will prevent delays and logistical chaos, but rain remains as inseparable from the Championships as grass B Y J ONATHAN O VEREND ···························· lmost as familiar as strawberries, freshly mown lawn and pristine white attire is the first drop of Wimbledon drizzle. As predictable as a Roger Federer forehand flourish, the rain arrives to disrupt play and the routine is always the same; the mad scramble for umbrellas, the dash of the ground staff to cover the court, the wheeling of the umpire and the players’ race for cover. Within seconds, the court is safely protected and conversation in the commentary boxes can turn to subjects offpiste such as equal prize money or fashion disasters.

So when the senior officials at the All England Club took the seismic decision back in 2005 to build a roof over Centre Court, they knew exactly what would happen.

It would never rain again in London during the last week of June and the first of July. And they were not far wrong.

The roof was completed on

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Covered up: Centre Court empties out during another rain break at the All England Club.

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budget and on time for the start of the 2009 Championships and only one match was played under its unique concertina-like covering—Andy Murray’s fiveset win against Stanislas Wawrinka. Even then, the move appeared mainly precautionary, with sunshine reported in nearby Wimbledon village. Last year, it wasn’t required once during a glorious fortnight.

Adverse weather brings logistical nightmares for the officials at the All England Club. Former referee Alan Mills may be retired but probably can’t go for a stroll without his trademark walkie-talkie.

He developed the nicknames “rain man” and “prophet of doom” and certainly when his familiar head appeared around the backboards, we knew there was trouble in the air.

Andrew Jarrett has fulfilled the role as Championships referee for the past five years and his regular day involves frequent checks with the meteorological office in London. The latest charts and satellite printouts are always available and the information is so localized that he can be pretty confident that any imminent precipitation can be predicted to a couple of minutes.

“We take great care in preparing for every eventuality and endeavouring to maintain the published schedule,” says Jarrett, 53. “This means making use of the latest technology, where we can, to give us an edge. The on-site Met office team keeps us informed of the likely immediate and longer-range weather patterns.

“This at least helps us to plan for what can be the unplannable and is useful for keeping the players, the spectators and the world’s

media informed of what we expect to happen. Of course, it doesn’t always work out how we would wish, but at least the Centre Court roof now means that we can continue to provide live tennis entertainment however much the weather may try to dampen our spirits,” says Jarrett.

The weather has certainly played its part in Wimbledon history (the tournament celebrates its 125th edition this year) and many players can claim assistance from the elements as much as from their coaches. Possibly the most famous recent example was Goran Ivanisevic’s extraordinary semi-final turnaround in 2001 against Tim Henman when the home favourite was seemingly heading for a first Wimbledon final, taking firm control of the match winning the third set to love.

The heavens opened in the fourth set and when they returned on the Saturday, Henman, having lost any momentum he had gained, drew level at two sets all with Ivanisevic. The rain came again after five games of the decider, forcing another overnight cliffhanger, before Ivanisevic pounced on the Sunday. He went on to win the title, as a wild card, beating Patrick Rafter on the third Monday in front of a capacity crowd which had turned up to buy tickets on the day.

While the frequent rain interruptions neither assisted Rafael Nadal to victory, nor directly denied Federer in the classic final of 2008, nobody can deny that it added to the drama. When Nadal finally converted match point, gone 9.30 in the evening, the flashbulbs went off like fireworks on Centre Court and the image would not have remained so vivid

without the delays and the rain.

Competing at Wimbledon can be an exercise in extreme patience. When the rain arrives, players have to pass time either in the locker room, restaurant or lounge. There are snooker tables, Internet terminals and plenty of seating areas but it’s never enough. Just imagine, especially during the first week, how many people are swarming around with all the main draw players, men’s and women’s, singles and doubles. Sometimes it is impossible to get a seat in the player lounge and much as they would like to return to their hotel or house, the player normally has to stay on site in case the weather clears and the match is called.

On our BBC Radio network, 5 Live, we sometimes invite players into the commentary box for a chat. I remember Kim Clijsters coming in once and while she was entertaining on the air, she almost bumped her head on our low ceiling and I feared we were at risk of ruling her out of title contention.

Unfortunately, for players and spectators alike, a rain delay is one of the dullest periods. Tim Henman, the British favourite, always used to enjoy a game of backgammon with his coach.

Andy Murray checks his fantasy football team on his laptop. Boring? Absolutely! That’s a rain delay for you! At least in 1996, the Centre Court crowd had Cliff Richard to entertain them.

The decision to cover Centre Court, the core structure of which remains the 1922 original, was not taken lightly. Exhaustive engineering studies and scientific tests were undertaken before a design and process was agreed, which would protect the grass courts,

avoiding the risk of extra moisture while transforming the stadium into a modern-day retractableroofed sporting theatre.

The main benefit is the protection of the final few days of the Championships, with all the matches scheduled for Centre Court. As Jarrett says, “Even if it’s a great forecast for two weeks, it only used to take a half-day of rain on finals day and we’d (be) playing into a third Monday.”

Not any more.

Many people wonder why Wimbledon didn’t build a roof on No. 1 court when that opened in the late 1990s. The answer is simple; No. 1 court has fewer seats than Centre Court, so if it rained on finals day, several thousand ticket holders would miss out, unless they were willing to hang from the rafters. The US Open is currently faced with the same issue as it struggles to find an undercover solution for the huge Flushing Meadows complex.

So the 2011 Championships arrives with an encouraging longterm weather forecast. Although, as anyone from England will tell you—and we are obsessed by the weather—don’t believe anything the forecasters say. It could rain, it could shine but, on the 10th anniversary of the “people’s Monday” when Ivanisevic beat Rafter, the roof will ensure continuous play on Centre Court and virtually guarantee an on-time finish.

Jonathan Overend is BBC Radio 5 Live’s tennis correspondent and has been on the circuit for eight years. He recently won the UK’s Sport Journalists’ Association’s Broadcaster of the Year award.

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GREEN Steeped in vanity and tradition, the Championships—125 years old this year—quietly keeps up with the times while maintaining its appeal as a place of tennis pilgrimage

he boy, just 16, clambered up the steps with me to the shrine, now empty, vast, intimidating. I had seen it before, but not the boy. If he closed his eyes, could he see the sullen John McEnroe shouting, “You’re the pits of the world”, and Bjorn Borg slouching with barn-door shoulders and an unshaved philosopher’s face?

No, all Leander Paes said in 1989 was, “I am going to play here one day.” The shrine, and it is one for them, calls them all. That year, another boy, on the cusp of 18, went straight there on his first visit, and sat for 10 minutes “gazing at that cool, inviting emerald green grass”. He disliked the grass at first, it baffled him, frustrated him, where chances disappeared faster than an Ivanisevic serve.

His name was Pete Sampras.

This place where they went to genuflect, Paes, Sampras, everyone, was a court. The Court. No name attached to it, no prefix required. It is not the US Open’s Arthur Ashe Stadium, not the Australian Open’s Rod Laver Arena, not the French Open’s Court Philippe Chatrier. It is simply Centre Court. This is how Wimbledon, the oldest Grand Slam and 125 years

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But mostly Wimbledon for India was Ramanathan Krishnan, who had a sculptor’s hands and an architect’s brain, or at least so my father insisted.

old this year, likes it. Its very vanity and mystique lies in keeping things, seemingly, as they were.

Sport likes newness and Wimbledon isn’t averse to it.

Centre Court has a roof, a new No. 1 court was built, a new media facility, a new Court No. 3 this year, new shops, but newness is not what you feel when you walk in.

They cover it with ivy and give it to you as history. They keep up with the times yet want you to feel you are entering another time. Even the new is old-fashioned here. In 2010, they introduced a poet in residence, a bard of the baseline for God’s sake.

His name is Matt Harvey, who wrote as Roger Federer stumbled briefly last year against Alejandro Falla: “Fed’s effort was concerted disaster was averted the tennis world order as we know it reasserted.”

It’s like none other You have to love this about Wimbledon, so steeped it is in ritual and the odd pretension.

Like its very name, which is weighted with pomposity—it is referred to simply as The Championships. Arthur Ashe described it as “one of the great pre-emptive titles in the world. How do you top that?”

Borg wrote it was as if the club felt “no other tournament in the world existed”.

Then, he, five-time winner, added, “I feel the same way about it.”

But this is Wimbledon’s separation point, its selling point, its sense of itself as tennis’ home—the first tournament was held in 1877—a place of pilgrimage for fan and player. Here, tradition was protected, not summarily evicted. It had not just The Court, it had The Voice, a commentator named Dan Maskell, who talked tennis from 1949 to 1991 and whose “Oh, I say” has been borrowed by Vijay Amritraj. It had The Queue, a line of tented fans waiting overnight that became so famous that this year it is part of their exhibition. It even had The Address, for if you’re inclined to see this place as a cathe-

dral, well then it stands on Church Road. When a Wimbledon champion once, on a stairwell, asked me to “fuck off” when I requested an interview, I half expected a steward to appear with some mouthwashing soap.

Modern sport is unconvinced by ritual, it continually—as in the case of cricket’s IPL (Indian Premier League)—feels the need to brashly reinvent itself.

Wimbledon, conversely, understands the potency of ceremony, it knows there is a place for familiarity. Which is why we still go on about the 28,000kg of strawberries consumed each year, the draws which are headlined under Gentlemen’s Singles and Ladies’ Singles, the fellow who carried the finalists’ bags out for them. Permanence has its own power.

Wimbledon could also grate. As Jimmy Connors noted, “New Yorkers love it when you spill your guts out there; spill your guts at Wimbledon and they stop and make you clean it up.” This American crotch-grabber wasn’t completely wrong.

Wimbledon could be a stuffy place, self-important, classist, but then so was so much of sport then. When Fred Perry, seen as a brash rebel from a humble background, won his first title in 1934 and soaked in the bath, he wrote that he overheard a club committee man tell the loser Jack Crawford, “This was one day when the best man didn’t win.”

Wimbledon has changed since—Perry’s statue even stands there now—but it changes at its own pace. It will not be hurried. Calls for a Centre Court roof resounded for years before they built one; equal prize money for women was argued forcefully but they were the last Grand Slam event to accede.

Unique Indian connect Wimbledon was my tradition too because I grew up in Kolkata, where my father took me as a boy to the legendary South Club lawns to watch Davis Cup matches. Later, as a journalist, I’d sit in this club’s ancient veranda, sip-

ping tea with wonderful men such as Jaidip Mukerjea and Naresh Kumar, who spoke of Wimbledon—where the first Indian, Sardar Nihal Singh, reportedly played in 1908—like words to a prayer.

Grass was a legacy from the British, grass was our connection with Wimbledon, grass became our default Davis Cup surface. Grass you could smell on early mornings, still slick with dew, and some summers they’d tell you their turf was superior to the All England Club.

Wimbledon is all I heard, from Gussie Moran’s lace panties to Suzanne Lenglen’s silk skirts. It is all I saw on grainy black and white television.

It was also our history. It is where Amritraj led Connors two sets to love in 1981; it is where Ramesh Krishnan dismantled world No. 8 Joakim Nystrom in 1986; it is where the late Premjit Lall would sit one morning and think “Why? How? If only ....”, a man wounded by defeat. He led Rod Laver two sets to love in 1969 and had he won, he would have interrupted history, for it was the year Laver won his second Grand Slam—all four majors in a calendar year. Yet Laver fought back and later wrote: “Premjit Lall ... is a University man from Calcutta where he sometimes works as a cement salesman. Fortunately for me, some of his better cement lodged in his right elbow at a critical stage of the third set.”

But mostly Wimbledon for India was Ramanathan Krishnan, who had a sculptor’s hands and an architect’s brain, or at least so my father insisted. I never saw him play, but was privileged to meet him, a gentle man swollen with modesty. He cleared for us an artistic path still never matched with semi-final placings at Wimbledon, first in 1960, then again in 1961, where he manhandled Roy Emerson—who went on to w i n 1 2 Grand Slam titles—in straight sets. The effect of these lawns,

For players, this is still tennis’ coronation headquarters, its holy land, and an umbilical cord exists between these lawns and greatness. A player can be great without a Wimbledon title—Ken Rosewall, Ivan Lendl, Justine Henin—yet it is where greatness is confirmed.

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their pull on men such as Krishnan, is told in a lovely tale in his book, A Touch of Tennis. Jack Kramer, who started a rebel pro tour whose participants were then banned from the amateur majors, offered Krishnan $150,000 (around `67.5 lakh now), a staggering sum then, to join.

But the Indian went home, spoke to his father and decided “nothing in the world was worth staying away from Wimbledon and the Davis Cup”.

It is to these lawns I first went in 1987 as a young

writer, only 24, awed and rebellious. I disliked the bowing by players and only this month, while researching this piece, I grinned when I read that Donald Budge, in 1935, waved his racket in Queen Mary’s direction and said, “Hi, Queen.”

As I covered Wimbledon for six straight years, I was gradually overwhelmed. Wandering the courts early at 9am (play started at noon), stopping for a smoke, inhaling the grass, Boris Becker practising here, Henri Leconte laughing there, clay-courters swearing as the ball skidded through too fast,

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ROGER FEDERER

PETE SAMPRAS

BJORN BORG

umbrellas swishing open as the rain dripped down to turn fast courts even more oily.

I like that there is no music at changeovers. I like its white clothes, ensuring that not all of tennis’ past is erased, even if Anne White in a rather fetching bodysuit in 1985 told us white wasn’t quite always virginal.

I like its subdued advertising in a time of flamboyance.

Of course, it is not all staid. A female streaker inaugurated the 1996 men’s final between Richard Krajicek and MaliVai Washington and in a picture I found, Krajicek is grinning as she strides past. Perhaps he is appreciating her fitness. After all, four years earlier at Wimbledon, Krajicek, under the influence of no other substance but stupidity, had remarked that 80% of women players were “fat, lazy pigs”.

Later, he sought a retraction. He had meant only 75%.

The tennis then was quick, frenetic, reflexive, Stefan Edberg like an ethereal figure at the net, Pat Cash all scowling athleticism, McEnroe still hitting drop volleys that sighed and died on impact. Then, a worn line of grass down the centre of the court spoke of a collective rush to the net. Now it is gone, now only the baseline is frayed, now almost no one serves and volleys.

It doesn’t feel like Wimbledon and “forward, fellows, forward” you want to cry. The grass, says Paes, has changed, the soil is packed, the bounce higher, the balls fluffier and baseliners, who can hit passing shots through a keyhole in a gale, now feel at home. Some say Wimbledon has lost its essence, some say it is more democratic.

Either way, everyone still wants to win there.

To be the best, be the best here

GARY M PRIOR/ ALLSPORT

TONY DUFFY/ ALLSPORT CLIVE BRUNSKILL/ GETTY IMAGES

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“Bathtubs man, this place has bathtubs.” — Leander Paes

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Our associations with tennis may encompass all geographies—I prefer the gritty chess of Parisian clay—but Wimbledon retains the strongest resonance.

Legendary duels have occurred on every surface, yet ask most people and two matches spring off the tongue. Roger-Rafa in 2008, on which a book—Strokes

of Genius— already exists. And McEnroe-Borg in 1980, a match of such significance that this summer, 31 years later, a second book surrounding that match—Epic—has been published. Both were Wimbledon finals.

For players, this is still tennis’ coronation headquarters, its holy land. A player can be great without a Wimbledon title—Ken Rosewall, Ivan Lendl, Justine Henin—yet it is where greatness is also confirmed. Any conversation on tennis’ ultimate player involves three men: Laver, Sampras, Federer. Of his 11 majors, Laver won the most, four, at Wimbledon; of Sampras’ 14 majors, seven came there; of Federer’s 16, the most (six) arrived on these lawns. Even Borg, who won more French Opens (six) than Wimbledons (five), is revered more for his transition to grass, leaving us forever with the victorious image of him like a praying monk on bended knees.

The women are no exception, the “greatest” a 10-beer argument between Martina Navratilova (who won nine of 18 Slams at Wimbledon) and Steffi Graf, who won more majors on grass (seven) than elsewhere while collecting 22.

One might say their games fit Wimbledon well; one might say they lifted their games to fit at Wimbledon.

Now, as summer dawns, and players have traversed the Channel to English shores, it begins. Clay shoes will be exchanged for grass ones and backswings will be abbreviated. Footwork will be adjusted and returns polished. Federer will see the champions’ board and convince himself he owns this turf, Rafael Nadal will know he owns Federer, Novak Djokovic will believe he owns the tour. They will adjust their strings, the crowds will descend into a funereal hush, the umpire will call play and history will begin anew.

Rohit Brijnath is a senior correspondent with The Straits Times, Singapore.

Write to lounge@livemint.com

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ROHIT BRIJNATH THE

GREEN Steeped in vanity and tradition, the Championships—125 years old this year—quietly keeps up with the times while maintaining its appeal as a place of tennis pilgrimage

he boy, just 16, clambered up the steps with me to the shrine, now empty, vast, intimidating. I had seen it before, but not the boy. If he closed his eyes, could he see the sullen John McEnroe shouting, “You’re the pits of the world”, and Bjorn Borg slouching with barn-door shoulders and an unshaved philosopher’s face?

No, all Leander Paes said in 1989 was, “I am going to play here one day.” The shrine, and it is one for them, calls them all. That year, another boy, on the cusp of 18, went straight there on his first visit, and sat for 10 minutes “gazing at that cool, inviting emerald green grass”. He disliked the grass at first, it baffled him, frustrated him, where chances disappeared faster than an Ivanisevic serve.

His name was Pete Sampras.

This place where they went to genuflect, Paes, Sampras, everyone, was a court. The Court. No name attached to it, no prefix required. It is not the US Open’s Arthur Ashe Stadium, not the Australian Open’s Rod Laver Arena, not the French Open’s Court Philippe Chatrier. It is simply Centre Court. This is how Wimbledon, the oldest Grand Slam and 125 years

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RAMANATHAN KRISHNAN

THE HINDU

VIJAY AMRITRAJ

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LEANDER PAES

But mostly Wimbledon for India was Ramanathan Krishnan, who had a sculptor’s hands and an architect’s brain, or at least so my father insisted.

old this year, likes it. Its very vanity and mystique lies in keeping things, seemingly, as they were.

Sport likes newness and Wimbledon isn’t averse to it.

Centre Court has a roof, a new No. 1 court was built, a new media facility, a new Court No. 3 this year, new shops, but newness is not what you feel when you walk in.

They cover it with ivy and give it to you as history. They keep up with the times yet want you to feel you are entering another time. Even the new is old-fashioned here. In 2010, they introduced a poet in residence, a bard of the baseline for God’s sake.

His name is Matt Harvey, who wrote as Roger Federer stumbled briefly last year against Alejandro Falla: “Fed’s effort was concerted disaster was averted the tennis world order as we know it reasserted.”

It’s like none other You have to love this about Wimbledon, so steeped it is in ritual and the odd pretension.

Like its very name, which is weighted with pomposity—it is referred to simply as The Championships. Arthur Ashe described it as “one of the great pre-emptive titles in the world. How do you top that?”

Borg wrote it was as if the club felt “no other tournament in the world existed”.

Then, he, five-time winner, added, “I feel the same way about it.”

But this is Wimbledon’s separation point, its selling point, its sense of itself as tennis’ home—the first tournament was held in 1877—a place of pilgrimage for fan and player. Here, tradition was protected, not summarily evicted. It had not just The Court, it had The Voice, a commentator named Dan Maskell, who talked tennis from 1949 to 1991 and whose “Oh, I say” has been borrowed by Vijay Amritraj. It had The Queue, a line of tented fans waiting overnight that became so famous that this year it is part of their exhibition. It even had The Address, for if you’re inclined to see this place as a cathe-

dral, well then it stands on Church Road. When a Wimbledon champion once, on a stairwell, asked me to “fuck off” when I requested an interview, I half expected a steward to appear with some mouthwashing soap.

Modern sport is unconvinced by ritual, it continually—as in the case of cricket’s IPL (Indian Premier League)—feels the need to brashly reinvent itself.

Wimbledon, conversely, understands the potency of ceremony, it knows there is a place for familiarity. Which is why we still go on about the 28,000kg of strawberries consumed each year, the draws which are headlined under Gentlemen’s Singles and Ladies’ Singles, the fellow who carried the finalists’ bags out for them. Permanence has its own power.

Wimbledon could also grate. As Jimmy Connors noted, “New Yorkers love it when you spill your guts out there; spill your guts at Wimbledon and they stop and make you clean it up.” This American crotch-grabber wasn’t completely wrong.

Wimbledon could be a stuffy place, self-important, classist, but then so was so much of sport then. When Fred Perry, seen as a brash rebel from a humble background, won his first title in 1934 and soaked in the bath, he wrote that he overheard a club committee man tell the loser Jack Crawford, “This was one day when the best man didn’t win.”

Wimbledon has changed since—Perry’s statue even stands there now—but it changes at its own pace. It will not be hurried. Calls for a Centre Court roof resounded for years before they built one; equal prize money for women was argued forcefully but they were the last Grand Slam event to accede.

Unique Indian connect Wimbledon was my tradition too because I grew up in Kolkata, where my father took me as a boy to the legendary South Club lawns to watch Davis Cup matches. Later, as a journalist, I’d sit in this club’s ancient veranda, sip-

ping tea with wonderful men such as Jaidip Mukerjea and Naresh Kumar, who spoke of Wimbledon—where the first Indian, Sardar Nihal Singh, reportedly played in 1908—like words to a prayer.

Grass was a legacy from the British, grass was our connection with Wimbledon, grass became our default Davis Cup surface. Grass you could smell on early mornings, still slick with dew, and some summers they’d tell you their turf was superior to the All England Club.

Wimbledon is all I heard, from Gussie Moran’s lace panties to Suzanne Lenglen’s silk skirts. It is all I saw on grainy black and white television.

It was also our history. It is where Amritraj led Connors two sets to love in 1981; it is where Ramesh Krishnan dismantled world No. 8 Joakim Nystrom in 1986; it is where the late Premjit Lall would sit one morning and think “Why? How? If only ....”, a man wounded by defeat. He led Rod Laver two sets to love in 1969 and had he won, he would have interrupted history, for it was the year Laver won his second Grand Slam—all four majors in a calendar year. Yet Laver fought back and later wrote: “Premjit Lall ... is a University man from Calcutta where he sometimes works as a cement salesman. Fortunately for me, some of his better cement lodged in his right elbow at a critical stage of the third set.”

But mostly Wimbledon for India was Ramanathan Krishnan, who had a sculptor’s hands and an architect’s brain, or at least so my father insisted. I never saw him play, but was privileged to meet him, a gentle man swollen with modesty. He cleared for us an artistic path still never matched with semi-final placings at Wimbledon, first in 1960, then again in 1961, where he manhandled Roy Emerson—who went on to w i n 1 2 Grand Slam titles—in straight sets. The effect of these lawns,

For players, this is still tennis’ coronation headquarters, its holy land, and an umbilical cord exists between these lawns and greatness. A player can be great without a Wimbledon title—Ken Rosewall, Ivan Lendl, Justine Henin—yet it is where greatness is confirmed.

ALLSPORT UK/ALLSPORT

HAMISH BLAIR/GETTY IMAGES

STEFFI GRAF

KEN ROSEWALL

IVAN LENDL TONY DUFFY/ GETTY IMAGES

JUSTINE HENIN

BOB MARTIN/GETTY IMAGES

their pull on men such as Krishnan, is told in a lovely tale in his book, A Touch of Tennis. Jack Kramer, who started a rebel pro tour whose participants were then banned from the amateur majors, offered Krishnan $150,000 (around `67.5 lakh now), a staggering sum then, to join.

But the Indian went home, spoke to his father and decided “nothing in the world was worth staying away from Wimbledon and the Davis Cup”.

It is to these lawns I first went in 1987 as a young

writer, only 24, awed and rebellious. I disliked the bowing by players and only this month, while researching this piece, I grinned when I read that Donald Budge, in 1935, waved his racket in Queen Mary’s direction and said, “Hi, Queen.”

As I covered Wimbledon for six straight years, I was gradually overwhelmed. Wandering the courts early at 9am (play started at noon), stopping for a smoke, inhaling the grass, Boris Becker practising here, Henri Leconte laughing there, clay-courters swearing as the ball skidded through too fast,

HAMISH BLAIR/ GETTY IMAGES

ROGER FEDERER

PETE SAMPRAS

BJORN BORG

umbrellas swishing open as the rain dripped down to turn fast courts even more oily.

I like that there is no music at changeovers. I like its white clothes, ensuring that not all of tennis’ past is erased, even if Anne White in a rather fetching bodysuit in 1985 told us white wasn’t quite always virginal.

I like its subdued advertising in a time of flamboyance.

Of course, it is not all staid. A female streaker inaugurated the 1996 men’s final between Richard Krajicek and MaliVai Washington and in a picture I found, Krajicek is grinning as she strides past. Perhaps he is appreciating her fitness. After all, four years earlier at Wimbledon, Krajicek, under the influence of no other substance but stupidity, had remarked that 80% of women players were “fat, lazy pigs”.

Later, he sought a retraction. He had meant only 75%.

The tennis then was quick, frenetic, reflexive, Stefan Edberg like an ethereal figure at the net, Pat Cash all scowling athleticism, McEnroe still hitting drop volleys that sighed and died on impact. Then, a worn line of grass down the centre of the court spoke of a collective rush to the net. Now it is gone, now only the baseline is frayed, now almost no one serves and volleys.

It doesn’t feel like Wimbledon and “forward, fellows, forward” you want to cry. The grass, says Paes, has changed, the soil is packed, the bounce higher, the balls fluffier and baseliners, who can hit passing shots through a keyhole in a gale, now feel at home. Some say Wimbledon has lost its essence, some say it is more democratic.

Either way, everyone still wants to win there.

To be the best, be the best here

GARY M PRIOR/ ALLSPORT

TONY DUFFY/ ALLSPORT CLIVE BRUNSKILL/ GETTY IMAGES

SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 2011 ° WWW.LIVEMINT.COM

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MARTINA NAVRATILOVA

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“Bathtubs man, this place has bathtubs.” — Leander Paes

THE WIMBLEDON ISSUE

Our associations with tennis may encompass all geographies—I prefer the gritty chess of Parisian clay—but Wimbledon retains the strongest resonance.

Legendary duels have occurred on every surface, yet ask most people and two matches spring off the tongue. Roger-Rafa in 2008, on which a book—Strokes

of Genius— already exists. And McEnroe-Borg in 1980, a match of such significance that this summer, 31 years later, a second book surrounding that match—Epic—has been published. Both were Wimbledon finals.

For players, this is still tennis’ coronation headquarters, its holy land. A player can be great without a Wimbledon title—Ken Rosewall, Ivan Lendl, Justine Henin—yet it is where greatness is also confirmed. Any conversation on tennis’ ultimate player involves three men: Laver, Sampras, Federer. Of his 11 majors, Laver won the most, four, at Wimbledon; of Sampras’ 14 majors, seven came there; of Federer’s 16, the most (six) arrived on these lawns. Even Borg, who won more French Opens (six) than Wimbledons (five), is revered more for his transition to grass, leaving us forever with the victorious image of him like a praying monk on bended knees.

The women are no exception, the “greatest” a 10-beer argument between Martina Navratilova (who won nine of 18 Slams at Wimbledon) and Steffi Graf, who won more majors on grass (seven) than elsewhere while collecting 22.

One might say their games fit Wimbledon well; one might say they lifted their games to fit at Wimbledon.

Now, as summer dawns, and players have traversed the Channel to English shores, it begins. Clay shoes will be exchanged for grass ones and backswings will be abbreviated. Footwork will be adjusted and returns polished. Federer will see the champions’ board and convince himself he owns this turf, Rafael Nadal will know he owns Federer, Novak Djokovic will believe he owns the tour. They will adjust their strings, the crowds will descend into a funereal hush, the umpire will call play and history will begin anew.

Rohit Brijnath is a senior correspondent with The Straits Times, Singapore.

Write to lounge@livemint.com

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Man in charge: Andrew Jarrett with his inseparable walkie­talkie.

Q&A | ANDREW JARRETT

‘TRADITION MAKES US DIFFERENT’ Wimbledon, with its idiosyncrasies, has the sort of brand recognition which makes it different from any other event, says its tournament referee B Y K AYEZAD E . A DAJANIA kayezad.a@livemint.com

······························· s the tournament referee at the All England Championships, 53-year-old Andrew Jarrett has one of the most challenging jobs in tennis—managing the sport’s most popular annual event. In his fifth year after taking over from the immensely recognizable Alan Mills, Jarrett was part of at least one historic change at Centre Court—the retractable roof. In a phone interview, the Championships’ 13th referee goes behind the scenes of the world’s most revered and oldest tennis tournament. Edited excerpts from the interview:

A

Despite having to deal with tradition such as all­white attire, salutations, etiquette, why do many players still dream of Wimbledon more than any other tournament?

There is a respect for tradition. Sometimes we like to laugh at them, but once they’re lost, people will look back with nostalgia. Tradition makes it unique. There are few places, if any, that actually do all-white clothing. So if, for example, you see people playing in white tennis clothing and green courts that has no advertising around it, it’s almost sure that the tournament is going to be Wimbledon. You could recognize it from a photograph; it has achieved brand recognition that marketers around the world aspire to achieve out of a given product. Wimbledon has created a unique brand now. The more the rest of the world changes, the more people seem to value old traditions.

For years players have complained that Wimbledon comes too close to the French Open.

If somebody loses early at the French Open, they’ve got nearly four weeks to be ready for Wimbledon. If some-

body goes to the final at the French, then obviously that is cut down to two weeks. So it all depends on how many people reach the latter stages, which, in reality, are few. The change is not as great as it used to be because it’s not simply switching from playing baseline tennis to suddenly playing serve and volley. These days, many players play from the baseline even at Wimbledon.

Critics say having the middle Sunday off amounts to losing a day’s worth of play.

There’s a practical reason behind it.

Grass courts need rest unlike clay or hard courts where it does not matter how many days you play. The middle Sunday is valuable for our ground staff to water the courts and give them more than a 24-hour rest. It gives the courts a chance to have a good drink and recover for the second week.

Do you think the fifth set should be decided by a tie­break, as some people believe, especially after the John Isner­ Nicolas Mahut first round match last year that lasted over 11 hours?

Ask people with limited tennis know-

The middle Sunday is valuable for our ground staff to water the courts and give them more than a 24­hour rest. It gives the courts a chance to have a good drink and recover for the second week.

ledge about Mahut and Isner, they’d know them because of that match, which has become a part of Wimbledon and tennis folklore. There are plenty of matches that will end 7-6 in the final set which we won’t remember. What do we want—a lot of matches that finished nicely which we don’t remember or some special occasions? Both sides have some valid arguments, we respect them.

But we also celebrate that the world’s longest tennis match ever took place here at Wimbledon. We’re proud of it.

Some players tend to get offended on being made to play on outside courts. How do you handle player egos?

We attempt to be fair to all players and consider their needs. We also balance them with the need of our spectators, our television audience and the good of the sport. If we ever went through the Championships where nobody complained, we’d be living in dreamland.

What is the most bizarre request you have received from any player?

Every second year, we coincide with a major soccer championship, like the World Cup or the European Championships. It’s not a great surprise that some players might want us to reschedule their match so they can go back to the hotel to watch their country or club. If it doesn’t affect anyone, we would rather help than hinder.

Unlike the Australian and US Open, players are not interviewed on court right after their matches, except the final. Why? There are lots of differences between Wimbledon and the other three Grand Slams. I love the differences. If they’re all the same, it would be a shame. Similarly, players are not introduced when they step on to the court before the start of the men’s finals, unlike the US Open. Let’s enjoy the differences; there is no right or wrong.

‘McEnroe was tough on umpires’ John Parry, 71, officiated at Wimbledon as a chair umpire and line umpire for 25 years, with a greater number of finals (eight) than any other. This year, he is the voice of Wimbledon—announcing rain delays at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, and playing master of ceremonies at the final. Parry spoke over the phone about all things Wimbledon. Edited excerpts from the interview: Player tantrums are an umpire’s nightmare but the crowd loves them.

The behaviour has improved hugely in recent years, thanks to the code of conduct. It was a big problem when I started (in 1974) without a code of conduct. Till about 10 years ago, there were some difficult players around. But spectators have always liked a few fireworks—it spices up the atmosphere.

The toughest player to officiate.

John McEnroe. He was tough on umpires; fiery, and needed a lot of handling. But he never tried to cheat. He was just outspoken, noisily outspoken. There were other players who would try and influence the match in some way. McEnroe never did that.

The most memorable match you have officiated.

Two finals come to mind—the 1987 match between Steffi Graf and Martina Navratilova.

Then in 1989, I chaired the match between Boris Becker and Stefan Edberg. Also, my last Wimbledon final as chair umpire was the mixed doubles in 2003 between Leander Paes and Martina Navratilova against Andy Ram and Anastasia Rodionova. Navratilova equalled Billie Jean King’s record at Wimbledon with that one so, obviously, that was memorable.

Your worst day in office.

The toughest match I ever chaired was a fourth­round match in 1983 between McEnroe and Bill Scanlon of the US. They had had a big fallout earlier in the year and Scanlon had made some fairly strong accusations about McEnroe, so there was no love lost and the crowd was just waiting for a huge showdown. The tension was unbelievable and dramatic.

As I recall, McEnroe won 7­5, 7­6, 7­6.

The other big incident happened in the quarter­finals between Andre Agassi and Boris Becker. That was the year Agassi won Wimbledon (1992). I overruled him on match point and I was wrong as I saw it on TV replay hours after the match.

Agassi was tremendous about that. He didn’t lose his temper at all. But I had made a mistake and it wasn’t a great time to do it, when Agassi was serving for the match. The next game he broke Becker, went on to win the match and eventually the Championships.

Had he lost the match to Becker, I’d have probably gone down in history, don’t you think?

How do chair umpires adjust in such long matches without toilet breaks?

They are permitted toilet breaks. What you probably don’t see on TV is the vacant chair, for example, when the player goes for a toilet break. That vacant umpire chair indicates that she/he too has gone for a toilet break. I’ve never actually had to get out of the chair.

You always make sure to visit the loo before you go on to the court.

Kayezad E. Adajania CENTRAL PRESS/GETTY IMAGES

You can’t be serious: John McEnroe was outspoken but he never cheated.

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NET LOSS: Slower grass has nullified the advantage of better rackets but also ended the dominance of serve­and­volley players

BY K A Y E Z A D E . A D A J A N I A kayezad.a@livemint.com

···························· he skies and the earth both betrayed Tim Henman.

The former British No. 1 men’s tennis player (now retired) was done in twice by elements of nature—rain and grass—in his quest for the holy grail or, in this instance, a Wimbledon title.

In the 2001 semi-final against Goran Ivanisevic, he led for the most part in the rain-interrupted match spread across three days.

The final rain break broke his rhythm and Henman lost in five sets. The next year, Henman, playing his fourth Wimbledon semi-final, faced the then No. 1 ranked player Lleyton Hewitt, who was in the last four for the first time. Henman, the quintessential serve-and-volleyer on his favourite surface, grass, versus a baseline slugger. Hewitt beat Henman and went on to win Wimbledon that year. Both Ivanisevic and Hewitt never won the title again.

Henman’s other opponent that day was the new grass at Wimbledon which, unknown to the tournament organizers, would change the way the tournament is played forever. The much slower surface High on grass: nullified the EnglishGoran Ivanise­ man’s advantage at vic hit 212 aces the net and helped in seven matches his opponent’s in 2001; and (top) groundstrokes. a new Court No. 1 In 2002, as being constructed Henman too in 1996 at the All must have England Lawn realized, the Tennis Club. dominance of

T

CLIVE BRUNSKILL/ALLSPORT

serve-and-volley players at Wimbledon was beginning to end.

Slowing the pace Since John McEnroe won his last Wimbledon in 1984, wooden rackets have gone into oblivion and been replaced by modernday graphite ones. Over the years, through the late 1980s and 1990s, these hi-tech rackets aided rocket serves that invaded tennis, but were particularly useful at Wimbledon. Boris Becker, who won the title three times, was nicknamed “Boom Boom” for a reason. Stefan Edberg was known as much for his elegance as for getting within inches of the net for his volleys. Pete Sampras won seven titles there. Players such as Ivanisevic (who served a record 212 aces during his seven matches in 2001), Michael Stich and Richard Krajicek won their only Grand Slam titles at Wimbledon because the fast surface suited their huge serves.

So much so that clay court specialists such as three-time French Open champion Gustavo Kuerten and 2002 French Open champion Albert Costa avoided Wimbledon; they played in just five Wimbledon Championships each throughout their careers.

“The serves are too dominating in men’s tennis and there are no rallies any more. We have to slow things down so that people can appreciate (tennis),” said three-time Wimbledon champion McEnroe, 52, in a 2000 interview to David Letterman on his popular TV talk show.

And so it began. The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club (AELTC) changed the grass at Wimbledon in 2002 to alter the pace of the game. The new grass was 100% rye grass; the old one used to be 66% rye and a mix of fescue grass and brown-top or bent grass more

commonly found on golf courses.

Eddie Seaward, head groundsman, AELTC, says The Sports Turf Research Institute based in Yorkshire, England, carried out an independent study and found that rye grass was more durable than other types. “The brown-top and fescue variety of grass did not survive with the modern footwear and maintenance of the grass courts was difficult,” he says on phone.

Apart from durability, it also slowed the pace of the game.

Unlike bent grass and fescue that grow sideways, rye is stiff and grows straight up. In the earlier composition of grass, the ball would hit the surface and shoot through, which used to be good for volleyers. Now, the air passes through the grass quicker, drying up the soil underneath a bit more and making the ball bounce higher and slower, explains Seaward.

Andrew Castle, a former British tennis player and now Wimbledon commentator for the BBC, says: “Now, when you volley, the ball sits up; so it’s easier (for the opponent) to make a passing shot. It has made serving and volleying on both first and second serves impossible.”

The new champs Since Hewitt won the title in 2002 (the first year with the new grass), the now No. 3 ranked Roger Federer and world No. 1 Rafael Nadal have dominated Wimbledon.

Defending champion Nadal, a powerful baseliner who has tasted more success on clay (227 wins, 18 losses) than on any other surface, has played in four Wimbledon finals, having won two of them. Federer won all of his six titles here after he switched to playing from the back of the court, as against playing serve and volley in his early years at Wimbledon.

“Federer grew up on clay courts, so even though he used to have a

serve-and-volley game when he beat Pete Sampras (only time they ever played, at Wimbledon in 2001), it is not in his blood to serve and volley,” says René Stauffer, Swiss journalist and author of Federer’s biography, The Roger Federer Story: Quest for Perfection. Part of the reason why Nadal is tough to beat at Wimbledon, Stauffer adds, is because “he has a psychological edge, having usually done so well at the French Open just two weeks before Wimbledon starts”.

So Nadal does not have to switch his style of play from clay to grass.

“Federer is a good volleyer. If he thinks he can’t win by serve and volleying, then nobody can,” adds Castle.

It’s also the heavier balls introduced in 1995 that have made grass courts inhospitable for the serve and volleyers, says Vijay Amritraj, a former quarter-finalist at Wimbledon. Amritraj, a former captain who preferred playing Davis Cup ties on grass, says this is also one of the main reasons why European players have had more success at Wimbledon in recent times, as compared with Americans and Australians dominating from the 1970s-90s.

“Racket manufacturers had already got ahead of time; a reversal of technology could not have happened. Hence, the only thing they could do is tamper with the grass and the balls because tennis on fast courts had become a oneshot game,” says Amritraj, who points out that though McEnroe was a serve and volleyer, he used to “beautifully manoeuvre his volley at the net, not overpower his opponent, because he played with a wooden racket”.

Blunted serves and longer rallies have also changed the way coaches train youngsters these days—to play from the baseline.

“Consumer demand,” as Amritraj puts it.

SERVE-AND-VOLLEY POINTS PLAYED (both players’ combined totals at Wimbledon)

PETE SAMPRAS VS PATRICK RAFTER

139

2000 Final ROGER FEDERER VS PETE SAMPRAS

254

2001, fourth round ROGER FEDERER VS MARK PHILIPPOUSSIS

108 2003 Final

ROGER FEDERER VS ANDY RODDICK

47

2004 Final ROGER FEDERER VS ANDY RODDICK

30

2005 Final ROGER FEDERER VS RAFAEL NADAL

10

2006 Final ROGER FEDERER VS RAFAEL NADAL

6

2007 Final ROGER FEDERER VS RAFAEL NADAL

14

2008 Final ROGER FEDERER VS ANDY RODDICK

11

2009 Final Source: Leo Levin, Information & Displays System (IDS) and IBM. GRAPHIC

BY

YOGESH KUMAR/MINT

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Seemingly tiny changes in tennis have had a seismic effect, and made it the game we know today

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B Y R UDRANEIL S ENGUPTA rudraneil.s@livemint.com

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A sartorial ace

Style pioneers: (from left) Venus Williams; Suzanne Lenglen; and Jean René Lacoste.

Is there another sport as fashionconscious as tennis? From Maria Sharapova’s stunning red dress studded with 600 Swarovski crystals at the 2007 US Open, Venus Williams’ see-through lacy black dress with skin-coloured underwear at the 2010 French Open, to Rafael Nadal’s bicep-showing sleeveless T-shirts and pirate pants, fashion in tennis is as experimental, colourful, fickle and fastpaced as a Parisian catwalk. Sartorial self-consciousness in tennis can be traced back to the game’s earliest origins—in 1528, when tennis was played using the palms of the hand instead of rackets, England’s King Henry VIII ordered a tennis court to be built at Hampton Court Palace, and commissioned a line of special suits to be made for the players.

For much of its early history, tennis was an excuse for aristocrats in Europe to show off the latest fashion on court. All the way till the beginning of the 20th century, women wore voluminous skirts, corsets, frilly necklines and unwieldy hats to play tennis. It was

only after World War I that tennis fashion began to shift towards the more practical—not surprisingly, in the face of stiff opposition.

The legendary French player Suzanne Lenglen won the first of her 12 Wimbledon titles in 1919 wearing a knee-length dress with three-quarter sleeves, and a bandeau instead of a hat that became an instant hit with women players of the time. But the dress itself was received with shock, with many spectators reportedly walking out of matches that featured Lenglen.

In fact, in the early 20th century, the greatest women players of the era were as involved in making tennis history as they were in revolutionizing what was acceptable as women’s wear. May Sutton, who won three majors, including two Wimbledon titles, in the early 1900s, often turned up on court in a white sailor suit with a kneelength skirt and a white visor. In 1949, American player Gertrude Moran wore white lace-trimmed underwear that was visible under her skirt at Wimbledon. As usual, the crowd was shocked, while court side photographers resorted to lying flat on the ground to get a good shot of the knickers. At the 2002 US Open, Serena Williams caused a stir in her short black

catsuit, but she had been pipped to that post by Anne White in 1985, when she appeared for a Wimbledon match in a white, fullbody catsuit. She was asked by officials not to wear that dress for the next match.

Innovations in men’s tennis wear, not surprisingly, haven’t been nearly half as exciting. In the early 20th century, white flannel trousers and full-sleeved shirts were de rigueur. The indomitable French tennis star Jean René Lacoste, who won seven Grand Slam titles, designed the classic “polo” shirt in the 1920s, and wore it consistently on court. In 1933, Lacoste, after retiring early from tennis due to poor health, founded a sports clothing company with his friend and designer André Gillier called La Societe Chemise Lacoste. Lacoste’s polo shirts, with the famous embroidered “crocodile” on the chest, have since become a design classic beyond the tennis courts.

KIRSTY WIGGLESWORTH/AP

Man vs machine Verbal duels in tennis are always fun, but a player giving a mouthful to a machine?

That’s Romanian tennis legend Ilie Nastase for you, on his hands and knees on Centre Court at the 1980 Wimbledon Championships, screaming at a little metal box placed courtside. “Were you made in Russia?” boomed Nastase at the unperturbed box, which had just beeped to indicate that Nastase’s serve had gone outside the service line.

That box, in fact, was made in England.

Called Cyclops, it was making its debut as an electronic umpiring aid at Wimbledon, the first such device used in a Grand Slam.

The Cyclops system consists of a series of infrared laser beams projected at ground level from the box to a receiver device across the court and then to a computer.

The series of beams are aligned to accurately determine if the ball was inside the service area.

MATTHEW STOCKMAN/GETTY IMAGES

Conflict: Federer (right) disputes a line call during the semi­final against Novak Djokovic at the French Open in June.

Though the Cyclops line-calling system was accepted immediately by the players, and was being used for Centre Court matches at all Grand Slams by 1981, certain players still felt betrayed by it. John McEnroe once told the chair umpire during the match, “I don’t want to sound paranoid, but that machine knows who I am.”

In 1990, the US Open flirted briefly with another system called Tennis Electronic Lines (TEL), used to monitor baseline activity throughout a match. TEL used a system of metal sensors under the court lines which reacted to a tennis ball with metallic fibres, but the system had to be abandoned because it also reacted to players who had metal eyelets in their shoes, or metallic parts in their rackets.

Cyclops did have a predecessor though—the first electronic line-call device was used in the finals of the Men’s World Championship Tennis in Dallas in 1974—but despite rave reviews, the system never got the green light.

The Cyclops is still in use, but it has lost its place of honour on the Centre and show courts to the Hawk-Eye, a system well known to cricket fans. In tennis, Hawk-Eye uses 10 on-court, high-speed cameras linked to a central computer that accurately tracks the movement of the ball. The HawkEye made its debut at the 2006 US Open, and by 2007, it made possible for players to challenge the decision of the umpire for the first time in tennis history. Again, the 2007 Australian Open was the first Slam to allow players to challenge an umpire’s line calls, which were then referred to the Hawk-Eye. Naturally, there have been man-machine conflicts with the Hawk-Eye as well, most famously during the 2007 Wimbledon final between Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. During the match, Federer did not play a ball he thought was beyond the baseline. The line judge and the umpire concurred it was out, as did a television freeze frame. But Nadal challenged the call, and the Hawk-Eye showed the shot in. Federer lost his temper completely, and told the umpire that the machine was “killing him” and demanding that it be switched off immediately. The Hawk-Eye won that round, and stayed on.

A baseline racket Jean René Lacoste was much more than one of the most celebrated tennis players of his time—he was a tireless and pioneering inventor who can count the timeless “polo” shirt and the ball-throwing machine, now widely used in many sports as an indispensable training tool, among his many creations. But his greatest contribution to tennis is the first steel racket he invented in 1963.

Before this, rackets were made from laminated wood and stringed with animal gut, a practice common since the 14th century. The reason for the longevity of the wooden rackets was that the matrix of strings that formed the playing surface of the racket could not be strung across a metal head without tearing.

Lacoste overcame that problem by passing the racket strings around metal wires looped to the frame.

Lacoste’s invention was marketed by US manufacturer Wilson as the T2000 and it had an immediate impact on the game. American tennis legends Jimmy Connors and Billie Jean King began using the T2000, and won several Grand Slams between them from 1966-78. Soon, metal rackets made of hollow aluminium-alloy extrusions and carbon steel became commonplace, and the heavy and unwieldy wooden racket began to disappear.

Not only were the metal rackets lighter than the wooden ones, the increased stiffness also meant more power was generated on hitting the ball. Wooden rackets also had a standard 65 sq. inch head, but the increased pliability and strength of metal rackets allowed for much larger heads—90 sq. inches is the typical head size of rackets being used now, allowing players to swing much harder than before without the fear of mishitting. In the early 1980s, yet another breakthrough was made in racket manufacturing with the introduction of carbon fibre and other materials

Racket play: (above) A modern racket; and McEnroe with his wooden one. such as glass fibre, boron and titanium, with each new innovation making for lighter and stiffer rackets.

In the 1960s, tennis was a serve-and-volley game.

There were only two ways to win a point— play long rallies until one player made a mistake, or approach the net to kill off the point. Hitting forehand winners from the baseline was just not an option. The metal, and later the graphite rackets, changed all that by the 1990s, when baseline winners became the norm.

CENTRAL PRESS/GETTY IMAGES

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HIGH STRUNG | STEPHEN TIGNOR

RIVALRY THE WIMBLEDON ISSUE

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A study of a generation that was dominated by two men, Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe—arch rivals for many years GETTY IMAGES

B Y K AYEZAD E . A DAJANIA kayezad.a@livemint.com

···························· good tennis rivalry that has spanned many years is usually known by a few great matches. John McEnroe and Bjorn Borg’s legendary rivalry—known by many as the first enduring one in men’s tennis in the Open era—is characterized largely by the 1980 and 1981 Wimbledon finals and the 1981 US Open final. While Borg won the former, McEnroe won the latter two.

Seen through the perspective of the 1981 US Open, Stephen Tignor’s High Strung takes an objective look at an era that strived to create an identity of its own, away from the period of amateur tennis that ended in 1967. Though High Strung might appear to focus on McEnroe, Borg and their rivalry, in reality the book is more about an era than just the rivalry.

Between the temperamental McEnroe, who was known as much for his outbursts as for his finesse with a racket, and Borg’s cool composure that hid a passion for perfection, Tignor devotes most of the book to exploring their relationships with other key players of the 1960s and 1970s. So if the Romanian tennis player Ilie Nastase’s on-court behaviour forced tennis’ governing bodies to issue a code of conduct for players, we now know that he shared a bonhomie with most players—enough to put a finger on Jimmy Connors and say, “You, me, dinner”, after trashing him in a match in 1977.

High Strung goes beyond what newspapers have reported or what has been seen on TV, particularly when writing about the relatively reclusive Borg. For instance, Borg’s friendship with Vitas Gerulaitis began a day after Gerulaitis lost to Borg in a heartbreaking 1977 Wimbledon semifinal. The two later became the best of friends though Borg never lost to Gerulaitis in their 16 meetings. Tignor writes that Borg could

A

High Strung—Bjorn Borg, John McEnroe and the Untold Story of Tennis’s Fiercest Rivalry: HarperCollins, 238 pages, `1,229.

Trendsetters: John McEnroe (left) and Bjorn Borg were part of a group that popularized tennis post the period of amateurism. never get used to the changes in the game, more particularly its commercialization, the heart of which seemed to be the US Open where tennis matches were being held under evening lights and in night sessions. Commercialization brought in matches that fetched huge sums of money and no ranking points (also called exhibition matches); a lure that Borg succumbed to and paid the price for—he retired at the age of 25 after a bitter loss to McEnroe in the 1981 finals of the US Open, a title he never won.

Yet it seems inconceivable that the ice-cool Borg, who would be revered in his professional years by countless fans worldwide, was as temperamental in his formative years as his famous opponent.

Tignor calls him “a habitual cheater and screamer who smashed dozens of rackets”.

In a nationally televised match when he was still a child, Borg exploded at what he thought was

a bad call and stomped across to his opponent’s side of the net to circle a mark on the clay. He lost, but the experience helped change him. “With his steely blue eye for the practical, Borg decided that getting upset on court only lessened his chances of winning.”

This was hardly an original observation, the book continues, but what set him apart was his ability to follow it through. About his prime years, Borg would say, again with chilling nonchalance, “People think I’m so cool and nothing bothers me, but inside I’m seething.” But Borg always believed that the keys to tennis were control and simplicity.

Similarly, High Strung attempts to go beneath the McEnroe persona to find reason behind his temper tantrums on court. The book quotes his biographer Richard Evans as saying that “as preposterous as it may have sounded on the surface”, Superbrat (McEnroe) was “at heart the true ama-

teur sportsman”.

As a junior, McEnroe was known to make line calls against himself, and had an ingrained aversion to phoniness of all sort (he refused to keep an assistant to carry his rackets, do his bidding and so on), which translated into a hatred for cheats on a tennis court.

Of course, some of that hatred came out in infamous temperamental rants. During one of his semi-finals, in which McEnroe was given yet another public warning, Diana Spencer, then engaged to Prince Charles, was quietly ushered out of the royal box, leading one journalist to say: “The wedding’s off; her ears are no longer virgin.”

In a doubles match against the Indian brothers Vijay and Anand Amritraj, McEnroe wondered out loud whether the linesman in a turban was “biased”.

Though High Strung becomes a drag in the middle, especially

when it chronicles the advent of tennis in the US, those interested in the history of US tennis will lap it up. It provides a detailed look at how tennis evolved at the same time, the gentleman’s game becoming the breeding ground of ever-increasing financial incentives. This was the time companies such as International Management Group (IMG), Coca-Cola and Nike made inroads into the sport, the last mentioned throwing up commercials that showed their tennis shoe underneath the headlines McEnroe swears by them and McEnroe’s favourite four-letter word.

Tignor’s work is nevertheless well-written, a true attempt at exploring players’ behaviour, their attitudes, their struggles and achievements.

IN SIX WORDS Charismatic tennis characters from the 1970s GRAPHIC

THE TALL AND SHORT OF IT Chances are you know about the longest Wimbledon match of all time. But do you know who the shortest male participant ever was?

Or who has played the most number of Wimbledon matches?

There is much, much more to the statistics than just the longest or winningest. This is a choice selection of Wimbledon superlatives

CLIVE BRUNSKILL/ GETTY IMAGES

SHORTEST PLAYERS

Men

Women

1948-53; 4ft, 11 inches

1937-38; 4ft, 9.5 inches

FH AMPON | The Philippines

MOST MATCHES

YOUNGEST SEEDS

by an individual

MARTINA NAVRATILOVA |

Women’s singles

JENNIFER CAPRIATI | US

US

14 years, 89 days (1990)

326

THE LAST WINNERS

BJORN BORG | Sweden

of singles, doubles and mixed doubles in one year

17 years, 19 days (1973)

Men

THE LAST TIME

FA SEDGMAN | Australia in 1952

a wooden tennis racket won the Wimbledon singles finals

1981

Women

LW KING | US in 1973 MICHEL LIUPCHITZ/AP

to be played entirely under a retractable roof ANDY MURRAY vs

I KARLOVIC | Croatia

OLDEST

2003; 6ft, 10 inches

continuous official supplier relationship

Women

SLAZENGER

LA DAVENPORT | US E BOVINA | Russia

2001-04; 6ft, 2.5 inches

has been the official tournament ball supplier since 1902

(1885, 1887, 1888, 1891, 1892, 1893, 1901)

MAXIMUM ATTENDANCE over a single tournament

511,043

winner, 2001; career-high ranking, 2

Men

1971

PHIL COLE/ GETTY IMAGES

Croatia

of most singles finals

BLANCHE BINGLEY HILLYARD | UK

tie-breakers were introduced

Men

GORAN IVANISEVIC |

LOSERS

THE YEAR WHEN

in 2009

BOB MARTIN/ ALLSPORT

29 June 2009

Men

YOGESH KUMAR/MINT

LAST SINGLES THE FIRST MATCH THE winner never to become world No. 1 STANISLAS WAWRINKA

TALLEST PLAYERS

1993-2001, 2003, 2004; 6ft, 2.5 inches MATTHEW STOCKMAN/ GETTY IMAGES

Men’s singles

CG HOAHING | UK

BY

7

Women

CHRIS EVERT | US

7

(1973, 1978, 1979, 1980, 1982, 1984, 1985)

MIKE HEWITT/ ALLSPORT

Women

JANA NOVOTNA |

Czech Republic

winner, 1998; career-high ranking, 2 Compiled by Sidin Vadukut Source: Official Wimbledon website http://aeltc2010.wimbledon.org

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Here’s a list of things to do in Wimbledon when you want a break from the tennis B Y S IDIN V ADUKUT ···························· o you’ve packed your summer clothes, sunblock, maps, sunglasses, Digene for those moments when you overdo the strawberries and cream, and—because it is London—your umbrella. After all, legend has it that moments after King George V inaugurated the current venue in 1922, the first match was immediately postponed because it was pouring.

Now that you are all set for Wimbledon, what next? A lot of tennis, did you say? There is much more to Wimbledon than just watching two individuals on either side of a net working away at repressed violence. First of all, the suburb is but a short hop on a train or bus from all the pleasures, vices and virtues of London itself.

That leaves you with plenty of time to shuttle between a heated doubles match on one of the side courts, and a leisurely stroll through the National Gallery followed by a satisfying scone or two in the Gallery Café.

But if you’d rather build your entire trip around the All England, then this ready reckoner will help you make the most of your Wimbledon jaunt. The Lounge guide to Wimbledon 2011 includes must-see and must-do things not only within the club, but also within the larger Wimbledon region. However, we appreciate your tennis focus. So nothing on this guide will take you more than a couple of miles away from the action.

S

At the club Begin your Wimbledon experience at “The Queue” at the Gate 3 turnstiles. This “long-standing”—a long-standing pun in itself—Wimbledon tradition may be considered the predecessor to those lines outside Apple stores whenever a new device is launched. Around 500 tickets are available each day for matches at Centre Court, Court No. 1 and Court No. 2, and fans assemble overnight for them. The club provides a highly stewarded experience for people who line up, including camping facilities, toilets and catering. If you’d rather watch matches on some of the side courts, you only need to queue up a few hours before the daily 9.30am start. One way or the other, do not miss this celebration of the English tendency to fall in line whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Once you are in, perhaps with one of the relatively inexpensive £20 (around `1,460) daily ground tickets, stroll around and take in all the sights and sounds. In addition to all the statues, including one of Fred Perry, the ground is dotted with cafés, shops and interesting spots such as the Autograph Island near Aorangi Pavilion. Maps to the entire location are available from the Wimbledon website.

The side courts may seldom see stars or seeded players, but they often host great matches and have empty seats. Once you’ve bought a ground ticket, make sure to enjoy at least a few minutes of a match live. Keep your ears open for what the crowd is saying.

Watch out for any lines outside the side courts. News of a good match tends to get around quickly and THE Who knows, you seats vanish.

WIMBLEDON might run into another Isner vs Mahut ISSUE on Court No. 18.

While still known popularly as Henman Hill, the Aorangi Terrace in front of the big screen behind Court No. 1 has alternatively been rechristened Murray Mountain or Murray Mount or even Murrayfield. But when the crowds are thinner, it is a nice place to picnic, lounge around and enjoy tennis al fresco. If you fancy a little fame, convince one of the journalists there to let you provide a “sound bite”.

Last year, a pot of strawberries and cream at Wimbledon cost a whopping £2.50. That is a criminal price for 10 berries and a dollop of cream. But the experience isn’t complete without a serving. If you find yourself developing a craving, then do the smart thing and stock up from a local supermarket. Last year, Asda sold double the number of the same berries for a pound.

If things get a little too warm, or you want a respite from tennis, gently proceed to the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Museum with a collection of 15,000 objects that tell the history of the game. The most popular exhibit, perhaps, is John McEnroe’s changing room where a ghost of McEnroe appears and tells the history of the game and some of his opponents. Though exhibits and collections keep changing, there is a rich collection of objects and multimedia to

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OLI SCARFF/GETTY IMAGES

Fan fare: (from top) A spectator wears a hat sporting strawberries; the early morning crowd queuing outside the All England Lawn Tennis Club for tickets in 1937, a tradition that contin­ ues—at the time, most of them were messenger boys standing on someone else’s behalf; and spectators on Henman Hill in 2010.

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The great leap: Kish Jaguar, the eventual winner, in action dur­ THE THE National final at WIMBLEDON ing the Grand WIMBLEDON ISSUE the Wimbledon Greyhound ISSUE Sta­ dium, London, in 2001.

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Rich history: The All England Lawn Ten­ nis Club Museum.

JEFF J MITCHELL/GETTY IMAGES

keep you engaged. During the Championships this year, a major exhibit is a collection of pictures and memorabilia on The Queue.

And how can a museum in the UK be complete without a museum shop?

Don’t forget to carry a small FM radio receiver with you. Throughout the tournament, the exclusive station Radio Wimbledon will broadcast live till 10pm and is available on the 87.7 FM frequency. In addition, spectators on Centre Court and Court No. 1 will have access to ball-by-ball commentary via radio sets. But if you’d rather go high-tech, all broadcasts are available on the Wimbledon website and via the iPhone app.

Outside the club

Step by step: Several artistes test their material in London before heading for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in Edinburgh.

On a Friday or Saturday night, drop in at the Wimbledon Stadium, a couple of miles away from the All England, for an evening of Greyhound racing, beer, food and some gambling.

Entry is £6 per adult and there are package deals for families and groups.

After all the debauchery at the dog races, find redemption at the Buddhapadipa Temple, the oldest Buddhist temple in the UK. Visit the temple and the surrounding 4-acre monastic area comprising a garden, orchard and ornamental lake. On Tues-

day and Thursday evenings, the temple conducts classes in “walking and sitting meditation”.

Think of it as your mid-tournament detox opportunity.

Wimbledon Common is a large open parkland a stone’s throw from the All England Club.

Besides housing a Windmill Museum, the park is also an ideal location if you fancy a spot of sporting competition yourself.

Every Saturday morning, the Common hosts a parkrun—a 5km contest against the clock.

Volunteers note the time and you are sent official results later by email. The event is entirely informal. Feel free to sit down and rest whenever you want.

PS—The best way to burn those strawberries and cream off your bones. For details, visit www.parkrun.com

Miscellaneous attraction Once the matches have ended— or the rains have wreaked havoc—retire to some of the excellent night entertainment available in the region. For instance, several comedy acts preparing for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe are currently testing their material in and around London, including at Wimbledon.

Venues such as the Selkirk Pub and the New Wimbledon Studios are well worth a look. Pick up a copy of any listings magazine

such as Time Out for ideas.

Want art? Too lazy to go to London? No matter. There is plenty of art at the Wimbledon College of Art exhibition of work by graduates. The exhibition is free and features paintings, sculpture, set designs and special effects. The exhibition is on till 22 June.

No trip to London, especially

for first-timers, is complete without a musical complete with song, dance and camp. The nearest possible show is the excellent Billy Elliot at the Victoria Palace Theatre. The trip from the club will take you an hour. But the sacrifice is well worth it.

So you don’t want The Queue, the strawberries, the McEnroe ghost or the radio broadcast. You just want to sit somewhere and watch the tennis. Maybe a movie after. A perfectly reasonable request. Great British Summer 2011 is organizing three public, free venues where you can plant yourself in front of a big screen and watch all the tennis and then a movie or two after. The venues are all close to tube stations and if you visit www. greatbritishsummer11.com right now, you can vote for the movies you want to watch. Dumb and Dumber and Meet the Fockers are in the running.

Write to lounge@livemint.com

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Books

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RIVER OF SMOKE | AMITAV GHOSH

Smoke on the water THINKSTOCK

In the second of his ‘Ibis’ trilogy, Ghosh is at the pinnacle of his prowess. It’s a triumph, a truly global novel

River of Smoke: Penguin India, 533 pages, `699.

B Y A RUNAVA S INHA ···························· e’re just halfway into the year, but if there’s one novel in 2011 that will make the pulse race and the mind wonder with sweep, scale, power and a riveting, multi-threaded story, it is Amitav Ghosh’s River of Smoke. Coming three years after Sea of Poppies, which was the first volume in the Ibis trilogy, the middle panel of the triptych is even vaster, denser with action and richer in backdrop.

Poppies was set primarily in the Calcutta of 1838—the fulcrum of the British empire in the east, where trade was the lubricating agent of colonization—and on board the Ibis, transporting indentured workers to Mauritius, along with convicts. But River of Smoke abandons this centre, for the most part, stretching its action from Mauritius in the West to Canton in the East, with passing cameos by other parts of the world, such as the island of St Helena where Napoleon is exiled after losing the Battle of Waterloo, which puts in an appearance in the novel.

Much of the action continues to take place on board merchant ships—either in mid-voyage, or anchored off the coast of China, as events come to a slow boil in the world’s largest market for the opium that British and Indian

Early empire: The Opium Wars form the backdrop to Ghosh’s narrative; and (left) poppy flowers in bloom.

W

CULT FICTION

R. SUKUMAR

traders make a killing on. The line from the poppy fields of eastern India is thus drawn all the way to Canton. Here, local opium dealers supplying a willing population of addicts not only help reverse the trade deficit of the British empire with China—while adding to the wealth of individual opium traders from all countries who’ve joined the gold rush—they also lead the Chinese empire to clamp down on opium imports. The outcome, of course, will be the Opium Wars, in not one but two editions.

It is against this tumultuous history and geography that Ghosh brings in the original characters, some directly, some through reference, from Poppies.

I picked up a hard-bound one-volume collection of the 12 issues. It is almost a foot-and-a-half long and a foot wide (which means that it could almost take up a full page in Mint or Mint What will be is a comic Lounge (now, that’s an that is certain to achieve idea). It is printed on cult status among glossy art paper and the collectors. It’s called printing is top-notch.

Wednesday Comics and I Then, there are the don’t think more than a few writers and artists dozen copies (if that) will involved. Brian be sold in India; it is an Azzarello and Eduardo expensive comic and not Risso play their version too many people want to of noir in a edgy spend the equivalent of a Batman story; Dave small-but-filling lunch at Gibbons camps it up in Bukhara on a comic book.

Kamandi, The Last Boy Sometime in the on Earth; Neil Gaiman Strip of the week: DC recreates old glories. mid-2000s, DC set out to goes vintage in recreate comic strips as Metamorpho, The they had appeared in Twelve issues came out in Element Man; and Paul Pope newspapers in the US in the 2009, each featuring 18 brings his unique style to 1930s and 1940s—generous full-page comic strips that, in Strange Adventures. strips on weekdays, and a full turn, are one part of a 12-part Some of the comics feature page on Sundays. The result story by leading lights of the characters created in the Golden was Wednesday Comics. comic book universe.

Age. Others feature characters

WEDNESDAYS IN FULL COLOUR

S

oon after I wrote my last column about not being able to find any new comic books, I found several, including what is perhaps the best-looking comic book to ever make an appearance on these pages. Meanwhile, Lounge’s editor probably felt I needed help, so she sent me a copy of a comic adaptation of The Alchemist (alas, not the Ben Jonson play but the Paulo Coelho pop-philosophy book) with a message asking me not to hold myself back from expressing my true feelings about the book (smart lady!).

Every generation has a writer of pop philosophy disguised as fiction (or the reverse) who is universally adopted and

acclaimed by the masses and uniformly reviled by snooty-people-who-don’t-knowbetter like this columnist.

Richard Bach was this writer for my generation (full disclosure: I like the passages about flight and flying in the only book of his that I think is worth reading, if only in parts).

Coelho is this writer for today’s generation. Anyway, a casual perusal of the pages of the comic book version of The Alchemist told me that the comic adaptation hadn’t improved the book in any way (again, full disclosure: I have only casually perused the original). So, the book will not be the subject of this edition of Cult Fiction.

Among them are the Calcutta zamindar Neel Ratan Haldar, the half-Chinese Ah Fatt, the botanist’s daughter Paulette Lambard, and, of course, Deeti and her second husband Kalua. As with history, the outcome is known at the beginning. Deeti’s sometimes clairvoyant illustrations on the walls of a grotto—harking back to the first stories ever told by man through cave paintings—to which the other actors are invited to contribute, are the route through which family history is passed on. But it is not the “what” but the “how” that mesmerizes in this work.

Powering this “how” is an allnew character, the redoubtable Bahram Modi—who effortlessly

becomes Barry Moddie to the motley crew of Europeans populating the novel. A true figure of entrepreneurial swagger and disarming innocence, this opium dealer who has married into a rich Parsi family that finances his expeditions is revealed as the biological father of Ah Fatt, Neel’s former cellmate and current comrade. Modi/Moddie runs through the novel as its energy centre, even though not everything is centred on him or his opiumbearing ship, the Anahita.

The intersection of history with individual lives, with each taking on the contours of the other, is not a new device in literature. But Ghosh stands apart in never trying to separate the two to show off this device. Instead, the individual stories blend seamlessly into the larger events of history, with the imagination of the novelist clearly taking off where dry data ends.

The research is immaculate, but at no point does fiction descend into a chain of facts shorn of the surprise and unpredictability that make a novel unputdownable.

The urge to follow each depicted destiny is irresistible.

They’re not all about the fates of

people either. There’s a botanical quest for a plant that might be the elixir of life. There’s a trail of art and painters. An entire thread of the story is told through letters written to Paulette by Robin, a childhood companion who has matured into gay adulthood and is at the centre of the art-meetsbotany story.

The wealth of visual detail, the sound of real voices in conversation, and the authenticity of rituals and behaviour draw the reader into an all-consuming relationship with the text.

This is an action novel in the truest sense of the phrase. Like the classic thriller, the characters are continuously on the move, motivated by the need to survive the crises they are plunged into and still achieve their objectives. But they’re not cardboard cut-outs, obviously—among the most pleasurable ways in which Ghosh drives that home are his lavish descriptions of what they eat and how they dress. Because his characters come from all over the world, the outcome is a sensory feast of tastes and flavours, colours and textures.

The diversity is palpable in the confluence of international cultures at Canton and in the illegitimate children born of liaisons between men and women from different countries, Englishmen and Indian women, or Parsi and Chinese, for instance.

But most of all, it is evident in the use of language. Uncompromising in his intent of letting every character speak the way he would in real life, rather than in a flat register of universally comprehensible—and hence, characterless and dull—English, Ghosh often leaves it to the reader to puzzle over the exact meaning of words used in Mauritius, among Parsis, in Canton, among sailors.

Few reading experiences are as breathtaking as the one of reading an author at the pinnacle of his prowess. Assimilating prodigious amounts of information, speaking in different voices, gliding smoothly in time and space as only he can, and melding unwritten histories of individuals and families into the larger, chronicled history of trade, imperialism, language and war, Ghosh creates an unforgettable world novel.

And best of all, there’s still at least one volume to go before this story is completed.

Arunava Sinha translates classic and contemporary Bengali fiction into English.

Write to lounge@livemint.com IN SIX WORDS ‘Naval’ gazing in the 19th century

created specially by the writer for Wednesday Comics. Several stories hark back, despite the evidently contemporary technology that has gone into producing the book, to the early decades of the last century in plot and device.

Given the economics of the newspaper business in the 21st century, it is unlikely we will see full-page comic strips in newspapers again. Despite its size, which made it difficult to handle, I enjoyed every bit of Wednesday Comics. That, and the success of the Absolute books (leather-bound big-format renditions of popular comic books such as Watchmen and the Sandman series), gives me hope that maybe next year, or the year after, the success of this large-format book will encourage DC to come up with Thursday Comics.

R. Sukumar is editor, Mint.

Write to him at cultfiction@livemint.com