Steroids and other drugs are like food to many athletes, from Olympic runners to baseball sluggers, helping them achieve goals and set records that seem authentic to some fans and experts, the ones who buy their Rolex watches from Chinatown.
But if you think drugs are tarnishing only the glamour sports, you probably haven't been keeping up with news from the world of Kabaddi. You probably don't subscribe to "Kabaddi Digest." And you probably don't spend your nights looking at the buff bodies at Kabaddi.com.
Immensely popular on the Indian subcontinent, Kabaddi is a strange sport to outsiders, requiring players to yell "kabaddikabaddikabaddi" nonstop while raiding the opposing team's territory, thus holding their breath during the entire maneuver. It's the type of sport you might see on American TV, but only on "Ripley's Believe it or not."
Originating some 4,000 years ago, it was a demonstration sport at the 1936 Olympics and is well on its way to becoming a full-fledged Olympic sport, if steroid use is any indication.
Kabaddi's bid for Olympic status was solidified recently when a top player named Kuljeet Singh was busted at San Francisco airport for carrying syringes and steroids in his shoes. He was returning home from what the San Jose Mercury News described as a "grueling winter season of Kabaddi matches in East India." (In fact, the winter season is so grueling in East India, players have been known to run to West India.)
Singh, 23, told the Mercury News that steroid use is quite common among Kabaddi players and he had no idea the drugs were illegal in America. He apparently just makes it a habit to store things in his shoes. That way, they'll be safe from pickpockets. (Note to would-be smugglers: Shoes are the first place the authorities look. Especially if you're five-foot-six and wearing size 14.)
What's most troubling about this incident is Singh's claim that his Indian doctor prescribed the 'roids, as they're often called.
Singh: "Thank you, Doctor. The 'roids have really helped me. I'm not only the fastest and strongest player on the team, I'm also the loudest."
Doctor: "That's good to hear, Kuljeet. Have you experienced any side effects?"
Singh: "Well, my testicles are shrinking, but that's about all. No big deal, really. Who needs testicles when you're a Kabaddi superstar?"
Doctor: "You're lucky, Kuljeet. Some of my patients experience reduced sperm count, infertility, baldness, development of breasts, increased aggression and extreme mood swings. It's great for business."
Singh: "Actually, Doctor, I do have one complaint. The steroids haven't really helped me hold my breath for a longer time."
Doctor: "Well, keep taking the drugs I prescribe, Kuljeet, and in a few years, you might be able to hold your breath forever."
If Kabaddi can be plagued with drugs, imagine which sports will be next. Don't be surprised to see these headlines in your local newspaper:
---Steroid allegations taint National Spelling Bee. President Bush orders moratorium on spelling.
---Survey reveals rampant steroid use among shuffleboard players. President Bush orders random drug testing at retirement homes.
---Steroids found in shoes of scrabble champion. President Bush bans shoes. Sandal makers delighted.
Young athletes are particularly susceptible to steroids, focused as they are on short-term benefits. Parents need to talk to them, keep them from harming themselves.
Teen-aged boy: "Dad, what do you know about 'roids?"
Dad: "I know a lot about them, son. They can cause you a lot of pain. You may even have trouble sitting down."
Boy: "Uh, Dad ... I'm talking about steroids, not hemorrhoids."
Dad: "Steroids? Oh, you'd better talk to your mom. I think she played Kabaddi in school."
"Good evening and welcome to the first monthly meeting of the Indian Students Association of Purdue University. My name is Mohan Bhatt and I will serve as president during this academic year, thanks to the powerful coalition of engineering and computer science students. For students in other fields, I'd like to make this promise: I will try my best to satisfy both of you.
I'm determined to fulfill all my campaign promises -- I've already asked the Director of Food Services to consider changing the cafeteria menus slightly, replacing dinner rolls with chapatis. He wants to please the Hispanic students, too, so I've suggested that he puts two signs over the same item, one that says 'chapatis' in Hindi, the other 'tortillas' in Spanish.
I reminded him that the number of Indian students has more than doubled since last year. That's why we had to move our meetings from the student union building to the football stadium. I apologize to those of you who still can't find a seat. Please feel free to squat in the aisles. Just don't get in the way of the samosa vendors.
Such overcrowding is being felt all over America. The number of new Indian students has almost doubled in the last five years. In fact, a record 66,836 students came from India in 2001, allowing us to finally beat China in something. And even more significant, we've helped reduce the population of our motherland. What better way to show our patriotism.
But as you know, Purdue and other universities are largely unprepared for the influx of Indians. Just look at the movies being shown on campus and you will see that not a single one features Aishwarya Rai. The local video stores are no better: if you want to see an Indian movie, you'll have to watch 'Gandhi.' I've already seen it 15 times, and I still don't understand why they couldn't let the Mahatma do a little singing and dancing.
While I'm on the subject of entertainment, you may have noticed that cable TV on campus is sorely lacking. I missed the entire Test series against England. No highlights on ESPN or anything. But I do have some good news for you: Some of our computer science students have reprogrammed the TV receiver in the student lounge. It now picks up Zee TV -- as long as Rajiv Gupta attaches his spectacles to the antenna. Apparently they are special specs, available only in Kolkata, but anyone who wants to borrow them from Rajiv can do so for $9.99 an hour.
We are also trying to address another important issue: we've learned that Purdue now has almost 50 students named Sanjay Patel. This can be rather confusing. Just last week, one Sanjay Patel wrote a bad check and the police arrested five others. The students are really upset and want me to solve this problem. If I don't, they're threatening to form their own group, the Sanjay Patel Association.
Thankfully, I've already found a solution. Every Sanjay Patel has been randomly assigned an American first name beginning with 'S.' Your new name will be emailed to you in a few days. I apologize in advance to Sinbad Patel and Santa Patel."
I, John Doe, being of sound mind and body, and concerned about the possibility of being kept alive in a vegetative state, either through a ventilator or other means, hereby declare that no judge or politician shall have a say in any decision regarding my life. Any such decision shall be made solely by consulting a Living Will -- either Will Smith or Will Ferrell.
If neither of these actors is alive or able to exercise their "willpower," then this document shall serve as the final authority in determining whether to keep me alive, unless of course my wife still wants me around for tax purposes.
She has the right to keep me alive, but not to disconnect my ventilator or remove my feeding tube, unless she and my children decide that it would minimize the suffering, lessen the pain, for them to collect my life insurance.
It is important, however, that I express my wishes, even if my wife has the right to overrule them, as she takes great pleasure in doing.
I do not want to be kept alive in a vegetative state, even if that state happens to be Florida. The vegetation in a state is immaterial to me, especially if I'm stuck in a hospital bed. The only vegetation that interests me these days is that Bush in Washington D.C.
I do not want to be kept alive if I'm judged to be brain-dead, never mind that most people have already made that judgment. Medical doctors are well-qualified to make this determination, but I'd like to give them some pointers, in case they're reluctant to jeopardize my hospital lease. I am probably brain-dead if any of the following occurs:
---A remote control is in my room and I'm not holding it.
---A football game is on TV and I'm not watching it.
---Halle Berry comes to my room and I don't smile.
---My dentist comes to my room and I don't scream.
---Someone reads me Bill Clinton's memoir and I don't fall asleep.
---Someone reads me Ann Coulter's book and I don't try to kill them.
Whether or not I am brain-dead, I do not want a feeding tube inserted into me, unless the tube is big enough to carry a pizza. I want to have pizza regularly -- and by "regularly," I mean three times a day. My feeding schedule will be as follows: Breakfast: pizza topped with sausage. Lunch: pizza topped with pepperoni. Dinner: pizza topped with meatloaf, steak and tandoori chicken.
If I must have a feeding tube, I also want a drinking tube, preferably one that's connected to a bottle of Chardonnay. A little champagne now and then would suit me fine, too. Moderation is the key and I hereby appoint Boris Yeltsin as my moderator. He will be in charge of my drinking tube, with Ted Kennedy as the first alternate.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention organ donation. I want all my organs donated: my eyes to a blind person, my lungs to a cancer patient, my brain to one of those motorcyclists who don't wear helmets.
In conclusion, I would like to thank my lawyer, who recommended that I write this document, so that there will be no confusion whatsoever. To him, I leave my drinking tube.
When I call my telephone or credit card company, I can never speak to a human immediately. For some reason, the humans are always busy with other customers, and I have to listen to a machine tell me something like this: "Please stay on the line. Your call is important to us. So important that we'll try our best to speak to you within the next year or so."
Determined to speak to a human, I stay on the line for an eternity, carrying the phone around with me - to the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom - hoping that I won't have to take a shower with it.
My phone has lots of useful features, but I don't think it's waterproof. And even if it was, I wouldn't feel comfortable speaking on the phone when I'm undressed. I just don't trust technology. I have this image of the telephone company's employees viewing my every move through a tiny camera.
"Attention female employees, if you gather around the big-screen TV in the main office, you'll see a sight that's guaranteed to make you laugh. Yes, one of our male customers is taking a shower. He doesn't look like Mel Gibson or Hrithik Roshan, but we voyeurs can't be too choosy. As you can see, our technicians have learned to use some rather impressive equipment to view some rather unimpressive equipment."
But despite this concern, I remain on the line, until the machine has repeated its message at least 260 times and the company has realized that I'm not ready to hang up or die of old age. A human finally takes my call, greeting me with a cheery tone that's almost as annoying as the long wait. "Hello. May I help you?"
"Thank God, a human," I say. "I was beginning to think all the humans had been replaced. Please help me remember why I called. I've been on hold so long I've totally forgotten. And by the way, what year is this? And is George W. Bush still president?"
"I have no idea why you called," the human says. "We're paid to read scripts, not minds. As for your other questions, it's 2003 and George W. Bush quit being president last year. He got tired of giving so many speeches and missing so many episodes of Sesame Street."
The reason I have to wait so long is obvious: companies just don't employ enough humans to answer their phones. They prefer using machines, partly because machines never get paid, never take coffee breaks, and never accuse the boss of sexual harassment.
But some companies, thankfully, are trying to employ more humans, while cutting their costs. They're moving their call centers to a country with a great supply of humans: India.
Yes, India is fast becoming the call center capital of the world. American companies are taking advantage of India's large pool of educated and English-speaking humans. And it's not because these Indians are willing to work for peanuts. Even better, they're willing to work for rupees.
For the cost of employing one overworked American, a company can employ five overjoyed Indians.
Before answering calls from America, these employees are required to not only speak with an American accent, but also learn about American culture, perhaps by watching several episodes of "Jerry Springer."
They're also expected to Americanize their names. If they're Siddhartha or Suchitra at home, they become Sid or Sue at work. In other words, they're just like many Indians in America.
Some callers may not like the idea of speaking to Indians impersonating Americans. As for me, I have no complaints. As long as I get to speak to a human, I don't care who answers my call - an Indian, an Australian, an Eskimo.
Whenever I see matrimonial ads, I can't help smiling, partly because I met my wife through an ad and partly because I don't need to look at them again for a very long time, at least until I'm ready to torment my daughter. She's just a baby, but it's not hard to imagine myself handing her a page of matrimonial ads and saying, "It's your lucky day, Lekha. Every bachelor here describes himself as 'very successful' and 'very handsome.' How can you go wrong?"
Matrimonial ads are an effective way to meet potential mates, but they're not without their pitfalls. That's why, as a public service, I decided to conduct an Internet chat with some eligible men and women. Here's the transcript:
Sanjay, 38: Since you're an expert on matrimonial ads, please tell me what it means when divorced women say they have "no issues."
ANSWER: It means they have nothing left to discuss. They exhausted all issues in their previous marriages. If you want to start a conversation with them, you need to bring your own issues.
Nalini, 24: What do you think of an ad that says "seeking smart, ambitious girl" and "must be able to cook"?
ANSWER: I think you need to stop searching for a mate in the employment section.
Waheeda, 35: I'm about to place a matrimonial ad and wondered if it's OK to mention that my biological clock is ticking.
ANSWER: By all means. For greater emphasis, you may even include a picture of your clock. That would help draw responses from newspaper reporters and other men who work well under deadlines.
Ravi, 25: Some women describe themselves as "fair," others as "very fair." Should I request a picture to verify the extent of their fairness?
ANSWER: That is a fair question. But to determine if a woman is truly fair, you need to observe her deeds, not her face. Otherwise, you'll find yourself squabbling with your light-skinned wife, thinking, "She is not fair at all."
Madhu, 34: I came across an ad in which a man describes himself as "Harward-educated." Is that the same as Harvard-educated and would you be concerned about his true qualifications?
ANSWER: Yes, I'd be wery vorried.
Latha, 23: What type of information should I include in my biodata?
ANSWER: The most important information to include is the educational qualifications of your relatives, especially if one of them is a doctor. You should also include the exact time and date of your birth. Everything else is optional.
Rupa, 27: I do not believe in the caste system. Should I boycott ads that mention caste in them?
ANSWER: Yes, caste them aside. There are many others to choose from.
Thomas, 29: I saw an ad in which a woman described herself as "homely." Does that mean she's not good-looking?
ANSWER: No, it means she's extremely attractive, but likes to stay at home. In other words, she's not "outgoing."
Jyoti, 31: Please explain what it means when a man says he has "good blend of east-west values."
ANSWER: It means he eats his kofta curry with a fork.
Rakesh, 32: I found an ad that says "medical doctors preferred." I'm not a doctor, but my best friend is. Should I respond?
ANSWER: Only if you can borrow your friend's credit cards. And perhaps his Mercedes, too.
Manoj, 25: A woman has advertised for "well-settled" professionals only. I have a green card. Does that make me well-settled?
ANSWER: No. To be considered well-settled, you must have a wife and children.
Varun, 20: Something is suspicous. Are you really an expert on matrimonial ads?
ANSWER: Yes, I have an M.A. degree from Harward. Go ahead and werify it.
South Korea's success in the 2002 FIFA World Cup has got me dreaming. I can hear a television announcer's booming voice: "Gupta crosses the ball, Singh takes a shot and ... GOAL! GOAL! India has won the 2006 World Cup, upsetting Brazil 1-0 in overtime. The South Americans are stunned. They're staring into the sky, wondering how they lost to a country where cricket is the number one sport and soccer is number 17, just behind carom board and kabaddi."
A Star TV reporter covers the celebration in Delhi: "I've never seen anything like this. Everyone is dancing in the streets. Muslims are kissing Hindus, Brahmins are kissing Dalits, someone even kissed a lawyer. I've also heard rumors that the Prime Minister kissed Sonia Gandhi. The Sports Minister has announced that the victorious soccer players will be rewarded with new jobs in the transportation industry. Yes, each of them will receive an auto rickshaw."
Such dreams seemed outrageous just a few weeks ago. I believed that Asian teams couldn't compete in the World Cup, that they were just invited to the finals to allow other teams to score. Without the Asians, spectators would have to settle for dull 0-0 and 1-0 games, instead of exciting 8-0 games.
But South Korea has proven me wrong. By reaching the semifinal and finishing fourth, they showed that Asian teams don't have to be doormats. Even India, with the right commitment, could produce a team that causes fear in the soccer world, not just fits of laughter.
To be sure, India is ranked 123 in the world, keeping company with those two African soccer powers, Malawi and Swaziland. Only 32 countries qualify for the World Cup Finals, so India's chances of making it in the near future are not as great as, say, Veerappan's chances of becoming president.
But there's always hope, especially if one billion people pray for the same thing. It almost worked for "Lagaan" at the Oscars, but the movie came a few hundred prayers short. Perhaps next time the government will declare a national prayer day.
In case prayer isn't enough, India needs to focus on developing young soccer players, just as some soccer enthusiasts in Delhi are trying to do. They've formed a society called "We in WC 2010." (WC, hopefully, doesn't stand for wash closet.) The goal is to find and train children who are fit and talented, children with the rare ability to put away their cricket bats.
The society is relying on financial support from private sources, determined to avoid government interference and corruption. That way, nobody will say, "Four players from Kerala and none from Tamil Nadu? How could that be? Wait until Amma hears about this. Heads will roll."
Though encouraging, the venture is on such a small scale that it seems like a shot in the dark. Even if gifted players are discovered, will their skills be honed in professional leagues? Will they get a chance to face the top players in the world, not just the All-Punjab Team? And will I be able to keep on dreaming?
"With its victory over Brazil, India is now ranked number one in the world. Team captain Jaswant Singh has just received a congratulatory phone call from President Veerappan."