Montreal Masters: Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer and the intersection of time

 

For the first time in over six years – since the 2011 Monte Carlo Masters – Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer will be the two top-seeds (in that order) at the 2017 Rogers Cup, in Montreal. A lot has had changed in these half-a-dozen years. Players have since retired and there has been the cascade of two back-to-back generational shifts. And yet, with Nadal and Federer still going strong, it does seem as though a few things have remained the same.

But, have they really?

Novak Djokovic’s decision to shut shop for the rest of the 2017 season, followed days later by Andy Murray opting out of the Montreal Masters meant that the entire existence of the Big Four was once again in disarray. Nadal and Federer then taking over as the top-seeds was a bracing continuity. Not only in terms of retaining the core significance of the nomenclature, but also in terms of extending the theme of their dual domination for the season up to now.

Of the five ATP Masters tournaments that have been played this year, Nadal and Federer have split success in two of the four Masters tourneys. The Swiss pocketed the Indian Wells-Miami double for the third time in his career, while the Spaniard rampaged on the dirt of Monte Carlo and Madrid. These triumphs, in turn, also spoke about the way they had seemingly turned back time to the days when men’s tennis was mostly bracketed around them.

Inspiring these results have then been about the clout these two have continued to wield over the game. But, the outcome of the last ATP Masters event, in Rome, is just as relevant in this context. And, this relevance comes by way of the aberration that the Rome Masters has been in the otherwise predictable nature of the season’s tennis calendar.

For one, it was the only event where Nadal’s impeccable shacklehold of his most preferred surface slackened. Secondly, it was the only tournament where a youngster convincingly prevailed over the more experienced and the (slightly) favoured contender in Djokovic.

Dominic Thiem’s upset over Nadal in straight sets in the Rome Masters’ quarter-final meant that regardless of his show of dominance on the surface, the days of the Mallorcan running through the clay season undefeated were bygone. This, coupled with Alexander Zverev’s one-sided win over Djokovic in the final, lent credence to the fact that despite their frequent on-court patchiness, the youngsters had the potential to push their game through in the bigger tournaments.

It’s therefore not surprising to see Thiem and Zverev take their place as the third and fourth seeds in Montreal this week. Much like Nadal and Federer, they, too, have benefited from the spate of withdrawals that have preceded the event. Thiem and Zverev’s presence right on their heels is also indicative. That not only has time flitted away, but it has also brought men’s tennis to a unique crossroads. Where in the reunion with the past, there’s also an equally enforcing reconnecting with its foreseeable future.  

Roger Federer: The tale a second wind sparked

“Days some when I can't pick up a racket, days other when I don't want to pick up a racket. Either I am psychologically drained, or a stiff back preceded by a painful knee. Considering me ancient wouldn't so much as bother me, as much as it would amuse me. I am a 35-year old playing a young man's game, but am still scheduled to play the biggest game of the season, come first light, this Sunday.

“My opponent and I have played many times, and he beat me under the sweltering heat of New York once, a day in which I had no chance of coming close to the finish line. With time, I learned to live with myself – and by that, I mean I learned to live with losses, every loss used to fester for days in my mind, now it festers for a few hours, I learn and then I move on, no questions asked, no memories retained.

“While I dissect the reason for the loss and archive it carefully to access that quantum of memory the next time I play the same opponent, the painful memory of the loss is ephemeral. I listen to my body more, more than I ever used to, I learned to live in the moment, more than I ever used do, and I fear losing less, which is something I have always been used to.

“I am one of the very few in this rarefied air who loves winning more than I despise losing. I also appreciate playing – these days more than ever, while I don't play for records any more, I simply love playing the game - and on good days, I'll happily take winning too. It's not so much as "how much" I play, as much as "how well" I play I most care about these days.

“There are very few emotions that can replicate playing inside the cauldron of Centre court, with the heat of battle and love for competition adorning the combative theatre, the tenor of the game – one half of which I control, and the other up to my deserved opponent, as roaring adoration from the crowd swivels into a deafening silence seconds before am about to serve, as I meticulously wipe away the sweat from my forehead with my right thumb under the sun that came out of the clouds seconds before, I hope to stand at championship point…”

And, so begins the tale of Roger Federer…

A tale that began not when he first came onto the scene as a pony-tailed youngster, who seemed to have the right blend of cockiness and poise as he collected trophies wherever he went and in whichever tournaments he played. But rather in a year, when he went about gathering a fraction of the titles anew, more than a decade-and-a-half since he first stepped onto the professional turf.  

These have had been titles that he had won before with ease but those which had started to elude him in the recent times, favouring his younger rivals – who, despite all his efforts against them – looked to be a mite stronger and a tad forceful.

This is then a tale that has put some context into Federer’s hallowed career-map because had he not taken that six-month layoff to rehabilitate his knee, we would have never gotten to see this resurgence of his. Neither would he have gone on to prioritise his career as we have seen him do in this past 12 months, choosing what and where he wants to play with an economised efficiency that one wouldn’t have thought possible of him.

By pacing himself – say, like, missing three-months of the clay season – he’s able to keep himself ahead of his rivals. Not only as a strategist, but also as a player who can stay with his rivals without his back being up against the wall. And, in a way, it’s the first that has acted as a catalyst for the latter.

On-court, he’s not missed a trick in strategizing. But, in the last two years even as his strategies flowed and ebbed in a match, this year he’s found a way to keep them optimised throughout matches, which has also neutralised his opponents with no backup tactics for them to rely on. Thus, where he found himself being drained and sapped of energy after being pushed to best-of-five and best-of-three – literally – his opponents being caught off-guard by him has led to finish most of his matches quicker, thus keep himself around for a while longer. In the short-term, in the given tournament. And, in the long run, dare we say in the Tour?

But, therein lies the other side to the tale. The side that dwells on unpredictability and uncertainty, where one knows nought when or where the trail of success will end. Not even Federer, who despite being the protagonist of his professional life, is still dependent on life’s scriptwriting to get him play his part. Starting with when he takes to the court against Marin Cilic on Sunday…

Sari Shopping: From pet peeve, to all in a day's work!

Integral as rites and rituals are to a wedding, equally necessary is the trousseau shopping. In a South Indian wedding, the terminology gets extended to the immediate relatives of the family of the bride-to-be, with nit-picking over selection of potential purchases – of Kancheepuram silk saris, to be specific – spilling over to the said family members as well.

To the uninitiated, Kancheepuram silk saris hold a unique pride of place for South Indians, many of whom who deem the ostentatiousness of the wedding based on the saris worn by members of the bridal party on both sides. In my experience as an attendee of quite a few such weddings, including a couple in which I have had to wear a silk sari myself, I can attest to the fact that the discussion of the apparel lasts a lot longer when reminiscing about the marriage than the wedding proceedings itself.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise then that ‘sari shopping’, as I have come to call it, is often a comparative endeavour. Of course, not with the intention of one-upping – at least, not in the weddings that I have attended – but based on inputs freely given and collected from close family and friends, who have had organised weddings in the immediately preceding time-frame.

From deciding on the best location to purchase the saris from to settling on the optimal price to be set as the budget, the whole process of zeroing down on the actualities itself takes over a few weeks.

Exciting as it sounds, the reality of shopping, however, is tedious and farthest from the expectations of utopia.

For those living in the metro cities away from South India, while there are several big-brand retailers to choose from when it comes to buying the requisite silk clothing drapes, discontentment with the available choices makes them head south – down to Kancheepuram itself – to avail of the so-called better product options.

And, though almost always there is assistance forthcoming from a local – recommended by one of the aforementioned family or friends – suggestions also pouring forth from the garrulous neighbour sitting next in the local transportation vehicle involve checking such suggested outlets as well. The latter translates to digression from the initial plans made, and re-accounting of the time needed to complete the rest of the travel itinerary.

Traversing through more outlets also means spending more time cooped cross-legged inside the stores, first pointing at the array of brightly textured – some, even ridiculously shocking to the otherwise sober urban tastes – material and then discarding the preference because of clashes with colour combinations, between the sari and its border.

I know, it sounds a little bit pretentious – and a reason for the previously mentioned mental inertia – but trust me, going for a purple sari and pink border combination is just not done. The shopkeeper will say it’s one of the most trending colour combinations, but as someone who has to wear the six-yard creation with a tanned complexion, it just won’t work. As won’t work the varying shades of green that keeping popping up at regular intervals.

Not that I have any problem with the colour green, but I have long held reservations about owning a sari in that particular colour. It just doesn’t feel right, but if only the shopkeeper would understand that and stop amassing that colour in front of me.

Finally, when you think that you have found the most gorgeous choice on offer, without any quibbling on the colour, design and border, there’s the biggest hurdle of them all waiting to catch you unawares. The price tag, a handy snippet of information, conveniently hidden between the elaborate folds of the sari suddenly makes an appearance and once noticed, it’s not something you can forget – not even by waving the wand and muttering obliviate – that easily. You think, your preference might make one of those rare exceptions to the pre-assigned budget and that familial love for you would be enough to surmount the price – after all, how frivolous slight over-spending can be when compared to love? – but, like I mentioned earlier, reality works in far different ways.

When the shopkeeper refuses to entertain and budge from his ‘no bargains’ motto despite repeated persuasions from the rest of the family members making up the trip, you are subtly advised – in Marathi, no less – to either pick something else, how about revisiting that purple-and-pink theme?, or wait for your turn when we resume the sari hunting in the next shop. While, a courageous person would still opt for the first option afraid of the extension to the shopping trip, me being me, I always take the other road. And, so onwards it goes, with me dragging my feet and leaving my heart behind with that glorious sari that I don’t think I will ever reconnect with again.

Mercifully, the withdrawal pangs don’t go for on long as I get to pick a better choice – there I said it – in the very next shop without having to worry about price negotiations or budgetary concerns. And, it’s pink too, with a monochromatic glimmer that I might have not opted anywhere else, but one that I have fallen hopelessly in love with and want to keep wearing, over and over again.