It is that time of year, I suppose. Almost as soon as the ball descends on Times Square, the reality of the new year hits me and hits me hard. It is not just the little things such as unlearning the habit of scribbling '95 and remembering to mark "1996" on everything. The Really Big Questions start popping up. The question of what I am doing with my life figures somewhere in there.
What I am doing with my life gets tied in my mind to what a fellow called Anand is doing with his. You see, we are both the same age. We both went to high school and to undergraduate college in the South Indian city of Madras. But while he is the second-ranked chess player in the world today and is the man most widely picked to break Russian domination of the game since Bobby Fisher, I am, well, still me.
The annual ritual of measuring myself against Anand started when we were both in high school. I didn't know him personally (I still don't), but we had several friends in common. In a rather tight social circle, it was difficult to miss a guy who was, by then, the junior world champion. Besides, the papers mentioned him once in a while.
Meanwhile, I was getting sent to the principal's office. And getting busted by the city police for driving bikes with neither a helmet nor a license. It wasn't hard, even for me, to figure out who was ahead.
The first two years of college were a little better. I got my act together in the final few months of high school and did well enough to sneak into one of the best engineering colleges in the country. The college's reputation started to pull me along. I discovered that girls fell like dustflies when I mentioned where I studied. All of a sudden, I was successful. The public perception of me as a success helped to change the way I looked at myself. I even went to the Department of Motor Vehicles and got myself a driver's license. I n the meanwhile, Anand shifted to the pros.
The world chess crown is decided a lot like the way the boxing crown is. The champion sits and watches while there is a long series of playoffs among the other top players in the world to decide who the challenger is going to be. For dozens of years, the identity of the challenger was a no-brainer. The Russian Kasparov challenged the Russian Karpov several times until, one year, he succeeded. Then, the Russian Karpov challenged the Russian Kasparov but never did succeed. The top-level hierarchy was pretty much ossified, but Anand even then was causing havoc in the ranks. He is a very fast thinker and makes his moves quickly enough to drastically reduce the thinking time his opponent has. Everybody loves a guy who is fast on the draw, and the chess world excitedly watched him. Disappointingly, he never won the playoffs in those early years.
In the year I was a sophomore, one of the playoff matches was held in Madras. Anand was going to play Alexander Dreev. The winner advanced and the loser went home to try again in a couple of years. A bunch of us ditched classes and took the metro to the hotel where the matches were held. It was a carnival atmosphere. Anand was one of Madras' favorite sons, and it showed. There were people milling all over the place, spilling out into the lobby. A huge chess board was placed right outside the room where the two players were to play, so that even if you couldn't get into the room, you could watch the game. Chess had become a spectator sport. Dreev arrived first, stonefaced and stoic with his fingers black from cigarette smoke. We hated him with all our guts. Anand won that game easily and wrapped up three more in the course of the next week to win the playoff match.
Anand was exactly how everyone described him - softspoken, slightly stodgy and an awfully nice guy. You wouldn't think he was what he was by looking at him. It has been this image of him that haunts me every New Year's Day. Not of him at his chess table outfoxing the best players in the world, but of him smiling, of him accepting all those accolades and being friendly. Then, in 1995, Anand did what had eluded him for so long. He won the playoffs, winning the right to challenge Kasparov for the world title. The match was held in New York. American newspapers, with the exception of The New York Times, didn't carry the story, but luckily the games were telecast move by move over the Internet. There was a whole series of drawn games until Anand got a big win against the champion. I went crazy and, according to my friends in India, so did the entire country. Every kid on the block was carrying a chess set. Kasparov then came back and won the match but Anand had arrived.
And so, here I am in early 1996 wondering where I am headed. Anand has taken the elevator, but I am taking the staircase. I hope he stays up there long enough, though - I need the encouragement.