One of those days...

There are days when,

Nothing seems to go your way

And your actions fail to hold any sway;

When you find the door shut on your face everytime,

When your ideas are ripped apart for having gaping loopholes,

When you are made the scapegoat for everything that goes wrong,

When your luck seems to run out and the flow of inspiration seems to dry up,

When your frustrations cross the limits of tolerance and your cup of woes runneth over...

There are days when,

Nothing seems to go your way

And your actions fail to hold any sway.

Seemingly everyone goes through one of those days;

When the pen fails to put on paper those wonderful thoughts and words fail to flow from the heart,

When the guitar refuses to strum together a soulful rhythm and the drum beats sound hollow,

When the paintbrush does not produce the magical hues and shades and bring the subject to life,

When the usually reliable forehand either finds the tramlines or sails long and wide,

When the attempt at that trademark glorious on drive merely finds the inside edge of the bat,

When that usually incisive defense splitting through ball keeps going astray,

When the punches keep landing wide and fail to pack a punch....

Surely everyone goes through one of those days..

But those days when nothing seems to go your way,

Those days are inevitable, inevitable as night and day;

All you need to do is to take a deep breath and accept that nothing's meant to go your way,

And remind yourself that you will undoubtedly outlast those tough times...

Because tommorow surely will be a new day; tommorow, surely, will be your day!

Halfway between the fireflies and the stars

The October heat was stifling. Even at 10  in the night, the atmosphere was claustrohpbic and clammy. The wind was completely listless, seemingly defeated by the sweltering temperatures. And just then, to make matters worse, the electricity decided to play truant. The building plunged into darkness and a collective moan could be heard. I could not bear the heat and climbed the flight of stairs to the relatively cooler confines of the terrace. The entire block was awashed in black. The dim light of candles started flickering and dancing through few of the windows. It looked like a major fault. I glanced up at the sky. Even though there was not a speck of cloud on the horizon, not a single star could be seen shining on the residents of the city. They were probably hidden behind a blanket of smog. I sighed. It was pitch black all around. Quite similar to that unforgettable night in Coorg some 8 years ago...

It was the summer of 2004. College vacations had just begun and 11 of us had decided to go to Coorg, which was to be the first of  what was to become our annual holiday ritual. After an eventful journey, we decided to knock off the list of the must-see items one by one. Abby falls, world famous in Coorg,  was the first on the list. It was at a distance of some 8-9 kms from where we were staying . We set off around 4 pm in 3 autos on a narrow road which carved through a forest lined with dense trees and coffee plantations on both sides. It was almost like a wallpaper. We stopped to lech at the scenery while one of the autos carried on. Initially, we had planned to just "see" the falls, take pics and come back since we had started quite late in the evening. 

But when we reached the site, apart from other tourists who were standing on the bridge posing in front of the falls, our friends who reached there first were nowhere to be seen. "Yaahooo" we heard from somewhere up above! "Yeahhhhhhh" sounded another war cry. And we saw them. Four of them were climbing towards the falls. Testosterone and sense of adventure had prevailed over good sense. How could we stay behind? And so off we went as well! After an hour or so of reaching the top, bathing and frolicking under the falls ala Liril soap models, we decided to come down. Not that we wanted to, but the fading light forced us to think rationally for a change. After lots of slips and slides and scratch marks, we finally reached the bridge. It was now pretty dark and we quickly walked out to the road. But there was just one auto standing! The other two autos had left since it had gotten quite dark and it was dangerous, we were told. Those were comforting words indeed. Three people decided to go in the one auto and said they would send autos if they could find any. The auto started and the lights from the auto, bobbing up and down, disappeared into the distance. It was now completely dark. Luckily we had a couple of torches but what could two torches do against an army of darkness! Our hearts sank. The thought of what lay ahead now hit us with full force.

9 kms. 8 guys. 2 torches. 1 narrow road amidst dense forests. Infinite darkness. Unknown dangers.

Most of us were terrified, I have to be honest. We had never experienced something like this before. We formed 2 groups of 4, each one with a torch and started walking, slowly. The night was absolutely still. We were walking in eerie silence. The thud - thud - thud of our heartbeats could be heard. Fear started manifesting itslef in ways only fear can as it gradually took control of our senses. It numbed the ability to think rationally. Even the most harmless noises sounded scary. Every time the leaves rustled and the wind blew through the trees, we stood still and flashed our torches wildly. The road which just a few hours back seemed so serene now took on a sinister shape. The silhouettes of the tall trees seemed to hide something or someone, waiting and watching. However deep down, we knew they were just figments of our overworked imagination. But it was not possible at that moment to believe that nothing lurked in those shadows.

The first 20 odd minutes everyone walked in silence, alert to the slightest movement or sound. Gradually, the distance started whittling away. As no untoward incident happened, the confidence started returning. The mind freed itself a bit from the vice like grip of fear. We found our voices. A few lame jokes were cracked and we allowed ourselves to laugh a bit. It was at that moment we saw it. An illuminated tree. As if someone had hung 100 lightbulbs on it. As we inched closer, we realised it was full of fireflies. It was a wonderful sight. We smiled and our fear seemed to melt away. We stood there for a few seconds marvelling at the sight, soaking it all in. Our pace now quickened and a few of us started singing. The road inclined upwards and we looked up at the sky above for the first time. It was full of bright twinkling stars. Stretched out as far as the eye could see. Millions and millions of them. We city folk could never experience such simple delights. We looked behind. The tree of fireflies was still illuminated.  We saw the stars above which illuminated the sky. It was a glorious sight.

It felt as if we were almost halfway between the fireflies and the stars.

The next hour we were enjoying ourselves. We reckoned we could not be too far away now. Suddenly, we saw a light from a bend on the road.  Some 200 metres away. It seemed like a small shop.  That was it. We just ran. Usain Bolt would have been proud. We reached the shop and saw each others faces for the first time after close to 2 hours.  Relief was evident on each of our faces. We laughed, more out of relief than anything else. We knew we were never going to forget that night ever.

That was to be the first of many memorable incidents in Coorg which we still recall fondly whenever we meet. For me personally, Coorg remains close to heart for one more reason. During my interview for admission to S.P.Jain, on being asked about the list of places I have travelled to, I mentioned coorg. The interviewer, then Assistant Director, Mr. Rai, asked me, 

"So what is Coorg famous for? "

"Coffee" was my instant reply

"Yes, true, but there is something else as well "

I looked at him blankly.

"I am looking for some other answer" and a mischievous smile adorned his face.

I knew the answer then.  "Beautiful women". I smiled.

"Hahah "that was what I was looking for! Rest, as they say is history for me personally!

Coorg is undoubtedly famous for its coffee and its lovely women. But for me, that walk in the night and that sight of the fireflies and the stars will remain indelible and will always hold a special place in my heart...

Jaleeeebbbiii!

That gujjus have a sweet tooth is a well known fact. But then that fondness for all things sweet transcends boundaries on Dusshera. The chief source of weakness - the humble jalebi! Aah..light golden yellow, crispy,twisting its way around delightfully in concentric circles. Ably supported by its perfect partner in crime - besan na lamba papdi ghatiya and the sweet spicy papaya ni chutney with hari mirch... what a way to start the day! "What!!!!"  My non gujju friends exclaim in unision. Jalebi and ghatiya as breakfast!! No wonder we always have gas problems, they joke. But I just smile. They cannot appreciate the magical fusion that happens when a delectable jalebi and a fried ghatiya is popped in the mouth. And washed down with adrak and elaichi ki chai. Its akin to reaching gastronomical heaven.

And on Dusshera, this love assumes epic proportions. Every gujju bows down before the jalebi on dusshera. I don't know how this tradition started. But my grandfather had it on Dusshera, my father had it as well. I remember my love for Jalebis blossomed during Diwali vacations at my nani's house in Calcutta when she used to order Jalebi and ghatiya every Sunday. Its a legacy, you see. Cherished and preserved from generation to generation. Dusshera should be christened as World jalebi ghatiya day, we should make a petition to those greeting card companies! Brand Ambassador - who else but Jalebi B(h)ai!

This dusshera was no different. There are three main temples in ghatkopar where gujjus make a beeline for to buy their Jalebis. Haribhai kandoi, Morbiwala and Tip Top. Preparations at all these shops begin atleast a week in advance. Massive amounts of oil, besan, sugar etc are ordered and stocked. A day before, huge pandals are put up to cope with the throbbing crowd. A seperate mandal is put up which serves as the kitchen. Temporary staff are hired. The air is abuzz with excitement. The atmosphere at these halwai shops is electrifying. In Gujarat you can multiple the shops, excitement and buzz by a million times. And of course, these shops easily make more than a crore rupees in a single day.

The dusshera day dawns. I wake up at 7.45 am and curse myself, fearing a huge queue. These shops open sharp at 6 am. By 6.05 am, 5 people must already have reached there standing and waiting. I get ready quickly and by 8.30 am I reach Morbiwala. The scenes there are just as I expected. There are atleast 70 people in queue. Which keeps getting longer by the minute. But no one seems to mind the wait. The good things in life always need patience and are worth waiting for. A few uncles have come prepared for the long wait, carrying newspapers and books to while away the time. Most have come in groups. A couple of uncles and aunts behind me are in a jovial mood as they crack jokes in that typical gujju sense of humour and laugh merrily. I join in the fun. Just then, one uncle comes out of Morbiwala, holding two bags and looks as pleased as punch. As he goes past us, the aroma of jalebis reaches my nose. I wonder how they would be. The shape, the texture, the crispness, the sweetness. And I tell myself that sometimes the pleasure undobtedly lies in the wait, the anticipation. I look around. The onlookers faces reveal whether they are gujju or not. Gujjus just shrug and move on as if the long queue is nothing new. Non gujjus stare curiously and wonder.  On being told this was a line for jalebis, they open their eyes wide in disbelief. They have to taste it to believe it, I tell myself. The line ahead moves about slowly and the sun is now shining brightly but I am quite enjoying the sights and sounds around. The line behind me snakes its way around the corner now. At least 50 more people are behind me now, eager to get their hands on the jalebis.Foreigners would be forgiven for thinking that the newest iPhone was about to be launched, all respect to the great man! Finally at about 9.45 am, I enter the shade of the pandal. The makeshift payment counter contains neat stacks of ten, fifty and hundred rupee notes and one, two and five rupee coins. I collect the coupon and present it to the serving counter. Finally I can see the jalebis. It's love at first sight. Golden yellow. Sprinkled with kesar and rose petals. I take my parcel with glee and reach home.

At 10.15 am, I have my first bite of jalebi and ghatiya. They taste exactly as I had imagined. I relish the moment for some seconds. It felt as if I had been transported back to the dining room in Heysham Road, Calcutta all those years ago. The wait had been well worth it. And then some more. 

The girl on the Ranikhet Express

The train jerked to a stop. The boy awoke, startled. The old lady opposite him smiled and told him "station aa gaya beta!" He rubbed his eyes and saw the honeymoon couple stacking up their luggage.  There was another elderly couple which he hadn't seen the night before. Were they Mr. and Mrs. Bakshi? He looked around. Seema was nowhere to be seen. He looked down the narrow aisle. She wasn't there! Had she gotten off at the earlier stop? But he remembered her telling him last night that she was going to Kathgodam. He could not beleive that it was only last night he met the girl. Last night ...

..The air was warm and dry when he got off the auto at old Delhi railway station the previous night. 10.10 pm, his faithful Titan watch told him. He checked the giant electronic screen hanging above the entrance to the station . Ranikhet express to Kathgodam. 10.40 pm. Platform 8. There was still time enough to grab a quick bite at Come Sum restaurant.

When he reached the platform at 10.30, the train had already arrived. He checked into his seat A3 20 and stepped outside to do his customary scan of co-passengers on the reservation list stuck on the side of the door. He had this weird fascination for on-the-road love stories, especially on trains and himself wished to be a part of one! Perhaps that's why he liked Jab we met and Dil hai ki maanta nahi so much.  But he realised that somethings happen only in the movies. The laws of probability fail in the real world. He quickly scanned the list.

A3 17 - Maya Srinivasan - 62.

A3 18 - Shilpa Singh - 25. A small smile.

A3 19 - Prabhjot Singh - 26. The smile disappeared.Probably a newly wed couple off on their honeymoon to Nainital.

A3 21 and A3 22 - Mr. and Mrs. Bakshi, an elderly couple in their forties.

He sighed! Somethings are not meant to be. He climbed aboard and sure enough there was the honeymoon couple and the old lady. The Bakshis were nowhere to be seen. The ranikhet express let out a loud hoot and the journey began. Maybe the Bakshis were boarding from a different station.

On a train which departs so late and is scheduled to arrive at 5.10 in the morning, passengers usually wait for everyone to settle down and go off to bed early. As if on cue, Mrs. Srinivasan raised the middle berth, made her bed and retired for the night. The honeymoon couple couldn't take their eyes off each other. And they sure seemed in a hurry to reach their hotel. After 10 - 15 minutes, they climbed to their respective top berths. The boy glanced at his watch. 11.27 pm. Ghaziabad came and went but there was still no sign of the Bakshis. He too was feeling a bit drowsy now. He could feel his eyes telling his mind to sleep. The eyelids slowly began to droop ...

...Suddenly he could smell a whiff of perfume. He shrugged off his sleep and looked up. It was at that moment when he saw the girl. She was about 5"4, hair straight and slightly curved at the edges which dangled delightfully just below the shoulders. Sharp face, high cheekbones, bright eyes. She was wearing a white Kurti and light blue denims. She came and sat just a few feet away from him. She couldn't be Mrs. Bakshi.  He was wide awake now.

She pushed her luggage underneath the seat and turned. She caught him staring at her.  He quickly looked away, and had this sudden urge to open his rucksack and find something which he himself wasn't aware of.  She pulled out a book and started reading. Of course, that's what he was looking for as well! A book! He took one out ever so slowly and pretended to read. He stole a quick few glances at her but was careful enough not to overdo it. Just 3-4 glances every 15 seconds. She seemed engrossed in the book and did not look up even once. She was indeed quite pretty. In a span of 5 minutes, he thought of 500 ways to initiate conversation and all those cheesy corny pick up lines he had read about. He finally settled on one and was about to speak when she giggled. For the first time, he noticed the book she was reading. Three men in a boat! The funniest book he had read thus far! He smiled. This was his chance.

"Ah! Finally! I was wondering how long it would be before u laughed or giggled! When I read that book, I used to laugh every 2-3 minutes!" The girl looked at him from top to bottom and replied with a straight face "and I was wondering how long it would be before you realise the book you are supposedly reading is upside down! Unless of course that is a special trait you have!" At that moment, the boy wished he could disappear into the bathroom and hide there till the morning. He was tongue tied for a moment but said "umm..oh..yaa..some sharp eyes you have! My mind was actually preoccupied in something else " 

"Lame explanation! But I think I know where your mind was preoccupied as well". There was added emphasis on where.

"Well, you have a sharp mind as well then"

The girl smiled. "By the way, the book you are reading, 'the case of exploding mangoes' is also very interesting."

And that's how it started. A discussion on books and favourite authors and common books.

Her name was Seema Bisht. A common surname in Uttarakhand he felt. Indeed, she was born and brought up in a place called Lansdowne in Uttarakhand. A lovely hill station.  He had not been there but he knew a lot about the state since he had already been there a half a dozen times. An honorary citizen of the state, as his friends jokingly called him. This was his seventh visit to trek across the kuari pass. She had already been there, done that. In fact she rattled off a list of must do treks. And the discussion veered onto places travelled, treks completed and favourite sights. Intersperesed with humorous anecdotes and stories. So far so good! Somehwere in the distance, the train whistled loudly.

She had done her M.A in Economics from Delhi School of Economics. He was even more impressed. And the discussion took on tones of latest trends. Movies. Life in a small town vs life in a metro. He felt good. But she stifled a yawn! She said " I think we better sleep. Will cya in the morning! Good night." The boy wished time could slow down and reluctantly wished her good night and dragged himself to sleep. He wished time would now hurry up. He couldn't wait till the morning...

...but today morning she was nowhere to be seen. He asked Mrs. Srivastava. She also had not seen anyone wearing a white Kurti. He got off the train and looked around the platform. No luck. He now checked the passenger list of his entire bogey again.  There was no one called Seema Bisht! He was confused. He needed a hot cup of tea. He took a ten rupee note from his front pocket and was about to pay the vendor when a note fell to the floor. It was white in color and he opened it. There was a cell number on it with the initials S.B! Seema Bisht! She must have slipped it when he was asleep. Whenever you are confused or frustrated, ek garam chai ki pyali always helps. In one way or the other. He quickly dialled the number. "The number you have dialled does not exist. Yeh number astitva mein nahi hai." He dialled again. Same response. What the hell was happening! And just then, someone tapped him from behind.....

...The boy awoke, startled! Mrs. Srinivasan was tapping him from behind. She smiled and said, "station aa gaya beta!" The boy looked around. There was the honeymoon couple.  And an elderly couple who were probably the Bakshis. And of course there was no Seema! She was a part of just a strange but wonderful dream. He smiled, got off the train and checked the passenger list once again ....

The usual

That Monday began like any other day. The commute, the pushing, the rushing, the haggling, the usual. The boy was tired about the usual, the normal, the routine. He was tired of responding "the usual" when someone would ask him what was happening.  And he was tired of having nothing new to say when anyone asked him what's new! But he was powerless  to do anything about it which, truth be told, frustrated him even more.

He sighed and braced himself for another routine monday. But then he received a call just as he reached office. On hearing, his expressions changed completely, as if all color had been drained from his face. His dad had collapsed and could not move, his mom told him. Considering the disease which afflicted him, he panicked and rushed back. On the way, terrible thoughts plagued his mind and he was unable to shut them out. He reached home and saw his dad lying sprawled on the floor. He was in obvious pain but still managed a smile. They rushed him to the hospital where the doctor informed them that he would have to be operated after two days.

The next two days were long and painful. His head was a minefield of emotions. All sorts of thoughts toyed with his vulnerable state of mind. Thoughts on fate, faith, karma.  Why put his dad through so much agony for close to ten years when he has not done anything to deserve that. And then he thought about all the things he always wanted to do with dad and if he would ever be able to do it.  Watch Wimbledon. At Wimbledon. Travel to Ladakh. Gardening.... he gravitated from pain to anger to helplessness in an endless loop. He tried to distract himself with reading, friends, TV. In vain.

But curiously, his dad, who was the protagonist, smiled through those days. He was jovial with everyone who visited him and never once did complain about the pain or his fate.

The day of the operation was nervewracking. Time moved at a snails pace. After close to three hours of surgery, his dad came out. His face still showed a feeble smile. After the initial relief, the boy was gripped by worries of " what next".  His dad could see that his son was worried. Even angry. That was when he decided to tell his son words which left an indelible imprint on the boys mind. 

"I am facing this situation which you or me can't reverse. Either I can face it with a smile or be sad and despondent about it. The choice really is very simple. And if you can't reverse the situation, there is no point in thinking about the why and how of it. We tend to cling on to the past more than necessary and not move on. We have to face it positively and do the best we can. Leave the rest to God! He has plans for everyone. Its important that you stop thinking about it and return to a normal routine.  That routine, however mundane is the best way to get over this and watch things fall in place, slowly but surely. That will make me happy as well"

It seemed as if someone had waved a magic wand and a heavy load had been lifted from his shoulders.

The following Monday arrived.  It began just like any other day. There was the pushing and rushing to catch the train, there was the haggling with the autowallah.  There were the hundreds of mails to be replied to.  It was the usual. But He smiled. Because That monday, He was grateful for the usual. His dad was right! It was a much needed diversion. The usual never felt better. Nothing new never felt so good...

When love and hate collide

To,

Whomsover it may concern

You tell me that I am pathetic and terrible. You tell me that I am a big gutter that is full of shit!. You tell me that I am maddening and a pain. That I cause you to tear your hair out in frustration. How would you feel to be abused relentlessly? But that, my friends is the sad reality I have to grapple with almost everyday as you complain 24/7 about major aspects about my personality - the infrastructure, the traffic, the sanitation problems, the high cost of living, the overcrowding...But at the same time, defying logic, you love me as well. You love the buzz, the vibrancy, the culture, the people, the money and the magic, the spirit..you and I, we share this unique love-hate relationship.

I am not oblviious to the problems you state. But I ask all of you, is it my fault that I am seen as a land of opportunity, the commercial capital of the nation, a land which promises the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Is it my fault that so many of you come to me and take solace in my loving embrace that I have always provided for so many years? Is it my fault that there is no really viable alternative destination which can lend a shoulder to me and provide similar opportunities? Is it my fault about the apathy shown by your elected representatives who have neglected me?

But you continue to blame me and abuse me and yet you continue to live here. It may be because some of you have lived with me and loved me too long and going and settling anywhere else is no longer an option. Some of you have learned to adjust with me like sitting on the fourth seat on my local trains. And some of you are forced to stay with me because you know that the opportunites I provide are not available elsewhere. But your abusing and adjusting at the same time, alternating bouts of hatred and love have continued to confound me.

And then I ask myself - how did I become what I have become today? This thriving and yet decaying paradox? And the answer dawns on me - humbly and simply. I am just a collective noun, a representation of a unique people. An assimilation and a melting pot of all of you and the values you embody.You are the ones who have made me famous and have given me this vibrant, dynamic, cosmopolitan nature. You are the ones who have turned me into the city which never sleeps. But it is equally true that you also are the ones who have the power to elect your representatives responsible for governing me effiicently and protecting me. You are also the ones who have created the garbage and the traffic jams, the pollution and the greed...Most of you have good intentions. But most of you are too busy in your daily lives to do anything about it. Its not that you have not tried - the victory in the battle to preserve my open spaces and your intense and continuing pressure on the govt. over the state of my potholed roads fills me with hope. But much more is needed. You know that as well.

I hope that you realise that I am only as helpless as you are. You have made me what I am today. And only you have the power to prevent me into turning what I am now becoming - decaying and crumbling.

Yours (hopefully),

A city of dreams/nightmares,

Mumbai

2000 not out

"22 Yards of Life,

22 Yards of the Truth,

So Will you just stand there, my friend,

Or Will you be ready to Shoot?" 

- A carribean calypso - Anonymous

Test cricket, like any great sport, mirrors life..

Like Life sometimes is the mornnig session of Day 1. At the bouncy tracks of a Perth or a Durban or the West Indian tracks of old. Overcast sky. Greenish pitch. Holding, Marshall, Roberts, Garner glaring down. Shiny new cherry. Five slips. Gully. Short leg. The first ball zips by your nose. You can smell the leather. You know you are deep in it now. You need to focus. You need to be courageous. Be patient. See off the new ball. Because you know that these tough times wont last. 

Life is sometimes a bed of Roses. Like a flat featherbed wicket in India or Srilanka. No seam or swing. Little turn and true bounce. You walk in with the score at 325-2. The fielders are spread wide.A walk in the park. But still you got to make the most of it. Make hay while the sun shines. Because, opportunities like these do not come very often.

Life is sometimes seemingly comfortable. The ball is just over 50 overs old. The score is a respectable 180-2. And suddenly there is a hint of reverse swing. The sultans of Swing - Wasim and Waqar have just been handed the ball. Suddenly the ball swerves and dips and zips by your bat. Thuds hard into your pads. Crunches your toes. Warning signs, out of nowhere. You take a deep breath. You tell yourself to focus again. Take fresh guard. And brace yourself. 

Life sometimes offers a lot of luck. You arrive at the crease shuffling nervously. You are in terrible form and your place in the side questioned. You play and miss umpteen number of times. You are given the benefit of doubt on a close LBW call. You are dropped twice. You struggle to find the middle of the bat. But somehow, you survive. And go on to score a hundred. A scrappy innings. Luck, so often, arrives mysteriously but always very welcome.

Life is sometimes like the opposition team down and out at 100-6. You got to move in for the kill. But you become complacent. What will the tailenders do? But you forget a certain Adam Gilchrist is still around. The tail wags around his explosive counter attack. The opportunity is lost. The door is shut firmly on your face.

Life is sometimes a post tea session on Day 3. The test match is evenly poised. A couple of quick wickets and it will swing one way. The entire session negotiated safely with loss of perhaps a wicket and it will swing the other. Life too is a fascinating contest. Sometimes tense. Like the Ashes of 2005. But you got to take the all ups and downs  in your stride with a smile. To quote Abraham Lincoln, treat victory and defeat alike. 

Life is sometimes a day 5 devilish pitch. Big wide cracks. The ball turning square. The Spin quartet of Bedi, Prasanna, Chandra, Venkat. Two close in fielders chattering away. Two slips. Leg slip. And what does Vivian Richards decide to do? Step out. Dance down the track. And Bang. The chewing gum. The swagger. Sometimes, you need to do just that. Throw caution to the winds. Take the bull by the horns.

Life sometimes seems hopeless. Like at the Eden gardens when India vs Australia with India staring at a certain innings defeat. Like West indiies vs Australia at Barbados with West Indies at 105-5 chasing 308 for victory. But you need to remind yourself of what Laxman-Dravid did that day at the Eden gardens. What Brian Lara did at Barbados. And draw hope and get inspired. It ain't over till the fat lady sings!

Life sometimes can be very cruel. Like when you need just 4 runs to end your career with an average of 100. But you score a duck. And finish on 99.94. But still. Thats phenomenal. Sir Donald Bradman. Incredible.

Equally incredible too are some of the other great test cricketers. And what qualities they embody and ask us to imbibe in some measure. The patience of a Gavaskar. The simplicity and clarity of a Sehwag. The determination of a Dravid. The perfection and humility of a Tendulkar. The grace of a Gower or a Ganguly. The elegance of a Laxman or a Azharuddin. The resoluteness of a Kumble. The guile and cunning of a Warne or a Murali. The consistency of a Mcgrath. The aggressiveness of a Hayden or a Gilchrist. The fire of a Donald. The astuteness of a Imran Khan. The all-round ability of a Kallis or a Sobers. 

Perhaps this explains the endurance of the Five day game. Why we are about to witness the 2000th Test match at the Mecca of Cricket. Why it is still around in the age of Twitter and T-20. Perhaps it is because Test cricket is a throwback to the old times. A part which we are afraid to let go. A true contest between bat and ball. Like a drama which unfolds slowly but surely.With ebbs and flows. Subtle changes and nuances which only the discerning eye can see. Like it is telling us that you better pay atttention. Slow down. Take it easy and revel in the simple pleasures of life. Treat every delivery that life offers on merit.And take it over by over, hour by hour, session by session. :)