Cricket till I die- Excerpt - III

The Dream Takes Flight “Life is like a library owned by the author. In it are a few books which he wrote himself, but most of them were written for him.” – Harry Emerson Fosdick What on earth was I thinking?? My head was killing me.                                                                                There I was, sitting in an exam hall, going to be the alma mater of one of the most prestigious B schools in India for which all I had to do was merely smudge the paper for two hours. My heart, on the other side, was pounding from inside, almost ready to spring out of any orifice it could...

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Excerpts from the book- II

Around fifteen people had turned up; ready to be stuffed withbeer, whiskey, rum and cheese burst pizzas. Anticipating theamount of semi-processed cheese bursts induced puke myhouse would be guest to that night, I had instructed peoplein prior that when feeling giddy, either run straight to thebalcony and puke on the road or make a dash to my toilet.The latter being the safer option though, I had made it clearthat my living and drawing room were not options, and thisrule, if tested, would lead to their ass being kicked straightout of my house.I had also asked my neighbours in prior, that if the decibellevels cross their patience levels, they can excuse me this onetime, as pretty soon I’d be leaving to be a part of one of themost prestigious B schools of India. This piece of informationwas met...

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Excerpts from the book- Cricket till I die

The Inception Of The Dream-“Happy are those who dream dreams and are readyto pay the price to make them come true.”– Leon Joseph Cardinal SuenensA sudden impulse enveloped me as I saw myself taking aU turn, driving on the wrong side of the lane and enteringthe confines of a massive gate. The top of the entrancesupported a semicircular board which read ‘Mohan MeakinsCricket Club’ in a worn out shade of black, from which layersof chipped paint hung loosely; ready to drop any momentand the board at its creakiest best just waiting to give way toa strong gush of a Delhi thunderstorm.As I parked my bike on one corner, an old man exemplifyingthe age old Indian phrase of ‘one foot in the grave’ confrontedme. He was the guard, as his attire suggested, a timeworn manin his late sixties it seemed, who...

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