this time, when i went to meet Death at his place, he showed signs of weakness. he was watching a cricket match relaxing in his arm chair, legs stretched. yawns kept rolling in slow progression towards the boundary.
'are you well?’ i ventured. 'nothing wrong,’ said he.
stammering, i quizzed him: which one do you fear most? allopathy, ayurveda, or homeopathy?
dear wilson, have you observed sachin facing the ***** of shane warne? brian lara, wasim akram? chris gail, brett lee?
i was thrown into confusion.
death admitted, unwillingly, that like vivian richards confronted narendra hirwani, he was laid low by the secret herb of an old tribal man!
aaha! the panacea became then a spin ball! (aaha…Nothing official about it!)
i forgot to ask how our people smuggled away by him were faring now.
he forgot to comment “you will see for yourself when you face it.”