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It started of as a foolish desire, a very foolish desire one could say. But very soon it became a serious affair. I had presented myself one of those impossible challenges again. That of writing a technical book on computer networks. To boast my credentials was a “C” grade that I got during my final year of engineering in the same course. And to top it, I had a work experience of only one-month.

Given the task at hand, I tried to assess my situation. So many times in my past, I had tried to conquer heights that were seemingly insurmountable. And through hard work and dedication, I had made the dream almost achievable. But then, when it seemed I had almost made it, I faltered and stumbled. And all the those challenges had a similar ending- so near yet so far. For example, in my college days, I had aspired to be a part of the Inter-IIT table-tennis squad. Four students among us had to represent the IIT Kharagpur team. Why not me I thought? To be in this squad, one not only had to be a part of his hostel team, but also a top class player among the representative players of the ten odd hostels. And where did I stand? I was probably fifth or sixth. Not overall, but in my hostel. Thus, getting into Inter-IIT squad seamed to be too far fetched. But as my luck would have it, injury to one of the top players provided me an opportunity to be the fourth player and to represent my hostel. The inter-hostel competition saw me cheering my team, feeding them glucose, and wiping their sweat. That was all my talent could allow me. But it was then when I took a vow to make it to the top. And I gave myself three years for that. In the holidays that ensued, I thought of buying a tennis racket worth 2000/=. Asking that amount from my father, a typical middle-class salaried employee, seemed preposterous. The very idea that a naïve game of table-tennis could warrant a racket worth that much, that too at a time when petrol still costed 12rupees a litre, was incomprehensible. But all top class players had good rackets, rackets that had butterfly ply and MARK V rubber. And I did not want to play with a handicap. Somehow, I convinced my mother to give me a loan. From the money she had painstakingly saved from daily expenses, she managed to buy me a racket. Only condition was that the amount had to be repaid in two months time at zero percent interest. I brought the racket and started practicing, practicing real hard. And to pay the loan, I gave tutions in my spare time. At the end of the holidays, I was a much better player. And the loan was also repayed. When the college opened, and we had open IIT competition, a competition where one and all took part, I played like a champion. I lost only the final match, to bag the silver medal. That was a truly momentous occasion for me. From something like 50th in the college, I had jumped to the second place. And I thought my dream would soon be true. But I had probably counted my chickens before the eggs had hatched. In the qualifying rounds for the Inter-IIT that followed, I lost to all the players whom I had defeated earlier. And all of them packed their bags for the Inter IIT meet at Kanpur. Sans me. The dream, which almostlooked like being fulfilled, met with a sordid end. But I had two more years I thought. The next year, I practiced harder. In the first qualifying match, I was leading 19-9 in the final game. But again, the eggs were counted before they were laid. And as I got lost in my dreamworld, the train journey to IIT delhi, my nemesis was busy marching slowly towards an improbable victory. When I woke up from my dreams, he had pocketed the game and the match, and with that, also my will to win. After that, I again lost all the matches, and again bade sayonara to the team going to IIT Delhi. Two years had already gone by, I had only one more to go. In the final year, to save me from the torture of pain and anguish of defeat, I did not practice; again I lost by a close margin. In the event, I proved that without hardwork, even on the third time, one could be unlucky. With the shattering of that dream, and many others in similar fashion, I carried the curse- SO NEAR, YET SO FAR.

Condemned, as I was, to live under the shadows of the aforementioned words (so near yet so far), I started on a long and treacherous journey- that of writing a book. A journey that would possibly repeat history. A journey that would again, with near certainty, prove to be a failure.  And then, all my past failures, together with the new one, would huddle together and cock a snook at me. The reverberations of their boisterous, but ridiculing laughter, could be heard already. “You know you are not that smart. Then, why do you attempt it?” One at the back would shout, “ When will you learn Sumit?” And to sum it all, the wisest of them would remark, “Sumit, you know why you lose? It is because you are a mortal seeking immortality.” With all those benedictions and words that oozed confidence, I started on my journey, with steps that were slow, nervous and uncertain.

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The first step was probably the most difficult one. I had to first convince myself that I had the right to dream this dream. Some of my previous challenges were difficult, very difficult. But then, they had been realized by very ordinary men like me. That provided me the conviction to dream. In my college, when I had told my friends that I would make it to the Inter-IIT, they would mock at me, jeer me and scoff me. And I silently bore the ridicule, whispering only one line in my mind, I can only laugh at your ignorance. Their insulting words acted as fuel for my fire to win. And I ensured that I kept the fire burning so that its pain and agony kept me going. My Inter IIT dream unfulfilled notwithstanding, I rose to fame by winning the individual silver, and three inter-hostel victories including one in which I was the caption. Now, the same people who had earlier mocked me, were victims of my occasional brilliance. They then chewed their words and congratulated me.

However, this dream was slightly different. Or very different. Or, very very different. It was unheard that a person was attempting to write a book on a topic on which he had no prior experience. Moreover, I was working in a top class company, which had boasted of many a bright engineers, some even far intelligent than me. Then why had others not achieved this feat already? Were they so ignorant to let go an opportunity of instant startdom like this? Why had no one attempted this before? And if some of them had already, why was I not aware of it. Probably, no one had reached the goal. Then how could I? But if this were so, then no invention or discoveries would have ever taken place. There would have been no first of anything. No one would have ever landed on the moon. What gave those people the confidence? And more importantly, what made them succeed? ……………… How could I know, I was not one of them?

The questions were valid, but I wondered what was achievable and what was not? Was it advisable to let the sole argument “if people did not attempt, no invention or discoveries would ever taken place” be the sole rational behind a difficult endeavor; Was this logic good enough for one to take the leap, a leap into the insurmountable and the unknown. What about rationality, pragmatism, and judiciousness. Where were one to draw a line as to what was achievable and what was not? I did not have the answers to these questions. I did not know whether I was doing the right thing or not. However, what I knew was that I was going to write a book. And there were no second thoughts to it. There were only third thoughts!

During the days that followed, the niggling doubts kept coming. And the confidence vacillated. In true sense, the first step was one that was never taken. I could never convince myself that I had the right the dream. To make my life simple, I justified this by two things. One, I softened my stand. Instead of a full-fledged book, I said if I could manage a manuscript that would be it. The goal would be technically be complete. Two, to avoid carrying the curse of “so near yet so far”, I told myself that whatever I could manage would be as good as a manuscript, and so the curse would be over. Deep in the heart, I knew these were all mind games. But they were good enough to satisfy my rather hyperactive mind.

The mind games over, the next step was to find a partner. I did not find myself strong enough, technically and otherwise, to carry the burden of the dream all by myself. Finding a partner was rather easy as I had a very bright guy working with me. I shared with him my ideas, and within a fortnight, the project plan was ready. The idea was to do extensive reading for the next six months, after which we intended to start writing. But the whole effort proved to be building castles in thin air as within three days, my friend handed over his resignation to me. There were no specific reasons for quitting. Rather, he could find no specific reasons to be a part of the foolishness, and hence the decision. I felt as if someone had delivered a heavy blow on my heart. The journey had not even started, and we already had the first casualty. My confidence took a heavy beating, but somehow, I carried on. There were no intentions of giving up yet. It was too early to die. Die, I would, I thought; not now, but when I was quite close.

After the episode, I again started looking for a suitable partner. I could hunt for a junior. But unfortunately, I was the junior-most engineer in the company. I could go for a senior, but my experience with seniors in college was not good. They were difficult to handle. So they too were ruled out. Finally, I found another guy who was willing to buy my idea. To prove that we were serious in our intentions, we both moved from Delhi to a place closeby to our office to cut down commuting time, and to study together.

The first few weeks went fine, but then trouble started. My friend lacked the fire and zeal that I possessed, and which burnt like an inferno in my heart. His progress was poor, and he seemed indifferent and uninterested. I tolerated his apathy for about two months. But then, I decided to act tough. I told him to mend his ways or to part. And within two weeks, he packed his bags, and left. Casualty number two. And not a page had been written.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time I served my friend termination notice, one good thing had happened. My ideas had started crystallizing. The last three months of study had given me a perspective. I was more certain and more determined. It was more than a wishful thinking with which I had approached my first two partners. Not to be bogged down, I found a third partner, Pankaj Sethi, a happy-go-lucky guy. The liaison with him started with I briefing him about my goals. Since he was my college friend and colleague, he was well aware of my dream, and was not too surprised when the offer went into his lap. After taking his due time, he agreed. However, there were certain issues to be addressed. He was applying for higher studies within 6 months, and if he got a scholarship, he would leave the project midway. My circumstances did not allow me to take another casualty and I assuaged his concerns by saying that he was not obliged to stay with me, and that he could leave any time he desired provided he had adequate grounds for doing so. The technicalities settled, we started working on the book.

We chose a top down approach: first, prepare the table of contents (TOC), then make a brief summary of each chapter, and finally write the complete chapter. While the contents were being finalized, we started reading extensively. Our company library provided lots of books, much more than what we could savour. Then there was the ubiquitous Internet,  tons of research paper, and the technical standards. Lots of material were downloaded, printed and perused. After two months of hard work, the TOC was ready. For a change and to my satisfaction, the honeymoon with Sethi had went well.

Seeing some progress, I started contacting publishers who could be interested in publishing our work. But with the kind of experience we had, it seemed an uphill task. There was no USP that we had to offer. After getting lukewarm response from all and sundry, I shot a mail to a foreign publisher stating that we were two enthusiastic engineers, and our strength was our ability to work real hard and that we possessed infinite energy. We sought an opportunity to present a case. The very next day we got a reply with a form that was to be filled and sent to them detailing the complete proposal. The form contained aspects like the reasons for writing the book, the target audience, the potential market and the USP of the book. The response overwhelmed us and we requested them to give us two months to prepare a proposal along with sample chapters of our book. The publisher agreed and we upped the tempo.

The nights became longer and we started working on one of the sample chapters. Regularly, we discussed various aspects of technology, wrote and rewrote things. Everything seemed hunky dory. But after a month or so, something happened. My friend called me in the office and said he had something to share with me. I knew a good news did not warrant such surreptitious gestures. The honeymoon seemed over and I started preparing myself for the worse. Asking him what the matter was, he told me to wait till the evening.

When the clock ticked 7.00pm and we were seated in a local restaurant, he handed over his resignation to me. Reasons: he thought he was not able to live up to my expectations, and lacked the energy and the willingness to share the load of my dream. For him, the project was just another means to pass time, no more, no less. The sincerity was somehow lacking. I knew he could not be faulted. Soon, his scholarship would come and he would leave for his dreamland in pursuit of his dreams, leaving behind my shattered dreams, something for which he had only a tinge of remorse.

Not knowing how to respond, I said only one thing. “Boss, I don’t know where my dream will lead me to. Probably, to a dead end. Even if you are with me, I don’t foresee a great chance of us pulling off. But I can assure you one thing. If you leave me, I definitely will pull this off, no matter what come may.” I realized the seriousness of my words only after they were out. But spoken words like arrows leaving the bow could not come back. I sat still, waiting for his response. He did not say anything, just took his resignation paper, and tore it. No more words were necessary. My words had hit the right spot and bruised his ego. But my purpose was served. We had a rather quiet dinner; but my life and my dream moved on.

Exactly two months after we had first contacted the publisher, we got a mail seeking the whereabouts of our proposal. We had the deadline in the back of our mind, but somehow had slipped behind schedule. We promised to deliver within one week the required stuff, knowing well that a month’s work was left. But that was the time when we shifted to fifth gear. From nine to six, we did our office work. Then took a one-hour break, made a context switch and sat for our book till early morning. For the whole week, we took an average of three hour sleep, going to bed at four or five in the morning, tired, and almost dead, but with a sense of satisfaction. Getting up at eight, and going to office. It was a time when I got full support from my partner. By Saturday morning, everything was ready for delivery, one of our most satisfying moments till then. We sent the readied material through international courier and waited for response.

For the next two months, we continued our work on the manuscript, eagerly waiting for confirmation from the publisher; waiting like a girl waits for her beloved’s love-letter. Intermittently, we inquired about the status of our proposal, but were asked to wait.

In the mean time, my partner also started receiving response from the universities in which he had applied, which were five in total. I was somehow uneasy about the thought of him leaving me midway. I was bound by my pledge that he was not obliged to stay with me. But still, I was a human being, and wanted him to be with me, support me in the difficult times that may lie ahead. And although the thought seemed perverse, I wished that he not get scholarship from any university. For my wish to be true, he had to get rejects from all the university. And for his dream to be true, he needed only one accept. The battle was not fair, but that was that. The first response was reject, and so was the second and the third and the fourth. I had almost won and he had almost lost. I wanted to pray to god that let the final response also follow suit. But in the heart, I knew god did not entertain requests that led to sorrows and miseries of others. So I did not pray, but still wished. Secretly. The fifth response also came and it was a reject. I was overjoyed, but had to still express my condolences to my friend. Project plans were rescheduled to accommodate his stay. But the rework seemed unnecessary as within couple of weeks, my friend got a letter which stated his selection in the second list of candidates selected. That was the casualty number three. Only that I had three months before the casualty would actually occur. And I decided to make hay while there was Sethi to shine. He promised to give his wholehearted support in finishing the first draft of the manuscript. From then on I would carry on myself.

I continued my portions with tremendous energy, and he his with his usual happy-go-lucky self. Then. casualty number four occurred when our publisher send a polite apology stating “saturated market” as reasons for rejection. The double blow left me devastated, but I still carried, going through the motions. By the time my friends’ date of departure arrived, the manuscript was also over. It was almost a year since I had started. Technically, I had fulfilled my dream. We had a mini-celebration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stood along with his parents and his elder brother. Delhi airport did not allow entry beyond the main gate. All he said to me was “Best of Luck” and darted inside. Returning from the airport, I pondered over the options at hand. I could call it quits, get the manuscript xeroxed and binded, and distribute these crude manuscripts to select libraries. Running away from battlefield was always the easiest option. But that would also mean giving the failure sitting at the back to clap at my failure, and celebrate.

The next option was to find another partner. But my past experience made me rather skeptical.

The third option was to refurbish and edit the book to make it more readable, and then get it xeroxed.

However, the most difficult option was to find an Indian publisher who could give me an ear, and publish my book. Here again, proving my credentials was very difficult. Publishers sought brand names, be it technical books or fiction. Names that were popular, names that had mass appeal, names that attracted readers in hordes, names that gave assured returns to their investment. How many of these credentials did I satisfy? None. Then, why would anyone publish? After all, publishers were taking a risk in publishing the book.

After much thought, I decided to exercise all the options except the first one. A partner would be searched, but irrespective of that, editing of the manuscript would continue. To simplify my task, I gave copies of manuscript to three very close friends of mine. One of them was the same person who had first rejected the book writing proposal. He willingly accepted to review the book. So did the other two friends.

Parallely, I contacted two leading publishers of India. Like the experiences with foreign publishers, getting these publishers to sit and talk was very difficult. But as someone has said, fortune favours the brave. Unexpected help came from my boss, Ravi, an ex-faculty of IIT and an expert himself. He recommended my name to one of the publishers, after which I was called for presenting my idea.

In the meeting with them, I was all keen and geared up. The people had very little technical knowledge, and getting the technicalities across was very difficult. What they were interested in was in the economic feasibility of the idea. At that time, IT industry was in full bloom, and it was expected that a book on telecommunication would do very well in the market. This made them very keen to pursue my idea. Apart from this, I had chosen a novel idea to organize the book. Most of the technical books were jargon-heavy and difficult to comprehend. I organized it in a manner such that each chapter had two parts. The first described the basic concepts, while the second part used these concepts to present advanced ideas and ATM-technology specific protocols. These novel design went along well with them.

After an hour long interview, I gave them sample chapters, a duly-filled book-proposal form, and other relevant documents. My part was over and I had to only wait. On their part, they would first discuss the idea with a special committee formed for the purpose. Then, a marketing team would survey the market to find the size of target audience. Finally, a competent technical guru would review my book and ratify the technical accuracy, readability and various other aspects of the book.

While this was going on in the background, I started receiving review comments from my friends. Lot of valuable inputs was received. A new chapter was added. Major portions of a chapter was junked and rewritten. Lots of figures were redrawn. I made a rather strange but obvious observation. As I kept on writing, the previous lot appeared to be poorly written, and the new lot appeared to be very good. After couple of months, the very lot that I thought was brilliant now appeared superficial, and poorly written. I wondered how long this would continue. There had to be an end to writing. A line had to be drawn somewhere. But where?

After one month of my first meeting with the publisher, I called them to know the status of my proposal. Only to know that the idea was still under consideration and would be taken in the next meeting of the editors. Then they had difficulty in finding reviewers who could comment on various aspects of the book. After a lot of difficulty, they found one but the person deserted them, thereby leaving me stranded.

Slowly, but steadily, time went by. It was nearly one and a half years since I had started the process. The second draft of the book was ready. But efforts to rope in a partner had borne no success. One of my friend dily-dalled for a month, but eventually backed. Another person, a senior person, volunteered but his lackadaisical attitude and efforts resulted in zilch. The publisher had still provided no response.  Calling them evoked the same reply, “Your book is currently being reviewed. You have to wait.” The other publisher had not even bothered to meet me. The only generousity shown was that he allowed me to send them a proposal. That was sent long time back. And I thought they had junked the proposal in the dustbin. (As the security guards of the IT companies discard resume’s of job suitors at the main gate). But I was proved to be wrong as one day I got a reply from them. With a glint of hope, I opened the letter. It stated that my proposal was rejected.

By this time, the burden of my dream had made me tired and weak. Not physically, but mentally. All this time, I had motivated myself by saying that If I could not compete this, I was doomed. And If I could complete, I would prove myself that I could do anything that I ever wanted to. But when I used to see my colleagues enjoying life, going out to fancy hill-stations and exotic getaways, going to Silicon Valley for better jobs, I used to feel jealous. In contrast, here I was spurning US job offers and spurning other opportunities within my company to go abroad, staying at home during weekends; reading and rereading stuff; writing and rewriting them, doing the same thing over and over again; waiting for some god-sent messenger to proclaim that my proposal had been accepted, a wait that would probably never end. All this made me sulk and curse my decision. Were others not happier than I, despite the fact that they had no fancy dreams? I wondered what was the worse that could happen? The book would be left unpublished. Just that. But still, I had learnt a lot of things in the process. I had grown technically. Learnt new aspects of ATM technology. In worldly affairs too, I had gained valuable experience. Learnt how to deal with people, especially with publishers. How to sell an idea. How to conceive a plan. How to look for partners, and importantly, how to retain them (notwithstanding the fact that I had failed in all attempts so far). These learnings, arguments and justifications were valid and pertinent. But the fact remained that I had failed once again. Or, was about to fail. Had I been successful in some of the earlier ventures, I might have relented. But this time, I just could not let the curse, so near yet so far, to ruin my life. For once, I had to kill the bird. If not more, just once. Just once.

All these thoughts compounded with desertion of various partners, rejects from various publishers, the sheer monotony of the work, and the pressure that I had applied on myself, made me choke. Yes, after nearly 20months, I had broken down. I wanted to run away from the book, from the society, from everyone, and not to show my face ever again.

Then, my mother tried to soothe me. All the experience trapped in those gray hairs were used to bring me back on my feet. She stood like a pillar when I needed someone the most. “I am with you son. Don’t worry. The book will be published. And I can ensure you that. You have come so far. Just few more steps to go. And you are there. “ The sermons continued. “I will try mom. But I am not sure.” “You have to only try. Rest is for the god to decide.”

Even though I was uncertain, my worst days were over. And a new dawn waited for me for some good news.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some ten days later, when I reached office, a registered post greeted me. It was letter from the only publisher left in fray, Tata Mcgraw Hill, the ones who were still reviewing my proposal. After careful thought, they had accepted my proposal. The letter contained the Memorandum of Agreement, which highlighted the terms and conditions of the publishing process. Finally, it seemed I had got the right break. But my past experiences had made me wary of premature jubilation. I carried a cautious optimism.

From then on, life was relatively smooth. Accept for the odd jobs that I had to do, like searching for keywords in the 500pages of the manuscript. Or, like correcting the page numbers of the words appearing in the index. That is, checking whether the page number corresponding to a word was correct or not. It was really frustrating. I wanted to tear of my hairs. But the past had given me a virtue- patience. I had suddenly became very patient and tolerant. I knew the finishing life of this marathon race was very near. And I wanted to make no mistake.

Another important issue was acquiring copyrights. Since I had used illustrations from magazines, and text from various standards, I had to get copyright permission from the concerned bodies/organizations. First, I contacted ATM Forum, and they were ready to oblige. After all, one of their stated goals was to promote the knowledge of ATM technology. I was asked to provide list of all the material used. On getting the list, they faxed as well as mailed me the written permission. Similarly, I got permission from IEEE. The only difficulty I faced was from ITU-T. They were not too willing to grant permission. More so because a lot of text was derived from their standards. They asked me to furnish some royalty money. Since the sales target was around 1000 copies, each giving me a royalty of 10% on discounted price, I would get something like 26 rupees on a copy priced at 395 and discounted at 265. Now, 1000 copies meant 26000 rupees. And if they asked something as low as 500 dollars, I would be poorer by 20K, wiping most of my royalties. I shot a letter stating that India was a poor country and that target sales were too low for me to furnish any royalty. They were convinced by the argument. But to set matters straight, I had to donate two copies to ITU-T’s Geneva library.

The final issue and probably the trickiest issue was to decide on the co-authorship. Different people had come and gone. No one had stayed for long with me. The only sizeable contribution was from Pankaj Sethi, with whom I could finish the first draft of the book. So, in all fairness, he deserved a mention. But how much? Making him a co-author meant that there was equal contribution from both of us. Which was not the case. Leaving him out meant condemning his efforts and his late stays into obscurity. I had to do justice to him, and at the same time protect my interests and ownership of the book. In either case, one person had to lose out on something. I was willing to buy his share. But he was not interested in money. Eventually, I decided to keep his name as co-author, much to the chagrin of my parents, and in particular, my mother. I stood firm, and in the process, bagged an eternal bond of friendship from my co-author.

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It was Monday, and the publishers had promised me that I could collect the first copies of my book from them. Unfortunately, some political parties had called a “delhi bandh“ on that day. At around 10, I called them inquiring them about the status of my book. They said that the book was expected but it had not arrived. I left my mobile number with them and asked them to give me a call if the book arrived.

Grudgingly, I got ready and proceeded for office. Some 10 minutes into the journey, I got a call. It was from the publishers. The book had arrived. I exulted in sheer joy and said “Thanks! Thanks a lot.”  For them, it was routine affair. For me, it was probably a matter of honour, a matter of life and death. The news had brought tears of joy in my eyes. Immediately, I returned home, and asked my mother to company me to the publisher. We braved the “delhi bandh” and reached the publishers office at Sirdar Patel Marg. During the last two years, whenever I crossed the building, I used to tell myself that from this place a new chapter in my life would be written. And here I was, at the plush office, seeking for not a chapter, but a whole book. A book that held the same importance for me, which a newborn baby holds for his/her mother. And when I took the three authors’ copies, some more tears shed from my eyes.

I gifted the first copy to my mother, to whom I had dedicated the book. And she felt as if all her past sacrifices and efforts had finally borne fruit. Another copy was presented to our religious guru. I kept the third one with me. For me, the biggest reason to celebrate was that I had put the curse “so near, yet so far” in its coffin. Once and for all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some two and a half years back, I used to gaze at different books in our library. And I used to dream that one-day, my book would also be placed here along with the books of other distinguished personalities.  And here it was, the blue coloured book bearing my name. Two copies were brought in my company’s library. Many other copies were doled out to friends, relatives and reviewers. Two copies were duly sent to ITU-T library at Geneva. (The postal charges were twice the books cost). Parties were thrown, and there was an atmosphere of celebration.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly 8 months has passed since tears of joy trickled from my eyes, and I first lay my hands on my book, my baby. The joy and euphoria has gradually faded. This book has ceased to ruffle any feathers. However hard I may try to make the effort immortal, like placing photographs on my desktop, and doling out complimentary copies to friends, the truth remains that the dream is over.

What is achieved occupies very little meaning in one’s life. It becomes a matter of fact. A part of life.  And for the dreams that remain unfulfilled, there is that yearning, that emptiness, a feeling that disturbs time and again. Sometimes I wonder why is it that the achievements are forgotten more easily than the losses. Why is it that the difficult periods continue to torment while the conquests live their life and disappear into oblivion? And as I stare at my book in an anticipation to give me a kick, the 9-19 defeat in the table-tennis game still evokes a sigh. Sandwitched between the failures of the past, and of the aspirations of the future, my dream is dead. Dead for good.

        Comments invited at s.kasera@mailcity.com