Two 20

Been several days of quite high fever, an irritating sore throat that won't quite go away (isn't Pepsi supposed to be good for sore throats? there, I thought so). And to top it all Apple has taken my laptop away after two months of trying to fix it, now intending to replace it. All of which, with a generous dose of feeling sorry for myself, explains why I haven't written in this space in a while.

But never fear, hope springs near, or something. Here's something I offer as my commemoration of a monumentally dull Test match filled with meaningless records.

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Story's told about an old professor of mine who rather fancied his (apparently) Cambridge-educated airs and language, I'll call him Shukla.

Of one wintry evening, dressed in his usual tiptop suit and shiny shoes and woollen scarf, Shukla was standing at the busy Interstate Bus Terminal (ISBT, also and probably better known as Kashmere Gate) in Delhi, watching his myriad students catch their buses to go to their homes. At some point he shook his head, whether in sadness or something else, and was heard to say: "Tch, tch, what an exodus!"

At which a passing conductor stopped and said to him: "Sirjee, yeh ek sau dus nahin hai, do sau bees hai!"

Story's also told about an old friend of mine -- who may be reading this, if so hi -- who was telling this story in the States, to several Americans. And this is more or less what he said:

"So Shukla was standing at this busy bus station, watching his students leave for home. Then he shook his head and said, 'tch, tch, what an exodus!'

"Upon hearing which, a passing conductor stopped and said, 'Sir, this is not a one-ten, this is a two-twenty!'"