Wise after an unpredictable fortnight

Waiting outside the ICU wing of medical college and trying to get an official confirmation about Bob Woolmer8217;s rumoured death about a week back, some harsh realities blew in the face on that strangely breezy afternoon. It made one think about the frailty of human life, the naivety of treating the modern sports as 8216;just a game8217; and the depressing realisation that the glorious uncertainties surrounding the game might just be dictated by some seedy syndicate.

The frenzy that followed Woolmer8217;s death and the eventual revelation about his morbid manual strangulation saw one being thrown into an international media jamboree where famous mast heads and celebrated global television networks suddenly air-dropped from the often cloudy Jamaica sky. Parachute reporters, who seemed lost when they heard about the complex world of cricket match-fixing and asked one to spell names like Akram, Warne or Azharuddin, within days were floating their own theories and spoke about Woolmer as if he was their personal friend. The cricket reporters didn8217;t quite smirk as coroner8217;s inquest wasn8217;t a phrase out of an MCC manual and bartering information was the only way to survive in the media jungle.

In the middle of this chaotic congress of international media in the Hotel Pegasus lobby was the Tourism Jamaica kiosk with glossy brochures about the serene sea, Marley memorabilia and culinary delight of jerk chicken. The best way to kill time between the erratically-timed press conferences was to sift through the leaflets and curse the luck for missing out on sight-seeing. Most such conversations would end with a cynical and condescending statement at the end 8220;and all those guys in the office think we are having fun in the West Indies.8221; This would trigger almost an automatic collective shake of all like-minded heads around.

Able guides

8226; But for me, missing out on the sights didn8217;t quite mean not getting a feel of the place as I had two able guides for company. Thanks to the official home stay programme I was at Mrs Joyce McKenzie8217;s bed and breakfast place 8212; actually a fully functional luxurious house with guest room and hospitality that could spoil even the most disciplined.

A Jamaican breakfast, light lunch diligently foil packed for hunger pangs during the day and a beer and cake post-dinner ready on table at night before one slept. What the 80-year-old maths teacher did for Brand Jamaica, not even a mega campaign would have achieved.

A final day farewell with invitation to the entire Indian media here meant Jamaica8217;s word-of-mouth publicity looks promising in the coming days.

Another stroke of luck was meeting policeman-at-night and taxi-driver-during-day friend Victor Taylor. The most absurd request at any unearthly hour would be met with those heartening two words 8220;cool, cool.8221; There was no dearth of story ideas as Taylor would question anything unusual on the cricket field or some point of debate in the Woolmer story.

Recharge phone card shops, stadium, practice facility, food outlets, banks, police station, hospital there wasn8217;t a place where Taylor didn8217;t get a friendly wave. If the cell phone runs out of charge in the middle of a crucial conversation, Taylor would lend his phone. Ask him if he has ever cheated anyone. 8220;Not after I met Christ,8221; says the god-fearing man.

As he gets the bag out of the boot at the airport he instantly asks if one is returning for the semis next month. That8217;s the same question Mrs McKenzie asked when I returned the house keys to her.

But when one8217;s schedule depends on the outcome of the highly unpredictable cricket tournament, there are no guarantees. And after the Jamaican experience and a brief encounter with the fickleness of life there, it8217;s not always easy to see what lies ahead on this long journey.