It is hard to believe.
Only a couple of weeks back I met Trevor Chesterfield. We happened to stay in the same hotel in Colombo, and it was in the lobby of the hotel that I first met him.
"Is the wi-fi working here?," he asked. That got our conversation going.
Then, there was daily interaction for about 8-10 days, as the World Cup entered the quarter-final stage.
From then on, I must admit, it was an enriching experience.
The fact that the short man was tall in his wisdom of the game refrained me from asking too many questions. He was a big name, a veteran and, to an extent, loquacious.
So I was like this disciple who benefited from his wealth of experience.
His enthusiasm was unmatched; he could talk about cricket for periods at a stretch.
And, akin to most veteran journalists, there was a plethora of anecdotes in his monologues. If you asked him a question there was a multitude of answers. Such was his passion for the game.
"I have covered seven World Cups," he said, during one of the meetings.
"The 2007 edition in West Indies was the lone tournament I couldn't cover because of personal reasons," he continued, before explaining that after covering one World Cup you more or less experience the same thing in every subsequent tournament.
He was 75 and couldn't walk properly, but appeared in good health.
Hearing the news of his demise, I feel terrible. It is tough to believe he is no more.
Not because I knew him well, though for a short while, but because whatever I knew of him was well enough to remember.
The interactions I had with him in Sri Lanka will be memories for a lifetime.
Thank you, Trevor!
RIP.
