For Cozier’s piece, I’d have to wait until later in the morning, at times, in the middle of my Sunday chaos. I’d drift away for 10 minutes to sit, read and excogitate over Cozier’s latest masterpiece. The shout of “Zaheer” from my wife, would resonate throughout the house and wake me from the …show more content…
I had my dictionary to the right and my phone to the left like every Sunday, knowing there would be four to five new words from his article to add to my vocabulary, or that I could employ in one of my future op-ed pieces. My algorithms were fingertips away, ready to dissect and analyze his article for its strengths – trust me, they had no weaknesses. I checked the website, but his article wasn’t there. Later in the day, I checked again and after church I kept on checking, but it never came. Perhaps he was on a well-deserved vacation, I thought.
The first call I received on Wednesday was from my friend Gurkirat, the founder of a major online sports publication in India and the second was from Andre, the senior IT technician at my college. Both knew how much Cozier meant to me as a writer. Cozier was the god-standard by which I wrote and breathed West Indies cricket.
Last December, after reading one of Cozier’s opinion pieces, I described him to Gurkirat as one “sweet brute of a writer”. Gurkirat reminded me of that conversation on Wednesday and how I remarked that one day, one day, I’d write like Tony