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THURSDAY, JULY 11, 1996

It's a minute past midnight.

Faxes start to pour in from Atlanta. There is this form to fill and that form to complete and everything has to sent by return fax.

I look at my watch. It's nearing one o'clock. I don't think I'm going to get much sleep tonight.

I wake up early in the morning, in a state of shock.

A demand draft at ten in the morning??? That, to say the least, is impossible. The banks don't even open at ten. I make a frantic return call to the embassy. Helpful Voice is on the other end.

"Well, what do you do in India?"

"I'm an advertising professional and I've poineered cricket for the blind in India."

"Do you have any documentation to prove what you're saying?"

"Yes." I mentally thank my stars and the fact that I've carefully collected all those press clippings.

"Okay," after he has assimilated my problem, "why don't you come over to the embassy at ten o'clock with Rs 720 in cash and the documentation and let's see what we can do?!"

I'm facing Helpful Voice, who introduces himself as the visa officer, at the embassy. And I'm nearly about chewing my nails to the bone as he goes through my documents.

"Hey," he says, pointing to an article that had appeared in The Pioneer a week earlier, "I've seen this article, I know who you are."

He disappears inside the embassy with my passport.

The clock's ticking. With each passing second, my breath gets shorter and my tension level increases. I have to reach Bombay today. Everyone's waiting, and I've still not got my visa.

Three cheers and a Hurrah! Helpful Voice has finally managed it. I'm hot and sticky and sweaty and grimy and am stinking to the high heavens (at least, I think so) but there's no time for a bath. In fact, there's no time to even go home. I call my wife, she calls Jimmy with the good news while I continue running around.

I have to visit AmEx and collect my forex. Meanwhile, Coke's making my travel arrangements. At four o'clock, I collect my ticket for Atlanta from the Delta Airlines office.

I'm on my way to the airport. There's no time to even drop in at home for a bath. My wife -- she's already packed my luggage -- agrees to meet me at the airport.

I make it to the 5.30 flight in the nick of time.

Finally, I touch base in Bombay. I've already received a call from Abraham T Ninan, Director, External Affairs, Coke, offering me the use of his bathroom. A long bath, a short spell of rest, and I'm feeling more like myself again.

DAY THREE