I hold a grudge against Sourav Ganguly, despite being his huge fan like every other Bengali and a sizeable section of fellow Indians. My disappointment with Dada is purely personal. Trailing his on-field exploits, particularly those exquisite off-side drives, gave a high that seemed to infuse a purpose in life in an otherwise predictable existence as an NRI in West Asia’s deserts. I wished to feast on it more and track Ganguly in action in greater detail on an ultra-big-screen TV. But barely hours after I burnt a big hole in my pocket and brought the set home, Ganguly announced his retirement. I felt deprived and devastated.