Pic - :: Miracle does not happens.It is made to happen " MIRACLE " chooses the " MIRACULOUS " people to make it happen
Ah! The hour is upon us when the
final word has been writ, the final comma placed with trembling care, and the
last whisper of thought laid to rest upon the parchment. Midas Touch
and Miracles of Sports hath found its shape — not as an idle
collection of tales, nor as a mere homage to champions past, but as a vessel
wrought with deliberation, forged in fire, and tempered with truth. Now, as the
labor ends and the laborer turns inward, I find myself compelled to hold a
council with my own soul, to muse aloud — as the bard doth in solitude — on
what was dreamt, what was dared, and what was, in moments of sacred clarity,
delivered to ink.
To write a book is to embark on a
voyage with neither a compass nor a guarantee of shore. However, once the
anchor is lowered, one must pause, reckon with the winds that blew strange, the
tempests endured, and the quiet stars that were guided by instinct more than
intellect. Therefore, let this soliloquy be reckoned. Let it speak, not merely
to the scholar or the sportsperson but to the seeker. Above all, this book is a
seeker song.
In the vast majority of sports
literature, there are tomes in which trumpet triumphs, exalt excellence, and
bask in the golden sheen of medals won. Yet, too oft hath this domain resembled
a gallery of gleaming statues — beautiful to behold, but silent on suffering. I
looked upon these volumes, and stirring arose within me: a quiet rebellion, a
steadfast resolve. Why should the world be contented with the surface when the
soul remains unspoken? Why must agony be buried beneath the applause?
Thus, it was born of the will to
craft a work, unlike any other. A book that would not stand in the shadows of
precedent, but carves a path anew. I wanted not to echo what had been said but
to unveil what had long been ignored. To peel back the grand curtain of the
sporting theatre and to speak — boldly, unflinchingly — of the backstage, where
sweat becometh sorrow and grit doth often give way to grief. This book is not
only about sports. It is about what sport reveals of the human condition — the
betrayal by systems, the solitude in victory, and the quiet madness that oft
precedes greatness. It is a book that is not in reverence, but in reckoning.
Ah! The hour is upon us when the
final word has been writ, the final comma placed with trembling care, and the
last whisper of thought laid to rest upon the parchment. Midas Touch
and Miracles of Sports hath found its shape — not as an idle
collection of tales, nor as a mere homage to champions past, but as a vessel
wrought with deliberation, forged in fire, and tempered with truth. Now, as the
labor ends and the laborer turns inward, I find myself compelled to hold a
council with my own soul, to muse aloud — as the bard doth in solitude — on
what was dreamt, what was dared, and what was, in moments of sacred clarity,
delivered to ink.
To write a book is to embark on a voyage with neither a compass nor a guarantee of shore. However, once the anchor is lowered, one must pause, reckon with the winds that blew strange, the tempests endured, and the quiet stars that were guided by instinct more than intellect. Therefore, let this soliloquy be reckoned. Let it speak, not merely to the scholar or the sportsperson but to the seeker. Above all, this book is a seeker song.
In the vast majority of sports
literature, there are tomes in which trumpet triumphs, exalt excellence, and
bask in the golden sheen of medals won. Yet, too oft hath this domain resembled
a gallery of gleaming statues — beautiful to behold, but silent on suffering. I
looked upon these volumes, and stirring arose within me: a quiet rebellion, a
steadfast resolve. Why should the world be contented with the surface when the
soul remains unspoken? Why must agony be buried beneath the applause?
Thus, it was born of the will to
craft a work, unlike any other. A book that would not stand in the shadows of
precedent, but carves a path anew. I wanted not to echo what had been said but
to unveil what had long been ignored. To peel back the grand curtain of the
sporting theatre and to speak — boldly, unflinchingly — of the backstage, where
sweat becometh sorrow and grit doth often give way to grief. This book is not
only about sports. It is about what sport reveals of the human condition — the
betrayal by systems, the solitude in victory, and the quiet madness that oft
precedes greatness. It is a book that is not in reverence, but in reckoning.
There exist, beneath the sheen of
the sporting splendor, ailments unseen, and malafides unspoken — the
bureaucratic betrayals, the cunning manipulations, and the systemic cruelty
that turns a player's journey into a minefield. These ills are not fictional;
they are real, rampant, and ruthless. Yet, the world — quick to praise and
quicker still to forget — seldom pauses to acknowledge the psychological
crucifixion endured by many athletes before glory greets them. It became my
solemn duty, therefore, to tell of these maladies — not as an accuser but as a
witness. For too long, these tales were silenced and dismissed as collateral
for the making of a champion. This work seeks not only to unveil the trauma but
also to dignify it — to say to every sportsman and sportswoman, Thy suffering
was not in vain, thy scars not without voice. Let the world know the
true price of their applause.
Consider, if you will, the athlete
not as an icon but as a soul in shackles. Shackles not forged iron but of
doubt, abandonment, manipulation, and despair. Who speaks of the moments when a
player is forsaken by the institutions that raised him? When the mind frays,
does the heart collapse beneath the weight of expectation and betrayal? I
sought to write such wrecks. Of the silent battles waged in locker rooms, of
the tears spilled in anonymity, of the countless times the human spirit was
bent to breaking — only to rise again, marred, but magnificent. This is a
crucible of greatness, which cannot be measured. Yet, in the quiet reckoning of
midnight hours, victory is truly born. Each anecdote in the book thus hath was
chosen not for its drama but for its truth. These are not fairy tales of talent
rewarded; they are gospel accounts of spirit rebirth. They are testaments to
the unseen labor of becoming.
Ah and what are the miracles? Not
those contrived by the press or painted by publicists, but the true miracles
wrought by sheer human will. I speak of the unexplainable rebounds, the
unthinkable performances, and the divine turnarounds that baffle logic and bless
a nation. Many such episodes lie buried beneath the passage of time,
undocumented, uncelebrated, and mere whispers in sporting folklore. However, in
these pages, they are manifested. With evidence, testimony is the weight of the
lived experience. These are not tales told in jest or embellishments of the
patriotic kind. They are miracles that humble reason and demand to be
remembered. In presenting them thus — with clarity, context, and corroboration
— I have sought to restore to the annals of history what negligence has almost
erased.
Behind every medal won is an untold
theatre — invisible to the cheering throng, hidden from the celebratory camera.
It is this 'behind-the-curtain’’s reality that I found most worthy of literary
reverence. For it is in these dim corridors that the true mettle of a
sportsperson is forged. Be it the manipulative coach, the indifferent
bureaucrat, or the unexpected ally, each figure plays a role more consequential
than the match itself. This book is a revelation of silent saga. A lifting of
the veil. A spotlight turned not on the player alone, but on the labyrinth in
which they wandered — sometimes lost, sometimes hunted, sometimes triumphant.
These truths, though unsung, are spines upon which great victories rest. At the
end, they find their rightful place in the sun.
There are tales within these pages
that might startle — of demonic choices made in moments of desperation–of
systems so corrupt that they devour their own prodigies. These are not for
faint hearts. However, this is true. Indeed, truth itself is sometimes
monstrous. But it must be met. It must be known. How else shall the conscience
of Indian sports be stirred? How else shall reform ever bloom if not watered by
the bitter dew of honest testimony? I have not spared the reader or myself from
these shadows. Only in shadows can we fully perceive light. In telling these
stories, I believe I have not indicted the spirit of sport, but preserved it by
calling out what threatens to kill it.
What method, logic, and compass steered
this ship? None, but truth. I walked not with footnotes alone but with
footfalls of memory. I turned to instinct where intellect faltered, and to
compassion where judgement sought to reign. Each selection, each edit, and each
nuance was governed not by fashion but by fidelity — fidelity to the lived
experience of those whose stories fill these pages. Thus was born a work that
stands not merely as a book, but as reckoning. A document. A call to
conscience.
Perchance, this volume shall find
echo in the great halls of academia, where scholars parse meaning from the
margins. Perchance may touch the corridors of policymaking, where decisions are
too often divorced from ground realities. But more dearly still do I hope it
shall find its way to the hearts of those who labor unseen — the young player
with dreams yet unsung, the forgotten champion whose name the world misspelled
and moved on. Let this book be both a mirror and a map, reflecting what is, and
pointing towards what ought to be. If even a single reader emerges from its
pages changed — awakened to truth, stirred for a purpose — then this humble
labor shall have fulfilled its station.
Let it be known that Midas
Touch and Miracles of Sports are not merely signed with the mine’s own
hand, but with the mine’s own heart. It hath cost me vigils, sorrows,
reckonings — but hath returned to me a clarity I could not have imagined when I
first dreamt of writing it. This book is mine not by authorship alone but by
the soul. So, a gentle reader, I lay it now before thee. From this, what thou
wilt. Be moved. Be maddened. Be made to think anew. These pages reside not just
in stories but also in spirits. If thou listenest closely, they shall speak to
thee — in whispers, in winds, and in the silence between the lines.
Priced at Rs 399=-00 per copy, this is available at AMAZON and one can get in touch with the publisher, BOOKSCLINIC at phone number 95891 33777 for putting their hands on the same.
That Is It and that speaks all about it
Mr Shyamal Bhattacharjee, the author was born at West Chirimiri Colliery at District Surguja, Chattisgarh on July 6th 1959 He received his early education at Carmel Convent School Bishrampur and later at Christ Church Boys' Higher Secondary School at Jabalpur. He later joined Hislop College at Nagpur and completed his graduation in Science and he also added a degree in B A thereafter. He joined the HITAVADA, a leading dailies of Central India at Nagpur as a Sub-Editor ( Sports ) but gave up to complete his MBA in 1984 He thereafter added a Diploma In Export Management. He has authored SEVEN books namely Notable Quotes and Noble Thought published by Pustak Mahal in 2001 Indian Cricket : Faces That Changed It published by Manas Publications in 2009 and Essential Of Office Management published by NBCA, Kolkatta in 2012, GOLDEN QUOTES on INSPIRATION , SORROW , PEACE and LIFE published by B.F.C Publications, Lucknow, , and QUOTES:: Evolution and Origin of Management Electives by Clever Fox Publishing, Chennai ,From Dhyan To Dhan :: Indian Hockey - Sudden Death Or Extra Time published by BOOKS CLINIC Publishing House , Bilaspur , Chattisgarh and his FIRST book on Hindi poem, which reads as " BHED HAI GEHRA - BAAT JARA SI " and MIDAS TOUCH AND MIRACLES OF INDIAN SPORTS , published by Books Clinics , Bilaspur , Chhattisgarh,
He has a experience of about 35 years in Marketing , and Business Analytics .
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