India, June 5 -- The curtains finally came down on the 19th edition of the Indian Premier League a few days back. The flurry of sixes, the flood of boundaries, the surging strike rates, and the roar of the crowds have been silenced for now. Without a doubt, the tournament offered non-stop entertainment of the highest order, so much so that most of us feel a sudden, quiet emptiness in our lives without the daily high-decibel action. Yet, it begs a deeper question: Was cricket not entertaining in the era of Test matches, or has it actually lost its most authentic thrill? My memories take me back to the '70s and '80s, when T20 was entirely unheard of and one-day internationals were still openly scoffed at by purists. In its desperate hurry to catch up with Gen Z, cricket has lost the very nuances that made it magical. Who, for instance, could forget a Syed Kirmani or a Jeff Dujon walking out as a nightwatchman late in the evening on the second or third day of a Test match? Arriving after an early fall of wickets, they were instantly welcomed by a nasty bouncer or a seething yorker from the likes of Malcolm Marshall or Dennis Lillee. The dour, survivalist defence of a lower-order batsman facing this ultimate litmus test provided a psychological thrill that no modern T20 can replicate, where an odd, gritty boundary from a tailender would elevate the stadium's tension to a fever pitch. Modern pitches have become notoriously flat, engineered specifically to ensure batsmen can clear the boundary at will. There was a time when green tops or crumbling tracks were deliberately prepared to test a team's true mettle against elite fast bowlers or master spinners. I can distinctly recall the final Test innings played by Sunil Gavaskar against Pakistan at Bangalore in 1987. Played on a virtual minefield of a pitch that turned square from Day 1, Gavaskar's masterclass of 96 remains permanently etched in the memories of cricket lovers. We don't remember it because India won-in fact, India lost that agonizingly close match-nor because the runs were scored at a frantic pace. It is immortalised because of the sheer skill, grit, and determination the Little Master exhibited to counter the immense guile of Iqbal Qasim and Tauseef Ahmed, all while a ring of close-in fielders waited to lap up the slightest mistake. Back then, a profound joy transcended national rivalries. You didn't have to be English to marvel at David Gower's signature artistry, or Pakistani to appreciate the elegant flow of Zaheer Abbas. There was an equal thrill in watching Ian Botham or Imran Khan charging in, completely outwitting batsmen through pure skill rather than defensive variations. Strike rates and economy rates faded into irrelevance; what mattered was the astonishing display of talent on the world stage. The staggering 1,260 sixes hit during the recently concluded IPL season simply do not measure up to the lazy elegance of Gower, the wristy magic of Mohammad Azharuddin, or the crafty, flighted spin of Bishan Singh Bedi. Let us hope that the soul of cricket survives this relentless test of modernity....