LAST WEEK'S column triggered a conversation with a friend from my youth. Neki Mohan, or Nekisha, as I knew her before her ascent to media stardom in the US, was a friend from my adolescence.

That she was born here seems only a quirk of fate's lottery - one corrected through incandescent determination. Neki built a formidable career in journalism with far fewer resources than you'd imagine would make that possible.

Her extensive career culminated in South Florida, where she became a beloved fixture among viewers in the roster of news anchors.

Chatting with her last week, I asked her what if...? What if she had laid down her bucket in Trinidad? With almost no pause, as is her wont in conversation, she responded that she gets that question all the time.

Neki and I travelled vaguely similar career paths, except she was able to explore her full potential in journalism. I just ended up in 'de meedyea,' my ambitions atomised by the futility of a single-celled organism of an industry incapable of evolution in a society mired in primordial muck. Surely that was a matter of choice, neutered drive, or deficit of enterprise?

Yes, yes, and yes - but not entirely.

Trevor McDonald began his journalism life in Trinidad. He went on to become one of the most revered news anchors in the UK. He did it all and interviewed them all.

Early on, McDonald broke tethers of racism that would have gelded the mobility of mere mortals. After bringing an extraordinary run as a journalist to an end after 30 years, he was only just beginning. He went on to present riveting travel shows and documentaries.

How would such a burning longing have been satisfied had McDonald stayed on the island? Would he have grown, honed his craft, pushed himself to the limits of his capabilities, and then exceeded them - here in a country that eschews such qualities? Or would he have had to anchor the news as a part-time gig and hold down a full-time job somewhere else to make ends meet?

For his television shows, would he have gone cap in hand from one sponsor to the next for advertising, which some local companies interpret as donations? How would he have coped with television stations charging him a premium to put his fascinating programmes on air - but not in prime time, though; that would, 'chase away viewers.'

Thankfully, Trevor McDonald needn't wrestle with the 'what ifs...' had he laid down his bucket here, pulling it back up filled with crabs.

What of others whose dreams expanded beyond TT's limiting horizon? In 1970 Andrew Ramroop boarded a ship bound for England. His goal was to become a tailor, but not just any tailor - a denizen of Savile Row. As the story goes, he got his first job, only to lose it 20 minutes later to a candidate of the 'right' colour. Undeterred, he kept looking and studied at the London College of Fashion. He eventually worked at Maurice Sedwell on Savile Row, a company he purchased when its namesake retired.

From a descendant of humble Indian immigrants to an Order of the British Empire; an amazing