IF

Nowadays I’m spending a huge chunk of time with IF.

IF is now a persistent term.

IF refuses to leave us easily.

After the conclusion of every dialogue, we make space for IF.

Ironically IF, UFF and OOPH have started sounding so similar; we don’t try very hard to differentiate.

Everything begins with IF. And everything continues in a sleepy pace; but with a resounding IF.

IF is necessary.

IF is vital.

IF is seen clinging to the rim of a teacup.

IF is seen pasted, posted, painted and plastered on social media.

I wonder why aren’t we repeatedly chanting – No Ifs, No buts.

That is how IF has entered our lives; taken complete control of it.

When we stare out of our windows, an IF waives at us.

When we stare at our own home from somewhere outside, the entire building seems to be painted in the shade of IF.

We are living with IF.

We are sleeping with IF.

We are rising with IF.

We are huffing and puffing IF.

We are exchanging one IF for many Ifs and we are trading back with many Ifs to own one prestigious share of a big IF.

IF I may add; IF doesn’t seem to be in a mood to take up the status of being ‘temporary’.

IF is permanent. IF is adamant. IF is absolutely audacious.

Have you tried switching the television nowadays and tried surfing between channels? IF is trending on every channel.

Prominent news anchors are debating over IF.

Panelists are being appointed to analyze IF.

IF is being weighed across different strata of the society.

IF is being criticized, questioned and at the same time replicated across civilizations.

IF is confident. IF is redundant. IF is with us, for us, by us, of us. IF is seeing us.

Till the time this big, bold, bitter IF continues to plague our lives, we will continue to share IF as our Whatsapp status.

So, till the time IF is here; we will only continue to exist.

IF there is no IF, we may someday step out too.

But till then we need to remember, IF is definitely around.

-Virtuous Vociferous

May: Blog #1/ May 19-2021/ 03.00 PM/ Location: The closest boundary wall of an IF

Our Own Biographies

The opening lines of my autobiography

October 19-2020/ Blog #2

Discover ourselves first.
Then rediscover ourselves.

Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? These questions have been within our minds for a long time. But we never set time aside to introspect. But in the past seven months, that we have been living indoors; working from our homes, achieving and failing from the comfort of four walls; starting new things and stopping doing old things; listening and muting conversations; seeing something and then choosing to turn blind; seeking a hug and suddenly acting indifferent; we aren’t realizing that time has been setting us aside to help us introspect. 

No one in this entire world is denying the reality - enough of this; enough of that; enough of me; enough of you; enough of him; enough of them; enough of us. Enough. Yes enough. But just screaming ‘Enough’ at the peak of our voices is not going to push those thoughts in the abyss. In there; in the abyss; down there; many reasons, many more reasons of screaming ‘Enough’ have been choking to death for the past seven months. But is ‘Enough’ the ultimate action and the reaction? What will happen to the questions we had started asking - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Don’t these questions deserve answers. Or we leave these questions somewhere; ask others; waste time over them and then one day, we will again scream ‘Enough’ and stop thinking about them!

But think about them? Aren’t these questions important? What if I tell you that every question is biographical. Every question is hinting at something very personal, very intimidating. Why can’t we treat these questions as research material to write our personal biographies? Who knows us better than we ourselves? Has anybody ever known about the rare passion, immense love you harbor for your Sundays? Has anybody ever seen the sketches you draw of the person, you had loved more than your life? Does anybody know that when you release the shutter of your camera, you create magic with your third eye? Nobody knows anything about you. Somebody might claim to know you. But how much of you is known to anyone else? Too little. 

I wish to make a confession. In the past seven months, I have been asking the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? But as a human being, I too have been procrastinating. I feel I had seven fruitful months. These seven fruitful months are not going to return to me or us ever. Maybe we have got a few more months with us to ask those questions again! Perhaps try seeking answers again! Because if we don’t seek these answers now, we will never discover ourselves. In a world where we speak proudly about rediscovering life; rediscovering who we are; rediscovering our childhood; rediscovering our passion; rediscovering our love; we never ever talk about merely discovering ourselves. Maybe we should make that effort to discover ourselves first and then continue with our personal journeys to rediscover ourselves. 

Trust me, we aren’t alone in this journey. The time is with us. The situation is with us. Terms like lockdown, social distancing, precaution, sanitization, hygiene are with us. Every breathing being, living being and struggling being is with us to ask and repeat the same questions - Who am I? Who are you? Who is she? Who is him? Who are they? Who are we? Let’s try seeking answers. Let’s have our own biographies. Let these biographies be not verbose but introspective. I have decided. When I write my biography; I will begin with the line - My is is my was and my was is my is…

Maybe by the time, I am done writing my biography, this line; this statement; these words will get stolen. Because we might be maintaining social distancing. But we aren’t going to distance ourselves from the overpowering impact of social media. Because if we aren’t trending, we aren’t living. But we are still being followed; (sometimes) liked; (most of the times) disliked, trolled, threatened, traumatized, chased, etc. But again, with that whatever little we have left with us, let us have our own biography in place.

-Virtuous Vociferous/ What If/ 2020

The Missing Rainbow

Photo Courtesy: Google

Deaths are defeating lives.

Diseases are endangering survival.

Everything has changed around us.

Conversations muted. Movement limited. Socializing curtailed. Freedom denied.

The windows are open; the rays of sun are in; the birds are chirping; but human voices have gone missing.

The doors are open; the breeze is in; the dry leaves of plants and trees are flying in; but humans aren’t walking in.

The world seems to stand divided between – Inner and Outer world.

Everything has come to a standstill.

Happiness seems to have vanished.

Time has paused.

The car, which was left parked after a road trip hasn’t gone beyond the housing colony. The air pressure in the tyres is decreasing every day. The fuel tank is on the verge of running dry. The bike, which is in urgent need of servicing is stationary.

Vacations stand cancelled. Engagements and weddings stand postponed.

We have lost half of March, the whole of April and few parts of May.

Our financial scenario looks pale. Our emotional scenario appears scarred.

Queues are to be seen; outside wine shops, ration shops, police stations, offices of local political leaders. Some want to get drunk; some wish to continue staying overstocked; some are willing to go home; some are still eager to seek privileges.

Trains have stopped running. Flights have stopped taking off. Vehicles have stopped moving between cities, districts, states and countries. Ships are anchored at the shores; there are no immediate signs or symbols of them sailing anytime sooner.

Exams have been cancelled. Projects have been stalled. Employment opportunities have been thinning out. The processes of recruitment have been slowing down.

We made some noise. We lit some candles. We did every possible thing to keep the crisis away. But, strangely the crisis seems far from getting over. Every single day, the crisis keeps growing, multiplying.

Deaths are defeating lives. Diseases are endangering survival.

Hotels aren’t available to stay. Restaurants aren’t serving. Sea beaches are sealed. Resorts are shut.

Once upon a time, this life seemed like a colorful rainbow. The rainbow has gone missing.

Right now, desperately seeking The Missing Rainbow.

- Virtuous Vociferous | May 06 | May Blog-1 | What If | 2020

HIT HARD, HIT DEEP

Picture Courtesy: Google

Some people will never change and you have to accept that.

Take for instance, the not so curious case of the little country in our neighborhood. Over a period of long time, this little neighborhood of ours has been involved in most of the disturbing events in our country. Even though they have been in constant denial of the same, a sizable global audience held a common opinion – our neighborhood is a fertile premise, which has been honing terrorism for long.

But what I wish to write today is not about that little country in our neighborhood. But I wish to write about our great nation, which decided to hit this little country hard, and hit it deep down in its hovel.

As gathered from the news headlines and the photographs now made available by ANI, the targeted spots were hotbeds of Jaish-E-Mohammed terror camp. But I still fail to understand as to why they had the flags of US, UK and Israel painted on the staircases of this camp!

All of the above might have its own share of debates, to be followed throughout the day and the days to follow. But the real thing is about India deciding to hit hard, hit deep. Hadn’t we recently been told through the movie URI? Yeh Naya Hindustan Hai. Yeh Ghar Mey Ghusega Bhee. Aur Ghooskar Maarega Bhee (This is a New India. This India will break into homes. And will hit out too). And, very gracefully the country’s leadership made sure to stand true to its words, to exercise complete freedom, to protect our nation.

Coming to talk about the little country in our neighborhood, I am left to wonder as to how they would now retaliate. They will retaliate. But they will retaliate in the coward and overt ways that it has been in the past.

Now, at this moment of time, just come to think of it; India as an idea and India as a nation. Both are so terrifically powerful. Yes we are powerful. All of us, the Indians, no matter where we are born, where we hail from, the pride is to be felt in the way, the world will stay geared to address us – The Indians did it. The entire vibe around these words is about seriousness. As if there is an ongoing echo in the background, which is being repeated – Don’t mess with us the Indians, don’t mess with us the Indians, don’t mess with us the Indians.

Touted as Surgical Strike 2.0, this is our strategically timed reply to not only that little country in our neighborhood. But this is also our straight faced reply to those, who take us for granted. Reviving memories from yesteryear, our nation was once counted as many of the nations, which appeared in the ignored list of third world countries. I think that debate of first world and third world should be put to rest. We are here to stay and we are here to show our might against those who shall attack us, back-stab us and leave us feeling unsettled.

As I move closer to conclude this post, I would like to seek your attention to a comment made in the past against our nation. Someone had said – We will bleed India through a 1000 cuts. I think, today’s strike has put the straining impact of this comment to rest.

Now that we have retaliated, let us be sane enough to not praise an artist who would want to cross over from the little country in our neighborhood and render service in our film industry. I am sure, our film industry will also respect the recent action and the past tragedies.  

Signing off, I wish to express my immense gratitude towards the country’s leadership, which just didn’t preach but made sure to practice. So, if someone asks me – How is the Josh? I shall happily reply, “ALWAYS HIGH SIR”.

- Virtuous Vociferous | February 26 | February Blog-5 | Never Settle | 2019

HOLDING ON TO WINTERS

She stepped out of the bed; he was still asleep. She placed her feet on the floor, which had turned ice-cold by now. She climbed back into the bed; cozied up to him; tried to seek his attention! He was warm, she wasn’t! After repetitive trials, she gave up. Just then, he turned; she saw a flash of hope. He gently opened his eyes, which met hers. He looked deep into her eyes, took a deep breath, dragged her closer; they kissed. They kissed till the time the alarm went off; they kissed till the time the sun showed up; they kissed till the time they were ready to wake up; they kissed till the time was up for him to rise and leave. His departures hurt her more than his disappearances. Her agony hit him more than her angelic appearance. But this time, it was different; he didn’t move an inch away from her; she moved many more inches closer to him. The winters had cast a spell. All they looked forward were reasons to hold on to themselves; hold on to each other and the idea of holding on to winters.

Winters! Do we feel it in Mumbai, the way the two lovers are feeling up there, in the above paragraph? Or we feel it more in Kolkata and Delhi! How about Chennai? Is Bengaluru pleasant, mild or wild during winters? It must be snowing in all parts of states, which are located closer to the Himalayan range! Why is the city of Pune always too pleasant? Why some of the homes in Nashik don’t require a fan during winters? Should the hunt for warm clothes in the bed cabinets be intensified? Should the routine and pattern of everyday clothes change? Winters! They leave so much in between to imagine, initiate and intensify.

Intense. As intense or as cold as the love between them, the two lovers above! Because all they looked forward were reasons to hold on to themselves; hold on to each other and the idea of holding on to winters. Such intense is love during winters. The intensity is so severe that kisses and embrace don’t suffice; the experience evolves into something, which is known as the phenomenon of oneness.

Oneness. Winters are always about oneness. Not just the oneness between those two lovers; but the oneness one embraces, while sitting around a freshly lit bonfire. Or the oneness, friends feel while making another Patiala peg to be put up on offer. Frequency of partying goes up. Repetitiveness of eventualities to meet someone multiplies.

Multiplication. He loves it more, only when they are together. This multiplication has got nothing to do with arithmetic or other calculations. This multiplication is of human nature; both, physical and psychological. Love multiplies, emotions multiply. Her desire to continue being with him multiplies. In short, winter plays a bigger role in fueling the many innumerable multiplications of life.

Life/Lives. Lives during winters tend to grow so different. Maybe not too different in Mumbai. But definitely different in Kolkata and Delhi. Winters in the winter prone places are so much about stillness. Winters in the not so prone to winter places are so much about knowing.

Knowing. Knowing each other every time they meet, is in many ways more romantic, and immensely desirable to continue holding on to winters.

Now, in the bed that they are together again, they will create some new stories. But will there be stories from people and lovers, apart from them? If not, would we really mind creating or cooking up stories of our own.

All of it, for the simple desire of those two lovers and the seekers like us. Or much like some well-known hobbies or just an easy hobby of holding on to winters.

- Virtuous Vociferous | December 17 | December Blog-2 | Making of the story | 2018

IN THE KINGDOM OF CAPTAIN KIAN

Captain Kian

I felt his soft fingers tickle my chin. As I slowly opened my eyes, his eyes were on me. For a moment, I had forgotten that I had gone partying last night. Had it not been for him, I would have not believed of having woken up in the little kingdom that he proudly stakes his claim to.

In the ‘Kingdom of Captain Kian’, I am his subject. On other days, I have never felt the need to spot a snail. Neither have I placed a rarely found stone and a beach shell around a snail, to serve as an interesting topic for a perfect Instagram update. 

Captain Kian’s kingdom holds a special place in my heart for the things, his kingdom holds within itself. My favorite sighting though is his little bicycle, which is parked right below his father’s bicycle, which actually hangs out of the wall, right behind their kitchen wall. Or did I mention about Captain Kian’s tiny helmet, which is placed right on the top of his father’s huge helmet and besides his mother’s stylish helmet!

I’ve always been a fan of Captain Kian’s enthusiasm. Just last week, he won a medal for having run a marathon of 5 kms, which took him through hilly terrains and plain lands. The vision of the medal dangling around Captain Kian’s neck is yet to fade out of my memory. It won’t, I am sure, the vision won’t fade; no memory of his has ever faded out. 

Captain Kian is a quick learner. His proud mother shared with me an incident as to how Captain Kian strummed his guitar to an audience of marathon runners and participants. If I am not mistaken, he was instantly bestowed the title of ‘The Young Guitarist’. 

At the age that Captain Kian is now, I hadn’t even thought of taking up cooking. But apart from pursuing many hobbies, Captain Kian has a penchant for cooking too. His mother had once shared with me a video of him presenting his very own procedure of cooking a delicacy. I was stunned by his mannerisms. If he takes this part seriously, he may fare exceptionally well as a chef too. How can I forget mentioning the breakfast he made for me? A breakfast of bread slices, with cheese and peri peri between them! I wish, I could have had them more! Only that, I had chosen to begin with a light diet.

Captain Kian's Kingdom of Joy

By now, while reading, you must have realized that Captain Kian dons many hats. He is a very good creator too. If you get a chance, do take some time off your busy schedule to see as to what he does with his Legos. I got the chance to see it. I sensed the passion with which, he had created a structure. This structure holds a swimming pool, two Bankura horses (wooden toy horses, I had gifted to his mother). He has also parked a huge vehicle, closer, very closer to the structure. The vehicle, in Captain Kian’s words, “is a transformer and can take any shape anytime.” Since the structure needs security, Captain Kian has deputed one of the many robots one gets to see in Michael Bay’s movie version of the ‘Transformers’. 

In here, I also wish to mention that Captain Kian is an animal lover too! He secretly smuggles in kittens in his home (even though his mother is highly allergic to them), feeds stray dogs and shares a warm relationship with birds.

Captain Kian and I have one thing in common; we both love books. I’ve seen him sit with a book. He won’t leave a single word unread. Once he is done, it becomes our automatic responsibility to make ourselves available for the series of questions, he would demand answers to; of course from us! But I trust his knowledge more than mine. He might be a bookworm but his ways of learning things are not bookish. Maybe that is something, he seems to have inherited from his cinematographer father or his writer mother (others know her as a medical writer, for me she is a writer; a fellow writer).

Of the performer in him, that I am a fan of, Captain Kian leaves no stone unturned. If he takes a liking to someone, he can put up an instant performance too. Till the time I was preparing to take his leave from his kingdom at Shivaji Park, he shook a leg or two to a folk song. I recorded that moment on my mobile. I shall cherish it for days to come.

As I bid a heavy hearted good bye to Captain Kian, he came closer to me and whispered in my ears – Why can’t you stay back? Why do you have to leave every time? Can’t you spend an entire day with me/us? To his questions, I had the simplest answer in the most affirmative tone – I will definitely make sure that I meet every demand of yours. By the window side, where we had our morning breakfast and our cups of tea, Captain Kian once again expressed that he wishes to revisit my residence. He further added, he wishes to stay back for a day or two.

If the future gives me a chance, I would like to write an entire series with Captain Kian as the central hero. Will his character be that of a detective? I don’t think so. But if I ever get the chance to establish one connection between his character and mine, it would be of that pure emotion, which stirred within me the feeling of parenthood. All this, in his little kingdom of joy… Captain Kian’s Kingdom of joy!

- Virtuous Vociferous | August 12 | August Blog-1 | Making of the story | 2018

IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN OF OUR PROHIBITION SHUNNING CULTURE

Have you noticed the space below any of the signboards, which read – DO NOT SPIT HERE? To your utter dismay you will find large patches, which resemble blood stains, symbolic of years of spit deposition, sponsored by the easy availability of raw tobacco, mawa or the recently banned gutka.

Rising close to the challenge are the signboards, installed near railway stations – DO NOT CROSS THE RAILWAY TRACKS. Such messages, I guess, generate high dose of kinetic energy and provoke to risk all. Therefore instead of using the foot over bridges, the railway authorities take years to build, many prefer crossing over the tracks, putting their lives in danger and cursing; if at all they miss out on the biggest thrill of breaking yet another rule.

Equally pitiable are the signboards, which loudly announce – DO NOT URINATE HERE. This space is largely used by those, who don’t prefer standing in a queue. But they have no qualms in performing with their fly open in public view.

These are just a few instances of old and recent times, which make our nation seem like a circus of oddities. The latest to join the row are the recently installed escalators in railway platforms and metro stations. I cannot understand why some people prefer running over them, even though they are meant to transport us to upper or lower levels at a friendly speed! This urgency is to be found in both cases, during ascending and descending.

Speaking about escalators, I have been busy discovering a new breed from the last few days. This new breed prefers using the escalators in a reverse manner. In short, if the escalators are gliding down, they will try to pace upwards, defying the onward motion. And if the escalators are moving upwards, they will try to run down, once again defying the onward motion.

Such examples paint a picture of a banana republic. Are we not educated enough? Or are we being too bold to represent ourselves as born rebels. I am not bothered about what the world thinks of us as a nation and us as a nationality. But I am deeply concerned about the falling standards of complying with prohibitions.

In the first place, why are such prohibitions imposed on us? Definitely after years of lampooning, somewhere we need to be coming across as well cultured living beings. But animals are faring well and we humans are repetitively failing in keeping up with them.

Just last week, while I was busy withdrawing cash from an ATM counter, a man just walked in, not even bothering to read the board, which informed – ONE PERSON AT A TIME. Being a one machine counter, he should have waited for his turn. I overheard the conversation he had with the guard manning the ATM. The guard did mention to him that two people are not allowed at the same time. To which, this man replied, “Don’t teach me your rotten rules and regulations. I am in a hurry. It is that guy who needs to quickly get done with his bloody business.” He entered while I was still withdrawing my cash. Under the influence of alcohol, he stunk badly. I ignored the situation, not without wondering about his intentions.

Even at cinema theaters, during the movie screening, and having been requested in advance across the screen to either SWITCH OFF YOUR MOBILE PHONES or PLEASE PUT YOUR MOBILE PHONES ON SILENT MODE, there are those who prefer speaking aloud over the phone. Just try to reprimand them and pat comes the reply - “It was an urgent call and I had to attend it.”

The point I am trying to make is, it doesn't take much to follow certain rules. Being a rebel helps when we are leading a revolution. Such unnecessary actions yield nothing. I am saddened over the fact that such actions are contradicting the efforts of innumerable volunteers, who champion such causes. Is it then advisable to bring shame to their good work, which they are doing to better our society? Or are we happy being inhabitants in the public domain of our prohibition shunning culture?

Think, Understand and then Act.

-vociferous

  

MY FANBOY MOMENT WITH SIR JEFFREY ARCHER – PART 1

I reached the Kemps Corner outlet of CROSSWORDS at 6.40 pm. A mini gathering of people stood blocking the entrance of the bookshop. One of them was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands; continuously adjusting his grip and also adjusting his neck, sometimes to the left and to the right. At around 6.45 pm, a white colored AUDI pulled in. Seated inside was Sir Jeffrey Archer, the master storyteller; he had arrived much ahead of the official event time of 7 pm. An executive opened the door for him. Sir Jeffrey Archer slowly stepped out, waived at all greeting him and graciously accepted the bouquet.

At a distance, I was busy pacing. The security personnel politely asked me to stir clear of the way so that they can ensure a safe passage for Sir Jeffrey Archer. I didn’t protest. I wanted to be a part of this first-hand experience. I moved to the left. In less than 20 seconds, the bestselling author walked in. Even though I had expected him to show up in a suit, he seemed at ease wearing a light colored shirt and a dark hued trouser. The legendary lines on his forehead didn’t seem harrowed by the adulation, he found himself surrounded with (he has never been a stranger to all of this). I pulled out my mobile and captured every single second of his short walk from the doorway to the cafeteria located on the mezzanine floor of the bookshop.

The crowd that emerged at CROSSWORDS were all genuine fans of Sir Jeffrey Archer. They were all waiting with baited breath. I wasted no time to grab the copy of his newest launch MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD. Every attendee tightened their grip over the new book and his other offerings. He has been writing the CLIFTON CHRONICLES for long. Honestly speaking, this book, which is supposed to be the fifth in row, is my first ever possession of the globally popular series. I know, I am not going to start reading it, before laying my hands over the previous four (not very far from doing that either).

Sir Jeffrey Archer emerged from the cafeteria, this time escorted by another Mumbai based crime writer, Piyush Jha. He made his way to the dais, stood there for a while, absorbing the loud round of applause that filled the event space now. A mike was handed over to him. He raised his left hand, established an eye-to-eye connection with the crowd and broke into a speech by making an honest confession about the cricketing team of England, the country he hails from. He said, “I think England is going to win the World Cup of 2015”. His declaration attracted a vocal retaliation (in a friendly tone) from the crowd, which claimed it was India again that will retain the title. Sir Jeffrey Archer grabbed this opportunity to put his amazing sense of humor to good work. Even though he called the Indian cricketers lazy, he quickly added that the team was very serious about such a sporting event of global demeanor. He expressed as to how he continues to remain pleasantly surprised by the energy of these cricketers, who understand the game better and take it very seriously to compete with a vengeance.

Being a storyteller, Sir Jeffrey Archer left everyone awestruck with a short anecdote, which was based on his personal observation of the booksellers at traffic signals. His enactment of the bookseller (who was coincidentally a kid), walking with a pile of books was so perfect, I could relate to it instantly. As his car came to a halt at one of the traffic signals, he heard a knock on his window. He rolled down the window glass. The child bookseller pushed his new book in and asked, “Would you like to buy the new Jeffrey Archer book on offer?” Sir Jeffrey Archer looked deep into his eyes and replied, “I am this same Jeffrey Archer who writes these books”. The little child looked somewhat unimpressed. The crowd couldn’t hold back its laughter.

(to be continued in… Part 2) 

-vociferous

MY FANBOY MOMENT WITH SIR JEFFREY ARCHER – PART 2

(continued from Part 1)

Amidst all his other fans, I stood there, emotionally touched by the author’s honest voice; redeeming my personal fanboy moment. As he spoke, my mind pondered over those numerous years of struggle, when I wanted to see him, meet him in person. But I couldn’t. Every year, from the year he started coming to India and visited Mumbai, I nearly missed out on these opportunities, for reasons that I don’t wish to mention, count or recollect. The seed of eagerness to see him, was sown in me by his book A PRISONER OF BIRTH, only to be followed by many of his other books, purchased at a feverish pace of my own. I busied myself absorbing all the passion he showed in describing his books, inspiration for characters, the plots, the handwritten drafts, the corrected versions, his respect for R. K. Narayan, his admiration of R. K. Laxman and the upcoming editions of his old books. Shining bright at 74, he made no bones about his age. What I found interesting about this man, was his love for life and his love for the lives he writes so believably in his books. I was glued to every single word, he let his fans to feast upon. So focused I was. Nothing mattered to me. My mobile phone did ring, an sms did arrive, from none other than my beloved. But she cooperated, knowing very well that this moment was precious than anything else; by anything, I mean to say our wedding anniversary (but more on that later). 

I could sense nothing but the author himself. Standing afar, I was thrilled infinitely. Pushed to the side, sometimes pressed from behind, and holding my copy high; all that I cared for was Sir Jeffrey Archer. I was carrying with me a printed copy of my review of one of his stories CASTE-OFF that I had published on my blog www.urbansurprise.blogspot.in (http://urbansurprise.blogspot.in/2010/06/caste-off.html). It was a precious advice from my wife, who apprised, “What if you do get the chance to speak to him and can quickly share your writing with him?” Heeding her paid off well (not in the expected way, but definitely in a way, I hadn’t anticipated).

So carried away I was by his conversation, which he didn’t prolong a minute more than those 45 minutes of his memorable presence; I didn’t realize that the crowd was now gearing up to seek Sir Jeffrey Archer’s elite autograph. A senior lady murmured in my ear, “Son, if you don’t mind, could you please shift a little to your right?” She added, “If you do so, we will be able to stand parallel to the queue that has started making its way to the dais.” The suggestion was viable. I thanked her for the same, my thoughts about the author remained undisturbed. Even though our queue didn’t move an inch, my determination had long stepped on the dais, got a selfie clicked and walked away smiling. But reality bites. For a second I felt, I have to return empty handed, with a book that didn’t bear my favorite author’s signature. The finale to my dream was just 7 souls away. Finally I stood there, waiting for my turn. My book was laid on the table, he gently raised his hand, the pen’s tip touched the second page, and it moved smoothly. Sir Jeffrey Archer had penned down his signature. I requested, if I could share some space to click a photograph of us both. To which he politely responded, “Son, if I honor your request, it would be tiresome and time consuming to pose with this entire ocean of my fans. Anyways thank you for asking”.

I couldn’t have asked for more. As I started walking away from the dais, I knew how strong my determination had grown. The experience has not yet paled out. The aura that Sir Jeffrey Archer exuded was unforgettable. I kept looking back, if I could once again find the space, to squeeze in and slip across to him, the printed piece of my review of his short story CASTE-OFF. But the day March 2, 2015 didn’t just belong to me, it belonged to his numerous other fans too, who were waiting in the queue, now outnumbered, flowing out of the CROSSWORDS bookstore of Kemps Corner. As I started leaving, my eyes fell on Ms Nisha Jamvwal, the main inspiration and also the central character of Sir Jeffrey Archer’s short story CASTE-OFF. This was the best ever thing to come my way on this special day. I found her standing at a counter, speaking to someone. I approached her, reminding her of the blog that she had also left her comment on, almost five years back. Not only did she recollect the blog, but also shared some vital information, which she requested if I can add and either rewrite the post or present it in a different shade of hope! I agreed. She didn’t refuse to sign a copy of the published blog and said, “I will be looking forward to your email.”

The crowd had started spilling out on the road. I glanced at my watch. It was 8 pm. I hailed for a taxi. The driver was amused and asked me, “Why this place is so crowded Sir, is someone from the filmy world visiting?”

I replied, “No not at all. But the guest is bigger than anyone else, an author from England. Sir Jeffrey Archer.”

I am sure, he knew no one by that name and ferried me across to Mumbai CST from where I embarked yet again on a journey of memories, imaginations and more.

-vociferous