Sweating in monsoon heat, I had no idea if it was the rain that had drenched my shirt or was it my sweat. It was one of the first few dates I had with my then college friend, now my girlfriend of two years. In the haste of wooing this girl, I had claimed all the credit I could from my friends, accumulating a sum of Rs. 4000. I had bought a new shirt, borrowed shoes and got a hair cut a day prior to the date. I remember it was a Saturday, I had chosen Royale China as the venue for our date. She loved Chinese food, Ling’s Pavilion & Ming’s palace was a stone throw away from her place and so I had to make it special and impressive (I could not have afforded Taj or Trident). The pre-event logistics were taken care of, the event was running on schedule and the date was like sailing on a nice breezy Mediterranean sea. What followed is something I was not ready for…even in my wildest dreams…
As we gulped down the last spoonfuls of wanton chicken soup and munched on some crispy chicken, my eyeballs were drawn to the enigma that walked into the august setting. I caught myself staring at the personality draped in black robes. I had worked almost a month to make this two- hour lunch a success, and here I was, staring at someone else in the middle of a perfect session. Soon, I realized my date too was hypnotized by the celebrity aura of the visitor. Quite frankly, I do not remember how the rest of the food tasted, how much I ended shelling out for the lunch or the events that followed. What I do remember is that the charismatic energy from the object of our attention was shyly quite, well spoken and eloquent in speech, with an indisputable control over his surroundings.
From the maitre de of the restaurant to the gentlemen seated around, everyone wanted to share a moment with the guest. Despite much dissuasion from my heart, I attempted to securing an autograph. A soft yet stern voice feel on my ears, it said “Iss dastakhat ke badle humein kya doge? Chalo hum apko dastakha dete hain, aur badle mein aapki yaad le jate hai” (What do you offer in exchange for my autograph? I shall give you my autograph and take your memory in return). My already numb mind gave up its futile efforts to revive after these words; my heart had siezed and I was in utter awe of this magnanimity.
When I bid my farewell to him, I was sure of his importance as a national treasure; my middle class values got the better of me and I bent down for ‘ashirwad’...only to find no footwear on his perfectly pedicured feet…In his memory I still remain.
RIP Maqbool Sahib.
