When the mumbaikars met

We were planning this meeting since August. Finally, two and a half months later it materialised in a restaurant near Haji Ali. The years had taken a toll. The childhood effervesence, the dreams of youth, the career centric pangs of middle ages were all behind us. We had traversed quite a distance from St. Vincents.

Vimal, with no pretence in his persona seemed to be someone who accepted and even invited time unlike others who spend time defying or fighting it. Ageing gracefully with a silver blond hairstyle, in real life, he looks so unlike the dark photo that pops up every time you want to scribble a comment on the blog. As we hugged each other the vast expanse of three and a half decades melted, re-uniting us in a strong bond of nostalgia-soaked shared childhood.

For someone whose family business was in making ice he sure new how to break it!

We agreed on the menu in a jiffy. The reason being ( I realised later) both of us had spent a few years in Delhi. There is a very high probability that a Delhite is bound to order Tandoori chicken, tandoori roti, dal tadka and no rice.That’s exactly what we ordered. On the sweet dish front we differed. I ordered for phirni (served in a kullahad). Vimal did not argue. But after a polite helping of phirni he called the waiter and ordered for caramel custard. Yummy! I did not regret his decision either.

Vimal came through as a person whose biggest wealth is his down-to-earth simplicity and sincerity. St. Vincents is an institution he almost worships. When he talks about Sister Roslie or Miss Brenda there is a reverence in his voice which is 24 carat pure. When he talks about Mrs. Feroze Ali or enquires about my parents well-being you realise that one just cannot emulate him- his brand of humanism is either ingrained in the genes or just not there.When he feels that as a writer I have not realised my potential he says it with a concern that touches a chord. When he talks about his attempts to get more people on to the blog and how some of them ignored his pleas, he makes a genuine effort to hide the hurt by saying saab log apnee apnee duniya mein busy hain.

We talked about Stanely and the way he re-invented himself,
about Louis and his beautiful family,
about Tasneem and her bubbly child-like enthusiasm and simplicity,
about Sarita and her charming beauty,
about Nargis’s books and looks and her likely return to the blog,
about Faiyaz and Faiyazisms,
about the bold and beautiful Alps and Aashu,
about Vinita and her commitment to Intelligent Pune,
about the potential of Naresh to write beautiful english,
about how he has still not given up on Henry returning to the blog,
about how Hilu joined in,
about how Shankar and Reena will be joining in soon,
about the failed attempts at reaching out to Debashis Panda and Joydeep Nayak,
about, about about …. just about everything.
Time flew and we had to rush back to our offices. We hugged each other again. As a parting shot Vimal said, “ Don’t ever stop writing.”
Like Khaled Hosseini’s Kite runner I too thought- For Vimal and his blog:
“A thousand times over.”