One Saturday evening at dinner time, I left my laboratory and went to the nearby Mexican restaurant.
It was called Chipotle, a common joint, which guaranteed good food but not a spectacular ambience. A place where you picked up a burrito for a quick working meal but wouldn't spend a romantic hour or half with your better half for a candlelight dinner. Well you get the picture.
As soon as I entered, my eyes were accosted with a long line waiting to order food at the counter. Blimey, I thought, "Murphy's Law in full action. Evidently when you decide on a place for a not-too-time-consuming meal, countless other people, at the same time, will come to the same conclusion." Still, as I had already driven to the place, I felt too much inertia to go to another restaurant. I would most probably face other specimens of the same kind who wanted their meal in a hurry.
I resigned for a long dreary wait and joined the line. As my eyes wandered idly all over the place, they reached a table near the counter, when all of a sudden I saw a face that shook me out of my langour.
There were four people in that table, or more specifically two couples, enjoying their meal. Two of them had their backs turned to me and of the other two, the man who was facing me, most certainly looked like Kapil Dev, the legendary Indian cricket star!
I looked hard. Yes, the signs were unmistakable. The big, thick set face, the cut of the jaws, the thick mustache, the curly hair, the complexion, the authoratitive look, all seemed so distinct.
So was it Kapil? But then, if he was in US and specifically in New Jersey, why would he come to Chipotle of all places for having his dinner? On second thoughts why not? It was not a shady joint. Celebrities could concievably come there. Still it seemed a little odd to envisage that half an hour back, he was patiently waiting for his burrito in this long line, having decided against all the posh restaurants of the place.
Well, maybe he was a humble person, a great man with the heart of a commoner. So I seemed to recall, that he was basically a rustic and down to earth person, in contrast to his sophisticated socialite wife Romi Devi.
But I had seen Romi's photo as well, and the lady beside him was, most certainly, not her. Well, that proved nothing. She might be his friend or sister, if he had one or his relative. But what did I care? He looked like Kapil Dev, well let me reiterate - The Kapil Dev and the truth of that possibility was all that mattered.
As the line moved ahead, I came closer to him and wondered what I should do.
At this juncture, let me digress for a while and recount a bit of history. For this was not the first time that I was meeting Kapil Dev.
In the Sept of 1993, the western part of India was rocked by the devastating Latur earthquake that claimed countless lives and wreaked destruction on property worth crores of rupees. Shortly afterwards, a charity function had been organized at the Asiad Games Village sports complex in New Delhi. In those days, I used to live in the eponymous housing complex and had somehow managed to sneak inside. Various film actresses and sports personalities had come there to take part in benefit matches for raising money. I had seen Kapil there. In those days, he was still active in the Indian cricket team. In fact he was very close to toppling Sir Richard Hadlee's record of 431 test wickets. I still have the vivid memory of being a part of the large crowd that had watched him descend the stairs while I stood jostling in their midst trying to get close. As he had passed me, I had stuck out my hand in hope of catching his for a handshake as I had frantically yelled out the well rehearsed line, "All the best for 432."
Incidentally the number 432 has a special significance in my life. But that is not relevant to this story.
Coming back to present times. The line had progressed and I was right next to his table. I looked at him to the extent of not appearing to be gawking. Pieces of their conversation drifted to my ears. I couldn't make out their meaning but it was in Hindi. It raised my suspicions.
Should I butt in and clear my doubt? "Excuse me, I am sorry but aren't you -" well would it be rude? Maybe not, if he was indeed HIM. After all, Kapil would be used to public adulation. But they seemed to be very involved in their conversation and words flowed in without interruption. All four of them were leaning into each other and deeply involved in some discourse.
I made up my mind. I would wait for their conversation to slacken off and then I would ask him directly.
But thankfully, it never came to that.
Their conversation ceased abruptly and before I could jump in, Kapil stood up and started walking towards the restroom. I stared at him as he plodded ahead, shocked for a second time within a span of twenty minutes.
This was no Kapil! The great Kapil Dev, I knew was at least six foot tall. This person was at the most five foot seven!
By the time I had partially assimilated that revelation, he was back. I looked at him and he now appeared to be pudgy, doddering and similar to many other commonplace, middle aged avuncular figures. I wondered what had made me think of him as I had, in the first place.
What is the essence of man? How much of it is the sole contribution of his face? How much do the other physical attributes add in? Or is it a combination of all the parts that matters? The Gestalt principle - that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Then why do we worry so much about beautifying individual aspects of our anatomy?
I had almost reached the counter and was ready to place my order. The realization that I had just missed an exciting encounter dawned upon me finally. But I simultaneously realized that it would make a good story to pen down and did not feel so bad.
It was called Chipotle, a common joint, which guaranteed good food but not a spectacular ambience. A place where you picked up a burrito for a quick working meal but wouldn't spend a romantic hour or half with your better half for a candlelight dinner. Well you get the picture.
As soon as I entered, my eyes were accosted with a long line waiting to order food at the counter. Blimey, I thought, "Murphy's Law in full action. Evidently when you decide on a place for a not-too-time-consuming meal, countless other people, at the same time, will come to the same conclusion." Still, as I had already driven to the place, I felt too much inertia to go to another restaurant. I would most probably face other specimens of the same kind who wanted their meal in a hurry.
I resigned for a long dreary wait and joined the line. As my eyes wandered idly all over the place, they reached a table near the counter, when all of a sudden I saw a face that shook me out of my langour.
There were four people in that table, or more specifically two couples, enjoying their meal. Two of them had their backs turned to me and of the other two, the man who was facing me, most certainly looked like Kapil Dev, the legendary Indian cricket star!
I looked hard. Yes, the signs were unmistakable. The big, thick set face, the cut of the jaws, the thick mustache, the curly hair, the complexion, the authoratitive look, all seemed so distinct.
So was it Kapil? But then, if he was in US and specifically in New Jersey, why would he come to Chipotle of all places for having his dinner? On second thoughts why not? It was not a shady joint. Celebrities could concievably come there. Still it seemed a little odd to envisage that half an hour back, he was patiently waiting for his burrito in this long line, having decided against all the posh restaurants of the place.
Well, maybe he was a humble person, a great man with the heart of a commoner. So I seemed to recall, that he was basically a rustic and down to earth person, in contrast to his sophisticated socialite wife Romi Devi.
But I had seen Romi's photo as well, and the lady beside him was, most certainly, not her. Well, that proved nothing. She might be his friend or sister, if he had one or his relative. But what did I care? He looked like Kapil Dev, well let me reiterate - The Kapil Dev and the truth of that possibility was all that mattered.
As the line moved ahead, I came closer to him and wondered what I should do.
At this juncture, let me digress for a while and recount a bit of history. For this was not the first time that I was meeting Kapil Dev.
In the Sept of 1993, the western part of India was rocked by the devastating Latur earthquake that claimed countless lives and wreaked destruction on property worth crores of rupees. Shortly afterwards, a charity function had been organized at the Asiad Games Village sports complex in New Delhi. In those days, I used to live in the eponymous housing complex and had somehow managed to sneak inside. Various film actresses and sports personalities had come there to take part in benefit matches for raising money. I had seen Kapil there. In those days, he was still active in the Indian cricket team. In fact he was very close to toppling Sir Richard Hadlee's record of 431 test wickets. I still have the vivid memory of being a part of the large crowd that had watched him descend the stairs while I stood jostling in their midst trying to get close. As he had passed me, I had stuck out my hand in hope of catching his for a handshake as I had frantically yelled out the well rehearsed line, "All the best for 432."
Incidentally the number 432 has a special significance in my life. But that is not relevant to this story.
Coming back to present times. The line had progressed and I was right next to his table. I looked at him to the extent of not appearing to be gawking. Pieces of their conversation drifted to my ears. I couldn't make out their meaning but it was in Hindi. It raised my suspicions.
Should I butt in and clear my doubt? "Excuse me, I am sorry but aren't you -" well would it be rude? Maybe not, if he was indeed HIM. After all, Kapil would be used to public adulation. But they seemed to be very involved in their conversation and words flowed in without interruption. All four of them were leaning into each other and deeply involved in some discourse.
I made up my mind. I would wait for their conversation to slacken off and then I would ask him directly.
But thankfully, it never came to that.
Their conversation ceased abruptly and before I could jump in, Kapil stood up and started walking towards the restroom. I stared at him as he plodded ahead, shocked for a second time within a span of twenty minutes.
This was no Kapil! The great Kapil Dev, I knew was at least six foot tall. This person was at the most five foot seven!
By the time I had partially assimilated that revelation, he was back. I looked at him and he now appeared to be pudgy, doddering and similar to many other commonplace, middle aged avuncular figures. I wondered what had made me think of him as I had, in the first place.
What is the essence of man? How much of it is the sole contribution of his face? How much do the other physical attributes add in? Or is it a combination of all the parts that matters? The Gestalt principle - that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Then why do we worry so much about beautifying individual aspects of our anatomy?
I had almost reached the counter and was ready to place my order. The realization that I had just missed an exciting encounter dawned upon me finally. But I simultaneously realized that it would make a good story to pen down and did not feel so bad.
