<p>I noticed him for the first time in the familiar corridors of high school. As a new boy, he seemed to be looking for something comforting to settle him in class. Curiosity, though, sparkled in his eyes. Looking back, I’m thankful that destiny pushed me to reach out to him that day. I had found a friend who would introduce to me—a naïve 12-year-old—a whole new universe of cinema, books, politics, thoughts, and ideas, and reap a lifetime of happy memories.</p>.<p>I soon discovered that he was a boy of extraordinary talent. His language abilities, his knack for trivia, his thoughts, and his insights were all far beyond my world. One Saturday when we got off school early, he had me over to his house. I vividly recall the awe I felt when I stepped into his vast collection of books and LP records. Then on, we spent countless weekends lost in those shelves, surrounded by books, music, and the warmth of his cook’s piping hot aloo parathas and bhujias.</p>.<p>He also led me into the world of cinema I had barely glimpsed before. Those were the days of VCRs and video cassettes, and our trips to the cassette library became a ritual. With a lively commentary on the movies on the shelves, he would carefully pick up Westerns, BBC comedies, and Hitchcock classics for us to watch. </p>.<p>His love for trivia was infectious, and it wasn’t long before he led me into the thrilling world of quizzing, hopping from school to school and forming quiz teams. Together we studied, played, laughed, argued, and spent some of our happiest childhood moments in hearty camaraderie. We whiled away weekends and summers in the City Central Library and at Century Club’s reading room when he would propound fantastic theories on the French Revolution, passionately argue that Amitabh Bachchan was the world’s greatest actor, and insist that Wodehouse was overrated.</p>.The friendship behind ‘Annie Hall’ and ‘Manhattan’.<p>We were inseparable, so much so that when the school decided that it must stage Shakespeare for the Annual Day, he naturally played Othello, and I was, somewhat improbably, Desdemona! But high school years quickly passed, and life drew us away in different directions. We tried to stay in touch—a quick hello here, a brief message there—until eventually, even those brief interactions faded away.</p>.<p>Then, one day, decades later, I received an invitation to a book release event. The author’s name on the card was unmistakable. I was overjoyed that my long-lost, dearest friend, now a British citizen, had written the authorised biography of a superstar Indian actor, and I was on his VIP guest list that day. He had indeed arrived, pursuing a career that he was most obviously destined for. Our reunion backstage that day with our families took us back to those cherished days in the school corridors and into Bengaluru’s reading rooms and libraries, and it felt as if no time had passed at all. </p>
<p>I noticed him for the first time in the familiar corridors of high school. As a new boy, he seemed to be looking for something comforting to settle him in class. Curiosity, though, sparkled in his eyes. Looking back, I’m thankful that destiny pushed me to reach out to him that day. I had found a friend who would introduce to me—a naïve 12-year-old—a whole new universe of cinema, books, politics, thoughts, and ideas, and reap a lifetime of happy memories.</p>.<p>I soon discovered that he was a boy of extraordinary talent. His language abilities, his knack for trivia, his thoughts, and his insights were all far beyond my world. One Saturday when we got off school early, he had me over to his house. I vividly recall the awe I felt when I stepped into his vast collection of books and LP records. Then on, we spent countless weekends lost in those shelves, surrounded by books, music, and the warmth of his cook’s piping hot aloo parathas and bhujias.</p>.<p>He also led me into the world of cinema I had barely glimpsed before. Those were the days of VCRs and video cassettes, and our trips to the cassette library became a ritual. With a lively commentary on the movies on the shelves, he would carefully pick up Westerns, BBC comedies, and Hitchcock classics for us to watch. </p>.<p>His love for trivia was infectious, and it wasn’t long before he led me into the thrilling world of quizzing, hopping from school to school and forming quiz teams. Together we studied, played, laughed, argued, and spent some of our happiest childhood moments in hearty camaraderie. We whiled away weekends and summers in the City Central Library and at Century Club’s reading room when he would propound fantastic theories on the French Revolution, passionately argue that Amitabh Bachchan was the world’s greatest actor, and insist that Wodehouse was overrated.</p>.The friendship behind ‘Annie Hall’ and ‘Manhattan’.<p>We were inseparable, so much so that when the school decided that it must stage Shakespeare for the Annual Day, he naturally played Othello, and I was, somewhat improbably, Desdemona! But high school years quickly passed, and life drew us away in different directions. We tried to stay in touch—a quick hello here, a brief message there—until eventually, even those brief interactions faded away.</p>.<p>Then, one day, decades later, I received an invitation to a book release event. The author’s name on the card was unmistakable. I was overjoyed that my long-lost, dearest friend, now a British citizen, had written the authorised biography of a superstar Indian actor, and I was on his VIP guest list that day. He had indeed arrived, pursuing a career that he was most obviously destined for. Our reunion backstage that day with our families took us back to those cherished days in the school corridors and into Bengaluru’s reading rooms and libraries, and it felt as if no time had passed at all. </p>
