Wealth and fame slip before one realises the loss. Still, it was a mighty surprise to witness it the way I did the Sunday before last.
Smriti, Rani and I visited Mantri Mall that Sunday. We thought that we would pick up a laptop immediately as the showroom opened, and leave the place early to have lunch at Smriti’s favourite, the Chung Wah, in RT Nagar.
As it usually happens, the showroom opened only at 1100. By the time the Reliance Digital guys were through with explaining the features and requesting for a re-visit the next day to handover the free air-ticket voucher, the clock had already struck 1230. The laptop and accessories came packed in more than a single carton. We were already armed with an umbrella. We had also brought a bag to carry the laptop, but the bag turned out to be inadequate in size to accommodate the cartons. So, here were the three of us, each carrying some sizeable burden.
Chung Wah is a friendly joint reached through a narrow staircase connecting the entrance on the pavement on the street to the restaurant on the first floor. No, visiting it would be out of question, we decided; our shoulders and arms already aching from carrying the oversized packets.
We went up another floor in Mantri Mall. The Madarin Trail betrayed an empty look. Obviously, it was too early for the lunch crowd to throng it. We went to three shops, ordering sea food, fried chicken and noodles. Visits to two of these three shops coincided with those of a middle-aged beauty, and so did the follow up visits made to check the execution status of our order. Half-an-hour later, we thankfully traced our way to the table in the dining area, balancing the food trays, avoiding collision with other people and furniture, and still keeping an eye towards our destination.
It was then when I noticed him. He had a vacant look in his eyes. He was staring at some nonexistent object on the horizon, lost in thought. A far cry from the swashbuckling hero who struck 27 in 29 balls, thus contributing to India winning its first cricket World Cup in 1983. These 27 included a sixer, one of the three that came India’s way in that run starved match.
Here he was, the same never-say-die guy who hit a spectacular 174 at Adelaide in the 80-81 series, after India had collapsed to 130 for 4. It was the highest innings till then by an Indian in Australia, coming after the first test when this batsman retired hurt, hit over the ear by a Len Pascoe delivery.
I crossed his table again, to pick up some more food. There he sat, engrossed in spreading mustard sauce over the fried fish, sitting beside the middle-aged beauty. And to think, he had played role in a movie with Poonam Dhillon. I do not know whether the crowd recognised him. As such, he is difficult to be confused with common folks. The typical salt and pepper French beard is almost a trademark.
No, you can’t miss Sandeep Patil even in a crowd. I looked back, only to find that he had already left. The crowd had given him a miss.
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