For some experiences in life, there are no photos. There can be no photos. There are moments you couldn’t have taken photos of because you were too involved, the camera lay forgotten behind, photography wasn’t allowed, you felt embarrassed, or maybe, just maybe, you were too busy waving your hands at Ruskin Bond that you forgot that cameras even exist. Ok, I’ll admit it, I wasn’t going to take photos anyway. Respect for privacy and all that. And it’s slightly stupid, because Ruskin Bond visited my school every year or so and although I always missed it, its not like he’s a huge celebrity. BUT HE WAVED BACK. I canNOT believe Ruskin Bond waved back at me, Forget photographs, I don’t even have words to describe that moment. There we were, coming down from Lal Tibba in a taxi, berating the taxi driver for not having told us that Ruskin Bond lives on this very road—on the way up—rather than down, because now it was really quite dark and late. Then we argued over the ethics of standing outside an old man’s house at 8 pm, when we don’t have much to say to him, or ask, or really, is the fact that we’ve read someone’s books and stories and simply adored them, reason enough to stand star-struck outside this someone’s house? But then we got out of the taxi and stood there anyway, looking up and discussing (too loud, I suppose) how humble and down-to-earth he is to be living in a tiny cottage right on the road. We were just beginning to wonder out loud whether this dog at the doorstep is called Rusty or something when I looked up…yes, me…and I’m looking up and there’s this man at the window and DOOOOOOOOOOD *frantic wave* Because there was absolutely no doubt he was the man we were waiting for, and my friends went into such shock that they forgot to wave. And then he waved back. At me. I can die in peace now.
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