Every person has an idol to look up to. Some idolize great
scientists, some idolize movie stars and many idolize their parents. We admire
people who are greater than us and who have achieved greater deeds.
My idol is one of the most prolific Indian writers, Ruskin
Bond. Though born as a British, he is an Indian at heart. His works deal with
the simplicity of Indian life and has received the John Llewellyn’s Rhys
Memorial Prize in 1957 at the age of seventeen, for his first novel, The Room
on the Roof. He also received the Sahitya Akademi award for English writing in
India in 1992. His works also earned him one of the most prestigious the Padma
Shree in 1999 and brought laurels to our nation.
Ruskin Bond is my inspiration as I aspire to become a writer
one day. His works have inspired me and instilled a burning desire within me to
read more and write about the simplicity and the beauty of nature around. This
burning desire of mine brought forth one of the luckiest day in my life, The
Day I met Ruskin Bond, My Hero.
It was a great day. I was on a vacation trip to Mussoorie,
one of the most fascinating and beautiful hilly regions in India. I was jumping
with joy as my parents had planned that we were going to meet Ruskin Bond that
day. We had a long walk after our lunch to the Cambridge Book Depot, where
Ruskin Bond came down every Saturday, to interact with people. Just as we
reached the Bookstore, I blurted out, all I wanted to know about Ruskin Bond's
residence. They gave me his contact number and his residential address. We
bought one of Bond's books, The Season of Ghosts, so that I could get it
autographed. As soon as we walked out of the store, I called up his contact
number. After a long impatient wait of six seconds, a lady picked up the
receiver. I asked her, if I could speak to Mr. Bond. She informed me that, Sir,
was not keeping well and so he was taking an afternoon nap and that I should
call back after half an hour. My father decided that we should directly go to
his house and call up from there.
Ruskin Bond's house is on a hill top, near the highest spot
in Mussoorie. It was no huge building or a sprawling palatial bungalow, it was
a cottage and it was as simple as it could be. The house seemed to be
camouflaged with the surrounding of wild grass, leaves, trees, vines and
creepers. It couldn't be any better. This reminded me of a quotation by Ruskin
Bond's late grandmother," Blessed is the house upon whose walls, the shade
of an old tree softly falls". As planned I called up again and this time a
child of about seven took the call and conversed with me for a long time. After
a long conversation, the child asked us to come up and meet, Mr. Bond. We went
to the door and knocked. My heart thumped so loud that I was afraid if my
parents could hear it. I debated with myself in those couple of seconds, how to
start the conversation and how should I answer to his queries.
Ruskin Bond himself opened the door and welcomed us. I
glanced around the room briefly, which I assumed was his
drawing cum study room. It was old, dusty, sunny, bright and beautiful. It just
suited him perfectly. I smiled so hard that my face hurt. I introduced myself
and my parents and touched his feet to seek his blessings. I stammered and
stuttered as I answered all his queries. I presented him a notebook titled
which contained all my poems that I had written till date. He took the
notebook, went through it for a moment and then asked, "Do you have
another copy?" I nodded, unable to find the proper tone to answer him a
YES. He read one of the poems in the notebook. He smiled at the lines, making
my heart beat grow faster each moment. After he completed reading, he placed
his hand on my head as if to bless me and the little piece within me screamed
and danced with joy in the grounds of my endless fantasized world.
I told him everything. How I liked his first novel, how I
related to his stories with everyday life, how I loved literature and how I
aspired to become a writer one day. He autographed the book I had brought
along; he even autographed my diary so that I could share them with my friends.
It was time for us to leave and I just couldn't stop smiling for who wouldn’t
want to meet someone they really look up to and realise that their imagination
of how that person is, isn’t much different from the reality.
Time changes, life changes, people change. Recollecting the
happy past brings back those cherished dreams and those lost words and help us
move on in life again.
ASMITA BHATTACHARYA
(PERSONAL ACCOUNT OF VISIT TO RUSKIN BOND’S PLACE)
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