Tumse Mil Ke...

A Story about being Starstruck on Amitabh Bachchan's 60th Birthday

It was the morning of October 11, 2002. I was on an impulse trip to Bombay, having driven from Pune the previous night. Staying with my in-laws in the suburb of Andheri, I had woken up at 4:30 that morning, pleasantly surprising my IAF Officer father-in-law, who always hoped that I would rise early every day, and go for a good brisk jaunt of a mile or so…or perhaps, ten. His hopes seemed to quickly fade away however, when I showered and shaved, dressed up and left mumbling something about an early morning meeting.

A quick rickshaw ride later, I was in Juhu at the address where all roads in Bombay seemed to lead that morning. I wasn’t quite at the address, but rather across the road from it, since the mythical fortress wasn’t quite open to anyone who wished to be there; otherwise, millions, if not billions, would want to be there that morning. This was Prateeksha, the famous abode of Big B, who was turning 60 that day. The 4-hour drive from Pune and the day off from work were small sacrifices to make on this day for the man who had entertained me for the past 3-plus decades of my life. I had to pay my obeisance.

A small crowd had already gathered on the sidewalk across from Prateeksha, and some people in the group were putting up banners proclaiming that Amitabh was the God of Kaliyug. Dressed in bright white kurta pyjamas, these were members of the Amitabh Bachchan Fans’ Association from Kolkata. I offered to help put up the banners, and struck up a conversation. They had been making this pilgrimage every year on October 11^th for at least 10 years I learned, and they had even built a temple for the Big B in Kolkata. I was impressed. They were going to start performing an Amitabh Aarti in a few minutes. And all these years, I had thought that I was a crazed fan of Amitabh! Among the crowd that was growing by the minute, were people who had come from Nashik, U.P, Bangalore and from all over India – there were some who had been doing this for 25 years! Everyone had stories to tell about their encounters with the star – he had always acknowledged them, was exceedingly humble, and was grateful for their love and adoration – during the slump in his career in the early 90’s, one fan mentioned of being invited for a morning tea when Amitabh spotted him outside. Others were less lucky, but there was always the friendly hello, a nod, or a handshake and the recipients of those gestures seemed content with that and returned every year for a glimpse of their favorite hero yet again. How I envied them!

And then I met the person who was to be my chief Amitabh strategist for the day, quite accidentally. He was one of the persons I was chatting up, and we struck a cord. I told him of my desperation for catching just one glimpse of the star, and he seemed to relate to my mania just fine – he had been there, done that. In fact, he had been a visitor to this very corner of the side walk across from Prateeksha for 15 years. He was no doubt a crazed fan like me, but he was a thinking fan as well. Fifteen years of standing on the sidewalk among a frenzied mob had taught him that his odds of getting anywhere close to the star were next to nil if he didn’t have a strategy. He had tried different approaches, and for the past few years, he had zeroed in on one and honed it to perfection, he told me. Amitabh would be driving back from his trip to Tirupati he told me, and pointed to where he thought Amitabh’s vehicle would be coming from. He showed me how the big brown gates to Prateeksha would open, how the mob would go into a frenzy, and the policemen would try to push everyone back frantically. The gates would then close again, and there would be a period of calm. The gates would open again, and this time the Big B himself would walk out from here, he pointed, and go that way and stand and wave for these many minutes, and then he would go back another way and the gates would be closed for good for that darshan. If we didn’t act quickly and weren’t positioned close enough, we would lose our chance to get anywhere near the star. I had no intention of letting that happen, so I decided to stick with my guide and not to let him out of my sight. We were a band of brothers that day.

It must have been around 9 AM. My friend and I had now moved from the coveted sidewalk across Prateeksha and were now on the sidewalk on the same side of the Bachchan house, just outside the police cordon. There were very few fans there as my friend had assured me there would be -- that’s because no one quite expected the star to come that way. But he did. He was at the wheels of a large Mitsubishi Pajero SUV with Amar Singh at his side, and he waved in our direction as soon as we made eye contact. That alone was well worth my trip that day, but I followed my strategist. The mob now suddenly surged towards the gates as soon as people saw the SUV turn, and the policemen sprang forth with their batons, pushing back in large numbers in what seemed to be a losing battle. The SUV went in, the gates closed; the fans went back to positions outside the cordon directly in front of the gate. But not us. We were on one side of the cordon, perhaps as far from the gate as everyone else but if my friend was right, in the best spot to gain access to the star.

There was a sudden calm after the gates closed. Precious minutes went by, and then it happened. The gates were flung open, the policemen went to work at points on the semi-circle where the crowd was the densest, and our side of the cordon was least manned. There was Abhishek standing quietly on one side of the driveway inside the gates, watching intently – he wasn’t quite the star yet that year, and besides, this day was meant for his father. The Big B smiled, waved, and started taking long strides to come out of the gate to greet his fans – I had one hand firmly on the shoulder of my friend who was headed directly towards Bachchan, and with the other hand I raised my camera and was clicking away without having any way of knowing what I was capturing. We were directly in front of the star now; he glanced and smiled at my friend with a look of recognition in his eyes, and spoke in his famous voice “Aaj bahut gadbad hai bhai, aaj fursat se nahi mil payenge”; and then, he extended his hands to me and I clutched them and shook them for what must have been only a couple of seconds. The crowds thronged and pushed, the policemen pushed back frantically and with full force, there was a huge commotion all around, but I swear I could hear nothing – my friend and I were walking away in a daze in a direction opposite to the crowd where no one else seemed interested in going. After all, Don ka intezaar to gyarah mulkon ki public kar rahi hai, but we now had a story to tell for the rest of our lives…

[This article first appeared on PassionForCinema]