Autograph Please? - An Untold Story

I lived in a ramshackle Basti in Bombay during my adolescent years. In our barely 60 sq feet home, there was just enough space to keep four mattresses ( one for me, one for ma, one for Baba and one for my younger sister, Gudia). The ceilings were grey, and the walls stained with the running water of heavy monsoon rains. The kitchen was nothing more than an old muddy choolah and a blackened chimta I had brought for ma from the dumping hill near our slum.

Amidst the rubbles, we owned our very own luxury-a black Onida TV set. The TV set had been a gift from Khan Chacha, the owner of the small electronics store down the gali. The day our TV came to the house, it was worshipped like Goddess Lakshmi. Ma watched overdramatic saas-bahu serials as she cleaned the house and Baba made the TV his best friend, as he tuned it to the 9 PM news every night after toiling hard at Khan Chacha's shop.

I had always been fond of Bollywood films and actors. Gudia and I would spend our afternoons mesmerized by the Eastman color and Udit Narayan songs. My 10-year-old self would marvel at the way Shahrukh would woo every single actress out there by just spreading his arms. And the TV became my anywhere door to this world.

Though I lived in Bombay, Bollywood seemed like a far fetched dream. I kept amusing my classmates by mimicking Bachchan or acting like Rajesh Khanna, but every day when I came back home, it would dawn on me that I was destined to lead a life like my parents, this basti was the place I will die in.

Khan Chacha and I shared a deep bond. I brought Baba his lunch every day, and Khan Chacha would make me sit with him, narrating stories of various customers as the ceiling fan creaked in background.

Chacha’s shop wasn’t as big as those in the city, but he made enough to pay Baba and Ramu Kaka every month. The shop initially started as a ration shop by Chacha's grandfather, but Chacha had decided to convert it into a second-hand electronics shop. With its pale blue walls, barely visible through the broken and old electronics and musty smell, the shop was my second home.

One day I was at Khan Chacha's shop, waiting to give Baba his lunch when Chacha came to me and offered me a biscuit. " Arey, I heard you want to be the next Shahrukh?" He said, chuckling as his eyes crinkled on the sides.

I smiled shyly. So Baba had told him of my latest avocation. “Yes, Chacha. I want to be. But...” I replied hesitantly. He was still staring at me, his eyebrow arched, waiting for me to continue. “But then if I go on to pursue my dreams, and don't become successful... Who will take care of my family? Gudia is younger than me. Baba says I need to take care of her, get her married in a good home, where she will be loved the way we love her."

Chacha patted my head and smiled. His eyes became gentler. "So young, yet you speak like a middle-aged man. Beta... Many people dream, but only some are passionate about it and are willing to work hard. These are the people who become successful." 

I nodded and leaned close to him. "But Baba says our kismat is to work here, live here and die here. " I whispered, making sure Baba wouldn’t overhear our conversation.

Chacha chuckled again. "Not if you have the courage to get away from here for better." He opened his old metallic paan-daan and slipped the rolled green beetle leaves in his mouth.

"What do you think, Shah Rukh got Mannat as a gift from Allah? He had to work hard for it. He had to leave the comforts of his home and sleep on the cold streets of Bombay." He declared, as my round eyes lit up for a moment.

Chacha smiled coyly. "Your parents will be the proudest if you go ahead and become someone respected."

I nodded again and ran back to my house. The next 3 hours went by hurriedly as I tried to fit most of my stuff in a dusty, gunny bag, making sure Ma or Gudia wouldn't sense my actions. Even though it seemed like a tough decision for a 16-year-old, Chacha's words kept echoing in my head. At 5 AM I picked up the gunny bag, looked back at my home, and decided I would never look back again.

Ten years later...

I was walking down the red carpet laid down for me. It was supposed to be an inauguration of a grand store in one of the biggest malls of Mumbai. Surrounded by my bodyguards, media, camera clicking sounds, and people cheering for me, all of it felt surreal and dream too good to be true.

"There he is! Our superstar!"

 some person in the crowd exclaimed. I waved my hand to acknowledge them as people's hooting grew louder.

Everyone was excited and waiting for me to give my autograph.

I took a pen from one of them when suddenly I noticed an old man with a long white beard, wearing a raggedy old kurta pajama waving at me too. Flashbacks came to me in the form of distorted images. I had seen this man somewhere.

And then suddenly it hit me! It was Khan Chacha!

I called my manager and told him to let Chacha in. I could feel my heart beating loudly in my chest and tears on the verge of spilling out. It had been so long since I had met anyone in the Basti, apart from my family.

"Chacha!" I exclaimed as I walked up to him. He smiled and hugged me.

The same fragrance of paan and the musty smell of his shop lingered on him. He had not changed, except the wrinkles on his face now had more stories to tell. 

"Beta I never thought you'd remember me!" He whispered, his voice shaky as his eyes took in my form.

I smiled and took out a paper from my pocket and gave the pen to Chacha.

"Autograph, please?"