Almost 15 years ago, after a decade-long stint as a homemaker, I embarked on my doctoral research and took the first hesitant steps back into academia. In many ways, I was a greenhorn. Once an ardent music lover, my listening habits had shrunk to old radio songs; I hardly knew anything about prevalent music trends, let alone popular Punjabi music.
A similar memory goes back 18 years to a trip to Mumbai, when we stopped for lunch at Hotel Fariyas in Lonavala. Another incident unfolded a few years ago at a literature festival in Chandigarh. Wanting to capture a memory of the day, my college friends and I looked for someone to take our photo at the designated booth. I approached an affable gentleman in a green turban, pastel shirt, and vibrant jacket, asking if he would mind taking a few shots in both portrait and landscape modes. He gracefully obliged. After thanking him, we strolled into the next session, only for my heart to skip a beat. The gentleman was sitting on stage, discussing his book, The Biryani Leader. He was none other than the Namak Shamak celebrity chef Harpal Singh Sokhi. I noticed a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to my favourite ghazal singer While enjoying the buffet. Only later did the hotel staff confirm that it was indeed him, but by then, the moment had slipped away. Looking back, these celebrity mix-ups feel more amusing than embarrassing. They serve as a gentle reminder that before these figures became cultural icons, they were ordinary people shaped by the same soil and society. Celebrity is merely a public identity; humility is deeply personal. And if my string of mishaps has taught me anything, it is that the most unforgettable encounters are not with larger-than-life personas, but with people who are extraordinary not only in their achievements, but also in their humility. [email protected]
Dismissing it as an improbable coincidence, I said nothing.
