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When I came to Mumbai six years back, celebrity spotting was high on my agenda. You could find me staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at any glamorous face in chic shades, wondering if it were Karishma Kapoor or Urmila Matondkar.

Now, I am a seasoned Mumbaikar. I don’t care even if Shahrukh Khan asks me for a light. Or so I thought.

Last Sunday, I was on my way to work, travelling in the men’s first class compartment.
A tall, bald man got into the train with me and stood alongside. Normally, I’d have dug my nose into a book. But there was something familiar about the man.

It was Arvind Adiga, the author of The White Tiger that won the Booker prize. The wide forehead, hair cropped really close to hide the baldness. I’d seen the interviews and the photographs splashed in the newspapers. Surely, I couldn’t be mistaken.
I looked around, wondering if anyone else had recognized him. Nope. None... A writer doesn’t really grab eyeballs, unless the name’s Shobhaa De.

Maybe it’s not him, I thought. I stared, trying to find a clue. Back in Sherlock Holmes’ days, a writer could be identified by the ink stains on the fingers. Damn the keyboard for wiping out that very important sign.

Mr Adiga was a wearing a crumpled carrot-coloured t-shirt and black jeans. Then, his mobile phone rang. I inched closer, trying to eavesdrop. He spoke with an accent. It had to be him. The satisfaction was short-lived as I pondered my next move.

When in a quandary, phone a friend. Of course, you needn’t take the friend’s advice when he says introduce yourself. But the phone call gave me the confidence to tap Mr Adiga on the back.

“Er…I am sorry to bother, but are you Mr Arvind Adiga?” I asked.

“That’s alright and yes I am,” he smiled.

I felt my jaw drop. He looked away, uncomfortable, I think. “Say something, you nincompoop,” said the inner voice. I could have said ‘Congratulations’, ‘the book was great’ etcetera. But no, all I managed was, “Err, where are you going?”

“I am meeting someone at Dadar,” he replied good naturedly, getting off as the train halted.

I stared till he disappeared into the crowd, wondering if I gave him any fodder to create an awestricken character.

I am reading the book now, hopefully better prepared for next time.