I was standing in a queue at a post office in Southampton. Being in a queue in England is a quintessential part of the memory of even a brief visit to England. One author, who should know, says that “an Englishman, even when he is the only one at a counter, stands in “an orderly queue of one”. But, I digress.
I had a letter to my wife in my hand. I wanted to buy stamps. There was this very handsome old gentleman, in a casual suit, behind me in the queue. He said, “Excuse me young man, I could not help noticing the address on the cover in your hand. Are you from Bangalore?” I said, “No, my wife is. I am from a smaller city about 150 kms. away”. “You mean Mysore?” he asked.
Ah, this was getting interesting. Bangalore was not so famous in those days as it appears to be now. I said, “Yes, how do you know?”
He told me that he was posted in Bangalore as a young RAF officer during the War (WW II). He had very fond memories of Bangalore. He had visited Mysore too.
It was such a pleasant interlude. His pleasant face with twinkling eyes, which had gone misty when he talked of his days in Bangalore, was a great sight. I was glad I had taken this man on a brief journey down memory lane.
1 comment:
Ever since I was a child, my father would share his unbelievably crazy experiences he had when he lived in Connecticut with his best friend. I never had the chance to meet his best friend but I had heard so much about him that I would call him 'Super-Man Uncle' whenever his name would pop-up in any conversation.
Last year, my father received an e-mail from that same friend who now lives in Australia. Utterly surprised, my father shouted from his room, "Shruti, Look!!! your Super-Man Uncle has sent an email to me! Look!!! Your Super-Man Uncle remembers me!!!" My father's voice choked as he read that mail aloud. Almost 6-7 times! :-)
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