The Winning Way, indeed.

When you grow up, you have heroes, and then you have reference points. You revere your heroes, you worship them; you wish you were them. But reference points, they are different. They command a different kind of respect. They act like goalposts, they are not aspirational dreams but more of attainable destinations. Sachin Tendulkar was always a hero to me, but I never felt like I could be him. On the other hand, whenever I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew old, I would always say, "Harsha Bhogle". There was something about this gentle, bespectacled man that made me want to be him. I still remember my 9-year old self listening to him with ever-growing awe, trying to be his co-commentator when he was the lead presenter for cricket matches, and muting the television and partaking in a full-blown commentary session by myself when his stint was done.

As is the wont of childhood hopes, they evolve. I took up computer engineering, and started talking to myself for entirely different reasons. But every now and then, when I watched Harsha reminiscing about past players on This Week's Special, I found myself going back to my own school years; thinking of how I used to imitate his mannerisms until they came naturally to me. Over the past decade, little had changed about the man. Sure, he might have had a little more hair, but the vivid hand gestures, the subtle intonations, the understated humor; it was all still there.

So, when I found (on Instagram, of all places) that Harsha Bhogle was coming to our college for a very special lecture along with his wife, I let out an instantaneous 'Yipee!'. I'd have probably squealed like a little girl if it wasn't 1 am in the night, but for then, a whispered exclamation had to do. I had already missed an opportunity to interact with him earlier, when he walked right across me in a mall, but I was too busy looking at my own feet to notice. This time though, I was determined to meet him, which meant I would be doing things I hated (e.g. going to college during vacation, asking multiple people to try and catch me a seat, and waiting in line for over an hour to do the same). Just a day earlier, my brother had been to an A.R. Rahman concert (another one of my childhood heroes), but somehow, I didn't find it as exciting as this. However, at the end of it all, I only ended up getting a seat in an adjoining room, where they were broadcasting the stream from the auditorium on a projector. Disappointed, I contemplated leaving the place, saying that it was as good as watching it on YouTube later.

A minute later, the man came into the frame. He was always on the stage, but the weird 'hidden sting-camera' positioning of the recorder meant that no one who was watching the feed was cognizant of that fact. A couple of witty lines later, I had forgotten the fact that I could easily watch it later in the comfort of my own bed. Gripped, I was holding on to his every word like a nine-year old kid again, noticing things that made me want to be him in the first place. His wife Anita was an able co-presenter, feeding off his energy and making her own valuable inputs. And why not, considering she co-wrote the book with him! But for me, the afternoon was all about watching my point de référence do what he does best - engage an audience like only he can. He started off talking about the book, but never veered too far away from sports, ensuring that there was always something to hold the crowd's attention. Something that would never be a problem with me, he could talk about management jargon and I'd still be captivated. (Fun fact: He probably did.)

An hour later, Harsha said, "As the last thing for today, we'll be taking questions." And for the first time in my engineering career, that sentence was followed by "Already?", as opposed to 'Thank heavens' or 'About time'. Soon, the questions were done, but my afternoon wasn't. As soon as the vote of thanks began, I rushed out the makeshift auditorium, trying to catch a glimpse of the man for one last time. Unsurprisingly, I bumped into a large crowd again. Seriously, what is the deal with these burgeoning masses of people? And does everyone in the crowd have to be taller than me, ensuring that I see nothing but a mass of black t-shirts?

Eventually, I guess I did look at him. I am only assuming it was him, judging by the raucous roar let out by the large mass of black t-shirts in front of me. But, just like the mall incident, the sight of him was fleeting, more of a 'I did see him, okay?' than a 'Guess who I just saw!!!' kind of deal. But, perhaps, that was the way I would always remember him by. Not as a larger than life persona, but a simple man on a screen who held my imagination with his words. Sure, I didn't get to ask him how to muster the patience to be able to author an entire book, but here I am, writing a blog after a gap of nearly two years, so I imagine I did gain something from the afternoon.