Having arrived from small town Allahabad by train, a journey which for an average middle-class youngster was like stepping out to the moon, I was, eyes wide open, jaw half dropped in amazement.

My next visit to Mumbai came in 1960. A little older, aware and independent; a couple of years in University does that to you. Again with my parents, again by train and the wonder of it being air-conditioned. The expanse of the city, its magnificence and its “rush of existence” (a reference to one of my father’s poems on the rush of life), very evident and noticeable, but not dropping my jaw since we had moved over to New Delhi in the meantime.

What did drop my jaw was the chance encounter with Dilip Kumar at a restaurant we were at. Dilip Saheb had by then become the undisputed and the ultimate actor in my life and remains so till date. On seeing him, I rushed to the street to pick up an autograph book for him to sign but was soon filled with deep remorse when he ignored my request and left. It’s something that remained with me for long. And on another historic moment in my life when I met up with Dilip Saheb on the first day of my first film with him Shakti, I narrated the incident to him, over a hearty laugh.

Another poignant moment that remained with me on that trip was the chaat shops at Chowpati on Marine Drive and the poor little hungry children that hung around, desperately seeking leftovers. I was old enough to have understood life but still it affected me deeply. I dropped what I was eating that evening and later my dinner too.

... contd.