The memorable instant.
[Text and photos by Mayank Austen Soofi]
She seems so familiar. Who can she be? Must be somebody famous.
Suddenly, the heart stops.
Isn’t she that writer?!
One evening The Delhi Walla spots Gillian Wright on a lane in Nizamuddin West. She is wearing a blue kurta and a white shalwar. A bag is slung around her shoulders.
People like Ms Wright are spotted in books and newspapers. What is she doing here? Why is she walking amid the common people?
I come closer to her.
Ms Wright stops and says smilingly, “I live just down this lane.”
Ms Wright is holding a white polythene packet. It has apples. Her other hand is holding a small pack of Dairy Milk chocolate buttons and a packet of… can this be true… Amul Butter.
This is getting more and more bizarre.
People like us who live in the world of books imagine writers of books to inhabit some other world. Their routines must be nobler. The way they talk to their dogs and cats must be different from ours. Their sophisticated eating habits must be beyond us. But Ms Wright is carrying the same yellow Amul Butter, the very stuff that Mamma spreads out daily on the breakfast slice.
Can it be possible that our writers belong to our own world in some ways?
Oblivious to such curiosities, Ms Wright resumes her walk. It is a beautiful moment.