In other news, I dreamt of Amitav Ghosh last night. Yes, THE Amitav Ghosh. In the dream, I’m in some Singapore-like country (and I know this because I have veg hakka noodles for lunch. Ha! How elementary is THAT, Watson) and we bump into each other and, get this, it turns out, he wants to revive our affair and I’m all, no no, I can’t do this, I’m married now! And then he gives me all these accusing-alternating-with-beseeching looks and while on the outside, I’m being all morally-high(ly?)-grounded, there is this one moment, one, when he takes my hand and holds it to his chest and people, I melt (this on the inside, of course).
(On an aside, I am now seeing him in this completely different light. Completely. Not that any actual seeing happens, since he’s Amitav Ghosh and half way across the world and I am, well, me. But you know what I mean)
And then the dream turned into one of those trippy meta dreams where you sort of know you’re dreaming and all I could think of was, thank god this dream-affair didn’t happen before I interviewed him because, well, we all know how composed I am when faced with people who’ve featured in my dreams.
So did I tell you about that interview? Because it was my first interview ever, I was determined to be all professional and non-fan-girly. I researched like crazy, did all my homework, stayed up late and finished the book and drew up a list of questions. The interview went off well-enough (except that I lapsed into ultra-sonic mode a couple of times. I do that when I’m nervous. Charming, I know). He was an absolute darling; all soft-spoken and sad-but-intelligent-sounding and then it came to an end and I wanted to get my book signed and then chaos (of a sort) happened. For some mysterious reason, in the moments leading up to the signing, I was thinking about that one Friends episode in which Monica gets to hang out with Hootie and the Blowfish and one of them signs her bra (no wait, that was the one in which one of the blowfish gave her a hickey. Which was the autographed-bra episode?). And then I started to worry about which bra I was wearing and whether or not it was even remotely autograph-worthy* and of course, I couldn’t remember, so I had the bright idea of somehow subtly trying to figure it out by feeling the straps through my shirt. Well, for those of who are trying this out right now, YOU CANNOT TELL FROM THE STRAPS. So then I figured, well he’s still looking for a pen so maybe I can sneak a quick peek down my shirt; it won’t take more than a second! So I did and when I looked up there was this worried look on his face. I don’t know if it was because he saw me looking inquisitively down my own shirt or because he still couldn’t find a pen.
His autograph says, ‘For CS, with my best wishes, Amitav Ghosh’. The ‘F’ in ‘for’ starts out a little wobbly but is fine by the time he reaches the ‘r’. I think I got away with it. Don’t you?
* Not that I *planned* to ask him to autograph it, but it would’ve been nice to know that I had the option.