There is a local celebrity. Mr. Ruskin Bond, the author of some 70 odd books. I picked up one of his books about life in Landour. Having read it, I wanted to meet him. One day last week, I was scooting down the hill, and passed him on the road. I skidded to a halt, and called to him. He invited me to tea the next day at 5 PM.

I arrived and was shown into a small, cozy, book filled living room. We sat and talked for over an hour. He lives with an adopted family: no blood relations but they call treat him as the patriarch of the family. One of the family members brought us coffee as we chatted. Our conversation was interrupted by a large Sikh family, which came so their children could meet Mr. Bond. They came in sat down, and the parents kept pointing things out to the children, “look at all the books…look at all the awards.” The children would get up and examine the thing in question. After a photo session, in which I was included — importance by association — they hurried out the door.
Our topics ranged from India to movies and literature. He recommended several authors, of whom I had not heard before. I find it interesting how authors from your own country are read more in other countires. I found this with Charles Bukowski, whom everybody knows in Germany, but nobody in the U.S. Mr. Bond sent me away with two books, one of which I was able to read. “Haircut and Other Stories” by Ring Lardner. His writing reminds me some of James Thurber.
I went back today to return the books, and we chatted some more. He is a natural story teller, and I enjoyed listening to his stories of friends and aquaintances.