MEETING THE AUTHOR, DAVID GREGORY ROBERTS – MUMBAI, INDIA
I saw it being read in more languages than I can remember and on various occasions I had travellers recommend it to me with high appraisal. I felt like I was being pushed to hop on the bandwagon, which almost immediately represented false intentions of my reading the book. Not to mention, the sheer thickness of it required a real commitment, as I would have to consider its weight while traveling. But when I was finally grounded for some time in India and was in search of my next read, I decided it was time to pick it up. It seemed fitting as Shantaram is based on a foreigner’s perspective of living in India and sure enough, I was unable to put it down - damn it, those Goras were right. Roberts has a way of bringing his experience in India to life with a mix of truth, dignity and humour that quickly earned my respect.
When I finally made it to Mumbai, the setting for most part of the book, I was eager to go to Leopold’s Cafe. It was where the author found and defined the relationships with many of the significant characters in the story. Though it was aged and rattled with bullet holes of a recent shooting, the cafe was described so fittingly that when we entered it; I felt like I had been there before. We sat down and sipped on beers while I described the book to my cousin, encouraging her to read it. Behind her I noticed a man sitting at a table a few tables away; long blond hair, heavily-built and eating a sandwich. “Holy shit!” I thought, that guy looks just like Gregory David Roberts! My cousin quickly provided confirmation after Googling his picture on her phone. It was only after our discovery that I started to notice customers walking up to him to sign their book and to chat. I wondered what they were saying to him and what he was really thinking in response. Admittedly, I was a little starstruck and quite shocked in general as I wasn’t expecting at all to see the main character of the book I was currently reading, appear in real life in the very place he repetitively refers to in his book!
After downing a few beers, I finally mustered the courage to go over and present myself as a huge fan. While maneuvering past the clutter of tables that lay between us I was seeking desperately for something to say that would set me apart from all the other ogling fans. So I told him that my cousin refused to believe that he could speak Marathi - the native language of Bombay-ites. He took the bait and defended himself by speaking a few words to her in Marathi. She was shocked and I smirked, hiding my own amazement. We chatted about his next book and I had my cousin take a picture of us. “Let’s make this a photo to remember!”, I playfully suggested as I put my arm around the broad shoulders of this charming protagonist who had come to life before my very eyes.