Close Encounters

On a recent late evening, we were at the Galileo Galilei airport, waiting for a delayed Pisa-London flight. I saw a nattily dressed individual taking a seat in front of us. His face seemed familiar. It was like meeting a long lost friend. I studied the shoes and the tagged briefcase, trying to casually see the name without making it too obvious. The man turned to speak to his companion.That's when i got a chance. In the dim light all one could make out was 'Richard'. Was it really Lucknow-born Harry Roger Webb the singer who was all the rage in school? He wore Presley-like hair and gear and did hits that were the rage on dance floors 'Living Doll', 'The Outsider', 'Travellin' Light', 'Young Ones', 'Summer Holiday'. I turned to the wife. She studied the bag tag and nodded. What next? It was a classic middle-age fix. Should i just go up to him and thank him for the many hours of joy his music gave my pimply generation? But then, would not i be letting out my age to the attractive young lassie seated next to me who kept throwing glances at me from her Paulo Coelho, no doubt daring me to go up to a stranger and make a complete ass of myself?
That's when he stood up. The face that adorned the music albums in my teen years was now furrowed but there was no doubt about it. Abruptly, Cliff Richard picked up his briefcase and scooted. I said to myself, 'Shoot', as the lassie smiled mischievously to herself. I kept thinking of jam-sessions, juke-boxes, jiving and humming 'Blue Moon' on the midnight flight after that missed opportunity to shake hands with a celebrity. I was out exploring South Kensington with my camera early the next morning, and something stopped me. I wasn't going to blow this one, now that there was no frowning companion or teasing red-heads around. I went across to the short man apparently rehearsing dialogue with a companion. I cut in without much ado. "Hey, you've always been my favourite hero since Midnight Cowboy, Dustin!" The grey-haired man looked surprised but responded good-humouredly, "Get out of here! You don't just barge in on people like that. Now stand next to me, and get a picture taken. Say hello to mum and the boys." The picture, now framed, takes pride of place at my work station.