19th
May is around the corner.
Ever
since the lockdown of 2020, when Ruskin Bond decided to meet his readers again
on his birthday in 2023, I have somehow managed to be there every single year,
no matter what.
In
2023, I was inside the Cambridge Book Depot as a special guest and
was treated less like a visitor and more like family. Mr Arora himself
introduced me to Mr Bond.
In
2024, I became a tiny part of “Team CBD”, taking birthday wishes in a diary
from the endless queue of fans waiting patiently for a glimpse of their beloved
author.
But
the most unexpected meeting happened in 2025.
Mr
Bond had cancelled the birthday celebration in remembrance of the victims of
the Indo-Pak conflict. My tickets were already booked by then. Still, I went -
perhaps for a change of routine, perhaps simply because my heart refused to
stay away. I wandered through Mussoorie watching other fans who, just like me,
had not cancelled their journey.
And
then came the surprise I could never have imagined.
When
Sunil Sir handed over my letter and a gift from my student, Mr Bond asked him
to call me to his house and celebrate with him personally.
Some
moments become too sacred for words.
And
now comes 2026.
As Mr
Bond is not keeping very well, he has chosen to stay with his family and
celebrate quietly in Dehradun instead of Mussoorie this year. So there is no
point in travelling to Mussoorie this time.
Yet my
heart refuses to accept it.
A part
of me is already there.
On
19th May, if not in reality, then surely in imagination, I will still walk
through the streets of Mussoorie. I will watch hundreds of readers gathering
outside the bookshop, carrying handmade gifts and handwritten letters for the
man whose stories raised generations.
Sitting
on a bench outside Doma's Inn, I will smile at those enthusiastic fans clicking
photographs outside Mr Bond’s house, or climbing those infamous red stairs,
hoping that the door might open for just one glimpse of him.
And in
my imagination, I will gently stop them and say,
“Mr
Bond is not here this year.
He is in Dehradun.”
Oh, imagination.
Only you can take me to Mussoorie now, my sacred land.
-Ekta kubba
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