Lord Archer entered about fifteen minutes past seven, by which time the book section at Landmark, Infiniti Mall was completely packed. There might have been a moment or two when I doubted if as many would turn up as last year. But I needn’t have worried. All of Archer’s fans were there – some new ones too.  They came to be charmed, to be  entertained… and no one went home disappointed.

While it’s been a while since I last read Archer (the last one I read was Twelve Red Herrings in 1994), I don’t doubt that the books are engaging – going by the stories he told at the store. He told stories of joining the Samajwadi Party and being Transport Minister, but my favourite was the one where his American publishers , Simon and Schuster, tried everything in the proverbial book to get him into the top 15 of the NYT bestseller list.

It was 15 minutes of a lovely, animated saga of how they flew him on the Concorde, put him up at the Waldorf Astoria, and got him two minutes on the Good Morning America show. Despite being instructed to mention the title as often as he could, he spent all of it describing the Concorde. After many botched attempts, success in the American mainstream came when Johnny Carson, while introducing Lord Archer, told his 53 million-wide audience,

Kane and Abel is one of the best books I have ever read. I stayed up all night turning page after page and I would recommend that each of you buy a copy.

A week later, Kane and Abel was #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, and stayed there for 6 weeks.

Jeffrey Archer tells the Kane and Abel story

The thing about being backstage at these events is that you catch the authors/artists as they actually are, egoistic, eccentric, or not at all. But whatever Lord Archer’s personal faults be, there is no doubting that he’s truly happy that so many people show up to see him. He doesn’t leave till every last book is signed, no matter if it takes two hours and that he’s pushing seventy. He always has a smile for you and your camera, no matter how many flash bulbs have gone off in his face. And that makes everything okay as far as I am concerned.

You can still catch him at Landmark, Pune, Moledina Road on the 17th of May. The last event is at Landmark Bangalore, Forum Mall, Jaya Nagar on the 18th of May. Both events start at 7:00 p.m.

Jeffrey Archer on Landmark tour!

..proclaims a hoarding on Andheri Link Road a few feet before Infiniti Mall which houses the Landmark store. The lower two floors look fairly sane, I think to myself as far as weekdays go. Even the second floor which looms into sight as the escalator rides up looks remarkably normal. Then I notice the mountain of bags lying at the entrance. And I’m stopped by the polite but firm female guard who shakes her head almost sorrowfully and tells me that I cannot carry my battered copy of As the Crow Flies in.

I push my way past the jewelery counter, the New Releases rack and past the music section. Voila!! What’s a celebrity without the crowd? Archer has succeeded in drawing the mob to the store on a weekday. It’s so crowded that people are stepping on each other’s toes even among the magazines racks that signal the start of that heaven that is Landmark’s book section.

I slither through the crowd in a manner perfected by years of Mumbai train travel and end up right at the back, smushed up against Movies while Jeffrey Archer regales a crowd from a stage in what is otherwise the aisle between Maps and Language.

All around people are standing, waving cameras, cellphones, microphones and books in the air. Thank goodness for my genes, thank goodness I’m wearing heels I murmur, doing my yoga stretch of toes, torso, neck and forehead. Small wonder then that the guy next to me jerks his head around in curiosity. And from the corner of my eye, I follow his gaze zip down to my feet. I want to yell,

Yes! Heels are the only way I’ll ever be on eye-level with you…on tiptoe! Now how about tearing your eyes away from my fabulous legs and towards the guest? We are in the presence of peerage after all.

But I refrain and try changing position instead. After a repeat (thrice!) I give up on the priorities of mankind and focus on the man on stage.

Archer speaks as well as he writes. White hair notwithstanding, he leaps nimbly from IPL to Bollywood to writing and politics. The last actually comes in only as an almost unconscious reference in conversation and is not touched upon again. When someone in the audience tries to steer him back to politics, he darts away so quickly he has the audience laughing with him.

The audience is hanging on to every word and even the seasoned TV anchors are laughing along with him. I pause in my live-tweeting to listen to an anecdote of his previous day’s meeting with kids and when he ends with,

I must say the girls are so much smarter than the boys!

…I join in the loud applause and laughter. As I sink back to terra firma I wonder how I’ll describe him in my post. Politician? Jailbird? Novelist? Firang-in-India? I settle for Charmer. And true to that description he winds off by saying that an author is someone who has access to so many minds…and is very privileged indeed. Indeed. Well-said.

Now he’s telling us that he has a dinner in 40 minutes at a place 2 hours away but that he’s not leaving the store until the books are all signed so we can all go have a cup of coffee and a chat if we like and he’ll still be there. Only, could we relax and not trample each other?

Hah! I smirk, you’ve never been to India, Lord Archer…wait and watch! Sure enough, there is pandemonium in exactly 24 seconds with the Landmark staff trying frantically to get the chairs out of the way, TV crew shifting angles, journos vying for soundbites and the junta being junta. I am too far from the stage to see his reaction but what to do, we are like wonly.

The ruckus is silenced by a loud, very loud, shrill female voice airing her disapproval and screeching,

Please, I say!! There’s no need to crowd around, I say!!! Let’s just be civilised and queue up, I say. What is this crowding and rushing and pushing, I say?!!!

The whole floor stands stock-still. Effective, I say and the staff look almost relieved.

I hang back and walk around, watching people mill about. Chattering teenagers, young couples, older couples, people in their 40s are all walking around. Everyone is toting A Prisoner of Birth.

I run through all the Archers I’ve read, in my head and wonder how good this one will be. I think wistfully of my own As the Crow Flies lying on the security guard’s shelf and debate on buying a new copy. I settle instead for guzzling juice and biscuits.

An hour later I’m still there, watching from the stage at the back, now free of TV cameras. The crowd has thinned out as well so I think it’s time to get in line for the signature. As I near the stage, the girl in front of the table practically yanks me by the collar (except I don’t have one) with a withering look. My books are then snatched out of my hand and thrust into Jeffrey Archer’s face and then thrown back at me before I have a chance to react. She certainly isn’t one of the Landmark staff. What is it darling, I smirk in my mind? The pretty-bimbette-swooning-over-you act? Or the in-thrall-of-goras syndrome? Or the I HAVE TO BE IN THE LIMELIGHT Page 3 habit? Well, whatever, my books are signed and that’s all I care.

And as I prepare to jump off the stage, Jeffrey Archer calls out to me,

Miss? Did I sign your book?

I smile back and him and nod a yes.

Back home, I open my bag. I have bought A Prison Diary as a keepsake to be able to tell myself (since I’m probably not going to have grandkids) that I saw the author in person. In my other hand is Twelve Red Herrings and I pause, smiling.

It’s the 14th July 1994. The sun is streaming in through the windows of a high-ceilinged classrooms, fans whirring loudly and drowning out the nervous chatter of a 100-odd teenagers. It’s the first day of junior college. And I don’t know a soul there.

She walks in cool and poised in black jeans and a tee-shirt so smoothly that all of us in the third row, mid-introduction gape. She glides into the empty seat in front of me and puts her bag down. Then she turns around and smiles and in a hesitant voice asks me my name. We are interrupted a minute later by the entry of the professor but I’ve just had enough to time to answer her question about my hobbies, with a monosyllable,

BOOKS.

The conversation resumes in the breaks and between lectures. Everyone is excited and nervous and wanting to know each other and ally themselves with whoever looks strongest, prettiest, smartest and coolest. I wonder why she’s paying any attention to me when there are so many others vying for her attention. After class, we walk out together and stop at her bus-stop. The others disperse. Abruptly she turns around and says,

I just know we are going to be friends. I knew it the minute you said that you loved books. I do too! There’s my bus, see you tomorrow!

14 years later, her voice travels echoes in my mind, whispering in math class, telling me about the book she finished last night and ending with,

My favorite is Never Stop on the Motorway. It’s sooo scary!

I’ve learnt by then of her weird fascination with spooky thrills. I smile and pencil in on the page after Archer’s signature,

For my best friend,

You were right. It was a good story. 14 years later, here’s the book again just so I can prove that I do listen to you. And you can prove that I agreed you were right. :-)

And long after it’s fashionable to say that I like Jeffrey Archer, I’ve finally met the man whose words have had such deep meaning on the most important friendship in my life. Thank you, Lord Archer, it has been a pleasure, a real pleasure.

There’s one at every corner, if you know where to look and I’ve given away a few of my secrets before. This is (or used to be) one of my favorite haunts before convenience and credit cards took over.

From the evergreen Sidney Sheldons, John Grishams and Jeffrey Archers to the ubiquitous management books, this place still holds its charm. It’s hard to supress that innate sense of superiority in pulling out a book and placing it in the ‘right’ stack along with others in the genre. So pop fiction to the sides, classics in the middle, bestsellers on top. Then realisation strikes that the dynamics of cataloguing work differently in a street-stall.

There’s a certain order in the chaos, one that creates itself. You’ll always find Diary of Anne Frank, Roget’s Pocket Thesaurus (I don’t know anyone with pockets large enough to fit this volume!!) and Chicken Soup for the Soul atop one of the heaps. These are books that most browsers instinctively pull out and several dump aside as well. The largest stash in any raddiwalla’s store will be the Mills n’ Boons and its twins – who says the city is devoid of romantics? :-)

Popularity determines the order, not genre or author. It has its own appeal. After all, if you’re like me, you’ll know the best way to read is not to go slam-dunk into any particular author’s works or even to stick to one genre. The most satisfying way is to vary them, never repeating any aspect in consecutive books. That way, the contrasts bring out the speciality of each book and make the experience so much richer!

Ever so often I’ve found that all I have to do is grab an armful of books from anywhere in the stack and I’ll have my next three books in the exact order that I would like to read them. The random shuffling has already been done!

I finally picked up There’s no such place as far away. Long are the days that I was an avid Richard Bach enthusiast. While those days are past and this isn’t even one of his best, I still remain a collector and so the slim pastel-covered book will occupy a place of pride with my other black-and-blue-and-silver volumes.

I always like to open the first page of a book. A new book has a sense of anticipation and…emptiness; like a new house waiting for you to furnish and populate it with your thoughts and being. A second-hand book on the other hand, is like being welcomed into someone else’s house.

On the inner cover were scribbled in a vivid flourish,

Dear Chandru,

I’m sending you my copy. I don’t know how much sense it might make to you but it’ll be good reading anyway (wot!!) It’s something I feel..and believe in. Enjoy maadi!

Maya

Was I sneaking a peek into a private conversation*? Yes I was…but I had bought it after all. My guilt assuaged, the voyeur in me smiled. It sounded exactly like something I would have written and just the same book I would have gifted a friend.

There is nothing quite like the feel and smell of an old book. Even if it is second-hand. Perhaps, especially so.

* If either Maya or Chandru are reading this post, I feel like I should apologize for not asking your permission first before sharing this note. But it touched a chord somewhere, really.