We met Ruskin Bond in Mussourie some years back. We had gone on a low budget trip, making some Youth Hostel bookings, and one attraction was also that we may meet him. Our daughter had grown up on his stories, and I also read them though well after my childhood.
We met him at the bookstore where he meets people on weekends, and somehow the conversation led him to asking us over to his home. His own stories are woven around the simplicity and deep richness of the poor villages. Our own village stories are the same. There was an essential meeting point.
He gave us his number, and when our daughter asked him if there was also a cell number, his eyes twinkled, "Someone once gave me one, but when it started ringing at night under my pillow, I tossed it out of the window. My erratic landline does for me.'
He showed her his old typewriter and told her that he progressed frm that to writing by hand when it fell into disrepair.
Teachings from a wise old man to a 13 year old. Giving a perspective to life and the essentials ...
The letters from him after that were redolant with old age charm, written in a beautiful hand.
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