More important, though we had not met, I loved him because his writing revealed a mind construct that closely reverberated with mine as we were products of the same age, social background, ethos, aspirations and world view.
I had to wait till I reached Calicut as a college student to get an opportunity to see him. A journalist working with the 'Mathrubhumi', my father's classmate, happened to be my local guardian. MT too was working there. As I went up the stairs MT's cabin was halfway, on the first floor.
Of course I didn't dare to walk in. Instead, I bent down and looked beneath the half door. All that I could see were a pair of chappals, and his feet, withdrawn from them, free and resting. This became a ritual. On some days these telltale presences were not there. I missed him.
I read whatever he wrote, my admiration developing with every addition. I had to wait for five more years to get to meet him. The opportunity came when I got the first prize in the novel writing competition the Mathrubhumi Weekly had organised for the first time and the last ever. I went there to receive the prize. Dr N V Krishna Warrier, the then editor of the Weekly, introduced me to MT. He said 'Good!' and was gone. I was disappointed, but consoled myself that he was probably a man of very few words.
This story is from the December 27, 2024 edition of The New Indian Express Kochi.
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This story is from the December 27, 2024 edition of The New Indian Express Kochi.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
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