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THIS was late 1995. Over 13 years ago. I was on an evening flight, returning from Delhi to Mumbai. The days when there wasn't much competition in the skies. So one had to make do with the stuffy seats and ward off mosquitoes which would whiz past you. Inside the airline is what I am talking about. Or watch curiously, or amusedly, as an air hostess would dutifully parade past with air freshener spray across the aisle.

I had a window seat and was glad the sight outside kept me oblivious to the prancing cabin crew. Or the non-functional air conditioning. But I was aware of the guy in the next seat. Because he kept humming a few popular tunes of Kishore Kumar under his breath. Jolly old fellow, I muttered to myself. But why this seat, I wondered. "Pretty stuffy in here," he said. I guess he was talking to me. "Yes," I said, not looking in his direction. "Flights these days are so cramped," he muttered. "Even my flight yesterday was packed and so stuffy," he went on.

I wasn't a frequent flyer. But even if I was, I wouldn't have flaunted it this way, I said to myself. I kept looking out of the window. More determined this time.

"Where do you live?" was his next question. "Andheri," was my next reply. I was busy watching another aircraft take off. The humming of songs continued.

"Oh, that's not too far. I have to travel to Girgaum Chowpatty. It will take me one hour," he said. "South Mumbai snob," I said to myself.

Harsha Bhogle completed 25 years of broadcasting this week

What do you do? he asked. "I am a television journalist," I said. Almost giving up. "What a coincidence, even I am a TV guy. Not a journalist though. But, almost, he said, with a tone of welcome warmth to his voice.
And then, before I could turn around, he had extended his hand and said, " My name is Harsha, Harsha Bhogle. What's yours?"

I turned around, saw a grin wider than a wide ball staring at me. A grin which soon was to light up a million television sets when cricket would take place. The rest, as they say, is history.

Just for the record. That wintry day in December when I met Harsha, he was already a star. As he is today. He was very humble then. I can bet a 100 cricketing centuries, he hasn't changed a bit.

Of course, every time we meet, Harsha never stops reminding me of that evening flight from Delhi and how we had first met. In a world dominated by cricketing greats, where it is almost impossible for a non-cricketer to survive, (and there are many who have been cremated in subtle fashion) He is really a masterstroke.
Congratulations on your quarter century as a commentator, Harsha!

The author is MiD DAY's Group Editorial Director