It was the early 2000s. I was in the process of discovering the wondrously weird world of journalism with all its quirks and thanks to meeting even quirkier folk, all of which makes it such an engaging profession. It was one of those days when my assignment didn't involve reportage of a match but instead required me to attend the release of an autobiography by an Indian sporting champ. The chief guest was a senior icon from his discipline.

After nine months of covering outdoorsy stuff in the dusty maidans and tennis hard courts in the city, this was a first. It was held in one of the swish rooms at the Cricket Club of India. The affair itself was a classy one; serious sports buffs, journalists and sportspeople had gathered to support the release. I envied how the moderator and the two people on the dais — the author and the chief guest — shared a crackling chemistry that ensured the session flowed seamlessly, drawing in the audience every now and then. That book release taught me a thing or two about the art of meaningful dialogue in a roomful of people.