The weekend before I am scheduled to meet Jackie Shroff, a barrage of messages breaks my slumber. My grogginess is replaced by concern when I see that they're all from the actor. But before my panic can congeal into anxiety, I notice that he has sent a bunch of stickers, a photo and a voice note on the WhatsApp group that was created to discuss the shoot schedule. The stickers are different versions of the veteran actor saying, what else, but, "Aye bhidu". Meanwhile, the photo of him in a white suit is inexplicably captioned 'Happiness always' and the words "Let's get high on oxygen" pour out of the voice note in his unmistakable baritone. This is how my dad texts me when he hasn't heard from me in too long and wants to guilt me into realising that he misses me. Should I expect peak dad humour from 66-year-old Shroff when I see him?
A few days later, I am instructed to leave my shoes at the entry gate to the actor's farmhouse in Chandkhed, an unassuming village between Mumbai and Pune. It's a bit of a walk to the house and I flinch when wet earth and bird poop stain my freshly pedicured feet. I reach a shed where the production team is setting up and I'm about to enquire where I can hose down my legs when the aroma of curry leaves wafts out of the kitchen, followed by a plate of Shroff's famous and a kadi patta being carried by the actor himself. Turns out, one of the crew members had a hankering for the actor's popular recipe and he was only too happy to whip up a couple of eggs. "You want one too?" he smoothly asks me and I am once again reminded of my father's enthusiasm for feeding guests. I shoot a glance at his feet before nodding. Like mine, they're smeared with soil from tending to his beloved plants that dot the property.
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