Amitabh, my friend

Outside the airport, one is virtually mobbed by Arabic-speaking taxi drivers, all invoking the name of the thespian, claiming friendship with him and, by extension, with me. An introduction to Egypt could not have been warmer.

You soon realise that the chant is not confined to Cairo. Wherever you go and whomever you meet, the refrain is same. Whether it is the boatmen on the Nile, the vendors of merchandise on the streets, the bellboys at the hotel, the taxi drivers who ferry you around, or the camel men at the pyramids. Sales girl, in fashionable shops displayed crystal, virtually beseech you to buy something for “Amitabh’s sake”. And at souvenir shops, you get the best bargain just because “Amitabh Bachchan is my friend.” One young boy selling miniatures near the pyramids even thrust one piece at me — “free, free”, as a gift for Amitabh.

Egypt is a veritable storehouse of human civilisation. The past still echoes and it is easy to recapture the passion of a period that was at once awe-inspiring as it was magnificent. But Amitabh Bachchan was never too far away, even amidst this splendour!

Southern Egypt, from Luxur to Abu Simble is one long stretch dotted with massive monuments to death. Every sphinx and every oblelisk tells you a story of one great Pharaoh. They linger in the mind long after you have left them behind. Aknaton, for one; his famous wife, Nerfratiti, whose image has become synonymous with Egypt, for another. For some reason, you hear more of Tutankhamun and Ramesses II, than even of history’s most enchanting queen, Cleopatra. She is not mentioned even when you go around the temple of Philae, where she was supposed to have married Julius Caesar.

Back at the Cairo airport to catch your flight home, you are brought back to earth very quickly as people from behind the counters call out, “Indian, Amitabh Bachchan.” I reply to all these comments with some of the wisdom I have gleaned during my days in Egypt: “Oh Amitabh Bachchan? He’s my friend!”