It was a rainy Wednesday afternoon, when I sat waiting for Arjan Bajwa in the plush lobby of a five star hotel in suburban Mumbai. To pass time, I started observing the desperate corporate lady trying to crack a deal, but a loud group of chatty aunties wearing the choicest of branded clothes and makeup, (one that it would give a complex to the chic urban teen), grabbed my attention. I wondered whether they met for a high society kitty party, for they greeted each other like that, when I noticed the oldest one staring back at me. Uncomfortable, I glanced over to the lady at the reception attempting to be hospitable with the aarti thali and a garland, trying to impress the guests. None paid any heed to her feeble efforts. It was a monotonous drill, and the janitor who tirelessly wiped the fancy floor every other moment was going to be my next subject of fascination until I saw a guy in grey denims and black t-shirt, sporting a clean shaven look walk in from behind. The thick stubble he flaunted the last time we met, was missing and it took me a second to realise it was my subject of the day, Arjan Bajwa.