My first meeting with Milind Soman involved short shorts, women, and a lesson in humility

Milind Soman might be the Ironman today, but we was the dream man of every girl in the 90s. Photo: India Today Archives

I was first introduced to Milind Soman when I was a gawky pre-teen. It was the era of MTV, and indie pop was on a rise. If you grew up in the 90s, you know exactly where I am going with this. In the collective consciousness of 20-something-women, Milind is the gift Alisha Chinai bestowed on the libidos of teenagers.

That was back in 1995. Flash forward 20 years, and Milind is no longer the hazel-eyed, well-oiled lad fuelling the fantasies of young girls. He's the rugged, salt-and-pepper haired man every woman wants. And that's how I met him in real life--on a warm August morning, in a beaten-up hatchback, on our way to a restaurant in south Delhi.

Every job has its occupational hazards. As a lifestyle journalist, mine include meeting celebrities, coaxing answers out of them, and (more often than not) bearing tantrums that make you want to push someone off a cliff.

Milind, however, is not that kind of a celebrity. The morning I met him, I was running 20 minutes late. My job that day was to escort him to the venue of the launch event of the women's magazine I was working with at the time. Over a brief phone call, shortly before I reached the venue, Milind assured me my tardiness was no big deal. Nonetheless, with my heart pounding in my chest, I reached the pick-up point and immediately saw Milind surrounded by a dozen women. No big surprise there.

What came as a surprise, however, was his attire--a grey t-shirt and really short shorts. But before we go any further, here's a full disclosure: it was marathon season, and he had just finished his morning run.

Before you jump to any conclusions, it was marathon season and he had just come from a run. Photo courtesy: Facebook/Beyond PR

Now that you've feasted your eyes on that, let's move on.

One of the few things I've learnt in my 26 years of existence is that at times technology can lead you astray--especially when the tech is of the GPS variety. The car ride which was supposed to end in 15 minutes, soon became a tour of the city thanks to a newbie driver and Google Maps' inability to find the right course.

With every passing minute and my co-passenger's regular remarks that ended with "Are we there yet?", my anxiety grew. What happens if he refuses to speak? What if he throws a tantrum? What if he asks us to turn around? Burning questions all--the impact of which was made worse by the constant beeping of my phone, indicating the building angst of the welcoming party at the venue.  

An hour and 15 minutes later, we finally reached the venue. My editors shook his hand, the women waiting for him honoured him with their selfie sticks, and I followed him quietly waiting for the bubble to burst.

Except, it didn't. As we entered the hall adorned by his audience, he turned around, handed me his phone and politely said: "It happens to the best of us. Relax."

Did I swoon like the pre-pubescent girl who first saw him emerging from a mystery box on the telly? Maybe. Did I fall in love with the icon of my youth all over again? Definitely!