Updated: Sep 7, 2020
Take your thoughts a few decades back and try to recollect your childhood fantasies. I am sure, everyone would have had not just one but many, which might have changed as we grew up. Ambulance driver, doctor, pilot, engineer, cricketer the list could be almost endless. Mine was also not different. But as I entered my teens, my fantasy got stuck around two fictional detective characters – a Belgian Detective Hercule Poirot and the London based Sherlock Homes. Thanks to the wonderful writers – Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, for giving our generation, something that kept us all avid book readers and provoked our thinking.
Both the detectives had their own unique styles. Poirot was short and stout, a very unlike detective figure, with a brain that could beat any modern era super computers by a mile. “It is the brain, the little grey cells on which one must rely. One must seek the truth within--not without" - he often said. Homes was tall and handsome, and capable to take the fight a bit physically, if required. He too relied a lot on his brain and assumptions. “How often have I said that when you have excluded the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth” - he often told this to his assistant Watson.
Scotland yard police was another agency that I was so familiar with through the Sherlock novels – I liked the name ‘Scotland Yard’ and wanted to have this as the name for my private detective agency, which I always fantasized. I had a crazy collection of toy pistols, knives, masks, pens, scarfs, reference books (of course these novels) besides the mandatory hats and a long coat (an old khakhi rain coat), all kept neatly in my office, a small extension in the attic of my parental house. I used to spend a lot of time on weekends, referring to these books and doing some intense thinking - often used to end up in a deep slumber.
I even had a logo for my agency – an interesting one with two weapons placed on both sides of a skull. The pistol of course was a toy pistol, the knife – one made specially for me by a blacksmith using a worn-out axle of my cycle. The skull was of a monkey – named Raman, a pet owned by a friend of mine – which later died and was buried in the backyard. They got the skull later while ploughing the land for some farming and handed over it to me – as they knew I was a bit weird and fancied all these kinds of stuff. Today, while flipping through an old album, I just happened to see this old photograph – my official logo, triggering the thoughts of my favorite childhood fantasy.