Birju Shaw is not a man who dwells on what didn’t work out. Clichéd though it may be, the self-made entrepreneur instead believes in another cliché—everything happens for a reason. So, even though he has waited 21 years to meet his favourite actor, Salman Khan, he’s not nervous. At least not yet. “Nervous kyun, ma’am?” he asks, while clipping on the car seat-belt with [yet] a steady hand.

We and Shaw are on our way to Yash Raj Films Studio in Andheri. This newspaper has been on this mission for the last two months. mid-day was doggedly determined to fulfil a jabra fan’s dream. If it happened around Diwali, it would only make it sweeter.

It’s the dream that brought Shaw, 44, from Jhariya in Jharkhand to Bandra riding on Howrah Mail Express. This was in 2002. “I didn’t come here to make a living—I came to see Sir. I thought, miloonga aur wapas chala jaoonga’. But things rarely work out as planned.” 

Shaw was 22 then, with a young wife whom he had married four years ago, and a baby girl. He arrived in Mumbai on a hot Sunday in April, and spotted Govinda shooting on the steps of the Asiatic Library in Horniman Circle. He was finally in tinsel town! “Main khush tha! Pehle hi din hero ko dekha!”

The next day, he reached the famed address on Bandra Bandstand, Galaxy Apartments, where Khan lives with his family. “You know how they show in the movies…The hero has a bath and comes to the balcony to dry his hair with a towel…That’s how I had envisioned it. I waited till evening [outside Galaxy], but it didn’t happen. I didn’t eat or drink anything that day. I was disappointed but decided I wouldn’t go back home.”

Like lakhs of others who arrive by bus or train and alight at CSMT and Mumbai Central to try their luck in the city of dreams, Shaw hustled. His first job was changing Rs. 2,000 notes for a businessman at the bank for smaller notes, standing in line for hours. He’d make Rs. 200 for this, and did it for two months.

He collected enough money to start a puri-bhaji stall at Flora Fountain, which shut down in two days because a worker ripped him off by stealing. He then worked at a chai tapri near Wankhede Stadium; then at an agarbatti shop in Colaba. You’d imagine that the harsh knocks would have dissuaded him, but every chance he got, Shaw returned to Bandra. “I came here every Sunday! I’ve spent trying days on the footpath, but the desire to meet him never died.” 

Khan’s body of work managed to evoke such devotion. Shaw names a song: O O Jaane Jaana from the 1998 Kajol-Salman hit Pyaar Kiya To Darna Kya.

By 2005, he was working at a bookstall at Flora Fountain; this is when Aamir Khan’s Mangal Pandey released. The premier was at Inox Theatre at Nariman Point. “I knew Salman would come!” Shaw jostled through the crowds as Rani Mukerji, Bipasha Basu, John Abraham and Salman Khan walked the red carpet. He was within touching distance. “Many of the stars touched our hands,” Shaw remembers, “But Salman sir didn’t even say hi. ‘Is this whom I have come to see?’ I thought, disappointed.”

This, Shaw, a Class X graduated, says, was a turning point. His goal now became to give his two children the education he never got. But he kept one eye on Khan. Fandom would sneak back each time he would read a news report about the star helping people in need, and giving himself to charities.

Shaw says he feels his idol’s life changed after the hit-and-run case of September 2002. “I feel he wanted to be good after that, to change what had happened. I had heard many tales of how he helped people around him. Phir mujhe unpe pyaar aya,” he says, “Insaan change ho sakta hai.”

Shaw moved from the book trade to the raddi business; from Flora Fountain to Sion Koliwada; from the footpath to a chawl in Dombivli. In 2007, he moved his family to Mumbai; his son was only two months old then. Hope continued to linger as Shaw wondered, “How can I get to Bandra West to be close to him?” By opening a scrap shop on Waroda Road, a stone’s throw from Galaxy Apartments, he was hoping that a neighbour to the star may call him to collect scrap, giving him a chance to catch a glimpse of the star.

And then one day, it happened. 

“There was one Mehta saab who called me. He lived on the same floor as Salim Khan [Khan’s scriptwriter father]. Salman sir was exiting his father’s flat, coffee cup in hand. But since I was in the middle of dealing with Mehta saab, I didn’t get the chance to stop and speak to sir. After that, I managed to spot him on similar occasions.” 

But that’s not what you call a “meeting”. “A meeting is when you chat, exchange words,” Shaw says.

Shaw now runs The Topaz bookstore and scrap shop at Waroda Road. His daughter Anjali is an advocate at the Bombay High Court, and son Alok (named after Khan’s role as a dutiful son in Baghban) studies science at Wilson College; he dreams of being a chef.

Shaw credits this social mobility to Khan. “If I had not come to Bombay, my daughter would not have grown up to be a lawyer.” 

We are curious as our car turns into Veera Desai Road: What will you tell your idol? “What can I ask him? I cannot ask him a personal question like why he didn’t decide to marry.”

While Khan’s team was chalking out the promotion plan for the recent season of Bigg Boss, mid-day had reached out to them to share Shaw’s story. We followed up when we knew Khan would once again interact with the public to promote his upcoming release, Tiger 3. His team told us that when Khan heard of Birju’s story and love for him, he decided this was worth his time.   

As Shaw unclips the seat belt to alight from the car, we see that his hand is not steady. “Maybe, I spoke too soon,” he chuckles, almost out of breath. But it doesn’t show as he sits patiently on a plastic chair outside the main studio building, clutching a gift for the star on his lap. It’s a rare book, a collector’s item—The Epic of Heroes—which he has been holding on to for 15 years. 

Shaw’s relationship with the written word is nascent and yet he has managed to make himself a connoisseur of little-known, tough to find literature. “This book has stories of people from before the Mughals; they are unheard of. The most unique thing about the book is that the pictures in it are hand-crafted colour plates; you cannot find this today,” Shaw elaborates. He hopes Khan will appreciate the gift, given his own passion for painting. 

Khan is inside a tent, a makeshift waiting area, where he is meeting others who have an appointment before us. We hear that one of them is an American of Indian origin, who has written a thesis on the star. Khan’s co-star from Tiger 3, Katrina Kaif, pops in at some point, and leaves in 10 minutes. 

We are finally called in. The star is all grace and patience as Shaw tells him his story. Shaw knows that his dream to have had a glimpse of the star on his balcony now feels immature; he’s glad that didn’t happen. “I would have gone home,” he says, misty-eyed. “I wouldn’t have brought my children to Bombay, and they wouldn’t be who they are.” 

He asks Khan if he can give him a hug; Khan smiles indulgently. He presents the star with a special paper for an autograph. Khan asks him to turn around so that he can use Shaw’s back to sign it. “Sir! Of course!” he says with military-like obedience, and flips about like a child playing hopscotch. He gleefully looks around the room and then back at us as Khan scribbles: Great to meet you Birju. Lots of love and all the best, Salman.

It’s clear to everyone in the room now that this isn’t a regular fan; Shaw is a disciple. Before we leave, Khan whispers something to Shaw. “What did he say?” we ask him on our way back. 

“That,” he says, “is  between  me and my God.”

Shaw opened his shop, hoping to be called into Galaxy one day, to collect scrap and get a glimpse of Salman