When I met the Holy Father.

My heart is still in my mouth, the energy is refusing to die down.  It is the same excitement I had a quarter of a century back, when  we were surprisingly overcome by the warmth of Pope John Paul II.(The day I learned the word, The Holy Father)  One of the many questions I had to answer after my arrival in Rome, is about my meeting with the Pope.  Have you met the Pope? Got a snap?  Yeah, the thought was overbearing in my mind.  In fact I was a dot in the multitude during many audiences, but not this close.  Amongst the pilgrims I had to be content to be in the presence of Santo Padre, to hear him and receive his blessings.  This time it was for real.  It was wonderful to hear that many priests shared the same sentiment, to be touching close to the Pope, exchange pleasantries and if lady luck smiles, a snap with him.  But the opportunity had eluded many of us, as the Pope found it difficult to cede to the ever increasing demand of personal audiences.  High on our agenda was the issue of the proximity to the Pope, even it was for a fleeting second.  Jokes rang loud and clear that perhaps  the only option was 'Photoshop'. 

The Pope continued his good tradition to meet the priests of his diocese, the diocese of Rome, the day after Ash Wednesday.  The gates were to open at the stroke of ten and we were present a couple of hours before.  The security guys were just elaborating the details. The tourists were filing in slow and steady. We had already formed a line where we thought was the opening door.  But old timers suggested the real course and the first thing that knocked us down was that we lost our first places.  The drizzle had died down, tourists and pilgrims of myriad shapes and sizes were trooping in dime a dozen.  The line behind us began to  bulge and familiar faces began to flash wide expectant smiles.  Without doubt all were scheming and plotting to reach the Hall of Benediction, to occupy vantage posts for that elusive touch and blessing of his Holiness.  The stern Swiss guard was in no mood to smile, but his salute had all the precision of a Swiss watch when he opened the doors.  From then on it was a gold rush..  "Piano, piano," (Slowly, slowly) rang the half requests of the Swiss guards, but it fell on deaf ears.  Skipping and hopping, waiting for no one, the race began.  Energy spent, panting and puffing  the hall seemed to be distant and distant.  In a matter of a few minutes, all had scampered to be near the barricades, the  only separation between me and the Pope.

Another wait for an hour, this time with the assurance that 'the' moment is right ahead.  Priests trooped  in, the late comers with anguish and grief  wrung on their faces, the experienced old timers, opening breviaries, spending time socialising and cracking jokes.  The window from which the 'Urbi et Orbi' speech is addressed just added to the magnificence of the hall.  The hall is packed to its capacity.  The clock strikes eleven and  the Pope enters guarded and accompanied.  There is a welcome applause, the flashes keep on smiling, the pitch is feverish and  I am ready for the moment to be in a touching distance with the Pope. The Pope is at his sporting best, smiling, holding hands, blessing, it is no rush hour traffic.  My heart is in my mouth, for some strange reasons, my heart is pounding.  I am near to the Pope. However the thought does not escape my mind...what if I do not get a freeze moment?

The Pope seems to be patience personified.  Even the priests who positioned themselves away from the barricade had enough time to receive his blessings.  My time had come. I was in no mood to relinquish it. I too took my time with the Pope, that fleeting second, which I will cherish to the end of my life, without the aid of any snap. The handshakes, blessing, laughter, excitement all continue till he reaches the podium.  His discourse is on the letter of the Hebrews, his exhortation and explanation is crisp and clean.  The prayer and discourse ends and the Pope is back by the side of the barrier, this time on the other side, perhaps spending more time.  The overwrought excitement translates into cries of Viva il Papa. 

A few more minutes and the curtain closes, time stands still. The trek down is peaceful. All beam broad smiles, content with the moments spent with the Holy Father.  Joy and laughter ringing in the air, the only odd sound was the Swiss guard prodding everyone 'Avanti'

The wait continues.  This time it is with prayerful hopes that the battery of the Vatican photographers would have snapped  at the right moment.  The wait continues into the evening, the thumbnails are published in the official photo gallery.  I am partially happy, there is a snap.  But...  I scour the other site, describe it as 'despair', I find not even my shade.  My mood is down, page after page produces happy and joyous moments, but without my face.  The penultimate  row of photos and I am literally over the moon. Perhaps the snap of the whole album, my moment captured in the technological wonder of binaries, the only snap where there are only two people, a snap in detail, my bent head  moving in to kiss the caring hands of the Pope.  I jump up and down in delight. The face of the Pope is three quartered,  but the sentiment is grabbed, my freeze moment.