When Jeffrey Archer lay on the floor: The interview that turned into an argument

There are a dozen ways an interviewee can react when you provoke him a little.

Lying sprawled across the floor is not one of them.

But that is what happened when I went to meet author Jeffrey Archer in 2013 as part of a regular workday while in a previous media organisation.

It was a sunny morning when I sauntered into Taj Coromandel in Chennai, to meet the popular bestselling British writer for Best Kept Secret, the third book in the Clifton Chronicles series. Growing up, Archer’s work occupied prime space on my bookshelf, jostling for space with the works of Sidney Sheldon, Michael Chrichton and John Grisham, and hence, meeting him was going to be extra special.

Nervous, I arrived well in time for the meeting. While waiting in the hotel lobby and scanning the day’s newspapers that had carried detailed reports about the ongoing India-Australia cricket match being played at Mohali, a thought struck me: Jeffrey Archer was an ardent cricket fan.

I remember reading somewhere about his passion for English county cricket, having played the game in some capacity in his growing-up years and his subsequent admiration for players from the subcontinent like Sachin Tendulkar and Rahul Dravid.

I was determined to use that context for my opening, ice-breaking line.

When my turn came and I was ushered into his room by an eager PR professional, I introduced myself and – looking at the television in his room that was playing the highlights of the previous day’s play – remarked how good India had been on the cricket field in recent times.

Archer looked me straight in the eye and got up. Without batting an eyelid, he lay on the floor and started to brush the carpet. “This,” he thundered at a hapless me, “This is how you wipe your cricket grounds.” Wielding an imaginary towel and mop, Archer continued the act till it reached my legs, even as I wondered in trepidation how this interview was going to pan out. “Rubbish,” he said, in a thick English accent, “Mops and buckets…rubbish.” Archer was referring to how Indian groundsmen sweep and sponge off rainwater from the playing arena, taking off from that first day of the rain-hit Test match at Mohali.

The Indian cricket fan in me turned annoyed, even a little angry. I gently reminded him that India had already won a couple of matches in that series, only for him to retort, in a booming voice: “But you lost against England at home – so don’t get me started on that!”

The room went quiet. The PR professional who had parked himself in a corner of the room froze.

I had just had an unnecessary argument with a globally-famous personality on a topic that had absolutely nothing to do with the book he had written.

I sat at the edge of the seat, my hands shivering. The photographer who had accompanied me had his finger on the shutter button but wasn’t clicking, lest the sound upset Archer.

All this while Archer was on the floor and looking up at me in anticipation.

Those few seconds inside the fancy suite at Taj Coromandel felt like eternity.

Archer realised that the tension in the room was building. He quickly rose, and patted my shoulder in reassurance. I let out a sigh of relief. Well, Indian cricket was in safe hands. More importantly, my conversation with the legendary author would turn out not so bad after all.

I let out a weak smile as Jeffrey Archer said: “Shall we begin the interview?”