Some meetings take years to happen. And some, decades. Like my meeting with Wole Soyinka. It was in 1987 or 1988 that I travelled to Mysore (a trip sponsored by Vijay, English professor by training and indulgent banker to insolvent friends by inclination). Wole Soyinka, recently awarded the Nobel Prize for literature, was expected to attend a seminar on African Literature at the Mysore University. In the event, He did not. And instead of the prized autograph of a Nobel Laureate, what I ended up with was a middle for the TOI. Two decades later, as we entered Diggi Palace for DSC Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) 2010, almost the very first person one bumped into was Wole Soyinka, in all his resplendent silver-maned glory!
But, last things first. The end of JLF 2010 saw most of the participants scrambling for their notebooks. After all, who doesn’t want to win the inaugural version of the literary prize just announced – a handsome USD 50,000 to be given away at the 2011 fest! And who, among those teeming thousands, did not believe that the visage (s)he encountered in the mirror every morning was of the next Booker winner?
Well, JLF 2010 did not quite end there. It was the Intelligence2 Debate ‘State v/s people : The state has declared war on its poorest people in the name of development’ that actually wrung the curtains down on the jamboree (not counting the Writers Ball later in the evening). The panel was impressive (Shoma Chaudhury, Dilip Simeon, Salmaan Khurshid, (Shrabani?) Basu, HS Narula and Urvashi Butalia). The arguments were not. Salmaan Khurshid sparkled with his oratory but he was arguing for the real underdog at such ‘intellectual’ gatherings – the state! ‘Tehelka’ Shoma and ‘ex-Naxal’ Dilip flogged their pet peeves, Urvashi valiantly tried to put things into perspective and Ms Basu majorly whined. Robust Mr Narula (with literary legitimacy acquired by sponsoring JLF?) hedged his bets by refusing to take a position!
Day 1
So, how did it all begin? The first day festivities, from what one heard, were sabotaged by an unlikely foe – the Delhi fog! Flights got cancelled, writers were stranded, organisers were bemused, schedules went awry. In short, SNAFU!
This time around, thanks to the notoriety gained by my solo trip to last year’s JLF, not in the least helped by dead of the night calls from one or the other of the enthusiasts befriended at the festival, my wife decided that she too needs to bone up on her literary quotient. So, as I was winding up my official business at Delhi in the evening of the 21st, she flew in from Hyderabad. We then set course at the stroke of midnight from Bikaner House (a mere 200 metres from India Gate on Pandara Road). The Volvo bus of RSRTC did a commendable job of cutting through the dense fog and depositing us at Sindhi Camp bus stand, Jaipur in the wee hours.
Day 2
After a short rest and a gargantuan breakfast of the most delectable parathas, we reached Diggi Palace as Soyinka was heading for his session in the sun-washed front lawns. We thought we’d give the other venues a quick dekko before getting back to Soyinka and trooped into the bright-hued Baithak (despite the grandeur of the Durbar Hall and the wide openness of the front lawns, it is the Baithak with its pinks and greens, oranges and yellows, settees and bolsters, modas and charpoys, which truly dazzles). The discussion that soon began – Pavan Varma, Om Thanvi and Gulzar on ‘Language and Identity’- had us hooked. Pavan was at his eloquent best, espousing the cause of other Indian languages, not as substitutes for English, but as essential tools to realise one’s innate Indianness. Om Tanvi lovingly spoke of the ‘choli-dhaman’ relationship between Hindi and Urdu, a sentiment passionately echoed by Gulzar Saab. As the vibrant discussion drew to a close, one wondered if there indeed is a need and opportunity for an Indian Esperanto. Or, given the animosity that Hindi engenders in some parts of the country, is there scope for any other Indian language (Sanskrit?) to be lingua franca? Sadly, in all this excitement, we missed Wole Soyinka’s session completely. Will there be a third chance, maybe after another decade or two?
Treat of another kind awaited us immediately post-lunch - Shabana Azmi, Rahul Bose, Alka Pande, Catherine Cle’ment (she’s French, so be careful how you pronounce Cle’ment) discussing ‘Social Activism in the Arts’. Rahul Bose’s candid admission that film actors are not known so much for their intellectual acuity as for their emotional acuity, was itself a reflection of this ‘activist’ actor’s thinking mind. Shabana warmed the cockles of many bleeding hearts when she said that a sensitive actor would invariably get involved with the lives (s)he portrays.
In a free-wheeling discussion on ‘Can the Internet Save Books’, Vikram Chandra (his Sacred Games has, for long, substituted the missing leg of my desk – maybe I’ll even read it one day) made an interesting point about how the printed book is nothing but a business model. His prognosis was that ‘books’ will survive the internet onslaught but may morph in their appearance. While Vikram re-‘Kindle’d interest in e-books and Tina Brown highlighted the immense reach of The Daily Beast (http://www.thedailybeast.com/), fondness for the book as we know it was apparent among many.
Queen’s Hinglish, which had Mark Tully, Ira Pande and Prasoon Joshi on the panel, reframed the language debate held earlier in the day. As somebody in the audience remarked, Hinglish may soon give way to Indlish, given the myriad forms that English takes in different parts of the country. The discussion, although animated, lacked the intellectual vigour of a Om Thanvi - Pavan Varma - Gulzar debate. Young and articulate, Prasoon plumbed the depths of human emotion with great finesse during ‘Chalte Chalte’, the poetry reading session that ensued, along with veteran Javed Akhtar.
As the lucent moon began his languid ascent over the velvet sky, the glitterati of Jaipur descended on Diggi Palace. It was time for the weightier matters of the mind to give way to the lighter affairs of the heart. Animesh, friend and former colleague, had joined us in the afternoon. Ashok and Mita, friends from another era and now settled in Jaipur, also came by in the evening. We retired to the poolside with an appropriately eudemonic measure of (good) spirits from The Flow, the charming alfresco restaurant on the premises. Gulabo and Titi Robin took the stage. The amber liquid cruising through weary limbs and the hypnotic rhythm of Gulabo’s gyrations spread a warm glow of contentment. After a sparse dinner of exquisitely camouflaged and outrageously priced chapatis, we headed home.
Day 3
What’s a good time to begin your day on a holiday? We figured anytime before 11 am would be obscene. Which meant we’d miss the first session of the day that began at 10 am. Well, you win some, you lose some.
When we walked in that Monday morning, after another gastronomic overindulgence, Basharat Peer was moderating ‘Bin Laden after Bush’. I don’t know what the organisers had in mind but one middlingly successful book (albeit, a finely crafted one) cannot automatically make its author an authority on terrorism. True enough, Basharat was not. But his panellists – Lawrence Wright, Steve Coll et al - knew their Laden. And Basharat was happy letting them speak. The panel, after sharing some truly fascinating vignettes about the Bin Laden, Ayman al-Zawahiri and al-Qaeda, reached the conclusion that, even as the civilised world fashions mechanisms to thwart its designs, al-Qaeda will work around the impediments and continue to explore new ways of propagating its terror message. That indeed was a chilling prospect.
Continuing to bask in the golden sunshine of the front lawns, we waited for the high-octane discussion ‘In a Tough Neighbourhood’. As I looked around, two things were immediately clear. One, black is the new black. Black to my right, black to my left, black of a blouse, black of a bra, black in a tee, black in a tie. Black, black, black. And this was all before noon. What would these beautiful people do for evening wear? More black, as I learnt later! That was observation number one. Observation number two, not all people feel cold on a chilly winter morning. The abandon with which skin was being displayed made one wonder if cold is just a state of mind!
Ali Sethi, Asma Jehangir, Romesh Gunasekera, Shazia Omar, Shyam Saran and Siddharth Varadarajan soon took their places and began discussing the depressing prospect of living in a neighbourhood such as ours. Ali Sethi, all of 25 years old, spoke with unusual gravitas and insight. Asma Jehangir preened, full of self-importance and been-there-done-that indifference. Romesh made some mild remarks and let others tread through the minefield. Shazia Omar, she of that elfin smile, waif-like figure and almond eyes, appeared to be in the same amphetamine-induced trance that her characters of ‘Like A Diamond in the Sky’ floated in. Shyam Saran highlighted the need for India, with its huge footprint over South Asia, to be wary of taking prematurely pro-active interest in the affairs of its neighbours. Siddharth Varadarajan proved to be an able moderator, skilfully steering the focus towards areas of convergence and avoiding acrimony.
Post lunch, we scurried to Baithak to hear Tony Wheeler recount the fascinating ‘Lonely Planet Story’ – how Tony and his wife Maureen hit the hippy trail soon after their marriage, how a book came out of these travels and how Lonely Planet is where it is today. Interestingly, Tony claims that Lonely Planet is the only book that is available on all the continents, including Antarctica!
The JLF takes pride in being a completely democratic affair. The seating at every venue is strictly on ‘first-come-first-seated’ basis. No VIP seats, no reserved slots. As a result, a Deepti Naval or an Om Puri or a Navtej Sarna may just have to stand right through a session. More often than not, William Dalrymple, one of the festival directors, could be seen seated on the floor, along with school children and sundry late-comers. The only time I saw an exception being made was for Ms Vasundhara Raje. Even then, a chair was brought from inside the house and placed unobtrusively, without either interrupting the session or disturbing the audience. This complete absence of protocol was truly liberating, especially for one so bound by it in professional life.
We were caught in a dilemma. Should we go into the Durbar Hall and hear Niall Ferguson speak on ‘The Ascent of Money’ or should we make our way to the Moghul Tent for the discussion ‘Of Women, Rebels and Peasants’ by Dilip Simeon and Nandini Sundar? Niall Ferguson, the Harvard Don, had formidable credentials. On the other hand, I had heard Dilip Simeon earlier at LSR and was impressed by his well-reasoned arguments. We decided that the dimensions of social unrest in India deserve our attention more than the ascent of filthy lucre. A decision which was not regretted but certainly reviewed since we heard glowing accounts of the Ferguson session. As for Women, Rebels and Peasants, we had the pleasure of hearing a Delhi University professor, a charming one at that, use the F word with great aplomb, while rendering a moving account of how a success story for the state spells devastation for its people. And hearing Dilip Simeon’s semi-fictional account of a Naxal’s encounter with two French leftists and his telling commentary on the futility of violence. It was all getting too much for me. I was choking under the weight of terrorism, regional disputes and social unrest thrown at me with unrelenting earnestness. Gimme a break for chrissake!
Aha! A break’s what followed – Chetan Bhagat with his Teen Deviyan, Anjum Hasan, Ira Trivedi and Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan. For once, the eyes could do all the soaking in while the mind went out for a smoke. Well, what do you say about three authors whose average glamour quotient on display far exceeded the aggregate literary talent in evidence? That Chetan was lucky? I’m afraid the best has already been said. By one G. Sampath writing for the DNA (http://www.dnaindia.com/lifestyle/report_it-s-insulting-to-be-called-a-migrant-hanif_1338564 - don’t be misled by the title. Read from the seventh paragraph onwards).
It’s all very well to act prissy now but we did have a choice. We could have heard Ruchir Joshi and Sudhir Kakar on ‘Vatsayan and the Erotic’. Or Ma Thida and Shazia Omar (of the elfin-smile again) on ‘In the Shade of an Indian Almond Tree’. We chose Bhagat’s Teen Deviyan. Like some, lump some, dude!
As if to redeem the much-missed gravity, Chetan’s Teen Deviyan made place for Ali Sethi (the young wise one), Salima Hashmi (daughter of Faiz Ahmed Faiz), Shabana Azmi and Javed Akhtar paying tribute Faiz Ahmed Faiz. Did you know that Shabana is also a very competent singer? You live and learn, mate. And who was the gallant gent on stage that got up and offered his chair to Shabana/Javed? Ah, he’s the High Commissioner of Pakistan, Mr Shahid Malik. The same one who stood up earlier in the day and told Mr Shyam Saran, ‘ Aman ki asha ke saath saath prem ki bhasha bhi bolnee chahiyen’! To think that he had been jostling around in the crowds for the past two days with nary a worry! Jai ho, JLF!
That evening, Susheela Raman set the stage on fire with her Tamil pop. We, now veterans of JLF, knew the value of grabbing a table close to the bar. Even at the cost of being farther away from Susheela’s fireworks than was desirable. After all, unfettered access to libations was the key to wholesome fun!
Day 4
Lawrence Wright, Pulitzer Prize winner, opened the day in the front lawns, with ‘The Looming Tower’. Introduced by Shazia Omar (yes, the one with waif-like figure), once part of the post-undergrad elite of Manhattan, now writer, who was actually there at Ground Zero when 9/11 happened, and had a ‘life-changing’ experience (http://www.openthemagazine.com/article/true-life/last-train-from-wtc). Wright generously emptied his haversack and displayed his tools of the trade – legal paper, spare batteries, spare recorders, water bottle, list of contacts, reference cards etc etc. He bemoaned the fact that the FBI is staffed with Italians and the Irish, a throwback to the times when America’s greatest threats were the Mafia and the IRA, whereas what it urgently requires are native Arabic speakers who understand the language and culture of potential al-Qaeda recruits.
The front lawns quickly filled up for Tina Brown’s Diana Chronicles. Tina, former editor of Tatler and Vanity Fair, now the editor of the Daily Beast (http://www.thedailybeast.com/), threw light on some of the most controversial moments of Late Princess Diana’s troubled life. Her interlocutor, the suave Vir Sanghvi, managed to ferret out salacious details of royal romps, such as Prince Charles’ desire to be addressed as ‘Arthur’ during the act and for Camilla Parker Bowles to be his ‘rocking-horse’. The trouble between Charles and Diana, as Tina put it, was that Charles did not know Diana’s geography!
Having learnt ‘all that we always wanted to know about the sex life of Princess Diana but were afraid to ask’, we set off in search of a light meal. Hotel Meru Palace, on Sawai Ram Singh Road, barely 500 m from Diggi Palace, appeared promising. We ordered some noodles and veg Manchurian. By my reckoning, that must’ve been the first time someone ventured to order Chinese food in that restaurant (which may be approximately 15 years old). After much discussion and frenetic scurrying of waiters, some unrecognisably gooey stuff, floating in oodles of orange-yellow oil, made its appearance on the table. ‘Veg Manchurian’, the waiter announced with visible pride. ‘Where are the noodles?’, I asked. ‘They’ll be coming’ he assured, possibly muttering ‘as soon as the chef figures out how to cook them’ under his breath. When they did arrive, a full twenty minutes later, the noodles looked like noodles and tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten before. Thankfully, not much damage could be done to the Kingfisher Lager I’d ordered.
When we returned to the Mughal Tent, Maya Jasanoff was narrating the tale of American refugees loyal to the British Crown and their dispersal among various colonies of the Empire (including India), after the American War of Independence. Intrigued by this hitherto unknown bit of history and charmed by Maya’s account, I hurried off soon after to Full Circle to pick up a copy of Edge of Empire. But, before I could actually pay for it, an old friend, who now reads books for a living, sauntered up and advised against it saying the book was rather patchy. I’m not sure but I think I’ll buy it one of these days, anyway!
Back to the front lawns for ‘Scotland Presents Under the Kilt’, a delightful conversation among four amazing Scots – William Dalrymple, Alexander McCall Smith, Niall Ferguson and Andrew O’ Hagan. The discussion about all things Scotch was, quite simply, superb. Lacing their racy arguments with ready humour, witticisms, puns and one-liners, they did convince the audience that it is the Scots who ran the British Empire for the English!
As soon as the Scots were done with the laying bare their kilts, the audience rushed to the Durbar Hall for ‘The Directors Cut’, with Hanif Kureishi, Roddy Doyle and Stephen Frears. The folly of following the hype! The two of us had to squirm into one chair and suffer an hour of unintelligible remarks from Roddy Doyle, condescending comments from Hanif Kureishi (which mostly began or ended with ‘I don’t give a damn’) and brief, way too brief, one word responses from Stephen Frears. All this while, as we learnt later, Reba Som and Malashri Lal were enthralling the more discerning audience in Baithak with exquisite insights into Rabindra Sangeet. This surely was an expensive miss.
The evening extravaganza, being the last in the series, somewhat helped us overcome our sense of deprivation. Sufi Qawalls from Sindh and Biddu of ‘Aap Jaisa Koi Mere Zindagi Mein Aaye’ fame, in entirely different ways, enchanted the hugely appreciative crowd. We met up with the charming Rathores, friends from Kalimpong days. More bubbly, more conviviality, a growing feeling that God’s in His heaven and all’s well with the world.
Day 5
The exertions of the preceding days took their toll and we failed to even keep to our 11 am routine. By the time we made it to Diggi Palace, Hanif Kureishi was in deep and pompous ‘Something to Tell You’ conversation with Amitava Kumar. One got the feeling that Hanif was anxious to arrogate the title of ‘first among equals of the diaspora’. Of course, one could excuse his seemingly arrogant aside ‘WHAT a country?!’ to a question from the audience. What was the question that begat such an intemperate response? ‘Mr Kureishi, did you feel pain when you were circumcised?’ In all fairness, Hanif began good humouredly, ‘It’s been long since someone took such interest in my genitals……..maybe we can discuss this in private?’. Even someone as insightful as Hanif possibly couldn’t help wondering about a country where senile old men would nonchalantly stand up in a literary gathering and inquire after the well-being of one’s family jewels. Surely, this should rank as the most original question ever asked at the JLF.
We didn’t realise it then but the old man was just setting the stage for the bigger secrets to be revealed soon – ‘S’s Secrets – On Being Shobhaa De’. With Shobhaa in her usual ‘no-holds-barred’ mood, the conversation could not have been livelier. Unfortunately, Shobhaa had been asked all the questions many times before. Witness this :
Q: How do you react to being called the Jackie Collins of the East?
A: I don’t identify with it in the least and I’ve outgrown that label a long time ago…….. I think someone must have just got it off the net and thought it a convenient tag to put on a woman. This sort of stereotyping is typical – I thought I had left it behind.
(This was to a Pakistani journalist in January 2007. Same question at JLF 2010. Same answer by Shobhaa, without missing a T. Full marks for consistency.).
Bina Ramani suggested that, given her chutzpah, her pungent pen and (very) vocal chords, Shobhaa should take to politics and cleanse the system. As someone with the biggest ‘balls’ in Mumbai (who else dares to take ‘names’ in that hotbed of language chauvinism?), Shobhaa should surely give it a thought. Her protestations about not having the money or muscle may be obscuring the obvious.
Lunch with the Manns – makki ki roti, saag and chilled beer. And hurtled back to a debate on Publishing in the Next Decade. VK Karthika of Harper Collins made a telling observation – why is it that the retailer, the one with the highest margins in the book business, does precious little to promote books? Well okay, an Oxford Book Store here, a Crossword there and an Odyssey thence do make the effort but, is that enough? Shoma Chaudhury revealed what Tehelka painstakingly surveyed and found out – something I thought was obvious even to a layperson – among all the metros, Delhi spends the least on books!
Books discussed, ideas debated, viewpoints exchanged, friendships renewed, music enjoyed, booze imbibed. JLF 2010 lived up to and beyond every expectation. For me, it was a different experience from JLF 2009. The last year, there was this ersatz fame to deal with, thanks to a fortuitous likeness to a then celebrated writer (http://keep-your-powder-dry.blogspot.com/2009/02/accidental-impostor-dr-sarwari-personal.html). The likeness issue having been fixed with some chemical engineering, the fame (both real and bogus) having evaporated, watchful wife having accompanied, I was left to my devices, to revel in my rightful anonymity.
Jai ho, JLF!!
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