There was a time when India
barely had any literary festivals. There were readings and book launches, there
were mushairas and kavi sammelans but not literary festivals—it is a western
import like the ‘novel’.
Just as there is an epidemic of novel-writing in India
these days, there is also an outbreak of literary festivals in the country.
Every city worth its salt has a lit fest going on and writers, publishers and
readers aren’t exactly complaining. In India,
when we like something, we tend to go overboard. The same is true of lit fests.
But I hope we stop at the city level and don’t take literary festivals to the
mohalla level. A Kirti Nagar literary festival or a Jorbagh lit fest does not
sound right. A reading group would be much more appropriate at that level.
I was recently in Chennai and one of my friends told me that
his daughter who is in third standard wants to become a writer. That’s great, I
said. When I was in school, I could barely get my head around what was
happening in the classroom, let alone think of becoming a writer. India’s
new generation will take the country to another level. Who will not welcome
such glad tidings about India?
On my way to the Jaipur literature festival (JLF) this January,
I was pondering why was there so much growing interest in reading and writing
in India now?
Why so many literary festivals? While this is a welcome pandemic, there must be
some robust reasons behind it.
I found the answer in one of the sessions by Javed Akhtar
Saheb, who is a well-known poet, screenplay writer and Hindi film lyricist. His
name has become synonymous with JLF. He and Gulzar Saheb (though the latter was
absent this year or maybe I missed him at the festival) have been crowd-pulling
festival regulars.
In
one of his sessions, Javed Saheb had this to say about the revival of our
interest in the arts: “We had abandoned language and arts in the last 30-40 years. We
wanted cars and fridges. Now today's generation takes them for granted. They
want something else. They want arts, and literature, and so this revival.” What
he says makes sense. Perhaps it is even true. But is this view too simplistic?
I am asking this
because a danger lurks around the corner of this insight. While lit fests are an endearing feature of a changing
India
(along with the nationwide ban on plastic bags), they could signal something
else altogether and “Booker-award winning” novelist Howard Jacobson had this
point to make which is equally convincing: Today, we have more writers than readers. We complain of the death of the novel. But the problem is with
readers, not novels. Everyone wants to write, and no one wants to read. Meeting
authors has replaced the necessity of reading.
He had made this point
in one of his columns too—I remember reading it. He was, in his column,
referring to a literary city like London. The point he is
making it this—are literary festivals replacing the reading habit? Is meeting
authors, listening to their talks and getting their autographs enough to
qualify us to skip the hard work of actually reading their books?
On a panel discussion
on the future of the novel, Howard Jacobson was at his cantankerous best, and I
loved everything he said. Howard was among the
three writers this year who drew me to the festival—the other two were Yiyun Li
and Musharraf Ali Farooqi. I admire all three of them (I heard them but did not meet them in person; I did not even take their picture. I just listened to them and took mental notes).
This
was my first time at JLF and the festival was as colourful and cacophonous as I
had expected it to be. In its first edition years ago, it had attracted 7,000
people. This time the organizers said footfall was about 2 lakhs (Sounds like a
mall, doesn’t it?). Getting a seat was always a problem at the festival but
people were unfazed. They fought for seats.
While
the festival attracts top writers from all over the world, one reason for its
popularity is Bollywood. Members of India’s
film fraternity are an integral part of the festival (Gulzar, Javed Akhtar,
Prasoon Joshi, Shabana Azmi, and this year Neelesh Misra too was introduced to
the public). Not satisfied with their popularity, this year the festival
organisers added cricket and religion to the mix to a great effect. We had
Dalai Lama and Rahul Dravid at the fest who injected a dose of spirituality and
sports into the milieu in their own way.
But
this was not everybody’s idea of how a lit fest should be. At the same time
when Dravid’s session was going on, eminent Hindi writers like Ashok
Chakradhar, Ikraam Rajasthani and Atul Kanakk were holding a session on ‘Navras’.
The crowd was going hysterical on Dravid’s side (Tata Steel lawns). Ashok made
us do a ‘ho ho’ too as a counterpunch to the other side’s level of enthusiasm:
it was cricket vs Hindi and the audience did not let Hindi down. It was good
fun.
To
enter the venue, one had to go through many security checks. But this was not
that unpleasant, and once inside, you were in for a treat. Colourful tents,
sunshine, bookstores, art and craft shops, people with elongated lenses
attached to their cameras, autograph hunters, writers, and food for thought. A
lot was going on inside the barricaded Diggi Palace. Besides
the chai in earthen cups and pyaaz kachodi with delicious chutney, there was a
variety of food available at Diggi Palace. Unfortunately,
smoking was banned on the second day but we saw many foreigners smoking away,
oblivious to the promised fine of Rs 200 that had been imposed on those who
smoked inside the festival venue. When my friend complained to the police, they
said, “Kya Karen Saheb? Yeh toh foreigners hain.” (What to do, sir? These are
foreigners). My desi friend’s cigarettes had been impounded at the entrance of
the Diggi Palace and
so he was angry. If JLF organizers are reading this, they should designate
smoking areas at the festival venue. Smokers will smoke and if you force them
to do it surreptitiously, they become fire hazards. So please, be a little more
practical.
The
auto wallahs had a field day during the festival. They happily overcharged us
everyday from the venue (some 7 kilometers) to our hotel. They justified the
overcharging by saying that the traffic is very bad because of the police
bandobast. Many fellow attendees I talked to said that orgainsers should
arrange bus service to hotels. Another great suggestion.
I had
hoped to meet Musharraf Ali Farooqi (whose work of translation, The Adventures
of Amir Hamza, I had been enjoying) at the Random House party on January 25 but
unfortunately the party was moved to another day because it fell on a dry day.
I had to return to Delhi the
next day, so I missed the party altogether. We were, however, on the same
flight from Delhi to
Jaipur and that was a consoling thought.
On
the way back to Delhi, I
saw newsman Rajdeep Sardesai (CNN-IBN) boarding our plane. He kept to himself
and after landing in Delhi, on
the bus to the terminal, I got a seat right in front of him. A lady with a
toddler was too excited to see him and when she could not contain her
excitement, she asked the man: Are you Rajdeep Sardesai? Rajdeep politely
smiled and nodded yes. The woman beamed for a while at this affirmation. Soon,
we reached the airport terminal and went our separate ways.
During
the festival, I did not mob anyone for autographs. I did not buy any books as I
had already ordered the books that I wanted to buy through Flipkart. All I had
were some good memories, and there were voices from the festival that echoed in
my head. I was glad that this year the festival did not generate any
controversy. I was so wrong.
The
next day I read of the Ashish Nandy controversy in the papers. I had completely
missed it but I could not stop smiling. JLF and controversy go hand in hand
now—last time, it was Rushdie (in absentia) and this time, Nandy.
