Our golden boy of literature was the star attraction at the recent Shillong Literary Festival in mysterious Meghalaya. “I was only warned last night that I would have to speak. I agreed on two conditions: a rice beer in one hand and a twig of cherry blossom in the other. Reading and writing are both intensely private activities. So… all this publishing tamasha is absolutely pointless—you should all go home immediately and read a book!” Rockstar Chief Minister Conrad K. Sangma, seated next to Seth, grinned at the poet’s irreverence, while the audience cheered.
I joined the small group, enjoying a cuppa with the CM, in the Author’s Lounge, as Seth held court and commented as only he can. As photographers clicked away, he turned to me, brow deeply furrowed, and asked, “Is this the first time you didn’t run away from being photographed with a politician?” The elusive author was making a rarer than rare appearance at a literary fest, and had risked life and limb, travelling in his jaunty red Jimny through Manipur, to attend the event.
Vikram Seth and Shobhaa De
At a scintillating session, ably moderated by Malavika Banerjee, Seth was on ‘fyaaaa’ as he sprang to his feet and performed a libretto, with gusto. He read stanzas from A Golden Gate, talked about A Suitable Boy, and discussed his writing process with a mesmerised audience hanging on to his every word. “At heart, I do see myself as a poet… fiction is not my métier… prose is always unfinished… there is a memorability to poetry,’’ he said, “It is the emotional content and not technique of a poem that matters. That is the beauty of a poem—the technique should be well-hidden.” Seth reads his own work exceedingly well…. Something I had marvelled at when I first heard him at the British Council in Mumbai, soon after the global success of A Suitable Boy. He recalled our meetings with remarkable clarity, as I gushed away, hanging on to his every word… with gratitude.
Seth is a genius, with an extraordinary mind and a rare talent that has yet to ripen to its full richness. His latest work, a masterly translation of a timeless hymn—’Hanuman Chalisa’—into English, has been widely lauded by critics, given the complexity of doing justice to its 40 rhythmic verses written more than five centuries ago, as an ode to Hanuman.
Seth has been travelling at a manic pace through the length and breadth of India, in his beloved Jimny, which he sees as “a female with a wilful mind”. The red he was looking for in a car had to be the right red, he said, not the cerise red of cherries—which is a depressing colour. Clearly, he found the perfect red and his adventures with the Jimny got underway. I didn’t spot her at the lit fest and asked where she was, “She’s resting after being stuck in Manipur for five days,’’ he answered solemnly.
At a gala night by the hotel pool, where a loud band was playing Boney M. hits, Seth and I attempted a frustrating and fractured conversation over the din. There was just one thing to do—escape. We did. To a kid’s zone. The perfect setting for a heart-to-heart with a man I consider a ‘gift’ to the world.
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