Delhi is full of interesting stories. And Malvika ‘Mala’ Singh, publisher of the monthly in-depth magazine, Seminar, and the grand old lady of the city’s elite club, knows them all.
In the 1950s, when she was about 12 years old, her family moved from Bombay to Delhi. Her parents were journalists Raj and Romesh Thapar (they started Seminar in 1959 after the Communist Party began using Crossroads, the tabloid they then edited, as a mouthpiece). Her aunt is historian Romila Thapar. At Modern School, Barakhamba Road, she met – and later married – Tejbir Singh, the grandon of Sir Sobha Singh (the legendary builder of New Delhi who was also called, ‘Aadhi Dilli ka Malik’ ) and the nephew of Khushwant Singh. Anybody who is somebody in the city is a friend of hers – and so her new book, Perpetual City:
A Short Biography Of Delhi (part of Aleph’s series of short city biographies) is more about her life in Delhi than the city itself. Reading the book is like having a conversation with her, there’s some gossip about the crème de la crème of Delhi, there is her disdain for babus and their mismanagement, there’s nostalgia and there is the delight at being a Delhiwallah.
We met her at the vibrantly furnished Seminar office at Janpath to talk about her book and her love for Delhi, the perpetual city.
We met her at the vibrantly furnished Seminar office at Janpath to talk about her book and her love for Delhi, the perpetual city.
Excerpts from the interview:
Did you deliberately set out to write the book like a memoir?
When David [Davidar] asked me to write a biography of Delhi, I said to him, “I’m not a historian, so the way I would consider doing it would be to weave the city through the changes I saw while growing up.” So, I took a 50-year chunk [from the late Fifties until now] and wrote it. The historical thing is obviously researched.
But the book is not about Delhi as much as it is about my life. There’s no other way I could do it. Who wants to read a book that says you know – [Delhi was established in so-and-so year]? It’s just too boring! And nobody really knows when the first city of Delhi really was. If you go back to the Mahabharata, there is Indraprastha... so, the idea was that the reader could imagine what may have happened in the past and what could happen in the future.
You were born in Mumbai and lived there till you were 12. What do you think of the city now?
I know that city well. But Bombay was very different in those days – there was a lot of theatre and music and art. It has become a glorified slum now. I find it very difficult and superficial as a city.
I have very old friends there, so once a year maybe one makes a trip. But I don’t connect to the city.
Over the years, Delhi has grown into a very exciting city at all levels – culture, literature, journalism, art, fashion. That’s why we decided on the title [of the book] as Perpetual City because that’s what it is – it keeps on adding value! Delhi is a layered city in each of its avatars, it has a soul that is unlike Bombay.
Bombay used to be the lively cultural hub. It has just dissipated. It tries. It will have a little lit fest, but it’s not like this city where the galleries are jumping, there’s music – something or the other is happening in the city right through the year! It’s not like there’s a season, ki October mein season shuru hua, February mein khatam ho gaya. Delhi is the only city that encompasses that ethos of a civilisation, which is quite special. Some of this needs to be replicated in all the state capitals.
But in your book, there are also tones of a growing dissatisfaction with the city.
Not with the city, but with the people who run the city. And I think the angst is, here you have the space to spread out but there is no creativity or regulation in new buildings. You need some autonomous bodies which work with governments to infuse unusual ideas into bureaucratic mindsets and make the cities vibrant.
It is unforgiveable that a historic city like Delhi, which can be equated with Rome and Cairo, can be maltreated by the municipalities in the manner it has been.
So why do you think Delhi has such a bad reputation?
Does it? It’s never happened to me, so I can’t comment. I’ve always enjoyed myself when I travelled because people have sought me out and said, “What’s happening in Dastkar?”, or “What is the PM up to?” or “What’s happening behind the scenes?” There is a great interest. When I go to Bombay, I don’t say, “Arre, what’s happening behind the scenes in the Maharashtra government?” In reverse, when I ask what’s happening in city, I hear, “You know, five days ago we had a qawwali performance.” But for us you want to hear a qawwali you go to Nizamuddin on Thursday or Friday night and you hear a qawwali. We’re privileged as Delhiwallas.
Do you like the way the city has changed?
The reason I love Delhi is because it is never static. I loved it when I came in as a child. It was a capital city, it was politics, it was well-known people (and their doors and gates were open, everyone could meet them. They weren’t like these nutcases who keep their doors closed, six guards toting guns). But I love it for that also, you’ve got the old, you’ve got the new, it’s constantly changing.
But you liked it better then.
I tried to curb it. But there is nostalgia because I tell you, it was happy! Even growing up, you know, I was thrown out of [Delhi] University, I went to drama school [National School of Drama] but never did theatre and film except Masoom. I’m a misfit, I’m proud of being, what I call, a professional dilettante. I have lived my life dabbling in lots of things, enjoying it thoroughly.Is it difficult to run a magazine like Seminar now?
The difficulty is the rather intellectually mediocre community that has the money to advertise. The advertising support of Seminar are old business houses – the Tatas, the Mahindras, these guys supported intellectual ventures because the corporate world in the Fifties was part of nation building. They understood the need for platforms like Seminar and other news magazines and tabloids. Today, you have to beg for advertising support.
I once wrote to Keshub Mahindra for the renewal of ad-contract and he wrote back saying, "Mala, you do not have to write to me. As long as I am alive, Mahindra will support you in your advertising." The fear is, how long can this last?
But this is the only anchor in my life. It is the pivot around which all people I like – in art, music – keep coming back. This office is like an adda. This adda culture, you only have in Delhi. You do not have it in Bombay.
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From HT Brunch, December 8
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