Just Like That | Notes on three remarkable people, past and present
Of how Khushwant Singh helped me — then, a novice writer — get my first book published; of Zail Singh's immeasurable wit; and of Malavika Sarukkai's gift of dance.
Khushwant Singh
Khushwant Singh, who died at the ripe age of 99 in 2014, had become a legend in his own lifetime. While he loved to shock the prudish by flaunting his love for women and scotch, the truth is that he led a highly disciplined life, and was a rigorous scholar and historian (his two-volume History of the Sikhs stands testimony), apart from being a talented writer of fiction.
I first met him in 1986. I was visiting India on leave from New York, where I was posted in our permanent mission to the United Nations. I had written a 300-page manuscript on the life and times of Ghalib (Ghalib: The Man, The Times), which I misguidedly thought would be snapped up by a publisher in the six weeks that I was in Delhi. Alas, nothing like that happened. I was about to go back in a few days, when HD Shourie, a father figure to me and the pioneering founder of the non-governmental organisation Common Cause, called to ask me about the fate of my book. When I told him that I had had no luck, he asked me to see Khushwant Singh.
When I reached Khushwant’s apartment in Sujan Singh Park the next day, to my surprise he was reading a copy of my manuscript. His son-in-law, Ravi Dayal, was the editor of Oxford University Press, and had given Khushwant the manuscript to read. Straight away, he said to me: "Mujhe aapki kitab bahut pasand aayi hai (I really liked your book)". Penguin was going to open shop in India, he informed me, and he was the consulting editor. He would recommend my book to Penguin India’s brilliant founder-editor, David Davidar. I could hardly believe my ears. For one who was feeling orphaned as a first-time writer, Penguin sounded like an impossible dream. But Khushwant followed up on his promise. I had returned to New York when David called to say that Penguin would publish it.
I will forever remain indebted to Khushwant for his willing intervention for an unknown author. Fortunately, the book was a considerable success, going into umpteen editions, and being published in many languages.
Soon after the publication of the book, my wife and I were invited for drinks at his home. His evening durbar had fixed rules. It began at 7 pm sharp, and ended at 8 pm sharp. Khushwant sat in the corner with his feet on a modha (stool) and had his two large whiskies. It was arguably the most exclusive salon in Delhi, held every day, never with more than about four-to-six people — the crème da la crème of journalists, writers, politicians, and artists.
I will be going — like many times in the past — to the Khushwant Singh Literary Festival in Kasauli in mid-October this year. My best wishes to the organisers, Khushwant’s son Rahul, and his partner, Niloufer.
Zail Singh
The former president of India had a rustic but sharp wit. Arun Shourie once told me about his meeting with Zail Singh in 1980, when he had taken over as home minister, after Indira Gandhi’s return to power. Arun was seated on the sofa in the minister’s large office in North Block, while Singh was clearing some papers on his desk. A chamcha (lackey) of the minister was in the room, and loudly began to question Arun’s opposition to the Emergency. Indira was the unquestioned leader, he exclaimed, the Durga of Indian politics, and so on. Suddenly Zail Singh got up and admonished this man: "Oye, chup kar (hey, be quiet)." Embracing Arun, he said: "Shourie ji, tussi likho, hor likho, padta kaun hai! (Shourie sir, you write, write all you want, but who is reading it?)."
Malavika Sarukkai
Malavika is an ethereal dancer, among the doyens of Bharata Natyam. Last week, in one of her rare performances in the national Capital, she presented Anubandh — Connectedness, her new production. It is an artist’s response to the isolation, loneliness, and trepidation arising from the Covid-19 pandemic, and emphasises our primordial relationship with the Pancha Mahabhutas (The five great elements) — prithvi (earth), aapah (water), agni (fire), vayu (wind), and akasha (space). Kudos also to Sai Shravanam, her sound designer, and Niranjan Gokhale, the light director.
May Malavika continue to perform for many, more years to come.
Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha).
Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences with HT Premium readers
The views expressed are personal
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