It’s not every day that one gets to see hundreds of Indian girls between the ages of 16 and 24, all dressed as if for a first date, break into a riot for the sight of a writer. And yet it’s a scene so common for Durjoy Datta, 28-year-old author of romance fiction who’s as adored for his rakish looks as he is for capturing the pulse of young India, that he can only look at it with distracted amusement.
The female adulation had started with the very first novel Datta wrote as a 21 year old, Of Course I Love You …! Till I Find Someone Better, the title unveiling the code of love in contemporary India. It grew manically as he went on to write one paperback after another drawing from the world of hookups and breakups around him: Now That You're Rich!; She Broke Up, I Didn't!; Ohh Yes, I Am Single!, You Were My Crush… With every new book, there were more Facebook friend requests, more likes on his gym selfies, more declarations of undying love on the fan pages.
Good looks marketing
Datta’s good looks and their effect on young female readers are now at the core of marketing strategies for his books. Just after the release of his last book, When Only Love Remains, he asked his female fans to post selfies with their copies of the book on his Facebook page.
To promote his latest novel, World’s Best Boyfriend, the marketing team of his publisher Penguin Random House organised a contest in participation with the dating website OK Cupid, whose winner is shortly to enjoy exclusive online time with Datta.
At the Delhi launch of the book at the Oxford Bookstore last week, his editor described him to me as “hardworking”. Not every writer, she implied, could go on a 14-city tour, each swarming with hundreds of fans dying to tell him how much they loved him, and not complain once of exhaustion.
Doting fans
The Delhi event was supposed to conclude the tour. The marketing team was expecting it to be milder than those in cities like Kota or Ahmedabad where Datta has a dominant hold over young readers – until they started getting calls confirming time and place from the parents of girls so young that they needed to be escorted to the event. The first thing I saw on entering the large and brightly lit bookstore at 5 p.m, the scheduled time for the launch, was groups of young girls positioned in passages and corners throughout the winding space, each holding a cellphone aloft in an angle trusted to produce a selfie.
There were boys, too, many of them being explained the greatness of Datta by girls they had accompanied to prove their devotion and lack of jealousy. At the desk where Datta’s eleven books were displayed for sale, boys gave each other coded looks as girls discussed Datta’s female characters they most related to. At the cash counter, the queue of parents holding stacks of Datta’s books grew longer by the minute.
By 5.30 p.m, anticipating Datta’s entry any minute, a crowd of nearly 200 people had squeezed itself inside a long and narrow section at the back of the store meant to seat no more than fifty. Running my eyes over the audience from a ledge in the rear, I could see a sea of hair clips and elastic bands.
“Are you a fan of Durjoy’s?” I asked an attractive girl in the crowd who was lost in Datta’s latest book. “He’s awesome,” replied Prachi, an 18-year-old who had come to the event with her boyfriend, who looked adoringly at her she spoke. “I find Durjoy super cute. He writes very well about college life. He’s my favourite writer till now.” As I said my thanks and turned around to speak to another fan, she poked me in the arm to tell me that she had come “all the way from Meerut” for the launch.
Neha, 24-year-old content writer from Delhi, told me she found Durjoy “too amazing. He’s very cute. I really like his dimples. I like his characters. They are realistic, very beautifully portrayed. I have read all his books.” Another Neha in the crowd said it was Datta’s first book she was reading and “I immediately followed him on twitter and Instagram.”
I asked her what she liked the most about the book. “His dimples,” she said without wasting a second. For a group of 16-year-olds from a posh Delhi school, the most amazing about Datta’s writing was that he seemed to have “experience of love and relationship. He really knows what goes inside a girl’s head.” Also, they added, he was “very cute, damn hot.”
Durjoy Datta live
At 6 p.m, when Datta finally entered the bookstore, I knew it from the collective gasp of a nearly 300-strong crowd, followed by a mad rush of heels on the floor. Within seconds, he was safely escorted to the stage at the front of the section, its entry blocked with movable shelves of books.
As the crowd poured back inside, I found myself trapped amidst a press of bodies so dense on each side that I was unable to see beyond it, the happenings on the stage visible to me only through the cellphone screens held overhead around me. Datta, clean-shaven, his hair trimmed to his signature crop, his grey T-shirt short and tight enough on the arms to outline the gentle curve of his biceps, was looking at the public with a film star’s self-conscious remove. He wasn’t going to read from the book or talk about it with a moderator. All he would do was take questions from his fans.
But as the mike went around, it was only those wise enough to be standing on top of chairs who got lucky. Here’s more or less how it went for the next 30 minutes:
Girl 1: “I just wanna say that I like you a lot. You are such an inspiration. I never thought I would actually see you.”
Datta: Thank you.
Girl 2: “You’re so cute! I want to ask you what is your motivation.”
Datta: Motivation for being cute? Hmm..
Boy 1: Durjoy Sir, how can one enter this industry? I want to one day write a book with you.
Datta: You have to write a book first and send it to a publisher.
Girl 3: You are hot! You don’t know me but I have sent you numerous messages on Facebook, email. All my display pictures are you on social media, my phone is filled with your photos. Can I hug you and get a picture with you.”
Datta: Sure.
Girl 4: “You are cute! Super-duper cute! And I love you!”
Girl 5: “I am your bigggggggest fan.!”
Girl 6: “Durjoy, will you marry me?”
Undying love
The collective cry of “Marry me!” that followed was so loud that the representative from the publishing house had to call for complete silence. The girls were asked to organise themselves in a queue for “book signing and selfie” with Datta.
The anticipation of being up and close with Datta was ripe enough by this time that instead of lining up in a neat order, the crowd broke into a scramble, arms and legs flying about in every direction. In the middle of the mayhem, original groups reformed and plotted strategies to get to the front. “See, you are short, so you will not be noticed squeezing your way to the stage,” the girl standing next to me advised her friend.
Over the next few minutes, I managed to slither out of the crowd and take up a position next to the exit for the stage, where girls emerged one by one after taking selfies with Datta and were received by their family and friends. The reunion led immediately to the whole party forming a huddle around the cell phone to examine the worthiness of the photo as Facebook post.
It looked like a scattering of little islands of activity with cell phone screens as life force. There was only sadness for those who braved it to the stage but were betrayed by their cell phones at the last minute. “Crap, crap, crap,” cried a girl as she hurled herself into the arms of her friends, “my phone, it died at the very moment! Can you believe it?”
At 7 p.m., as I got ready to leave the venue, there were nearly a hundred girls still waiting for their turn with Datta. The sky was turning dark outside, but it seemed to bother no one yet. Winding my way through the audience for the last time, I heard someone whisper over the phone, “Mom, I don’t know how long this will take, but I am not leaving until he has signed the book.”
We welcome your comments at
letters@scroll.in.
The female adulation had started with the very first novel Datta wrote as a 21 year old, Of Course I Love You …! Till I Find Someone Better, the title unveiling the code of love in contemporary India. It grew manically as he went on to write one paperback after another drawing from the world of hookups and breakups around him: Now That You're Rich!; She Broke Up, I Didn't!; Ohh Yes, I Am Single!, You Were My Crush… With every new book, there were more Facebook friend requests, more likes on his gym selfies, more declarations of undying love on the fan pages.
Good looks marketing
Datta’s good looks and their effect on young female readers are now at the core of marketing strategies for his books. Just after the release of his last book, When Only Love Remains, he asked his female fans to post selfies with their copies of the book on his Facebook page.
To promote his latest novel, World’s Best Boyfriend, the marketing team of his publisher Penguin Random House organised a contest in participation with the dating website OK Cupid, whose winner is shortly to enjoy exclusive online time with Datta.
At the Delhi launch of the book at the Oxford Bookstore last week, his editor described him to me as “hardworking”. Not every writer, she implied, could go on a 14-city tour, each swarming with hundreds of fans dying to tell him how much they loved him, and not complain once of exhaustion.
Doting fans
The Delhi event was supposed to conclude the tour. The marketing team was expecting it to be milder than those in cities like Kota or Ahmedabad where Datta has a dominant hold over young readers – until they started getting calls confirming time and place from the parents of girls so young that they needed to be escorted to the event. The first thing I saw on entering the large and brightly lit bookstore at 5 p.m, the scheduled time for the launch, was groups of young girls positioned in passages and corners throughout the winding space, each holding a cellphone aloft in an angle trusted to produce a selfie.
There were boys, too, many of them being explained the greatness of Datta by girls they had accompanied to prove their devotion and lack of jealousy. At the desk where Datta’s eleven books were displayed for sale, boys gave each other coded looks as girls discussed Datta’s female characters they most related to. At the cash counter, the queue of parents holding stacks of Datta’s books grew longer by the minute.
By 5.30 p.m, anticipating Datta’s entry any minute, a crowd of nearly 200 people had squeezed itself inside a long and narrow section at the back of the store meant to seat no more than fifty. Running my eyes over the audience from a ledge in the rear, I could see a sea of hair clips and elastic bands.
“Are you a fan of Durjoy’s?” I asked an attractive girl in the crowd who was lost in Datta’s latest book. “He’s awesome,” replied Prachi, an 18-year-old who had come to the event with her boyfriend, who looked adoringly at her she spoke. “I find Durjoy super cute. He writes very well about college life. He’s my favourite writer till now.” As I said my thanks and turned around to speak to another fan, she poked me in the arm to tell me that she had come “all the way from Meerut” for the launch.
Neha, 24-year-old content writer from Delhi, told me she found Durjoy “too amazing. He’s very cute. I really like his dimples. I like his characters. They are realistic, very beautifully portrayed. I have read all his books.” Another Neha in the crowd said it was Datta’s first book she was reading and “I immediately followed him on twitter and Instagram.”
I asked her what she liked the most about the book. “His dimples,” she said without wasting a second. For a group of 16-year-olds from a posh Delhi school, the most amazing about Datta’s writing was that he seemed to have “experience of love and relationship. He really knows what goes inside a girl’s head.” Also, they added, he was “very cute, damn hot.”
Durjoy Datta live
At 6 p.m, when Datta finally entered the bookstore, I knew it from the collective gasp of a nearly 300-strong crowd, followed by a mad rush of heels on the floor. Within seconds, he was safely escorted to the stage at the front of the section, its entry blocked with movable shelves of books.
As the crowd poured back inside, I found myself trapped amidst a press of bodies so dense on each side that I was unable to see beyond it, the happenings on the stage visible to me only through the cellphone screens held overhead around me. Datta, clean-shaven, his hair trimmed to his signature crop, his grey T-shirt short and tight enough on the arms to outline the gentle curve of his biceps, was looking at the public with a film star’s self-conscious remove. He wasn’t going to read from the book or talk about it with a moderator. All he would do was take questions from his fans.
But as the mike went around, it was only those wise enough to be standing on top of chairs who got lucky. Here’s more or less how it went for the next 30 minutes:
Girl 1: “I just wanna say that I like you a lot. You are such an inspiration. I never thought I would actually see you.”
Datta: Thank you.
Girl 2: “You’re so cute! I want to ask you what is your motivation.”
Datta: Motivation for being cute? Hmm..
Boy 1: Durjoy Sir, how can one enter this industry? I want to one day write a book with you.
Datta: You have to write a book first and send it to a publisher.
Girl 3: You are hot! You don’t know me but I have sent you numerous messages on Facebook, email. All my display pictures are you on social media, my phone is filled with your photos. Can I hug you and get a picture with you.”
Datta: Sure.
Girl 4: “You are cute! Super-duper cute! And I love you!”
Girl 5: “I am your bigggggggest fan.!”
Girl 6: “Durjoy, will you marry me?”
Undying love
The collective cry of “Marry me!” that followed was so loud that the representative from the publishing house had to call for complete silence. The girls were asked to organise themselves in a queue for “book signing and selfie” with Datta.
The anticipation of being up and close with Datta was ripe enough by this time that instead of lining up in a neat order, the crowd broke into a scramble, arms and legs flying about in every direction. In the middle of the mayhem, original groups reformed and plotted strategies to get to the front. “See, you are short, so you will not be noticed squeezing your way to the stage,” the girl standing next to me advised her friend.
Over the next few minutes, I managed to slither out of the crowd and take up a position next to the exit for the stage, where girls emerged one by one after taking selfies with Datta and were received by their family and friends. The reunion led immediately to the whole party forming a huddle around the cell phone to examine the worthiness of the photo as Facebook post.
It looked like a scattering of little islands of activity with cell phone screens as life force. There was only sadness for those who braved it to the stage but were betrayed by their cell phones at the last minute. “Crap, crap, crap,” cried a girl as she hurled herself into the arms of her friends, “my phone, it died at the very moment! Can you believe it?”
At 7 p.m., as I got ready to leave the venue, there were nearly a hundred girls still waiting for their turn with Datta. The sky was turning dark outside, but it seemed to bother no one yet. Winding my way through the audience for the last time, I heard someone whisper over the phone, “Mom, I don’t know how long this will take, but I am not leaving until he has signed the book.”