An Intrepid freelance reporter and uninvited writer disobeys his doctor’s orders, discontinues his medication, disguises himself as a normal human being, descends on the latest literary festival to discloak writers and disabuse readers of their disnotions (okay, the last isn’t a word).
Session 1
Let’s start with this confident young writer. A quick Google search revealed that, among other things, she was "an Veteran Indian novelist, yoga teacher, entrepreneur, and speaker..." (Wikipedia). Dressed in designer wear and flawless makeup, the poised young lady spoke at length about her non-fiction book on India’s new sexual revolution. The writer called the Mahatma “the biggest prude” and blamed Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Swami Vivekananda and MK Gandhi squarely for being “the three dampeners of Indian sexuality”.
In a move to right these terrible wrongs perpetrated on Indian society, apparently with every copy of the next edition of her book, readers could get a miniature hair dryer and a strip of Spy 303 Ayurvedic Capsules (known for their unforgettable baseline: Bandook ke peeche kya hai?). The first to get rid of the dampening. And the second to demolish prudery.
Session 2
A large gathering of eager fans cheered wildly when this Literary Rockstar came on. When he “hinted” – which he did by nudging his moderator, winking, rolling his eyes, giggling and making other finger-, hand- and eyebrow movements indicative of hinting – that, in line with his previous epic retellings, he could be writing a series on Manu as well as the Mahabharata, the applause from the fans was thunderous.
A small section of non-fans, however, gouged their eyeballs out quietly with a ballpoint pen that they passed around.
The writer then cleared all doubts about Lord Rama’s year of birth by thumping on a table and declaring that it was 3433 BCE. But when a fan asked him how much royalty the author had got for his latest book, he was less certain.
Later, when the unstoppable superstar picked a winner in a writing competition, he said that it was because what he read had made him cry. Taking a moment from the rivetting proceedings, I immediately WhatsApped my old maths teacher, Dhandapani. “When there wasn’t a single thing I wrote that didn’t make you weep or sob,” said my message, “why then, sir, did you call me a loser?”
Session 3
“Writers are keepers of sanity,” said this dignitary. The audience reacted with a huge cheer.
This may have had to do with their wholehearted approval of his statement.
On the other hand, it may have been because of what was happening in the background: a writer of literary fiction in hot pursuit (his hardbound edition held aloft like a club) of a fleeing journalist who had given him a less-than-flattering review, cursing alternately in Malayalam and French.
Session 4
In a well-attended session, this bestselling writer of commercial fiction had the audience in thrall. Speaking of her days as an ad professional when she wrote several memorable, if-incomprehensible-to-Madrasis-like-myself-on-account-of-her-predilection-for-Punjabi-nonsense-words-but-who-cares-about-the-South-right taglines, she hilariously said “Cricketers are terrible actors!”
This had the audience in splits, though not one of them was a trained ballet dancer.
This also brought up an invigorating debate about actors being terrible cricketers, mountaineers being horrible chefs, criminals being atrocious astronauts and writers being bad listeners.
Fine stuff, I tell you.
Session 5
“Writers are not responsible for riots. Rioters are. Rioters don’t read books,” said an exiled writer.
As a Chennai-based writer, I had to object. This is the kind of sweeping generalisation that is the bane of our country. Who said readers don’t riot? If she had only attended my book launch in Chennai where they had run out of bondas, she would have known what a real riot looked like. One organised by a bunch of septuagenarians using their dentures and walking sticks with merciless precision, at that.
Session 6
At the session with the Big Three was where I learnt the most.
One of them brought Hemingway into the discussion. (Surprisingly enough, it was neither Margaux nor Mariel but their lesser-known relation, someone called Ernest.) He said that the obscure writer’s remark, “Write drunk, edit sober,” needed a snappy, with-it addendum: “Marketing is the hangover’.
At the mention of liquor, the crowd broke into raptures. A couple of audience members took this as a cue to take discreet nips from their hip flasks making them miss out the fact that the hangover comes between the drunk and sober stages. Not after. And if this new truth was investigated... well, too complicated, forget it.
This was followed by the bestselling writer saying that one should be the CEO of one’s book.
That made me feel bad instantly. Because, despite three offerings, I was still the office boy of my book. CEO? It would take me years to make it to asst regional manager.
Writer Two said that when he went around trying to get his first book, an epic-based one, published, all the publishers told him the same thing. Write an IIM-based love story.
“But I didn’t have one,” he said. “I met my wife when I was fifteen.”
To which, Writer One wittily retorted, ‘You don’t have to be a criminal to write thrillers!’
The audience roared in agreement.
I had to nod. Unfortunately, some perpetrations are still not officially recognized as crimes.
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli is the author of the press-fresh How to be a Literary Sensation: A Quick Guide to Exploiting Friends, Family & Facebook for Financial Gain, coyly inveigling readers to pick it up from bookshelves across the country. He lit festers periodically.
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Session 1
Let’s start with this confident young writer. A quick Google search revealed that, among other things, she was "an Veteran Indian novelist, yoga teacher, entrepreneur, and speaker..." (Wikipedia). Dressed in designer wear and flawless makeup, the poised young lady spoke at length about her non-fiction book on India’s new sexual revolution. The writer called the Mahatma “the biggest prude” and blamed Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Swami Vivekananda and MK Gandhi squarely for being “the three dampeners of Indian sexuality”.
In a move to right these terrible wrongs perpetrated on Indian society, apparently with every copy of the next edition of her book, readers could get a miniature hair dryer and a strip of Spy 303 Ayurvedic Capsules (known for their unforgettable baseline: Bandook ke peeche kya hai?). The first to get rid of the dampening. And the second to demolish prudery.
Session 2
A large gathering of eager fans cheered wildly when this Literary Rockstar came on. When he “hinted” – which he did by nudging his moderator, winking, rolling his eyes, giggling and making other finger-, hand- and eyebrow movements indicative of hinting – that, in line with his previous epic retellings, he could be writing a series on Manu as well as the Mahabharata, the applause from the fans was thunderous.
A small section of non-fans, however, gouged their eyeballs out quietly with a ballpoint pen that they passed around.
The writer then cleared all doubts about Lord Rama’s year of birth by thumping on a table and declaring that it was 3433 BCE. But when a fan asked him how much royalty the author had got for his latest book, he was less certain.
Later, when the unstoppable superstar picked a winner in a writing competition, he said that it was because what he read had made him cry. Taking a moment from the rivetting proceedings, I immediately WhatsApped my old maths teacher, Dhandapani. “When there wasn’t a single thing I wrote that didn’t make you weep or sob,” said my message, “why then, sir, did you call me a loser?”
Session 3
“Writers are keepers of sanity,” said this dignitary. The audience reacted with a huge cheer.
This may have had to do with their wholehearted approval of his statement.
On the other hand, it may have been because of what was happening in the background: a writer of literary fiction in hot pursuit (his hardbound edition held aloft like a club) of a fleeing journalist who had given him a less-than-flattering review, cursing alternately in Malayalam and French.
Session 4
In a well-attended session, this bestselling writer of commercial fiction had the audience in thrall. Speaking of her days as an ad professional when she wrote several memorable, if-incomprehensible-to-Madrasis-like-myself-on-account-of-her-predilection-for-Punjabi-nonsense-words-but-who-cares-about-the-South-right taglines, she hilariously said “Cricketers are terrible actors!”
This had the audience in splits, though not one of them was a trained ballet dancer.
This also brought up an invigorating debate about actors being terrible cricketers, mountaineers being horrible chefs, criminals being atrocious astronauts and writers being bad listeners.
Fine stuff, I tell you.
Session 5
“Writers are not responsible for riots. Rioters are. Rioters don’t read books,” said an exiled writer.
As a Chennai-based writer, I had to object. This is the kind of sweeping generalisation that is the bane of our country. Who said readers don’t riot? If she had only attended my book launch in Chennai where they had run out of bondas, she would have known what a real riot looked like. One organised by a bunch of septuagenarians using their dentures and walking sticks with merciless precision, at that.
Session 6
At the session with the Big Three was where I learnt the most.
One of them brought Hemingway into the discussion. (Surprisingly enough, it was neither Margaux nor Mariel but their lesser-known relation, someone called Ernest.) He said that the obscure writer’s remark, “Write drunk, edit sober,” needed a snappy, with-it addendum: “Marketing is the hangover’.
At the mention of liquor, the crowd broke into raptures. A couple of audience members took this as a cue to take discreet nips from their hip flasks making them miss out the fact that the hangover comes between the drunk and sober stages. Not after. And if this new truth was investigated... well, too complicated, forget it.
This was followed by the bestselling writer saying that one should be the CEO of one’s book.
That made me feel bad instantly. Because, despite three offerings, I was still the office boy of my book. CEO? It would take me years to make it to asst regional manager.
Writer Two said that when he went around trying to get his first book, an epic-based one, published, all the publishers told him the same thing. Write an IIM-based love story.
“But I didn’t have one,” he said. “I met my wife when I was fifteen.”
To which, Writer One wittily retorted, ‘You don’t have to be a criminal to write thrillers!’
The audience roared in agreement.
I had to nod. Unfortunately, some perpetrations are still not officially recognized as crimes.
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli is the author of the press-fresh How to be a Literary Sensation: A Quick Guide to Exploiting Friends, Family & Facebook for Financial Gain, coyly inveigling readers to pick it up from bookshelves across the country. He lit festers periodically.
