5 best bits of the Jaipur Literature Festival
Much has been made of the crowds at Diggi -- are they the vanguard of a new literary army or flies buzzing around a boring belletristic elephant, to paraphrase one disappointed JLF veteran writing in Tehelka.
Billed as democratic -- and the world’s largest free literary festival cannot be denied that assertion -- the LitFest could be read as a microcosm of India. Either the representing multitudes speak to the robust state of literary affairs or symptoms of dynastic dyspepsia are already manifest in its leadership.
By a personal gauge, the festival in Jaipur is in the pink of health.
Words are accorded privilege, whether spoken or written, fictional or non-, in newsprint and online.
As a case in point, not one person abdicated even a precarious toehold at Nobel Laureate JM Coetzee’s session, despite the fact that he was simply going to read aloud from a story available in print, for a full 45 minutes.
Yet as the esoteric conversation between mother and son rendered in Coetzee’s precise and surprisingly unaccented monotone wound to a close, the applause was awed. Entire philosophies embedded in single sentences! It was the one moment in which the Jaipur Literature Festival was unashamedly undemocratic and Coetzee was owed his pedestal.
Here’s our list of the best of the fest:
Best books: Naqvi, Le, Banerjee and Diaz
The breathless tabloid tone of most of the coverage has guaranteed the festival’s unchecked growth but hasn’t contributed much to the central conversation. Too little has been said about the literature. What should we read?
For regional language authors like K Satchidanandan, historically marginalized voices like A Revathy or even literary colossus’ like Adam Zagajewski who haven’t yet straddled India, Jaipur's Diggi Palace offers a very impressive pulpit to proselytize from.
The PR babble around the DSC Literature Prize for South Asia “envisioned as a unique and prestigious award... transcending the origin or ethnicity of the author” self-consciously stole the spotlight from its first winner, Karachi-based writer HM Naqvi and his debut “Home Boy.”
The rest of the writers had to sing for their supper, and what a symphony it was.
Vietnamese-born Australian writer Nam Le could have traded on his sweet smile but it was the stunning simplicity of the reading from his highly regarded short story collection “The Boat” that moored Le’s new fan following here.
Slouched low on a sofa, Indian graphic novelist Sarnath Banerjee peppered his presentation with anecdote, digression, and good-natured barbs at fellow artist/writer Samit Basu. His rambling, cheeky storytelling from “The Harappa Files” created a longing to be able to read, watch and simultaneously listen to a story. The future of adult Indian animation is his to claim.
Junot Diaz’s wit, wisdom and liberal use of expletives meant more eyeballs for his “The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.” Let’s call it a win-win for reader and writer.
Best hangout: Café Flow
The pop-up café and bar rendered in green trees and purple vinyl was where the folks tagged ‘the glitterati’ retired for the taking of a toast and tea, or whatever their chosen libation.
To become a regular at a bar that’s only in existence for five days of the year takes some doing, but hundreds managed to rise to the challenge.
The most memorable moment this year at Flow -- the affectionate abbreviation -- is a testament to the festival’s easy charm.
Pakistani novelists and intellectuals including Mohsin Hamid, Kamila Shamsie and Ahmed Rashid were chatting, fittingly at a table in the centre of the cafe. With one ominous groan as warning, the table and then the couch collapsed, leaving them unhurt but with legs akimbo in the air.
Hamid, quick to think on his head, yelled, “It’s an Indian conspiracy!” and everybody within a hundred feet also collapsed, in giggles.
