Jaipǿr gLitterature Feztìíval 2014

The ‘rip-roaring’ Flashback

Two days before I arrived at the Golden Temple of literature, The JLF, I was near the original Golden Temple in Amritsar to attend a ‘once close’ friend’s wedding. 9 people showed up to pick me from the station. The car had a maximum seating capacity of 7. That’s Punjab for you.

At the wedding I wore a full-fledged turban for the first time ever. They all thought I looked mind-numbingly beautiful & beseeched me to convert (See pic). I took a rain-check.

As expected the wedding was an over-the-top glitzy affair. But no matter how much I crib the truth is I had a rollicking time with the family of the bride.  

I had to take the train back to Delhi as there were no direct trains to Jaipur from Amritsar. I missed my connecting train from Delhi & had to, for the 2^nd year running, take the bus. I suffered mild torture with the bus stopping at places I didn’t know even existed on the way to Jaipore. I was finally delivered in Jaipur at about 2:30pm. Train would have chucked me in by 10:30am. Ho!

Day 1 – Jaipure Litigation Flambouyestival

I had an instant orgasm and shamelessly confessed “This is so fucking beautiful”. Those were the Holy Scriptures I whispered as I entered (brushing past terrifically stunning girls & aunties) into the JLF world - Literary world - well perhaps. It’s the 4^th year of our risqué relationship yet everytime it feels like we’re making love for the first time.

I pounced onto this session called: LitCLit (or was it LitCrit………..excuse my broken French). Theme was: Critics vs. Writers.

Homi Bhabha, the moderator, looked the spitting image of Jack Nicholson.

Apart from ripping apart literary critic James Wood, the panellists asked for book reviews to be shortened to 120 words as no one anymore has the attention span longer than a goldfish (3 secs) / Kareena Kapoor (9 secs -- sources unreliable).  And mourned that every-loser is a reviewer/writer coz of the iNternet.

Carsten Jensen believes “what you love is basically shit”. We love Salman Khan films. So Jensen is right. Dammit.

Writer Philip Hensher admitted he loved ‘having written’ but hated the process of actual writing. He ‘Pinky Sweared’ if someone gave him millions to write a book, he’ll never write again. I believe him. How can anyone not believe Pinky Swear?

I walked out into the courtyard & found myself sucked toward a sandwich-Maggi stand. A volcano-hot girl was serving Maggi noodles. I wasn’t hungry, I bought it anyway. Don’t judge me.

Next session was:  Abandoning Iran

Fariba Hachtroudi, billionaire heiress from Iran, had migrated to France early in life. Later she (she’s the only one) paid a million to a smuggler to get her back into Iran. One crazy woman this.

Reza Aslan (millionaire from Iran, now millionaire in the US) enlightened us how George W Bush kept getting confused between Iran & Iraq. He’d end up sending the soldiers to Iran instead of Iraq. One crazy son-of-a-bi#@* this.

Aslan said Bahá'í community in Iran has no constitutional rights. Literally no rights. You can kill a Bahai person & not go to jail.

On that note I decided to head back to my hotel room. On my way out of JLF I saw a huge crowd trying their best to mob actor Irrfan Khan. 

For dinner I ate chicken changezi (or was it angrezi) & roomali roti while watching Suits. Suits is a stylish edge-of-the-seat legal drama. But it is the love story (Rachel-Mike) that absolutely knocks my socks off. P.S. If you haven’t watched Suits, you should slap yourself silly. Now. Do it.

Day 2 – Jypor iLiterature Fizztival

I noticed a lot of authors didn’t show up for their sessions for reasons varying from Flu, weren’t aware, didn’t get Visa coz they knew Salman Rushdie or simply forgot or got too drunk the night before & woke up to find themselves in West Bengal. Only (& only) Shashi Tharoor had a compelling reason to dropout: His wife was found dead under mysterious circumstances in a hotel room. R.I.P Sunanda.

Moving on. Front lawns had too many people. Most of them were here to see Jhumpa Lahiri so they could boast to their family & friends that they saw / clicked pix with Jhumpa Lahiri, who is quite pretty for her age (46) & being a writer & all. But talking incessantly when Lahiri is speaking & taking pictures persistently exposes the true nature of our youth, the Neo generation: Stunning-Shallow-Stupid.

To add insult to injury Chandrahas Choudhary was the moderator. He is so bad it hurts when he speaks. I wish I had a paintball gun. No luck.

It was a terrible session. Even the furiously hot girl in a short skirt & a cast on her left leg couldn’t stop me from dozing off.

Next session was Jhumpa Lahiri alone with Rupleena Bose. Bose was even worse moderator than Choudhary & that’s an award-worthy achievement.

Lahiri, reasonably boring, bored the crap outta her daughter (Lahiri’s husband, son & daughter were in the audience). Her son was fidgety as hell throughout. Lahiri’s husband maintained the façade of the perfect husband by seeming super interested in her talk.

True that Lahiri was boring yet refreshingly real & so serene that it felt awesome listening to her. I know I’ll never read her books. I’ll surely remember her for being honest & unassuming.

In the next session: The Art of Biography, Great Italian Painter, Caravaggio’s biographer Andrew Graham-Dixon justified Caravaggio for smashing the dinner plate full of artichokes on the waiter’s face & pelting his landlady’s window with stones. Thank god Graham-Dixon didn’t defend Caravaggio for murdering a man over the services of a prostitute. True that. Caravaggio is widely renowned for being a high maintenance pain-in-the-ass. 

Talking of pain-in-the-asses, our equivalent of Caravaggio one & only Suhail Seth asked “Why are all the great Executive Chefs men when women are infinitely better cooks.”

He also preached: “Being single is a state of mind. Most married men are.”

Reza Aslan advised budding writers to write a book about ‘Vampires & Love’ & you’ll do wonders.

In the final session of the day Sabrina Dhawan (Screenwriter of Monsoon Wedding) warned budding writers if they’ve something else in mind for a career, do that. The chances to become a screenwriter are worse than winning TattsLotto (multi-million dollar lottery). And if you still wanna write then write for the love of writing, not fame or money. At least at the start of it.

Day 3 – Zeepur Liberation Fantastical

On yet another chilly morning, Amish Tripathi (of Meluha fame) got a monstrous eardrum-shattering standing ovation. I wished to be dead.

He visibly shivered & quipped “I’m from Mumbai. I’m used to two seasons; hot & hotter.”

What surprised the crap outta me was the fact that Amish was reasonable, witty, well-read & spot on when answering the questions, even when questions were juvenile or borderline absurd.

He honestly answered direct questions & acknowledged that he has done Marijuana & continues to smoke occasionally.

Meru Gokhale, the moderator, couldn’t stop gushing over Amish. Such were the levels of sucking up I almost threw up all over the girl in front of me. Idealistically I should’ve spewed all over Meru (Does she own Meru cabs?).  

I decided to take a break & walked into the streets of Jaipur. I finally bought this gorgeous leather handmade Jutti I had been searching for to wear at my cousin’s wedding.

Struck up a breezy conversation with this lad from Detroit, Michigan USA at Jaipur’s delicacy: the Malai waali lassi shop. He was scandalized to find that the lovely kullads (mud glasses) were being chucked into the bin. And we blame the US for the excesses. Ha!

I returned to the session titled: Casualties of Love & Sex: The new gender fluidity.

Margaret Mascarenhas confessed she can’t live with anyone; man or woman. Whosoever she’s in a relationship with must have a house of their own.

Sachin Kundalkar (he’s gay) said he hated girls as a teenager as they snatched everyone he loved.

The final session I attended had my favourite writer of JLF 2014, Reza Aslan. He’s Muslim. He discussed his new book about ‘Jesus’. Reza said Jesus was not a revolutionary but a Politician & a lowly paid labourer for most of his life.

The Final Word

I couldn’t stay for the whole 5 days as mom had blackmailed me into returning in time for my cousin’s wedding. You see I’m not a big fan of weddings, I haven’t had one myself & I’m 32.

Anyway that’s that. I sorely missed Tarun Tejpal. No one was there to talk dirty to girls half their age. Damn. Suhail Seth continued to be deliciously sarcastic, almost desperate to be.

Sanjoy Roy continued to be the worst dressed by miles - 7^th time running. William Fatrymple continued to sit on grass even when the chairs were available. Not only in taste, William also resembles a cow in shape-and-size.

I didn’t know William Dalrymple had a lisp (or is it just the way Scots speak or he has had too many beers or both).

My JLF 2014 was sandwiched between 2 Shaadis. A sandwich I didn’t order but enjoyed nevertheless. It was time to go back & start dreaming of JLF 2015.

P.S. Someone I knew as a free-spirited bird was to be here with me. She didn’t make it. She’s still a bird, a bird that has forgotten to fly.

And on a totally unrelated note my heart skipped a beat when I heard Schumacher may never wake up.............ever again.