Esteemed readers of contemporary English literature by Acclaimed Authors of Indian Origin (AAIO!) would know that we started not so long back with a gentleman who was putting Midnight’s Children to sleep and who went on to make Shalimar clown. We then followed closely the attempts of another guy looking for a Suitable Boy, who also played an Equal Music. Along the way, there was the pretty lady who called upon the God of Small Things, another lady who was enamoured by her Namesake, and the third who bemoaned the Inheritance of Loss. Closer to date, there is this guy who was feeding the Hungry Tide in a Sea of Poppies. The journey has been crowned off by that chap whose name-sounds-like-an-old time-coffee-house-in-Bengaluru writing about a rare keystone species, the White Tiger.
I am convinced that these people became AAIO!s because of the circumstances of their lives, and has less to do with their literary or imaginary (pun intended) writing capabilities. A study of their life and books tells me that, on an average and not to put too fine a point on it, my life has gone exactly the way a future Booker winner’s life should play out.
For starters, most AAIO!s are those whose connection with India is through part of their family tree which is to be found after digging a considerable depth. My parents are normal middle class folks, but I am fast getting to the AAIO!-types by being connected to India only through my roots because of what I do and what I don’t.
Do’s: I listen to Coldplay when the neighbourhood temple plays the Suprabhata, I only light incense sticks to make my home smell good, I call everyone including really older people by their first name, I roll my “R”s, and I crib about the heat and dust when I step out of the aircon.
Don’ts: I forget to light lamps on Diwali, in fact I hardly ever light lamps, I don’t step out without my bottles of mineral water (never cold) and hand sanitizer (lemon), … seems like I am on the right track.
Let’s run a checklist to establish my suitability for the prize, what say?
1. AAIO!s are often criticized for not being able to connect sufficiently with realities in India. I must say this holds true for about 99.99% of India’s urban upper middle class. I am pretty sure that milk comes from packets, I can’t differentiate between a cow and an ox (all right, I’m exaggerating), I didn’t know what caste I was from till I reached college. Let us check this one!
2. Now, AAIO!s are only able to bring out their perspective about the country they hardly know in the language that is quite alien, but which they know best- English. I take two days to read a reasonably spaced page of large font size Devanagari script, and end up making the less than literate wonder why they should spend time and money getting educated when I try to communicate in my mother tongue. An illustration below (this is a true story):
Me: (to Bus Conductor) (in Kannada): Does this bus to go Hassan via Channarayapatna?
Bus Conductor: (in Kannada, smirking): Please read! Have you been to school?
Me (running to the back of the bus, muttering in English): “Ha…….Sa……..Na, alright, correct destination. This other word seems too long to be Tiptur, I guess it has to be Channaryapatna then….”
Bus Conductor: (blowing the whistle): “Pippip! Reyya reyya”…bus starts up and leaves.
A sure sign of impending success with the Booker, check with a capital C!
3. Most AAIO!s have drawn from remarkable locations for their writing- places that are known for their extraordinary natural beauty or the jolting reality of poverty and conflict in the face of wealth and security, or both. I’ve lived in a place of extraordinary natural beauty and have had the chance to see poverty and crumbling infrastructure closely. So far so good.
But my candidature is not without its pitfalls. Typically, most AAIO!s have spent a lot of time outside of India- by birth (often), sometimes by choice (either theirs or their parents’) or, by being exiled (rarely). These are the inputs that make the sights, sounds and smells of India eminently suited for a novel. Having lived all my life in India, Vitamin P (Phoren-return-after-a-long-time) seems like the only vital ingredient I am missing in order to be a serious contender for the prize-.
A couple of decades should be long enough for me to accumulate enough Vitamin P, which explains my timeline. There are some obvious things that I still need to work on, such as writing the book. An insignificant detail, though.
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