Shehan Karunatilaka insists that novel writing is merely a diversion – a prelude to the main act, if you will. “I want to play bass,” says the writer, “That’s actually the main dream, that’s always been since I was a kid.” His face lights up as he speaks about his favourite band (Police) and his current stint with cover bands in Singapore – It’s easy to perceive his passion in music. He tells me he has even brought along his guitar and played it just this morning.
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| Much in demand: Shehan obliges a fan by autographing a book. Pix by Aamina Nizar |
Shehan’s debut novel ‘Chinaman’ which won the 2008 Gratiaen Prize has just bagged the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature and our conversation at the Jaipur Literature Festival is dotted with a stream of authors and well-wishers who stop and chat with the man of the hour. For the uninitiated, Chinaman is a novel which cannot be easily pigeonholed as a book about cricket. It employs cricket and the pursuit of a lost player through a fluid, quirky narrative to transcend the sport.
For the most part, the book is narrated by the world weary, constantly inebriated W.G. Karunasena, a retired sports journalist, determined to hunt down the elusive Pradeep Mathew. The novel remains peppered with a plethora of colourful characters and there’s even a glimpse of the author’s fantasy, country-hopping, bass playing alter ego in the novel (“He’s like the rock star that I could never become”).
There's a quote attributed to Tom Waits which rings true for Chinaman- "If you break open a song, you'll find the eggs of other songs". There are a plethora of influences which have made Chinaman, the novel it is. Having given up on a music career, written a bad novel (to date it remains an unpublished manuscript) and with his 27th birthday looming, in comparison to Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison who had achieved so much in a short span of time, he bluntly confesses that his 27th birthday was the worst. Soon afterwards, Shehan spent three years reading, travelling and watching bands. The first year abroad was spent working an assortment of odd jobs from clerical work, data entry, working at food courts and digging graves - for just a week. It's really hard work, he informs me - before he landed a job in advertising.
The idea for Chinaman Shehan explains, was conceived while on a pilgrimage to see Police after they regrouped at Madison Square Garden and his years abroad proved to be crucial, later. Influences and inspiration range from Peter Jackson's 1995 mockumentary 'Forgotten Silver', cricket philosophy books, cricket literature to copious amounts of Kurt Vonnegut and William Goldman.
Like most Sri Lankans, Shehan’s early reading as a child included large chunks of what Michael Ondaatje in one of his novels refers to as ‘the usual suspects in any Asian library’ and reading prevailed as a constant right throughout the years. His favourite Sri Lankan writers include poet Vivimarie Vanderpoorten, Carl Muller, whose Jam Fruit Tree series opened doors for Sri Lankan writers and Ashok Ferrey’s Colpetty People.“Vivi has two books, and they’re both excellent. Carl Muller won the first Gratiaen Prize and he’s the one who proved that we can use our own voice. What I did like about Colpetty People was that it wasn’t trying to be weighty but just silly one-liners and comic situations - it was good to see something frivolous,” he says.
While there are a lot of people writing in Sri Lanka, the lack of an editing culture, poor sales and a rise in the self publishing wave has resulted in a sea of mediocre writing. Says Shehan, “There are lots of books in Sri Lanka that have a good idea but they fail to get into character or they’ve got the voice wrong. I’d like to see more Sri Lankans working at it and drafting and re-drafting.”
With social media being the buzzwords at this year’s Jaipur Literature festival, Shehan prefers to watch afar from all the noise. “Personally I use Facebook and Twitter more like a voyeur, looking at other people and seeing what’s happening. I’m really self-conscious; I don’t even put up status updates. Even in my writing – every sentence goes through so many drafts - so, the idea of just putting your feelings down and sharing it with the world, I find that quite terrifying.”
The last time the Sunday Times caught up with Shehan, he was wandering around graveyards in Colombo, collecting stories and speaking to people (the ground staff, not the dead) collecting material for his next novel. Based in Singapore, the writer has been exploring the enormous supernatural scene and paranormal societies the city has to offer. “I’ve been joining those groups but it’s not been quite what I thought,” says the writer, “It’s been kind of cheesy and touristy but I’m going to be wandering around Sri Lanka again in March and going back for the Royal – Thomian and to visit the North and the East. I do miss having that access and that’s a big problem when you’re writing.”
With Chinaman being hailed as the great Sri Lankan novel, how has the pressure for the next book been? “I think the pressure was on for the first one as well. When I write, I close the window, I close the curtains – it’s in all darkness - and it’s just the laptop and a bit of music. You kind of shut the whole world out. I think you should think of your readers and the reception, maybe on your fourth or fifth draft. When you’re writing it you should just think of the characters and the story and if it’s working or not. So I think the pressure will always be there. A lot of Sri Lankan books, I feel are just first drafts that go to the printer. With Chinaman I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen. I spent a year redoing the drafts, making sure every page was relevant. The pressure is what you put on yourself. So I’ll be equally harsh on myself for the second one. Then once it’s done, we can think about who it’s talking to but I think it’s a bit suicidal to think about that stuff straight away.”
And what of the 50,000$ prize money the DSC award comes with? “I thought WG style, I could go and bet on Sri Lanka winning the triangular in Australia because I’m sure the odds are quite good on that but chances of me losing everything are quite high as well,” smiles Shehan. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just thought that whatever happens I’m going to go back to the plan, which was to land back in Singapore and keep writing.”
Oh for that heady, cerebral atmosphere!
To you,
The sun has set on the city as I sit in a near-empty courtyard writing this on the fifth and final day of the Jaipur Literature Festival. I have slipped out of the ongoing debate in the front lawns. It’s been a chaotic couple of days and the surfeit of information which has been hurled at me is starting to take its toll. The 2012 edition of the lit fest ends on a defiant note and has been shadowed with conspiracy theories, death threats, politics and politicians, protests, extremists, celebrities, a banned book, riot rumours, power struggles, bigotry, and heresy - if this isn’t a recipe for a Bollywood movie then I don’t know what is.
The crowds, the chaos, the palace
The Diggi Palace is a beautiful place. Five parallel sessions can take place easily across multiple locations within the main venue. Despite the addition of an extra location from last year and careful measures on the part of the organizers to accommodate more people, it became clear within a few hours into the first day that the palace was ill equipped to cater to the staggering amount of people who flooded the festival this year.
If you listened close enough, you could almost hear the beautiful palace stifle an audible groan as wave after wave of people made their way this year (if the grapevine is to be believed, over 120,000 visitors in all) A seat at a session was a luxury and mini stampedes from one venue to another seemed to be the norm. If you made it through the entire fest without being shoved aside by grimfaced aunties on a one track mission to procure seats close to the stage, congratulations.
Like the preceding years, all the sessions were free of charge. The musical events this year however were not.
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| Oprah drew a huge crowd |
The crowds were so vast that on certain nights a paid ticket could not guarantee entry into the musical events. Not a fault on the part of the organizers – it was simply that the crowds had grown in leaps and bounds. The added security was also impossible to overlook this year. With increased police presence, security frisks and bag checks, the organizers clearly weren’t taking any chances.
Most of my acquaintances this year were made while waiting in lines. In line at the bookshop, I meet a resident from Jaipur who’s been a regular since the festival’s inception and comes to the festival in search of new reading material. “I remember this place when it was practically empty,” he tells me ruefully, gesturing to the crowds.
In line for the bathroom I meet a German visitor who informs me that she hasn’t been able to attend any sessions the day before as each venue had been packed. Giving up, she’d gone sightseeing and returned to find that the crowds had thinned slightly, to her relief. “Is this the line for Michael Ondaatje?” I ask a girl standing in line for book signings. “I’m not sure which writer the line is for, actually,” she replies, “I just want his autograph.”
A smorgasbord of sessions
Tolstoy, Obama, the publishing industry (Did you know that in numbers, the publishing of poetry constitutes 0.04% of the industry? Little wonder poets are a tortured lot), Rumi, reworking texts, the ‘chutneyfication’ of English, the Arabian Nights, adaptations of texts, tackling Twitter - The eclectic mix of sessions laid out were a hedonistic bibliophile’s dream come true.
Alas, an interesting title does not a session make. Never, ever underestimate the power of a moderator. You can have a celebrated writer, an enormous venue and an intelligent audience but without strong moderation and scope for coherent discussion, a session can rapidly disintegrate into banal book readings and milk and water questions derived from the author’s Wikipedia page.
With over 250 writers in attendance at the festival, the schedule boasted names such as Lionel Shriver, Richard Dawkins, Ben Okri, Jamaica Kincaid, Michael Ondaatje, David Hare, Steven Pinker, Amy Chua, Philip Gourewitch, Tom Stoppard, Javed Akhtar, Gulzar, Prasoon Joshi, Ayesha Jalal, Shashi Tharoor and Chetan Bhagat.
During ‘Designing imaginary worlds’, Samit Basu tells us that “All stories are derived from other stories. If you have an idea which you think is new, you probably aren’t reading enough”. The ever eloquent Ben Okri explains that his mother told him stories and his father asked him questions and reiterates the importance of reading (“Reading is not an innocent act. Reading is a perpetual mediation of consciousness”)
At a hurried news conference where the conversation randomly strays to the merits of the Aakash tablet and the iPad, I ask Sashi Tharoor about his experiences at the Galle Lit Fest. He speaks of the pleasant, intimate setting the GLF is held in and says that for him “a lit fest should be a stimulus for the sights and the senses”. The discussion on ‘the city as a dream’ brought out the flipsides of a city – of the city as a great loneliness, of discovering the joys of this loneliness, the emotional centre of a country and the city as a salvation and the search for better versions of ourselves.
The art of the short story was dissected. Jamaica Kincaid admits to knowing how a story would end before she starts writing it, but sometimes remains unsure of the beginning. Linda Spalding compares a short story to a one night stand. Lionel Shriver speaks about the licence of imagination that writers possess after watching filmmakers bring her book ‘We need to talk about Kevin alive’– “Writing is great. Writing is free. It is cheap and I can conjure up anything”.
Tom Stoppard is a literary equivalent of a rock star. As is Mohammed Hanif, who was a crowd favourite. Ayesha Jalal’s steady voice of reason is refreshing. The persistently vocal poltergeist cow with an impeccable sense of timing throughout select sessions deserves a mention here. I have a girl-crush on writer Taiye Selasi. I wonder how long I can follow her around before she starts to notice.
“My life has been a Taj Mahal”
And of course, Oprah. How could I forget Oprah? I wish you could have seen the line which spilled out into the main road which greeted us outside the premises on the third day. We were locked out of the venue for half of the session. I looked around to find that we were surrounded by a handful of authors and sponsors – at least I was in good company in my exile. Managed to squeeze myself in and make it inside, thankfully. Ah, the potent powers of a press pass. Once inside it’s an inner tussle between attending the session on Pakistan or being in the same space as Oprah. Oprah wins. "I came here with an open mind, and it has been expanded,” says Oprah, “It's the greatest life experience I’ve ever had.”
The Salman Saga
The last few days of the fest have been fraught with rumours. Amitava Kumar, Jeet Thayil, Hari Kunzru and Ruchir Joshi read excerpts from ‘The Satanic Verses’ and had been advised to leave the festival. The ripple effect which occurred spurred debate upon debate both at the festival and on the Twitter sphere and armchair critics have fallen over their feet to make their voices heard.
On the final day, word gets around that Salman Rushdie is due to make a video call to discuss Midnight’s Children and its recent film adaptation. The electricity in the air is palpable. There are protestors within the palace and word on the street is that there are more assembling outside the festival premises, ready to incite violence if the video were to go ahead. Following the lit fest, a newspaper reported a protestor saying, that “Rivers of blood will flow here if they show Rushdie".
Everyone’s talking, no one’s listening. In all the static, people have forgotten that it’s imperative to listen and understand opinions and ideas which counter your own.
I haven’t read the Satanic Verses and I lack the knowledge and expertise to add to the noise – if you’re arguing about something you need to know what you’re arguing about, after all. I do however believe that violence is the last resort of a desperate man and that it’s a hollow, empty means to an end and I abhor the use of religion as a shield for personal motives and political propaganda. It’s sad that the festival had to be dogged with the shadow of this controversy and sometimes even obscured the authors who attended the festival and its many virtues. I believe that Ben Okri said it best at a session: “The only way to counter a book is not to get it banned, not to fight it – but to write. You fight fire with fire”
Epilogue
For all my griping about the crowds, in my heart of hearts I enjoy the Jaipur Lit. Festival, I really do. Yes, it’s commercialized and yes, it’s evolved into a strange social fete of sorts but if you look past the over-glamorization, the air-kissing, the stalls with designer wear (why anyone would be possessed to suddenly purchase an exorbitant kurtha in the middle of a literature festival baffles me) you’ll find that you’ll be hard pressed to find the heady, cerebral atmosphere anywhere else.
I enjoy the debates, arguments and counter-arguments. I enjoy meeting writers of books I’ve grown up with. I enjoy stepping out of my comfort zone and reading authors I wouldn’t have otherwise touched - and that is why I keep coming back for more. At the end of the day, isn’t that what a literature festival is all about after all?
Yours, with aching feet,
Me. |
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