Well, I really don't know what to write. In fact, after years, I have read my blog articles again. I felt an urge to write here again, but I am really not sure what I will be writing here now. I don't have a great message to say, to say aloud; I have always cherished writing, and feel myself as a chronicler of dreams, thoughts. I will rather recall my thoughts, all these times now.
In January, at the Jaipur Literature Festival, eminent writers were there, scheduled to deliver lectures, seminars, talks. With them, a great name, V.S. Naipaul was also there. Well, it gave me immeasurable joy, seeing his name in the list of speakers. I had decided to attend.
At my twenty second birthday, I had ordered a few books, as a gift for myself. I had always longed to read Mr. Naipaul, since I had read his name as a Nobel Laureate, and that too, of Indian origin. So, I bought his 'Mimic Men', to start with his writings. I read it within the same month, and was not really excited with the book, having read it! But, I was really impressed with his prose writing. The craft of writing was brilliant, and I felt I should read a nonfiction of his, as I felt the book, which I read, lacked the power of great story telling.
One evening, while I was walking with a friend of mine, at Connaught Place, I saw a book written by Naipaul, at a roadside book vendor. Its cover was beautiful, and the book was wrapped in a transparent paper. I was not able to open it, but the title said it all, 'The writer and the world'. I really wanted to buy it, but didn't have enough money to buy it. I asked my friend, who was rather interested in buying the Kamasutra stuffed magazine, not for its content but for something else! Well, the deal couldn't be done and we walked away, with the book's impression, the Naipaul's book, on my mind.
So, at the same birthday gift gesture, along with the 'Mimic Men', I had bought that nonfiction book too. I began reading it. I was on a journey, to Delhi and on that journey, I began reading that book. The first part was on India, and to the end of it, I had read. When I returned back to my college, somehow I lost that charm of reading that book. I put it in my almirah. I started with the other books of different writers. Somehow, I noticed his book on Islam, 'Among the Believers'. I was well into Islam, at that moment, having read Quran and was trying to grasp the Islamic fundamentalism through my Muslim friends. I bought that book, and felt his greatness reading it. I loved that book, and his writings. I bought its sequel, began reading it, and along with it, the half read book, too. Completing them, I understood why was he a Nobel Laureate, and why the greatest living writer of prose.
He became an ideal writer to me, and with that, began a bond with him, his writings that has testified time. I adore his writings, and going to Jaipur, became my dream.
Then, I was working in an organisation in Chennai, and travelling a long distance to Jaipur, by train was not viable, as I was not authorised to take such a long leave. Travelling by air was not feasible, it was costly and I didn't have enough money. I was a bit sad, on my state of affairs. Then, again I thought of Naipaul, and felt it could be his last visit to our country, owing to his age, somewhat eighty two, and health. I thought this could be a moment of a lifetime seeing the one who is an ideal to you, speak on the art of writing. Somehow, a friend of mine managed to get a credit card, which he had declined earlier, and with it, I flew to my destination. I paid my friend's credit, with my next salary.
Waiting for long hours, and an inadequate seating arrangement, with a huge crowd, was a bit tough to handle. We, I with two of my friends, were there, for the occasion. And then, he came.
He was dressed in a coat, and was seated in a wheelchair. I stood when he arrived. And in fact, the title of the talk was, 'The writer and the world: Conversation with Farookh Dhondy'. I was there, with my pen and paper, noting down the soul of the talk, and with it, experiencing a writer's quest to his writings, the quest being mine. And at the end, he cried a little, seeing the response of the crowd, and a standing ovation, by people like me, as all didn't stand. He had agreed to sign the books, and my friend, the credit card friend, stood in the line to get two of my books signed. Meanwhile, I was still seating and taking notes of the ongoing talk. He had gone to stand in the queue, in the middle of the talk. My book was signed, 'Literary Occasions', the book I had bought with my first salary..
At the end of the day, we attended a talk by Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, which in further instilled a faith in me, to fly, fly high and achieve what I dream, the unending quest to write, to find my subject and write, to express human limitations and to imitate life, to glorify it, to portray it, to be an artist, simply.
When I returned, my quest was more than before and I started experimenting with the craft.
Well, with the life of Naipaul and his writings, there is an expression of a human mind, which has been an expression of a post-colonial world.
My quest has, still, not been achieved, and with each passing day, it gets more than yesterday, and my life looks for its expression in words, writings ..
