Back in the day, we wrote letters. In my boarding school in Shimla, we had a designated letter-writing class where we wrote to our parents.
It was in one such class that I wrote a letter to Khushwant Singh. It was a blue inland letter which we ruled neatly before we scribbled in it with our blotchy ink pens. At that time, I nursed a secret ambition to be a writer and Singh, whose short story (The Mark of Vishnu) was on our syllabus, was the only author I knew.
After two weeks, I received a sepia coloured postcard with handwriting as if there were ants crawling. After a bit of squinting, I saw Khushwant Singh's signature.
I had written my letter on a whim and was astonished that a famous writer would have the time to reply to a schoolboy. I wrote some more letters and even sent him some pieces I wrote and every time Singh's sepia postcard would be waiting for me.
This was baffling. Khushwant Singh was famously particular about his time. His door had this notorious notice for all gatecrashers - 'Please do not ring the bell unless you are expected'. He was a disciplinarian with a fixed schedule, which he never broke. He woke up at 4 am and slept at 9pm. Even if you were an honoured guest in his house, he would excuse himself retire to bed at 9pm. Singh was also a stickler for punctuality. There are stories of how people - some of them VVIP's - were refused entry into his house, when they showed up late.
Many years later, I went to meet him for an interview and was running late. I knew I would be turned out, but took my chance and rang the bell. His servant opened the door and told me to wait. After a few minutes, Singh came to the door, shook my hand and led me in. I realised he had the servant make me wait so he could personally come and escort me in himself.
During the interview, I told him he had replied to every letter I had written to him. He said he replied to every letter, including the abusive ones. He showed me these letters with some pride.
When my interview was done, he turned to me and said, "Now tell me about yourself." I was taken aback. At that time, I was doing a series of interviews with writers and none of them had shown a least bit of interest in me. All artists including writers have very big egos. The egos are fragile and you have to be very careful because you never know when you may touch a raw nerve. I had interviewed dacoits, petty criminals and pimps, but I was never so afraid of interviewing anyone as I was interviewing writers.
I told him about my ancestral home in Himachal. He said when he was younger he had trekked to my area from Shimla and would ogle at the pretty college girls on his walks to and from his cottage in Mashobra. He quizzed me about my life with genuine interest and finally when it was time to leave escorted me to the door.
The second time, I met an ailing Singh in 2009. When I called him on the phone he simply said, "I am sorry. I am deaf. Can you please write me a letter?" And as expected, he wrote back.
The last I wrote to him, Singh replied saying he had had a very bad fall in his bathroom. He said he was in pain and had been advised complete rest. Again I was surprised that considering his condition he had bothered to reply at all.
Today apart from a barrage of queries from photography enthusiasts, I get a bulk of mail from three types of people.
1. Those who think I am gay
2. Those who think I am a pimp
3. Those who think I am Virat Kohli's bosom buddy.
I have been photographing the homosexual community in India and many gays trolling the internet for alliances assume I am gay.
I did a magazine shoot with Virat Kohli and because I have his pictures on my website, girls think I am his best pal.
I am currently working on a project on ageing sex workers and their photos on my website gets me calls at odds hours of the day from drunk men who say, "I saw your number on the internet. I want a girl." It can get really exasperating to reply to people who mistake you for someone else. But reply I do.
One cannot write enough about how ill-mannered we Indians are. Not replying back is not only bad manners, but also arrogant. And every crazy email I want to trash, I think of Khushwant Singh sitting on his desk replying to every silly letter he received.
Sanjay Austa is a Delhi-based photographer
Noted works
TRAIN TO PAKISTAN (1956): Set in the backdrop of partition, Train to Pakistan is about Juggut Singh, a Sikh gangster, who is in love with a Muslim girl in the village of Mano Majra.
I SHALL NOT HEAR THE NIGHTINGALE (1959): Another bestseller by Singh, the book is about Buta Singh, an official working with the British, and his son, who is driven to rebellion against the British.
DELHI: The protagonist in this story, a journalist who has fallen on bad times, narrates the history of Delhi in this fast-paced novel. Starting from the city in its heyday, it ends with the anti-Sikh riots in 1984.
THE COMPANY OF WOMEN (1999): As the title suggests, the story is set around a man and his inexhaustible appetite for sex. Singh declared, "As a man gets older, his sex instincts travel from his middle to his head."
TRUTH, LOVE AND A LITTLE MALICE (2002): Singh wrote his autobiography when he was around 88 years old. The magnum opus deals in depth with his relations with political dignitaries.
It was in one such class that I wrote a letter to Khushwant Singh. It was a blue inland letter which we ruled neatly before we scribbled in it with our blotchy ink pens. At that time, I nursed a secret ambition to be a writer and Singh, whose short story (The Mark of Vishnu) was on our syllabus, was the only author I knew.
After two weeks, I received a sepia coloured postcard with handwriting as if there were ants crawling. After a bit of squinting, I saw Khushwant Singh's signature.
I had written my letter on a whim and was astonished that a famous writer would have the time to reply to a schoolboy. I wrote some more letters and even sent him some pieces I wrote and every time Singh's sepia postcard would be waiting for me.
This was baffling. Khushwant Singh was famously particular about his time. His door had this notorious notice for all gatecrashers - 'Please do not ring the bell unless you are expected'. He was a disciplinarian with a fixed schedule, which he never broke. He woke up at 4 am and slept at 9pm. Even if you were an honoured guest in his house, he would excuse himself retire to bed at 9pm. Singh was also a stickler for punctuality. There are stories of how people - some of them VVIP's - were refused entry into his house, when they showed up late.
Many years later, I went to meet him for an interview and was running late. I knew I would be turned out, but took my chance and rang the bell. His servant opened the door and told me to wait. After a few minutes, Singh came to the door, shook my hand and led me in. I realised he had the servant make me wait so he could personally come and escort me in himself.
During the interview, I told him he had replied to every letter I had written to him. He said he replied to every letter, including the abusive ones. He showed me these letters with some pride.
When my interview was done, he turned to me and said, "Now tell me about yourself." I was taken aback. At that time, I was doing a series of interviews with writers and none of them had shown a least bit of interest in me. All artists including writers have very big egos. The egos are fragile and you have to be very careful because you never know when you may touch a raw nerve. I had interviewed dacoits, petty criminals and pimps, but I was never so afraid of interviewing anyone as I was interviewing writers.
I told him about my ancestral home in Himachal. He said when he was younger he had trekked to my area from Shimla and would ogle at the pretty college girls on his walks to and from his cottage in Mashobra. He quizzed me about my life with genuine interest and finally when it was time to leave escorted me to the door.
The second time, I met an ailing Singh in 2009. When I called him on the phone he simply said, "I am sorry. I am deaf. Can you please write me a letter?" And as expected, he wrote back.
The last I wrote to him, Singh replied saying he had had a very bad fall in his bathroom. He said he was in pain and had been advised complete rest. Again I was surprised that considering his condition he had bothered to reply at all.
Today apart from a barrage of queries from photography enthusiasts, I get a bulk of mail from three types of people.
1. Those who think I am gay
2. Those who think I am a pimp
3. Those who think I am Virat Kohli's bosom buddy.
I have been photographing the homosexual community in India and many gays trolling the internet for alliances assume I am gay.
I did a magazine shoot with Virat Kohli and because I have his pictures on my website, girls think I am his best pal.
I am currently working on a project on ageing sex workers and their photos on my website gets me calls at odds hours of the day from drunk men who say, "I saw your number on the internet. I want a girl." It can get really exasperating to reply to people who mistake you for someone else. But reply I do.
One cannot write enough about how ill-mannered we Indians are. Not replying back is not only bad manners, but also arrogant. And every crazy email I want to trash, I think of Khushwant Singh sitting on his desk replying to every silly letter he received.
Sanjay Austa is a Delhi-based photographer
Noted works
TRAIN TO PAKISTAN (1956): Set in the backdrop of partition, Train to Pakistan is about Juggut Singh, a Sikh gangster, who is in love with a Muslim girl in the village of Mano Majra.
I SHALL NOT HEAR THE NIGHTINGALE (1959): Another bestseller by Singh, the book is about Buta Singh, an official working with the British, and his son, who is driven to rebellion against the British.
DELHI: The protagonist in this story, a journalist who has fallen on bad times, narrates the history of Delhi in this fast-paced novel. Starting from the city in its heyday, it ends with the anti-Sikh riots in 1984.
THE COMPANY OF WOMEN (1999): As the title suggests, the story is set around a man and his inexhaustible appetite for sex. Singh declared, "As a man gets older, his sex instincts travel from his middle to his head."
TRUTH, LOVE AND A LITTLE MALICE (2002): Singh wrote his autobiography when he was around 88 years old. The magnum opus deals in depth with his relations with political dignitaries.
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