"I can't bear to read Indian writers," she said.
I pulled my eyebrows back into position before anyone else in the group registered that they had risen to my hairline. Nobody else seemed to be perturbed by her statement, almost all of them were doing the Indian yes-no-maybe nod. They were all Indians, including her. They were all writers, or trying to be, including her. So why was nobody offended by that statement, including her? I stayed mum too I regret to say. In my defense though it was my first meeting with this group. I had just discovered that I wanted to write, the others had been pursuing writing and getting published for a few years. I did not stay in that group much longer.
Her statement had bothered me but I realised that I had not read many Indian authors myself, and would have struggled to come up with ten names. That patriotic feeling was primarily why I chose Pankaj Mishra's Butter Chicken in Ludhiana in my list of books for the year. Butter chicken... is an account of the author's travels through small Indians towns. The author does not give the dates of his trip, I wish he had, but it seems to be sometime in the early 90s. He presents the real small town India and the real small town Indian with all the blemishes as seen through a microscope. Nothing escapes. Nothing is romanticised. Including Simla, India's honeymoon destination of that decade. Mishraji does not go looking for touristic attractions to write about. His book is more a descriptive tale of things and people that come in his line of sight. It would definitely not endear India to prospective tourists, in fact quite the contrary. The narrative moves at a good pace and the author's insight and subtle humour keeps it interesting. It is not a must-read but it is an interesting read for its different take on travel writing.
I am hopeful that Karma has made a note of my nationalist effort and some day when there is a book with 'by Himali Kothari' on it, many an Indian in small towns and big will pick it up from a pile of those by Johns and Janes.
I pulled my eyebrows back into position before anyone else in the group registered that they had risen to my hairline. Nobody else seemed to be perturbed by her statement, almost all of them were doing the Indian yes-no-maybe nod. They were all Indians, including her. They were all writers, or trying to be, including her. So why was nobody offended by that statement, including her? I stayed mum too I regret to say. In my defense though it was my first meeting with this group. I had just discovered that I wanted to write, the others had been pursuing writing and getting published for a few years. I did not stay in that group much longer.
Her statement had bothered me but I realised that I had not read many Indian authors myself, and would have struggled to come up with ten names. That patriotic feeling was primarily why I chose Pankaj Mishra's Butter Chicken in Ludhiana in my list of books for the year. Butter chicken... is an account of the author's travels through small Indians towns. The author does not give the dates of his trip, I wish he had, but it seems to be sometime in the early 90s. He presents the real small town India and the real small town Indian with all the blemishes as seen through a microscope. Nothing escapes. Nothing is romanticised. Including Simla, India's honeymoon destination of that decade. Mishraji does not go looking for touristic attractions to write about. His book is more a descriptive tale of things and people that come in his line of sight. It would definitely not endear India to prospective tourists, in fact quite the contrary. The narrative moves at a good pace and the author's insight and subtle humour keeps it interesting. It is not a must-read but it is an interesting read for its different take on travel writing.
I am hopeful that Karma has made a note of my nationalist effort and some day when there is a book with 'by Himali Kothari' on it, many an Indian in small towns and big will pick it up from a pile of those by Johns and Janes.
