Jaipur literature fest: A spa for the intellect

'Sexy' is an adjective I wouldn’t dare use for writers. Or, for that matter, affix to intellectuals or to those from the creative field, barring, of course, the performers. Until now, that is.

Freshly returned from the happening that was the Jaipur Literature Festival, I am beginning to see published authors in a different light. Well, not exactly light: make that the gentle glow that the halos escorting our star writers bathe them in. Especially those who swagger about petulantly or look intensely into the eyes of autograph-seekers, packing a lot of charisma into their gaze — as royalty and film stars are wont to. Of course, the moment they have moved on to the next, you have been dropped into oblivion.

They now walk the earth like gods, the way those who have achieved instant celebrity status have long done: rock stars, movie stars, television stars, sports stars, even models in our celebrity-besotted nation.

Writers are the latest breed to enter the pantheon of the 'sexy' in India. They were preceded into this hallowed space by artists. When the prices of works of art began to shoot up like blood pressure, painters became the new hotties in town. And, if I may be allowed to play round with one of TS Eliot’s oft quoted phrases: women came and went, talking about, if not Michelangelo, the cute curls on the head of Subodh Gupta and what his latest steel utensil sculpture went for at Sotheby’s or Christie’s.

Socialites made a beeline for them. Patronesses and patrons vied with each other to take them under their wings. If you could get Subodh Gupta or the bindu-man SH Raza home for dinner you had arrived. And if Anish Kapoor, the India-born British artist currently being feted the world over, graced your soiree, you could hold your nose up in the air, forever.

Last week the Beautiful People from Bombay, Delhi, and Goa, and even further afield, our NRIs from across the oceans, descended on Jaipur for the litfest. Just as they do en masse in Goa for New Year’s Eve.

This mela is fast becoming a pilgrimage spot to tank up on fuel for the mind. I read, therefore I am — cool.

For many the Jaipur festival was like a spa for the intellect: hide the grey on your hair but put your little grey cells on view. Tucking half-a-dozen autographed copies of books by hot authors under your arm has acquired the cachet of flaunting the latest (not yet arrived on Indian shores) Louis Vuitton bag.

Book sales have gone up over 5% in India — as the publishers assembled for a session in Jaipur tell us. And listening to big-ticket international, desi, or diasporic desi stars obviously bestows brownie points in certain social circles where, not too long ago, when somebody told you that they read the classics, they meant Dan Brown and John Grisham.

However, something else seems to be going on, beneath the surface. The wannabe writers are coming out of the closet. Amongst the hundreds of students, housewives, bureaucrats, designers, socialites, and journos, there were those who thought they had a book in them. Like the socialite who wanted to write her autobiography and sought tips on how to do so.

Interestingly, it wasn’t only the sessions that promised sensational gossip that were jam-packed. Certainly, Tina Brown talking about Princess Diana or Catherine Clement and Nayantara Sehgal discussing the romance (did they or didn’t they?) between Jawaharlal Nehru and Edwina Mountbatten brought in the crowds, as did Om Puri and his wife Nandita discussing her tell-all book about her thespian husband.

There wasn’t even any breathing space in sessions with luminaries like Nigerian Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka — or for controversial writers like Hanif Kureshi. But even poetry readings and sessions about ancient texts were packed far beyond capacity.

Move over, glitterati: the literati have arrived.