It’s nothing short of a blessing to get one’s hands on any book of Khushwant Singh, the most celebrated and widely read South Asian writer. Born in 1915 in what is now Pakistan, he held prestigious positions in both government and non-government organizations. Some roles that stand out are: diplomat, politician, professor, editor and, above all, author.
Among all these, and a few others, being an author was the title he cherished the most in his life, and to which he stayed connected till his last breath.
After reading around ten of his books, though he wrote more than a hundred, I was constantly and consciously looking for the hard copies of his works in stores, sparsely seen bookstalls and the Sunday Book Bazaar, which is held every week in old Anarkali. Then, during one of my escapades, I wandered into a narrow lane that connects Neela Gumbad with old Anarkali and found the Shahid Book House. Shahid had a beautiful hardbound copy of Khushwant Singh’s book More Malicious Gossip. My joy knew no bounds, and I paid the price he asked for without a second thought. The book was worth far more than what I paid.
Edited and compiled by the author Rohini Singh, the book was first published in 1989. By 2003, as mentioned in the book, it had gone through 18 reprints.
The book vividly describes the cities he loved, particularly New Delhi, which he believed to be the most charming in the world
The book contains candid sketches and portrayals of Nargis Dutt, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Lord Mountbatten, Ingrid Bergman, the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb and many others. One thing famous about Khushwant was that people feared being written about by him. His honest and acerbic pen spared no one, not even himself. More often, he berated the exploitations and follies of high office bearers. In order to be praised by him, a person needed to be morally immaculate, and such people, naturally, are few and far between.
However, he is all praise for Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Nargis Dutt and Ingrid Bergman.
Khushwant writes about Faiz:
“It was not the honours he received, not the Lenin Peace Prize, the Lotus Award nor the honorary doctorates heaped upon him but the love for the man he was and the kind of poetry he wrote that endeared him to millions of people in the subcontinent. He was the most lovable of men.”
His remarkable sketch of the Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman leaves the reader in awe of his writing style and the beauty he describes. He writes, “We were halfway through our lunch when she entered the dining room. It was a strange sensation. Not only was her face like the chaudhvin ka chaand, it radiated a kind of glow which created the impression of lights being switched on.”
There are also accounts of the cities he visited in his lifetime. Places like Delhi, Goa, Amritsar, Berlin, Hamburg, and his birthplace Hadali are vividly described by him. He believes that there is no city more charming and lovable than Delhi. He muses, “I can count the many reasons why I love New Delhi above all cities of the world that I have visited. It has more beautiful historic monuments than Damascus, Athens or Rome. It has more trees per square kilometre than any other capital in the world; it is in fact the best example of a garden city laid out amongst beautiful parks and stretches of lawns, richest and the most varied bird life you can see in any city.”
One more city very close to his heart was his birthplace Hadali, Pakistan. He invariably remembered it with love and devotion. Readers of his works will come across this city as many times as they will come across Delhi. He recalls his visit to Hadali as follows: “All I could say to the entirely Muslim audience was that to me coming to Hadali was my umra and my haj. Overcome by emotion, I broke down, I made an ass of myself. They loved me all the more as I had given a demonstration of my affection for the village which was once mine and was now theirs. I still regard it as my vatan (homeland).”
In the remaining chapters, he shares his views about family planning, terrorism, dowry, bride-burning and communalism. His thoughts are universal because they are still as poignant and relevant as when he wrote them.
He detested the name-droppers and self-praisers and considered himself “not a nice man to know.” Yet, I believe he was the nicest man to know because he was immensely honest and connected with his roots. Reading any one of his books is enough to make you fall in love with his effortless, unique and well-researched writings.
Khushwant Singh remains, even after decades, a writer whose words refuse to fade. They are as alive, bold and human as the man himself.