Kerala Literature Festival: A book-fiend’s manna

Reading is a solitary pursuit. It thrives in seclusion. For decades, books have filled my solitude with boundless joys as I sought both - books and solitude - with a perseverance an addict reserves for his fix. Ironically, this lonely indulgence also seeks like-minded people to share the pleasures of the written word, to hear contrary opinions, to be told subtle interpretations that escaped one, and to learn about the books one has not come across. Alas, such company is difficult to come by. This utter deprivation is often suffocating.

Literature festivals have become popular in India for some years now. A decade ago, one heard only of the Jaipur Literature Festival, and that too sporadically. Now, there is one in almost every state. Come winter and there is a buzz among book-lovers, which I witness on the media, as one city after another announces its show. These gatherings seemed the right recipe to stimulate, nurture, and sate my craving for the book-talk that I sought in vain, around the year.

I and Archana attended Kerala Literature Festival, KLF, held in Kozhikode over four days, last month. What do you do in a literature festival? Are you going there looking for new books? My young Keralite friend, whom I enquired about the city, was perplexed. I too was. What will the hundreds of speakers listed on KLF website discuss in the hundreds of sessions? My friend sent me an alluring introduction to this ancient city, more popular by its old name Calicut. If not literature, history of the city perched on the Malabar coast of India, and its unique food-culture, a mix of Indo-Arabic-Western traditions, promised to occupy me happily.

KLF engaged me so completely every day that I saw the city only from the window of our sixth-floor hotel-room and through the auto-rickshaw, as I travelled to the venue of the festival every day.

Ola, Uber were almost non-existent in Kozhikode. Saar, we will get an auto, please, you wait in the lobby. Concierge said, when I queried him about taxi in the morning. This became a routine. We ate breakfast leisurely, repeatedly flying to the large spread of dishes, and always ending up with a glass or two of excellent filtered-coffee or masala-tea. As we exited the dining room, hotel guard would message his colleague standing at the entrance of the hotel near the road, and a Piaggio tuk-tuk would arrive in few minutes. City roads were narrow, crowded, and noisy. Cacophony on roads was alike traffic in other cities of the country.

KLF is held on the coast of Arabian sea in Kozhikode – designated as India’s first UNESCO City of Literature. Marquees were set along five hundred metres of beach. Ten venues, with events being held simultaneously in each, more than four hundred sessions, six hundred speakers, and to top this, footfall of half a million fans – undoubtedly, Calicut is a City of Literature.

Narrow pathway leading to the pavilions was chock-a-bloc packed with people throughout the day as they hurried from one session to another. Majority was young. Keralites’ love of books and the world of ideas showed in this enthusiasm. Talks were in English and Malayalam. Later invited maximum audience. But I did not witness thin crowds in any. Enthusiasts spilled outside the shamianas, standing in many rows, in the shows of popular speakers.

I and Archana marked the sessions we wanted to attend in the app. Many of these were happening simultaneously. We pruned the list, retaining the ones we would not miss at any cost. And then rushed to the first venue of the day to grab a chair in the first row. This cycle repeated relentlessly the whole day, for four days. At times, next venue was located at the extreme end, a walk of five hundred metres through thick crowds going in both directions. We then left the current session before it ended. At the new venue, overflowing with audience, we sat on carpets spread below the dais, and on occasions listened to the animated discussions being conducted in Malayalam. We grabbed the coveted chairs as soon as some of the old audience left for another talk. Soon, we became adept at this skullduggery, and never did we suffer the ignominy of a back-row seat where speakers on the dais are seen only in fractions – above or between the audience in the front rows. This incessant race, to attend maximum sessions, and from vantage seats, left us tired at the end of the day. And ensured that we never found time for lunch. We happily forsook it, settling for a cone of ice cream or a cup of coffee gobbled hurriedly as we ran from one venue to another.

Discussions were on a wide range of topics, almost the complete gamut of human culture: Storytelling, Poetry, History, City planning, Geopolitics, Art of writing, Music, Literary classics, Sports, Cinema, LGBTQ issues, Morality, Public personalities, Current affairs, Diplomacy, Science, Environment, and many more.

Except for a stray speaker, I found all had deep knowledge of their subjects, were wonderfully articulate, and remained confined within the boundaries set by the topic of the day. There were authors whose books I had read and admired, writers whose books languished in my wish list, Pulitzer and Booker winners and nominees, and even Nobel laureates. They were my heroes; their astonishing creativity had made them larger than life in my thoughts. Initially, as I heard them speak and interact with us in flesh, my hair stood on ends. Later, as I saw them repeatedly in the crowd, as they sat by us waiting for their session to begin, I found them humanized.

Festival could not have begun better. First event I attended was of Naseeruddin Shah, whose acting prowess I consider a paragon in his profession. This was followed by two more sessions by him the same day. First two featured verse recitals by him and his wife, the actor Ratna Pathak Shah. They read from Vikram Seth's recent collection of poems, Beastly Tales. In the last, Naseer was interviewed by the Malayalam actor Parvathy. I had read his memoir, And Then One Day, recently. He was as candid in conversation as he was forthright in the book.

Naseer and Ratna reading from Beastly Tales

        Naseer in talk with Parvathy

Two archaeologists, a British and an Indian, who have worked extensively on Harappa civilisation were in conversation in the session titled ‘Harappa: 100 years later’, politely debunking the myths that are being peddled as history by the ruling party. L Subramaniam, the violin maestro, spoke of his childhood and his experiences working with some of the world’s greatest musicians like Yehudi Menuhin, Zubin Mehta, and how he popularised Carnatic music in the west. Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia, looking very old and fragile – that he is at 86, spoke with gusto about his life and his work, haltingly but with humour and a twinkle in his eyes.

Topics were widely diverse. First session next day was on Tanya Abraham's book, Eating with History. I had not heard of her or the book. But over half an hour she took us on a riveting journey of how food in Kerala was influenced by people of different races that landed on its coasts, over the centuries. Santa Khurai in an interview, spoke of her memoir, The Yellow Sparrow, where she describes the trauma of growing up as a transgender in Mizoram. Her candour was disturbing and tormenting. Sriram Devatha, a young engineer, spoke engrossingly on his book that chronicles the making of the world-famous brand of Indian single malt whisky, Amrut.

I often wondered if such an exuberant literary fare could have been held in any other state? Subjects reflected true diversity of Indian society, also the egregious efforts of government to interpret all aspects of Indianness in a monochromatic hue, and subversion of all state institutions to serve in spreading its ideology. Perhaps in Kolkata and Bengaluru. 

Rajdeep Sardesai was interviewed by the editor of scroll, Naresh Fernandes, in the context of his latest book, 2024: The Election That Surprised India. He was devastatingly forthright in his criticism of elected autocracy, that aptly describes our democracy today. A famous and acclaimed journalist for over three decades, he cited his interesting but disturbing conversations with politicians, to substantiate his contentions. 

Mani Ratnam and Actor Prakash, later a popular Malayali actor, and a vocal critic of government, spoke about their journey in the filmdom. Could Mani Ratnam make the type of movies he did in past, today? Asked the host. Yes, I can, but I am not sure if they would be cleared by the censor board. Although Mani Ratnam gently denied that cinema has a role to speak against the flagrant sociopolitical wrongs in society, Prakash was emphatic that people connected with cinema, with the fame and reverence they command among citizens, have an onerous duty to raise their voice in such instances.

Do not miss Paragon’s chicken Thallasery biryani, come what may. My Keralite friend had warned me. We headed there one evening, after the last session. Thallasery cuisine is a blend of Indian Arabian, Persian, and European influences, reflecting Calicut's long history of being a popular maritime trading post. Biryani was excellent - mild flavours layered in fluffy small-grained rice with succulent pieces of chicken. Another evening, we dined at a restaurant in the bustling Mavoor street, where the Malabari chicken, cooked in a profusion of spices, was one of the best chicken-dish, I have eaten.

Festival was exceptionally well managed. Organising this gigantic event would have been veritably a night-marish task. But every aspect of the festival was immaculately planned. Comperes dovetailed smoothly with the interviewees. Most were experts in the same field as the guest. It appeared they had read the book and researched the work of the personality they were talking to. Their questions were pertinent, concise, and gave a holistic view of the subject of conversation. Except for one change of programme, all talks I attended were held as per schedule. A few minutes before the next scheduled show, organisers repeatedly requested the host to end the show immediately. Four hundred events in four days were run with staggering precision.

T.P. Sreenivasan, a former diplomat, regaled us with humorous and irreverent rendition of his experience in foreign services. He sounded like a natural story teller. I immediately searched for his books on Amazon and placed Diplomacy Liberated, his latest, in my wish list. I did this with many speakers. To learn about new books was one of my objectives to come here. This was served well. My wish-list gained a respectable girth in four days. Kerala has given country many officers in IAS and IFS. In a session titled ‘A Diplomat vs A Spy’ I heard anecdotal stories from Shivshankar Menon, past Foreign Secretary and National Security Advisor, and A.S. Dulat, a former RAW secretary. Their books immediately entered my wish-list. Udayan Mitra, executive publisher at Harper Collins, spurred Thomas Mathew, official biographer of Ratan Tata, to narrate interesting snippets from Ratan Tata’s life. Mathew’s narration, though hagiographic, was nevertheless fascinating.

Festival starkly featured activities related only to books: Marquees where sessions were held and a bookstore under a huge awning, where one could buy books being deliberated upon. After their sessions, writers came here to sign the copies bought by their fans. Paragon hotel had setup a shamiana for food. There were a few kiosks selling ice-creams and coffees. It was a spartan affair. Only books were being celebrated.

Evening session had two speakers, but for whom, I may not have come here. Venki Ramakrishnan, who won 2009 Nobel in Chemistry, for his lifelong work on ribosomes, spoke on his latest book Why We Die. Abraham Verghese steered the talk. Image of gentle, erudite, soft-spoken Venki, weighing every question carefully before replying in clear and concise words, a mild smile perpetually on his face, hovers in my mind as the icon of KLF. I had read his fabulous book a week back. I relished it immensely. 

Venky Ramakrishnan and Abraham Verghese

Beginning with India After Gandhi, I have read everything that Ramachandra Guha has written. I am in awe of his indomitable courage to speak his mind against a despotic regime, of his sharp intellect, his meticulously researched contemporary histories of India, and his elegant prose. He was interviewed about his latest book on environment, Speaking With Nature. But not to hear Ram Guha passionately espouse the cause of liberal democracy today is to listen to Modi talk about everything but, the harm congress has perpetrated on country. Considering anti-muslim stance of government today, isn’t it good that country was partitioned in 1947? An angry young man asked Guha. No, that is not the solution. If India ever became a Hindu-Pakistan, it would be the death of our nation – he replied.

  Ramachandra Guha

In the hub-bub of running from one talk to another, I could not obtain author-signed copy of books I wanted. On the last day of the festival, I planned to redeem this deficiency, and reached the venue a little early. I bought some books of authors whose talk was scheduled that day. It was still early, and I ventured on to the beach. Kozhikode beach is very long, perhaps more than two kilometres. I tried to imagine it being beautiful, but came a cropper. Polythene bags, paper shreds, used glasses and plates littered the sand. A foul-smelling drain, with black and stagnant water, poured into the sea. Awnings of the festival raised an ugly background.

Infrastructure at the festival was abysmally poor. It was terribly hot. Fans were meagre to none in most venues. Only one small marquee was air-conditioned. More than hundred thousand visitors came here every day. There was only one toilet complex. Eating arrangement too was awfully insufficient and of poor quality. I see an apathetic government in these deficiencies.

Last day was studded with some great sessions. Gautam Bhatia spoke on our constitution and how it has adapted to the changing face of our republic. Shashi Tharoor mesmerised audience as he spoke about his latest book, A Wonderland of Words. This is his metier and he delighted us by reading excellent excerpts from his book, talking about his childhood, and how his chronic illness forced him to find companionship in books.

Shashi Tharoor

Defne Suman, a Turkish writer, and Paul Lynch, 2023 Booker winner for his book Prophet Song, discussed the state of ‘Fiction Amidst Upheaval: The Politics and Prose of Turbulent Times’. Both painted a chilling yet alluring picture of the process of writing in a world that is becoming intolerant and fanatic by the day. Neerja Choudhary, the veteran journalist, narrated fascinating anecdotes from her illimitable treasury, some of which she has chronicled in her book, How Prime Ministers Decide.

Daphne Suman & Paul Lynch

Neerja Chowdhary discussing How Prime Ministers Decide

There was another session with the sagely scholar, Venki Ramakrishnan. He conversed with Guy Leschziner, a Neurophysician, and author of the popular science book, Seven Deadly Sins. They discussed Venki’s previous book, The Gene Machine, that is a part memoir and part science of ribosomes. Venki painted a funny picture of professional envy and razor-sharp ambition among top scientists of the world.

Venky Ramakrishnan & Guy Leschziner

 Last session we attended was on a narrative history of Awadh kingdom by the charming writer Ira Mukhoty, The Lion and the Lily. Discussion was hosted by Manu S. Pillai, an acclaimed historian and writer, whose latest book is Gods, Guns, and Missionaries: The Making of the Modern Hindu Identity.

Ira Mukhoty and Manu S. Pillai

Our hotel, that had also hosted many writers, bustled with people shuffling among their luggage as all visitors prepared to leave the city. Ira Mukhoty was surprised that we travelled from Delhi only for the festival. Her acclaimed book on Akbar has been in my wishlist for long. When I asked how she chose her subjects, she said she was a science graduate, and not a trained historian and got interested in history only a few years back. Isn’t change of stream at this late age difficult? No, historical research is like the methodology of science. She was travelling to Jaipur for the JLF now.

I had been breathing books for four days. Back at work, it felt a strange world. Heady book-talk, mixed with the breeze blowing across the Arabian sea, had oiled and aired the cogs and wheels of my mind. It has been only a few days, but already the numbing monotony of daily living has begun to rust those hinges.