Here I sit in the Diggi Palace. I'm surrounded by the desolate debris of the Festival. The people have gone, the buzz dissipated, the lanterns and rainbow colours have been tossed aside. The final car just left for the airport with Sanjoy and Sheuli in it! It is red rover. Sad but true.
I pray the duo make their flight, which is the last out to Delhi tonight. The police took their sweet time bringing a flimsy bit of paper with the one signature necessary to allow them to go home. It's sobering, the power of one signature. Particularly after all the threats, press and hoopla!
So, to the 5th and last day of the Festival where my crack team were joined by a lovely Pakistani girl called Tahrub. She had arrived in Jaipur on the 24th (first day of the Fest) with some fellow students and their teacher from Lahore to volunteer. The police had demanded a signature before granting them permission to stay. They had all been forced to back track to Delhi in a nasty little power play. By the time the crew returned to Jaipur, it was the final day of the Festival. I ensured that our team were super friendly to her, she got involved and she hosted a Q and A, but how dreadful for this wide-eyed, softly spoken youngster who just wanted to be a part of the event. Instead she was beaten down by bureaucracy, though she didn't seem resentful, just resigned and happy to at least get a taste. I guess one day is better than none.
Yet again, I'm getting ahead of myself. A rather special event during the Festival completely passed me by! It seems that the Man Booker team were in Jaipur and hosted a launch event at JLF, where the 2013 prize shortlist was announced. How thrilling that Tim Parks was here to do this. I've been reading up on the 10 finalists, which include the incredibly talented American writer Marilynne Robinson (my gorgeous friend Jenny gifted me her novel 'Home', which I found moving and lyrical, but very sad). She is one of only 3 authors on the list who write in English, it seems the the diversity perfectly reflected that at JLF - what a fitting relationship. Tim Parkes, who was here announcing the list, said that he was excited to be discovering 9 new writers.
What's crystal clear, is this Festival's importance and far-reaching influence. In fact, it's quite astounding, though I may be slightly biased. William tells me that four separate Festivals have sprouted in Pakistan, plus one in Nepal, Sri Lanka and Mynamar - all inspired by Jaipur.
Our final day was sunny and gorgeous. I was slightly dusty from the previous night, but my new friend Kaveri from Chennai was up early and insisted that I had to wear my saree. She was prepared with advice from her mother and I had finally sourced the right pins. With painstaking care and much consternation on Kaveri's part, I was wrapped up in my saree and you can see the results as she sweetly emailed me photographic evidence. Bless her, she was nervous about how the older women would react. It seems that you MUST wear a saree properly or you risk being inelegant. I was styled by my friend and when I tried to wear a big red sparkling jewel around my neck, she shook her head. When I attempted to put a gaggle of red bracelets on my wrists, again, I was told to keep it simple.
On my way to, and at the Festival, I got a huge amount of surprised looks, laughter and compliments from almost everyone I came in contact with. Mostly they were positive comments, (phew), though one woman insisted on pulling the entire outfit down during the day. Apparently I'd been wearing it far too high on my waist and it was much more elegant for it to sweep the ground, rather than show peeks of my ankles on stage. Oops! One interesting by product of my outfit was that when I finally made my way home as dusk hit, I wrapped my scarf around my head and noone on the street gave me a second look. For 15 beautiful minutes, I was just another Indian walking home from work. Those moments of anonymity are so rare for a Westerner, unless you barricade yourself in your room. Though sometimes, I must admit, it is a relief when you close the door on the outside world, I would much prefer to be in it.
The sun streamed in the Mughal tent and a quiet Monday soon gave way to a seething mass of bodies. Bhalchandra Neade and Jeet Thayil discussed 'A Rebel State' in conversation with Rupleena Bose. Sadly, I hardly got to listen to a word as I was briefing Tahrub and introducing her to the girls. Gosh, I'm proud of how inclusive they were. Of course, by the final day of the Fest were were a well oiled machine. It was hard not to feel bittersweet waves of emotion. Events truly are crazy things to be involved with, but they definitely keep one on one's tippy-toes.
'Maps of Love and Hate! Nationalism and Arab Literature' followed, as the stage almost buckled with heavyweights including Ahdaf Soueif (fabulous), Tahar Ben Jelloun (back with a much better translator), Selma Dabbagh and Reza Aslan (great to have them back with us) while a bearded Yank, Jonathan Shainin, moderated very well. William D introduced, but the British Council insisted on introducing his introduction, as they were co-sponsoring the event with the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Both Reza and Ahdaf had to go straight to another panel, so we were once again restrained by time, but this demanded taut debate and some great questions stirred things up further.
The incredible Wade Davis was up next. He is a Canadian explorer extraordinaire and author of many books, who visits roughly 30 countries a year. Labelled the extraordinary title 'Explorer in Residence' (as what explorer ever stays 'in residence'?) for the National Geographic, it has taken him a decade to write the definitive book on "Mallory and the Conquest of Everest". Patrick French guided him, though he's a wealth of knowledge who needs little prompting, through intense and dazzling discussion. I will never forget the way he invoked the Great War and evoked the times that these men were trail blazing up mountains. It was immensely moving. Though I know I'd heard a lot of them before, the figures of dead and maimed are staggering. I felt myself tear up more than once as he described how countries, villages and families were impacted, particularly Britain and India. Plastic surgery was born out of trying to help some of these youngsters regain their confidence, as so many were grossly disfigured. Britan lost 10,000 men (mostly boys) a month. A month!!!!!
Post lunch, where I managed to snatch enough time to devour a plate with Olive D (who was feeling desolate without her two sons who had absconded back to Delhi and Sam back to London), we hosted a fabulous panel entitled "Mahanagar: Writing the Megalopolis". Anosh Irani moderated, while Ajay Navaria (with my new friend Julie translating), M. A. Farooqi, Tania James and Mr. Everywhere Jeet T each read from their novels. It was a welcome change of pace to hear such a range of people reading their own words. It left little time (yet again) for questions, but we squeezed some in and then moved on to the final panel - "The Art of Historical Fiction". This time Jeet was moderating and Linda Grant, Madeline Miller and Lawrence Norfolk were a dynamic combination. His questioning was spot on and these very different writers (two Brits and a Yank) all laid themselves bare. Lawrence stole the show when he described going to the London Book Fair with one A4 sheet of paper and coming away with an agent.
It was the perfect ending. A multitude of hugs and photos ensued with my volleys and some audience members. At the risk of sounding too self-satisfied and ridiculously enthusiastic, I was overwhelmed by the kind comments directed at all the Mughal crew. We were proud of our venue and did our utmost as a team to run things smoothly and respectfully. I think the girls took a lot away from their time. I know I have. Would you believe I was even approached by Radio National for a quick interview? Sadly I did so after the last session and it went on a bit long (yes, I rabbited on too much!) so I wasn't around to join the main stage with the other Venue Managers before the final debate. Oh well, it would have been nice closure but Prithvi was for some reason keen to get my views on lots of aspects of the Fest, having interviewed volunteers, chai wallahs and speakers.
I was a bit shattered and wanted to clean up before the final night's celebrations, so I absconded after a lovely chat with some of the speakers - Kota Neelima and Vaju Naidu in particular. The debate on the Front Lawns was "Has Capitalism Lost Its Way?" and although I was interested, my hair was filthy, my feet were aching and I needed to catch my breath. So I shuffled along SMS Road in my saree, making many school kids in their jeans and shirts laugh with glee, and made my way to a beauty salon (it was the walk post the salon where I was in hiding). It was divine to close my eyes, turn my phone off and let the water wash away the grime. Not having brought a hair dryer, I guess should never have assumed that hotels would have one! But how lovely to be forced to pamper oneself.
The closing night ball was majestic in setting, scale and excitement. Arriving at the Amber Fort, we had to walk across water via a bridge (which terrified Bea, slightly affecting my enjoyment of the gobsmacking entrance) and then into the Fort. Upstairs, tables abounded and I found Andrew Solomon at the bar. Finally I was able to meet his husband John and catch up with him after all these years. We took our red wines to the top terrace, surrounded by twinkling lights. It was dazzling. A spectacular ending to a triumphant Festival. Gosh am I overdoing the adjectives or what?!?! Sorry.
I managed to snare Wade Davis, and engage his wonderful wife and their great friend, (whose name sadly escapes me but was an actress in Kathmandu for many years and absolute heaven - gosh did sh have some stories). It turns out that he knows my divine cousin Zoe and thinks highly of her (no surprise there). I then ran into two Aussies who had been sent to Jaipur by the Wheeler Centre who looks resplendent but freezing in their sarees. The night developed in a whirl of red wine, delicious food and excited, relieved discourse. I reluctantly joined the final revellers as we closed the party and headed off into the night. My friend Deepak, who runs the accommodation and transport (yuck!!! he and his team have hardly slept more than 8 hours the entire Fest) and his crew escorted me home. His son and his friends sang and danced their way down from the Fort. I must have had about 10 Indian men escorting me safely home. It was very sweet and I collapsed in a heap of content exhaustion.
For those of you who read my early blogs, uou'll be pleased to know I can't remember a single dream!
Dinner has just arrived, I'll fill in the gaps when I get to Jaiselmer.
Lx
I pray the duo make their flight, which is the last out to Delhi tonight. The police took their sweet time bringing a flimsy bit of paper with the one signature necessary to allow them to go home. It's sobering, the power of one signature. Particularly after all the threats, press and hoopla!
So, to the 5th and last day of the Festival where my crack team were joined by a lovely Pakistani girl called Tahrub. She had arrived in Jaipur on the 24th (first day of the Fest) with some fellow students and their teacher from Lahore to volunteer. The police had demanded a signature before granting them permission to stay. They had all been forced to back track to Delhi in a nasty little power play. By the time the crew returned to Jaipur, it was the final day of the Festival. I ensured that our team were super friendly to her, she got involved and she hosted a Q and A, but how dreadful for this wide-eyed, softly spoken youngster who just wanted to be a part of the event. Instead she was beaten down by bureaucracy, though she didn't seem resentful, just resigned and happy to at least get a taste. I guess one day is better than none.
Yet again, I'm getting ahead of myself. A rather special event during the Festival completely passed me by! It seems that the Man Booker team were in Jaipur and hosted a launch event at JLF, where the 2013 prize shortlist was announced. How thrilling that Tim Parks was here to do this. I've been reading up on the 10 finalists, which include the incredibly talented American writer Marilynne Robinson (my gorgeous friend Jenny gifted me her novel 'Home', which I found moving and lyrical, but very sad). She is one of only 3 authors on the list who write in English, it seems the the diversity perfectly reflected that at JLF - what a fitting relationship. Tim Parkes, who was here announcing the list, said that he was excited to be discovering 9 new writers.
What's crystal clear, is this Festival's importance and far-reaching influence. In fact, it's quite astounding, though I may be slightly biased. William tells me that four separate Festivals have sprouted in Pakistan, plus one in Nepal, Sri Lanka and Mynamar - all inspired by Jaipur.
Our final day was sunny and gorgeous. I was slightly dusty from the previous night, but my new friend Kaveri from Chennai was up early and insisted that I had to wear my saree. She was prepared with advice from her mother and I had finally sourced the right pins. With painstaking care and much consternation on Kaveri's part, I was wrapped up in my saree and you can see the results as she sweetly emailed me photographic evidence. Bless her, she was nervous about how the older women would react. It seems that you MUST wear a saree properly or you risk being inelegant. I was styled by my friend and when I tried to wear a big red sparkling jewel around my neck, she shook her head. When I attempted to put a gaggle of red bracelets on my wrists, again, I was told to keep it simple.
On my way to, and at the Festival, I got a huge amount of surprised looks, laughter and compliments from almost everyone I came in contact with. Mostly they were positive comments, (phew), though one woman insisted on pulling the entire outfit down during the day. Apparently I'd been wearing it far too high on my waist and it was much more elegant for it to sweep the ground, rather than show peeks of my ankles on stage. Oops! One interesting by product of my outfit was that when I finally made my way home as dusk hit, I wrapped my scarf around my head and noone on the street gave me a second look. For 15 beautiful minutes, I was just another Indian walking home from work. Those moments of anonymity are so rare for a Westerner, unless you barricade yourself in your room. Though sometimes, I must admit, it is a relief when you close the door on the outside world, I would much prefer to be in it.
The sun streamed in the Mughal tent and a quiet Monday soon gave way to a seething mass of bodies. Bhalchandra Neade and Jeet Thayil discussed 'A Rebel State' in conversation with Rupleena Bose. Sadly, I hardly got to listen to a word as I was briefing Tahrub and introducing her to the girls. Gosh, I'm proud of how inclusive they were. Of course, by the final day of the Fest were were a well oiled machine. It was hard not to feel bittersweet waves of emotion. Events truly are crazy things to be involved with, but they definitely keep one on one's tippy-toes.
'Maps of Love and Hate! Nationalism and Arab Literature' followed, as the stage almost buckled with heavyweights including Ahdaf Soueif (fabulous), Tahar Ben Jelloun (back with a much better translator), Selma Dabbagh and Reza Aslan (great to have them back with us) while a bearded Yank, Jonathan Shainin, moderated very well. William D introduced, but the British Council insisted on introducing his introduction, as they were co-sponsoring the event with the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Both Reza and Ahdaf had to go straight to another panel, so we were once again restrained by time, but this demanded taut debate and some great questions stirred things up further.
The incredible Wade Davis was up next. He is a Canadian explorer extraordinaire and author of many books, who visits roughly 30 countries a year. Labelled the extraordinary title 'Explorer in Residence' (as what explorer ever stays 'in residence'?) for the National Geographic, it has taken him a decade to write the definitive book on "Mallory and the Conquest of Everest". Patrick French guided him, though he's a wealth of knowledge who needs little prompting, through intense and dazzling discussion. I will never forget the way he invoked the Great War and evoked the times that these men were trail blazing up mountains. It was immensely moving. Though I know I'd heard a lot of them before, the figures of dead and maimed are staggering. I felt myself tear up more than once as he described how countries, villages and families were impacted, particularly Britain and India. Plastic surgery was born out of trying to help some of these youngsters regain their confidence, as so many were grossly disfigured. Britan lost 10,000 men (mostly boys) a month. A month!!!!!
Post lunch, where I managed to snatch enough time to devour a plate with Olive D (who was feeling desolate without her two sons who had absconded back to Delhi and Sam back to London), we hosted a fabulous panel entitled "Mahanagar: Writing the Megalopolis". Anosh Irani moderated, while Ajay Navaria (with my new friend Julie translating), M. A. Farooqi, Tania James and Mr. Everywhere Jeet T each read from their novels. It was a welcome change of pace to hear such a range of people reading their own words. It left little time (yet again) for questions, but we squeezed some in and then moved on to the final panel - "The Art of Historical Fiction". This time Jeet was moderating and Linda Grant, Madeline Miller and Lawrence Norfolk were a dynamic combination. His questioning was spot on and these very different writers (two Brits and a Yank) all laid themselves bare. Lawrence stole the show when he described going to the London Book Fair with one A4 sheet of paper and coming away with an agent.
It was the perfect ending. A multitude of hugs and photos ensued with my volleys and some audience members. At the risk of sounding too self-satisfied and ridiculously enthusiastic, I was overwhelmed by the kind comments directed at all the Mughal crew. We were proud of our venue and did our utmost as a team to run things smoothly and respectfully. I think the girls took a lot away from their time. I know I have. Would you believe I was even approached by Radio National for a quick interview? Sadly I did so after the last session and it went on a bit long (yes, I rabbited on too much!) so I wasn't around to join the main stage with the other Venue Managers before the final debate. Oh well, it would have been nice closure but Prithvi was for some reason keen to get my views on lots of aspects of the Fest, having interviewed volunteers, chai wallahs and speakers.
I was a bit shattered and wanted to clean up before the final night's celebrations, so I absconded after a lovely chat with some of the speakers - Kota Neelima and Vaju Naidu in particular. The debate on the Front Lawns was "Has Capitalism Lost Its Way?" and although I was interested, my hair was filthy, my feet were aching and I needed to catch my breath. So I shuffled along SMS Road in my saree, making many school kids in their jeans and shirts laugh with glee, and made my way to a beauty salon (it was the walk post the salon where I was in hiding). It was divine to close my eyes, turn my phone off and let the water wash away the grime. Not having brought a hair dryer, I guess should never have assumed that hotels would have one! But how lovely to be forced to pamper oneself.
The closing night ball was majestic in setting, scale and excitement. Arriving at the Amber Fort, we had to walk across water via a bridge (which terrified Bea, slightly affecting my enjoyment of the gobsmacking entrance) and then into the Fort. Upstairs, tables abounded and I found Andrew Solomon at the bar. Finally I was able to meet his husband John and catch up with him after all these years. We took our red wines to the top terrace, surrounded by twinkling lights. It was dazzling. A spectacular ending to a triumphant Festival. Gosh am I overdoing the adjectives or what?!?! Sorry.
I managed to snare Wade Davis, and engage his wonderful wife and their great friend, (whose name sadly escapes me but was an actress in Kathmandu for many years and absolute heaven - gosh did sh have some stories). It turns out that he knows my divine cousin Zoe and thinks highly of her (no surprise there). I then ran into two Aussies who had been sent to Jaipur by the Wheeler Centre who looks resplendent but freezing in their sarees. The night developed in a whirl of red wine, delicious food and excited, relieved discourse. I reluctantly joined the final revellers as we closed the party and headed off into the night. My friend Deepak, who runs the accommodation and transport (yuck!!! he and his team have hardly slept more than 8 hours the entire Fest) and his crew escorted me home. His son and his friends sang and danced their way down from the Fort. I must have had about 10 Indian men escorting me safely home. It was very sweet and I collapsed in a heap of content exhaustion.
For those of you who read my early blogs, uou'll be pleased to know I can't remember a single dream!
Dinner has just arrived, I'll fill in the gaps when I get to Jaiselmer.
Lx
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