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Ep 351: Pallavi Aiyar Has Seen the World | The Seen and the Unseen


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A good travel book, in a sense, is also a memoir.
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Whenever we travel, there is a collision of the self with the world.
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We see the world through our eyes, process it through our brains.
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What we notice and consider noteworthy has as much to do with us as with the world.
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I mean the world is what it is.
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It is complicated, it is many things, it is even inexplicable.
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But we try to make sense of it and apply lenses to it and so when a good writer writes about
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the world, she is also writing about herself.
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And because we are all made from the same ingredients, it is also our story, perhaps
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revealing us to ourselves.
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And perhaps through someone's travels, giving us a sense of belonging, not in a place, but
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in a condition, the human condition.
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Welcome to The Seen and the Unseen, our weekly podcast on economics, politics and behavioural
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science.
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Please welcome your host, Amit Verma.
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Welcome to The Seen and the Unseen.
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My guest today is Pallavi Ayur.
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Pallavi studied philosophy and history in media, became a journalist and then an author,
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travelled the world, lived in nine countries, had children, got cancer, fought cancer and
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wrote about it all and wrote so bloody well.
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If you haven't read her books yet, then count yourself lucky because you will soon feel
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the joy of reading such a remarkable writer for the first time.
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Pallavi's first book, Smoke and Mirrors, is a wonderful book about China, came out
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in 2008.
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She's written a bunch of books about the different countries she has lived in, of which
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my favourite is orienting, about her time in Japan.
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Another remarkable book she's written is called Babies and Bylines.
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It's the finest account of parenting I've read in many years.
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She's incredibly insightful, bloody entertaining and you will find yourself taking screenshots
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of pages and sending them to friends, so good as her writing.
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Her geopolitical insights are also terrific.
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She knows that most pandits are bullshitting most of the time, so she refrains from panditry,
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but even her casual one-line observations can be so sharp and nuanced.
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I especially, of all her work, love her newsletter, The Global Jigsaw, which has some beautiful
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personal essays on subjects like cancer, grief and family.
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This was such a memorable conversation with such a fine thinker and I can't wait to share
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it with you.
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But before that, let's take a quick commercial break.
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Please join us on our journey and please support us by subscribing to our YouTube channel
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at youtube.com slash Amit Verma, A-M-I-T-V-A-R-M-A.
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The show is called Everything is Everything.
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Please do check it out.
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Pallavi, welcome to The Scene in the Unseen.
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Thank you.
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We are, you know, sitting in the studio in Khar and you just startled me by reading out
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some very poetic, dramatic lines and I was wondering where they were coming from and
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it turns out there's a screen behind me with the lines on it.
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Yeah, I'm afraid the screen gets the credit.
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But kindly, you, the brilliant rendition you did, it was...
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Did you know that I fall on my knees when I'm around you?
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You can say anything that you want and I will believe you.
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So should I stick around with you and learn to crawl?
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Beautiful.
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Pantalizingly ends over there.
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These are brilliant lines and I freaked out a little bit because I was wondering what
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you're saying.
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But however, you know, before this, when we were having lunch, you mentioned that before
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that you had coffee with your old friend and now a good friend of mine, Mukul Chaddha,
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who, of course, left a lucrative career in Wall Street where he worked in Lehman Brothers
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and caused it to go under basically and then became an actor.
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And you mentioned you have acted with him in other luminaries back in the day and I
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didn't know this side of you, so tell me a bit about that.
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No, this was in St. Stephen's College and we were all members of what was called the
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Shakespeare Society.
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And yeah, it was brilliant.
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I think Mukul and I did Romeo and Juliet together in which he was the friar and I was
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the nurse to Juliet.
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So it was wonderful days and actually many of the friends that I made at that time have
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gone on to quite lucrative careers in Bollywood and beyond, Satyadeep Mishra, who I acted
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in Twelfth Night or What You Will With.
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But Mukul is particularly interesting because he went through a long phase when he was like
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the everyman on Indian television and every time I would switch on the TV, he was selling
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you insurance or he was selling you cars or he was selling you mosquito repellent or
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whatever, I think.
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He said that now he's apparently aging out of that demographic.
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But for a very long time, I think he was like the typical Indian man, middle class Indian
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man who would sort of sell you things on TV.
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So that was funny.
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And I wonder who was it who played like, would you remember who played Romeo and Juliet in
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that play?
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Juliet was Devika Baudiya and Romeo was a guy called Vishwanathan Krishnanth.
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We all joke that he went into venture capital and Mukul and I were talking about him today
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actually and I don't know, the stories are quite legion that he owns islands and I mean
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I'm not sure if any of this is true, but he's certainly very well off.
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He went into venture capital.
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Who would have thought of Romeo in those days?
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And yeah, I think he's in Hong Kong somewhere, last I heard.
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And Juliet, Devika Baudiya went into academics.
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She was in Yale and doing anthropology or something like that.
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And I've lost track of her a little bit.
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But yeah.
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Yeah, I mean, I can imagine, you know, Ishu who played Romeo saying,
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Exactly.
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Reminds me of an amusing story.
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A friend of mine once told me Vikram Sathe has come on the show before and Vikram once
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told me that he went to buy a car one day because he was persuaded by his good friend
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Gaurav Kapoor, who's a famous VJ and actor and all that.
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And he was persuaded by Gaurav that you have so much money, at least buy a car now.
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So they went to buy a car together and they're checking out.
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I assume luxury cars and all that.
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And Vikram can't drive.
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So Gaurav was driving for him and Vikram sat behind to check it out.
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And then they overheard the salesman telling another salesman,
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So, you know, typically I would, you know, use that college memory from Stephens as a
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segue to get you to talk about your childhood.
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But before we get to your childhood, I often ask people about their parents.
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But before we get to your parents, I'm fascinated by something that you once wrote about your
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grandmother, Bhagyam, your paternal grandmother.
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And I was really fascinated by that because I tend to think in my head, you know,
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with our present day bias that our generation has seen the most change ever, right?
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When you and I were growing up, 80s and early 90s, there's no internet.
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There's nothing.
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You know, the world is so different.
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And now it's changed in such dramatic ways.
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But at one point, you write about your grandmother, quote,
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the apocal changes an Indian woman like my grandmother lived through from child marriage
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and orphan servitude to higher education and so on and so forth.
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And you write about your grandmother, quote,
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from child marriage and orphan servitude to higher education and solo travel abroad.
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Bhagyam eventually brought up four children in large part as a single mom,
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my grandfather having died in a plane crash when my father and his siblings were still little.
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And you realize that even there, there is such a vast range.
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There's such a journey that has sort of been taken.
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And that really fascinates me, you know, from practically.
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And I'm thinking aloud now, a generation before motor cars to a generation where you're flying
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in an aeroplane looking down on the ground.
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That must just be so mind boggling and magical.
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So tell me a little bit about how you said it was relatively later in life.
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You really found out the details of your grandmother and whatever.
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It's because my father and my grandmother had a falling out.
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And I think largely this was based on religious grounds.
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My father is an atheist and my grandmother was practicing Hindu.
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She was a Brahmin woman brought up at a certain time.
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And I think they had issues over that because all of her four children ended up marrying outside caste
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and some of them outside religion.
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And so I think that there was a massive sort of falling out with my grandmother,
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which meant she wasn't very much part of my life when I was growing up.
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In fact, she, at that point of time, had joined an ashram.
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And I'm not even really, I think it's the Shivanand Ashram near Rishikesh.
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And she was living in the ashram and I didn't see her for many years
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until she had become sick with breast cancer, actually.
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And at that point, she came to Delhi and spent the last few months of her life at my uncle's house.
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And that was really the time that I saw her a few times, but she was already quite ill and frail.
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And her story in some ways had almost got lost.
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My father's side particularly, my father does not tend to talk very much about his childhood.
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He doesn't ruminate in the way that my mother, for example, did.
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So it was relatively recently that I got a fuller picture of her other than just her being a very difficult woman,
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which is how everybody used to talk about her.
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I think she was difficult with my mother.
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She was difficult with a lot of the daughter-in-laws and so on.
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But hers really was a remarkable story.
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And it's interesting that you said about, you know, from motor cars to planes.
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What stuck out to me about her story when I heard it in its fullness was this bullock cart chase, which I will come to.
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So the story that I know, I mean, I do know the bare bones.
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I don't have a lot of detail about it, but from what I have been able to piece together,
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she was born around 1910 near Tanjore in Tamil Nadu and her parents died in quick succession.
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So by the time she was very young, maybe eight or nine years old, she was essentially an orphan.
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And as a result, in danger, there was no one really to look out for her interests.
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And she ended up being looked after by various relatives.
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But in some ways, it was like a life of servitude.
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She was basically just treated as somebody to help out in the home.
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This was a time when child marriage was very prevalent.
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She had an older sister, Alankaram, who was actually a child widow.
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She had been married and then she had never met her husband by the time he died.
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So she was a widow before she had even reached puberty.
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But I'm not sure exactly how she ended up in Chennai in Madras with a lady called Sister Alankaram,
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who was a social reformer of the time and worked particularly with child widows and their education.
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So Alankaram had ended up with Sister Subbalakshmi, who was the social reformer.
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The sister was Alankaram and Sister Subbalakshmi brought her up and she was very well educated and so on.
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In the meantime, her sister, Bhagyam, who is my grandmother, was about 11 or 12.
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And there was talk of her being given away in marriage as well.
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And she was in a village near Tanjore at the time.
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And Sister Subbalakshmi and Alankaram staged an intervention.
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And they arrived at the village and at the time when the rest of the family was away for a wedding somewhere else.
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And they arrived at this home and they essentially kidnapped Bhagyam, my grandmother, and they had a bullock cart.
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So they went by bullock cart from the home to the train station.
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At which point, I'm not sure if this is urban myth or what,
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but at least this is how it's been told that some of the relatives returned back and realized that Bhagyam was missing.
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And they gave chase also in a bullock cart.
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So it's very cinematic. In my imagination, there's Bhagyam going in a bullock cart.
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There are the other evil relatives who are chasing her in a bullock cart.
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And they just about made it to the train station as the train was pulling out on its way to Chennai.
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And Sister Subbalakshmi jumped on. Alankaram jumped on.
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The relatives sort of jumped off the bullock cart.
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And then there was this moment when my grandmother was being pulled in two different directions,
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with Alankaram pulling her on, the evil relatives pulling her off.
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In the end, she made it on and chugged her way to this very different future,
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where she also ended up with Sister Subbalakshmi in this child widow's home.
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And ultimately, I think there was a collection raised for her.
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And she did her B.Ed from a university in Chennai.
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She also had the opportunity to study abroad.
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But I think the First World War broke out and she got stranded and wasn't able to complete her studies.
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But came back and was a teacher.
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And as I mentioned in the piece I wrote about her, she essentially brought up four children single-handedly
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because her husband died, I think, when my father was about seven or eight years old.
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So she was a formidable person by all accounts.
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Perhaps not the easiest person to live with, but certainly a formidable woman.
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Your father coined this phrase called Ayerization in a column which you quoted in one of your pieces.
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And I'm thinking that if there's ever a web series made on the Ayer spanning out across the globe,
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this could be the opening sequence.
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Exactly.
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This fabulous bullock cart race.
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The bullock cart is very cinematic, isn't it?
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It's so cinematic.
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And the way you told the story that Sister Subbalakshmi gets on the train,
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Alankaram gets on the train, the relative jump of the bullock cart.
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It's very Bollywood.
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We just need to know who's going to play Bhagyam.
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Go Bhagyam, live your life in Tamil.
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But not quite that.
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One of the sort of themes that I've kind of been noticing to begin with,
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not even exploring but just noticing,
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is from people of that generation, Bhagyam's generation and perhaps one immediately after that,
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a certain kind of lived feminism where you see lives of women
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which are not overtly feminist in a particular way in terms of,
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oh, they made such a career and they traveled the world and they were CEO or whatever.
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But there's a certain kind of assertion and living life within the constraints
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of whatever the world affords you.
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I remember Mukulika Banerjee coming on the show and talking about her,
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how her mom with a couple of female friends, I think,
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once took a Tonga ride from one town to another.
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And that was their way of kind of asserting themselves and it was completely fine.
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You know, Mrinal Pandey's mother, Shivani Ji, in her quiet way,
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also there was a certain kind of lived feminism there.
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And when you look back on that with the purest lens, perhaps,
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they don't seem particularly feminist.
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Like the first thing that you said about your grandmother was,
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you know, your impression of her as someone who was living in an ashram,
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who was very religious, which is why your dad broke up.
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So the image you have in your head is someone who's like really traditional,
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typical immediately, you know, the stereotype latches on to that.
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But then when you get into the details, you realize that,
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fuck, I mean, this is formidable. There is such force of will here, right?
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Which in modern times with all our privileges,
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like when I read about some of the women of that century,
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like the famous Haimapati Sen, for example,
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I can't possibly imagine myself showing that kind of strength of will or character or whatever,
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you know, but from those circumstances.
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Have you heard the story of Haimapati Sen?
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No.
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So Haimapati Sen was born in a village.
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I think it's Barisal, it's probably a village which begins with B,
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but it's today in East Bengal in 1850s or something.
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And when she's 10 years old, and it's a tiny village disconnected from the world.
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And when she's 10 years old, she's married off to this 40-year-old widower.
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And her memory of the next two years is that during the day,
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she's playing with his children who are as old as her.
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And during the night, she doesn't remember quite what happens,
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but she wakes up naked and bleeding and that's all she remembers.
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And then when she is 12, her husband dies, her in-laws die, her parents die,
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and she basically has no one, all the money is taken by whoever.
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She has no one, she is a destitute 12-year-old widow.
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And from there, she somehow makes her way to Benares,
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gets herself educated to become a doctor,
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and then becomes a leading doctor, head of a doctor's guild,
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and whatever, I don't remember the details, but becomes an eminent person.
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Also a person considered difficult by her relatives,
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you know, because she's snappy and she's not the most convivial to be around.
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And she writes a diary all these years.
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And that diary, when she dies, it's kept inside a trunk,
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and the trunk is locked for 80 years.
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And then they open it in the late 1900s,
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and they discover the diary and it's published as a memoirs of Hemabuti Sen.
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And I think of that story and I am like, fuck, like there is no way I get through that.
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Like if I am 12 and in that position, there is no way I get through that.
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I think most people don't get through that.
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And that's a more dramatic story.
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But I think that in earlier times, while from a surface level, from a larger distance,
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people can seem to live almost templatized lives.
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And if you peer a little beneath the hood,
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you realize that there's a lot of extraordinary shit happening there as well.
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There's a lot of extraordinary in the ordinary.
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And I think almost anybody's quotidian life is extraordinary if you put a microscope on it,
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which is something that you do.
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You sit down with people and you ask them about their lives,
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and anybody's life will reveal a story that is worthy of a movie,
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because there is extraordinary things that go on.
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But what do we mean by feminism?
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I mean, all of these categories, they're very amorphous and they're also very of their time.
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And force of will does not necessarily equate feminism either.
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I mean, in many ways, from what I've heard, my grandmother was a deeply patriarchal woman
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in the sense that she wanted to control the lives of her children.
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She wanted to control the lives of who they married, of her daughter-in-laws.
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My aunt was never given the same opportunities that her sons were given.
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So the three boys were educated at Doon School and sent off to England to study in Oxford and so on.
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My aunt was not given those opportunities.
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And I believe she was also very casteist from what my dad has occasionally mentioned.
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So, you know, but she was a product of her time.
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Did she do extraordinary things? Yes.
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I mean, you know, like the whole bullock cart chase, the going on to become educated,
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taking ship alone just before the First World War broke out to go off to England to study.
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All of those are incredible things.
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And I think it just goes to show that it's very hard to pigeonhole people.
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You are not one thing or the other.
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You can be extraordinary and empowered in some ways,
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and you can also be sort of boxed in by your circumstances
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and therefore limited in how you respond to things at the same time.
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And yeah, so I think her story just kind of shows how we are many things.
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And I know no one person is, you know, oppressive or oppressed.
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You normally are a combination of those two things.
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You tend to be privileged, but in other ways, perhaps underprivileged.
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This is how we all are. Yeah.
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Yeah, it's complicated.
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And another sort of theme that I keep coming across when I record,
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especially with women guests, is when they talk about their fathers.
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And I realized that men of a certain age were feminists with their daughters, but not with their wives.
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Like Shanta Gokhale speaks about how she was sent on her own to England
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to study when she was 18 or 19 in the 1950s.
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And her father once told her, never get married.
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It's a useless institution, which of course is true.
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But which is, which feels very, very enlightened thing to say.
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But with his own wife, he was not necessarily, you know, that feminist.
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I mean, I don't remember if this is true in Shanta's dad's case,
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but certainly in two or three stories that I've heard of.
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And my theory for that was that, look, paradigms change one funeral at a time,
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as it were, change is generational.
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And these men, they probably just got into a particular groove,
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which was completely normalized.
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This is how men are, this is how women are.
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And it's only when they have kids and they start loving them deeply
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that that kind of cracks and they sort of look through that.
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And the question I want to therefore come at is that
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I'm thinking that perhaps it's unfair to expect someone like Bhagyam,
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who's fought her own battles in certain domains,
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to be able to see beyond the normal in another domain,
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whether it's his caste or whether it is that patriarchal approach
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or sending the boys abroad to study but not the girls.
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And maybe it is so normalized for her that she cannot possibly break through it.
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Yeah.
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And then sometimes at the end of life you do.
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But I wonder, in your case, you know, over the span of your life,
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what are the things which were normalized for you once upon a time,
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but which you managed to see past?
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Hmm.
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I think seeing the world through English probably is one of those,
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because I grew up speaking English at home.
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I read English literature.
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When I thought about the wider world, I thought about England,
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I thought about the US.
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When I thought about studying abroad, abroad was basically the West.
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So I think living in non-English speaking parts of the world,
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be it China, be it Japan, now very much Spain,
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because the Hispanic world is very different from the English speaking world.
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I think that has been something that has changed very much
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the way that I think and I conceive of things,
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that there are different ways of doing things which are not necessarily in English
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and constrained by the English paradigm.
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Can you give specific examples of this?
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Like in orienting your book on Japan,
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you mentioned these wonderful examples of Japanese words
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that don't have an equivalent like tsundoku,
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which is collecting books and not reading them,
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or that word for forest bathing, which by the way are the one...
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Shingen yoko.
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Yeah, yeah, which I kind of love.
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And elsewhere you also write about hikikomori at one point,
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which was a concept that kind of fascinated me,
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which is basically, you know, for the listeners,
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people who lock themselves in a room for years on end
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and just don't meet anyone else and that's kind of the life they are living,
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which is also sort of the mirror image of the otherwise cooperative society
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where everyone is, you know, looking after everyone else.
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And, you know, in that book I get a sense that there are many things about
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that sort of culture which left a deep impact on you,
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whether it is sort of the pottery that you were studying.
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Kintsugi.
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Kintsugi, you know, where the light comes in through the cracks as it were,
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where you're not actually supposed to repair a piece of broken crockery,
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but turn it into art as it were.
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And so in concrete terms,
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can you tell me about deep changes within you that happened
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because of emotion into any of these cultures, China, Japan?
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Yeah, I think it's a widening of perspective.
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It's a sort of real deep realization ultimately at how much unites us.
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I think I would have had this idea of places like China and Japan being very inscrutable.
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I would have had an idea of them being slightly robotic,
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of them being people that I wouldn't necessarily connect with.
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And this did happen, for example, when I studied in England at university.
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We had a pretty international setup,
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but all my friends would end up being people who spoke English reasonably fluently.
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And when it came to Chinese or Japanese students,
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I wouldn't have the patience or the time to kind of get to know them.
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And they would just seem to me slightly boring.
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They never seem to have anything very interesting to say.
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I think what has really changed with the fact that I've lived in so many countries
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where I've had to struggle with the language
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is that I realized that a certain facility with language makes you glib.
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But at the same time, it can also make you, I don't know,
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it makes you confident in a negative kind of way.
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You feel like you are sort of commanding the attention of the room,
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but what you're not doing is listening.
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And there's a lot of people who have many things that are worthwhile to say.
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They just can't articulate them because they do not have the same command over the language that you do.
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So I think, you know, being a second language speaker in so many countries
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where my Chinese is bad, my Japanese is broken, my Spanish is not that great,
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I'm not suddenly the most interesting person in the room.
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And in fact, many people can look at me and sort of ignore me.
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And so it's kind of given me empathy for that kind of perspective.
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And that's brought about fundamental changes in how I look at the world.
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And I think it's sort of broadened out the kinds of people that I've ended up becoming interested in
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and the kinds of things that I find interesting.
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And I think it's also given me a lot of, it's helped me to sort of listen far more deeply
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than I was prone to do once upon a time.
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You know, we'll speak about parenting in detail later,
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but one aspect that you mentioned in your beautiful book on parenting
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is how the notions of touch and nudity changed for you.
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Where, you know, in India, for example, you're really not nude around kids or whatever,
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or around your family so casually.
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And also a lot of touch is either erotic touch or it is just, you know, non-touch.
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And you spoke about how sort of bringing up your kids elsewhere
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opened up these domains for you also.
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So it is not just about the parenting per se, but, you know, parenting in Spain,
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parenting in Japan, parenting all over the world.
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I think touch is a very big thing as well, because I think, you know,
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when you live in a country like India, which is so crowded,
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where in many ways to live is to jostle, to rub up against.
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It's just constant. Touch is almost inescapable.
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And that also means that you have very little private space.
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I think that also impacts the whole nudity thing.
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You know, the house that I grew up in, there were people walking around all the time.
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There would be helpers, there would be stray aunts, there would be neighbours.
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There might be the Kabaddiwala who's coming to take the newspaper out.
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So the idea that you could be in this kind of a space
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and be nude and wandering around was unthinkable.
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But in the West or in other kinds of parts of the world
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where private space is more sacrosanct, nobody is going to just land up,
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I think it sort of changes your relationship also to the body
#
because it becomes much more private.
#
And so that's true. I would never have, I don't think I ever saw my mother naked.
#
But when I was with my young children, when they were very young,
#
of course, you know, you bathe with them.
#
There's a certain point, maybe when they're about two years old,
#
two and a half years old, when that stops becoming normal.
#
In our case, it actually went on for quite a long period of time
#
because they had just got used to the idea that the bathroom was not a sacrosanct space.
#
I was having a shower, they would walk in, they would walk out.
#
There was nothing that was remotely erotic about it, but it was sensual.
#
So, you know, I do think that cuddling a child naked is a very sensual experience.
#
It kind of gives you this tingly feeling.
#
It's absolutely beautiful.
#
And talking about Japanese words like sundoku,
#
there's also a Japanese word for exactly that, the pleasure of sleeping with an infant,
#
which is not an erotic pleasure, but it is a pleasure of touch.
#
It is a pleasure of the skin. It is sensual.
#
So, yeah, I mean, I think, you know, I've been like the norms around nudity,
#
the norms around touch, the norms around parenting are very variable,
#
depending on which culture you're in.
#
And again, the more that you live in different cultures,
#
the more you realize how constructed all of this is at all.
#
So, yeah.
#
And does the existence of those words open you up to that feeling?
#
Because that particular Japanese word...
#
I think you need to be careful with that.
#
Because sometimes those words sound more exotic
#
simply because they're in a foreign language.
#
So shinrin yoko, for most Japanese people, is just having a walk in the forest.
#
But when we translate it into English, it becomes forest bathing,
#
which suddenly becomes something that's more transcendental or ikigai.
#
I mean, you know, all of these Japanese words,
#
they've kind of been adopted into corporate speak as well.
#
And so we need to be careful not to exoticize it.
#
I mean, what does namaste mean, for example?
#
Like, I bow to you, I greet you or whatever.
#
But normally when you say namaste, you're just saying the equivalent of hello.
#
So it's important, I think, to be aware that just because a word is not familiar to you
#
and it's in a foreign language,
#
that it's not something that's like holding these multitudes of experiences
#
that are suddenly opening you up to.
#
On the other hand, you know, if you hear a word and it makes...
#
and you look at the word in an unfamiliar way
#
and it opens up a new way of looking at things,
#
it can also be something that is helpful.
#
And there tend to be deep philosophical meanings behind many words
#
that have become opaque in the cultures that they belong to.
#
But when a foreigner hears them, you know,
#
it actually exposes the deep meaning behind them.
#
So something like kintsugi, for most Japanese people,
#
it's like when they break a ceramic teacup or whatever,
#
they'll just take it for repair, and that would be kintsugi.
#
But when you're a foreigner and you hear about the fact
#
that they are repairing it not like to perfection,
#
but essentially in a way that would highlight its flaws,
#
and therefore the idea being that it is a more beautiful object because of its flaws.
#
And rather than hiding the flaws, we highlight the flaws
#
because that is part of the biography of the object.
#
I mean, this is a beautiful thing to, you know, explore.
#
And sometimes there's also a way in which a Japanese person
#
will actually think about it only after a foreigner brings it up to them.
#
So this happens in a lot of cultures as well where, you know,
#
ordinary things just become opaque to you because they're so quotidian.
#
And you need an outsider perspective to actually look at your own culture with fresh eyes.
#
Yeah, no, no, that's really sort of, that's a great nuance.
#
And I totally agree with you that, you know,
#
because there is no word like schadenfreude in any other language doesn't mean we don't feel it.
#
Everybody feels it, right?
#
But equally a word like soine, I don't know how it's pronounced,
#
which is a word you...
#
Sleeping with your infant, yeah.
#
The sensuality, the unique sensuality of sleeping together with your infant,
#
as you put it in your book,
#
is again something that I think most people wouldn't give conscious thought to,
#
perhaps even in Japan.
#
So just having a word for it is interesting to me.
#
I had this very Wittgensteinian point made to me in a previous episode,
#
I think perhaps by Luke Burgess,
#
and Wittgenstein's point being that language is limited,
#
and especially any individual language is particularly limited
#
because you're not describing all of the world.
#
And therefore your experience,
#
your understanding the world of language is a frame through which you kind of live the world.
#
Then having only one language or two languages or three languages,
#
and in India we are lucky to be naturally multilingual, of course,
#
but having only one or two languages
#
therefore does become a limitation to that understanding of the world.
#
And how much do you feel that is true,
#
that language bathing, as it were, if I may coin a phrase,
#
the way that you've done,
#
living in nine countries, learning all these different languages,
#
picking them up with such apparent felicity,
#
like you talk of it really casually,
#
I was learning Japanese, I was learning Spanish,
#
you write in your books...
#
Learning Japanese and failing, yeah, but...
#
Still, yeah, no, no, it's like I wouldn't even know where to start, but...
#
It makes a huge difference, Amit.
#
You know, even how we conceive of time, for example,
#
I find it fascinating how we divide the day
#
and how there's nothing that is sort of God-given about it,
#
and the artificiality of that becomes very apparent
#
when you see how different cultures do it.
#
So in Indonesia, for example, you have Salamat Pagi,
#
which is good morning,
#
but then you have Salamat Sore,
#
which happens between noon and two o'clock in the afternoon,
#
and then you have Salamat Siang,
#
which is after two in the afternoon,
#
and then after about seven o'clock, it becomes Salamat Malam.
#
Then you go to somewhere like Spain,
#
and I think one of the most fascinating things about Spain
#
is the Spanish afternoon, because it is a very bizarre thing.
#
It doesn't begin afternoon, so it doesn't begin at twelve.
#
It begins at two.
#
And until two, it is normally Bonas Tias,
#
which is good morning, good day.
#
But after two, you can start saying,
#
Bonas Tardes, which is good afternoon,
#
and it doesn't stop till about nine or ten in the evening.
#
So they have no evening.
#
And if somebody says that they'll come and see you in the afternoon,
#
you have no idea of how to place this.
#
It could be at two o'clock in the afternoon,
#
it could be at five o'clock in the afternoon,
#
it could be at nine p.m. as well.
#
And then you have when there's no chairs, which is good night,
#
but that's kind of more like good night, you know,
#
and it has to be very dark.
#
It also perhaps has something to do with the amount of sunlight.
#
I mean, you know, Spain in the summer has sun till about ten or ten-thirty,
#
so the afternoon in the sense of there being light does continue till ten or ten-thirty.
#
But yeah, I mean, it's fascinating how we divide time,
#
what the afternoon in Spain is very much not the afternoon in India,
#
is very much not the afternoon in Indonesia.
#
And when you sort of start learning languages,
#
you realize time is just one example,
#
since you asked for a complete example.
#
But many things that we sort of take for,
#
somehow that there's some external reality to them,
#
are actually just a product of language or how, you know,
#
very, very culturally dependent.
#
And learning different languages, I think, makes that more clear.
#
It sort of makes that more transparent.
#
Another sort of conceptual transplantation or like an isomorphic mimicry of sorts
#
is how people in India talk of four seasons and I'm like, what four seasons?
#
Monsoon, monsoon.
#
Yeah, but you know, they talk of the four seasons in a classical way
#
and I came across this interview yesterday, I forget whose,
#
but basically saying that in England, you know,
#
you have dreadful weather nine months of the year
#
and then you have winter three months of the year,
#
which is also an interesting way to describe it.
#
You know, when you were in China, you mentioned this fascinating period at BBI
#
where you were simultaneously learning Chinese and also teaching English.
#
You know, and in one, you are the person in the room who knows everything
#
and in the other, you are the complete beginner who's like bewildered,
#
like what the hell is going on.
#
So tell me a little bit about that and how one influences the other in that case
#
when you're doing that.
#
What was that phase like for you?
#
Because like you've pointed out eloquently in Smoke and Mirrors
#
and like I think it's true for many of us English-speaking people,
#
that we find it easy to go to sort of an English-speaking country
#
or even a European country where broadly, you know,
#
people can understand English and all of that.
#
But China seems so incredibly foreign and inscrutable and hard to understand.
#
So you can't depend on language, you have to depend on other things.
#
I think that's the biggest difference, right?
#
And it can make you seem a bit foolish.
#
I think in Smoke and Mirrors, I have an anecdote where I was trying to get to the airport
#
and I couldn't explain to the taxi driver and eventually I sort of put my hands out
#
and I flapped them because I wanted to show an aeroplane.
#
I'm not sure why I was actually doing that.
#
But anyway, he took me to a KFC because he thought I was showing him chickens.
#
You know, various things like that end up happening.
#
And sometimes it can be scary, you can feel a bit helpless.
#
I used to take a bus from where I lived to the university,
#
BBI, the Beijing Broadcasting Institute.
#
It was 9.28 and I had learned that I could get onto the bus
#
and 20 minutes later it would deposit me at the university.
#
And there was one time when I got on the bus and it just went past the university
#
and didn't stop.
#
And before I knew it, it was on a highway.
#
And 45 minutes later, I was not in Beijing anymore.
#
I was in Hubei province.
#
And these were days before there was any mobile phones.
#
I think I had a mobile phone, but they were not smartphones.
#
This was 2002.
#
And I didn't speak a word of Chinese.
#
This was about a month into my being.
#
Then nobody on the bus could understand what I was saying.
#
So there was nothing to do except to just let it happen.
#
And then I arrived.
#
Whenever the bus stopped, I got off and, you know, managed to find a taxi
#
and made my way back.
#
So you had to also just let things happen to you.
#
I think that the initial period when you are somewhere and you are foreign
#
is a fascinating period because you are really wide open
#
with all your senses working over time
#
in a way that just doesn't happen six months later.
#
I think I've got it down to a time period.
#
I think it's a six-month period when you do things like, you know,
#
look at people's expressions.
#
If you're sitting on a bus, you kind of notice what they are reading.
#
You look at their body language.
#
You know, do they throw their shoulders back when they're laughing
#
or do they cover their mouths with their hand?
#
You tend to notice signs and try to decipher them.
#
It's also fascinating when you're learning a language
#
because the signs suddenly become partially intelligible
#
as you progress with the language learning.
#
So, you know, if you're learning Chinese, for example,
#
initially it's just squiggles.
#
And occasionally there will be flashes of meaning
#
because you'll recognize the character.
#
Or if you're learning Spanish, you know, suddenly all these things
#
where you didn't understand the grammar,
#
you can now understand what they're really saying
#
in terms of the conjugation.
#
So it's like being a child and, you know,
#
and with that child you have that childlike sense of,
#
I think, wonderment, openness, curiosity,
#
all of those things that we lose.
#
And so it's a wonderful state of being.
#
It's a state of becoming, really.
#
So, you know, I love that little bit about sudden flashes of meaning
#
when you recognize a character or something.
#
And that reminded me of a poem by K. Ryan,
#
who used to be America's poet laureate.
#
Have you read her?
#
No.
#
She's got this beautiful poem called Train Track Figure.
#
And I'll read it out.
#
Imagine a train track figure made of sliver
#
over sliver of between carvation,
#
each slice too brief to add detail or deepen.
#
That could be a hat.
#
If it's a person, if it's a person, if it's a person,
#
just the same scant information,
#
time to supplant the same scant information.
#
So snatches of meaning.
#
Snatches of meaning.
#
And I wonder that this way of seeing what you mentioned
#
that, you know, typically what happens is
#
as we go through our everyday lives,
#
you're not really seeing anything.
#
Most of the world is unseen to us.
#
But we are in a new place.
#
We have to see everything.
#
Because muscle memory does not work.
#
We can stumble anywhere.
#
We have to be alert.
#
Is this kind of alertness something that stays with you
#
in one form in the sense that you can switch it on and switch it off?
#
And is it also something that you can train yourself to be intentional about,
#
especially in your case as you're a writer, you know,
#
and you've written such beautiful travelogues.
#
Is there also a mode of view
#
which is doing this special kind of noticing
#
with someone like me perhaps, wouldn't it?
#
Well, I think any reporter would.
#
So whenever I'm on assignment, my brain tends to be very awake, you know.
#
And so if I'm looking out of the window,
#
I'm actually thinking simultaneously
#
how I would describe and process what I'm seeing.
#
And I actually love being on holiday when I can just switch that off.
#
It's difficult for me to do it, but I think it's very necessary
#
when you actually look out the window
#
and you're not thinking of how to put that into words,
#
but just letting that wash over you.
#
So there is a way, I think, particularly reporters,
#
and you know, you need to give color to your stories when you go somewhere.
#
You're immediately thinking about how you're going to describe this
#
to somebody who's not there.
#
You can train yourself to think like that.
#
That tends to be almost automatic when you're new to a place.
#
Like I said, when you first move to a country,
#
that's first six-month period.
#
And then, you know, you become habituated to it,
#
and you know, it's human fall.
#
You can't be, it would be sensory overdrive
#
if you were like that all the time.
#
But I do think that it's possible to professionally train yourself.
#
I think it's actually a very valuable reporter's trick,
#
and it's one that I use,
#
and I also have to work quite hard at switching it off.
#
You once described your children as geographically polyamorous,
#
which is a term I absolutely love.
#
And in one place, you write about yourself,
#
and you say, quote,
#
I am an Indian who met a Spaniard in London
#
and moved to China with him.
#
We got married and spent the next decade
#
living in Beijing, Brussels, and Jakarta.
#
The languages we share in common are English, Mandarin,
#
and Sambahasa, Indonesia.
#
Our Sunday family dinner ritual features sushi.
#
Neither of us is religious,
#
but Julio reads a Gita while it's fallen on me to explain to Ishan,
#
which is your older son,
#
following a visit to the Prado Art Museum in Madrid,
#
why the Romans were bad guys.
#
Apropos the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, stop, quote.
#
And elsewhere, you write about your kids as a delicious global khichri,
#
which is, again, a passage I love,
#
where you speak about how, you know,
#
you say our kids are a delicious global khichri.
#
They are half Indian and half Spanish.
#
The older one was born in China.
#
The younger one in Belgium.
#
They went to kindergarten in Indonesia,
#
primary school in Japan.
#
When people ask them where they were from,
#
they were nonplussed.
#
What does from mean?
#
Nico queried me repeatedly.
#
He vexed him, yeah.
#
I wasn't sure what to tell him, stop, quote.
#
And you've also spoken about this great piece written by your dad,
#
and I'll read out this entire bit by you,
#
where you write about the piece,
#
and you write,
#
In 2005, the year I married Julio,
#
my father wrote a column for The Times of India
#
titled My Family and Other Globalizers.
#
He talked about how both his children had foreign spouses.
#
My brother lived in the United States with his German wife.
#
My father explained that while readers might assume my family
#
to have been born on a jet plane,
#
in reality we are barely a generation or two
#
out of an obscure village in South India called Kargudi.
#
My grandfather was one of six children and so on,
#
and so two generations later,
#
the size of the Kargudi extended family is over 200.
#
Of these, only three still live in the village,
#
with the rest having moved across India and the whole world,
#
from China to Arabia to Europe to America.
#
The single family accounts for 50 US citizens today.
#
And then you continue quoting from your dad's piece,
#
which is quite superb.
#
But the question I want to therefore ask you
#
is about identity and how complex it can be.
#
Like, I love this phrase that Sugata Srinivasaraju
#
used in an episode with me last year,
#
rooted cosmopolitanism.
#
And when I think of myself, I think that
#
I am cosmopolitan, yes,
#
I don't know the extent of my rootedness,
#
and that is a lament.
#
And the kind of intellectual Sugata was speaking about,
#
and himself,
#
are perhaps people who have bored that rootedness
#
and that sense of being a citizen of the world.
#
And I'm wondering about you because,
#
like you mentioned when you first started,
#
you navigated the world through English.
#
You were part of the English-speaking elites of Delhi.
#
I was also part of English-speaking elites somewhere else.
#
And it was, in a sense,
#
and I can tell looking back on it,
#
I don't know how you feel about it,
#
but looking back on it,
#
I can see that it was a bubble,
#
and that we didn't really know
#
or understand the rest of the country.
#
And after that, you've moved from there,
#
you've traveled all over the place,
#
and you've spoken about how everywhere you've gone,
#
you've had initial problems in different cities,
#
whether it is a cold in England,
#
or getting a mobile phone in Japan,
#
but you've had different kinds of problems in different cities.
#
But ultimately, you've become deeply attached to each place
#
that you have been to.
#
You speak movingly in smoke and mirrors
#
about how when you left China,
#
it had become so dear to you.
#
So how does one think of oneself in these times
#
where at one level, maybe 10-15 years ago,
#
I would have thought it is completely unproblematic
#
and desirable of us to think of ourselves as global citizens,
#
where lines on a map don't really matter.
#
And when you say use words like Indian or Japanese,
#
you're using it in a cultural kind of sense
#
with relation to the khichri we are all part of,
#
but not necessarily the nation-states.
#
But today, there seems almost to be a backlash
#
against this kind of globalization.
#
Wow, that's a lot that you've packed into that.
#
I don't even know where to start unpacking it.
#
But going back to this idea of rooted cosmopolitanism,
#
I think it's how I would describe myself.
#
Somebody who was rooted very much in India.
#
I sort of was born and brought up in Delhi.
#
I went to one school from nursery till class 12.
#
I did my first university degree in Delhi.
#
And then I kind of spread my wings and went around the world,
#
and this is China, this is England, this is Japan,
#
et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
#
My children were a very different kettle of fish to that,
#
because they are the cosmopolitans without roots.
#
And what does that mean?
#
Because when we talk about identity, I think till today,
#
identity is very much geographical.
#
It's very much about place, you know, and religion perhaps.
#
I would say that religion and place are the two main sort of markers of identity
#
when you ask most people.
#
And in the case of my kids, they have neither.
#
They have no sense of geographic identity.
#
So I'll give you an example.
#
I think when Ishan, my older son, he was about four or five years old
#
and he was going to school in Indonesia,
#
and the school was an international school,
#
and they would celebrate the international nature of all the students,
#
and they would have a day once a year
#
where they had the national anthem being played
#
of all the different nationalities of the kids in the school.
#
And whenever they played the Chinese national anthem,
#
is when my son would always stand up along with all the other Chinese kids,
#
because he was born in China.
#
So he was convinced that when people asked you,
#
where are you from, they were asking, where were you born?
#
Because he was born in China.
#
So he was born in China.
#
We moved when he was seven months old.
#
But for a long time, he would tell people that my mother is Indian,
#
my father is Spanish, I'm Chinese.
#
And various people would sort of look at him and be like, hmm.
#
So then he was gradually sort of indoctrinated into giving this answer
#
of I'm half Spanish, I'm half Indian, but it has no meaning for him.
#
He does feel like if we walk around and he sees a woman in a saree,
#
he'll point to her and he would say to me,
#
oh, look, mama, there's an Indian.
#
He was sort of pointing it out to me as something that had to do with me,
#
not to do with him.
#
So, you know, what is their sense of identity?
#
We also are not very religious, neither me nor my husband.
#
So there was a while when he also wanted to be a Muslim.
#
I remember that because we were in Indonesia.
#
And in Indonesia, they used to have religious studies in school.
#
And you could also choose moral studies
#
if you didn't want to put them in any religion.
#
So I had put him in moral studies.
#
He was very upset because all his friends were Muslims
#
and they were all studying Islam.
#
And he asked if he could change, if he could become a Muslim,
#
whether he could do the Ramadan along with them
#
because that was something special that they got to do.
#
And so it was always very complicated when you're in a family
#
which is not really very bound by either religion or geography
#
to kind of explain this question of from.
#
What is it that people are trying to get at
#
when they ask you the question, where are you from?
#
When Nico asked me that, I wasn't sure what to answer.
#
What are they actually trying to ask you
#
when people ask you where are you from?
#
What kind of essential kernel are they trying to get at?
#
Anyway, with the question of my kids,
#
I think they have a lot of cosmopolitanism.
#
They have ended up coming up with their own answers to these questions.
#
If people ask them where they're from,
#
they will say we are from Earth, we are from the world.
#
And people tend to find that quite an impressive answer.
#
But it's also the product of a lot of privilege.
#
And I want them to understand how privileged they are.
#
So you have all this cosmopolitanism, but where is the roots?
#
Where is the skin in the game?
#
Because ultimately for me, I feel because of that rootedness in India,
#
I still have to, you know, I have my Indian passport.
#
I have held on to my Indian passport for the last 23 years,
#
despite being married to a Spaniard,
#
because I feel that that kind of primal sense of geographic rooted identity
#
gives me some kind of skin in the game of what's going on in India.
#
And it gives me something to fight for.
#
And it gives me something to care about at a very elemental level.
#
I don't know where that's going to come from for my kids.
#
And I feel that their identity is very based on choice.
#
And it is very based on perhaps values.
#
It is based on their family.
#
I mean, so their roots are not so much in India or in Spain
#
as much as it is in the nuclear family.
#
And sometimes that worries me because as a nuclear family,
#
we have to be capacious enough to let their roots be deep
#
and, you know, actually give them something to grip on.
#
But it's a lot to ask of just a mother and a father,
#
you know, who are sort of wandering around like an island.
#
But I think in the values that we give them,
#
in the values that we espouse, in the books that we read,
#
in the travels that we do,
#
in the lessons we try to draw from these travels,
#
there is a sense of identity that is emerging in them.
#
I think it's a very privileged sense of identity.
#
It is an identity that is kind of about choice, you know.
#
It's about we choose to be environmentalists,
#
or we choose to be vegetarian,
#
or we choose to be, I don't know, football fans.
#
I mean, there are different ways in which you can identify yourself.
#
That is where the identity lies.
#
I don't know if that is going to be enough.
#
I don't know what identity looks like when it's unmoored from place.
#
And, you know, when they grow up,
#
whether they will embrace this
#
or whether they will become hyperlocal.
#
I've heard about other children in similar circumstances
#
sometimes find a small place in remote France
#
and end up putting down roots
#
and refusing to move for the rest of their lives.
#
I don't know what is going to be the case for them.
#
I just worry I'll have a lot of money
#
to spend in a psychologist's fees.
#
I sometimes imagine them being on somebody's couch saying,
#
and then do you know what my parents did to me?
#
Because, you know, to be honest, one was born in Beijing.
#
One was born in Brussels.
#
They went to kindergarten in Indonesia.
#
They went to primary school in Japan.
#
They're going to middle school in Spain.
#
It is a lot.
#
It's a lot to ask of two children.
#
I feel that they are quite well-grounded.
#
They are like experts on Greek mythology,
#
but also the Mahabharata.
#
I mean, they've been able to synthesize a lot
#
from the different cultures that we've exposed them to.
#
But as you also said in your long question,
#
the world is becoming very polarized
#
and there is a lot of tribalism.
#
And I think the importance of place and boundaries is undeniable.
#
So to be the kind of person that they are
#
that do not see the importance of that,
#
that do not understand passports,
#
that do not understand visas,
#
there is a lot that they need to wake up to.
#
They're young still, and I suppose they will.
#
But I think that they'll need to be able to check their own privilege.
#
And I don't know how much of a shock that's going to be for them
#
as they grow older.
#
110 years ago, there were no passports.
#
So just as the world has, in a sense, become more open,
#
it's also become smaller in a different kind of way.
#
A couple of questions arising from this.
#
And one is, how important is it, you think,
#
for us to have anchors in our lives?
#
Like, for example, when I think of that,
#
you mentioned the phase Ishan went through in Indonesia
#
when he was attracted towards being Muslim.
#
And I imagine the reason for that would have been
#
that there would have been a sense of community,
#
of belonging, of being in with the crowd and all of that.
#
And all of us need that to a differing extent,
#
whether we find it in religion or local communities
#
or online communities or whatever the case may be.
#
I find that without something, even if you're, you know,
#
I mean, to me, being a fan of a football club is exactly the same
#
as being part of a religious cult or part of a religion
#
or whatever, or even of an ideology, for that matter.
#
So asking a question, not so much from the point of view
#
of your kids or that generation, because what do we know?
#
You know, it's, the world is full of unknown unknowns
#
and it's hard to speculate about where they'll find,
#
you know, their sources of succor.
#
But just asking about you, like, when you think about
#
what are your specific anchors and have they changed
#
and have you explicitly thought about those anchors
#
and your value systems and so on and so forth?
#
Because one, you know, I mentioned ideologies
#
and one interesting thing is, and I was a big fan of your dad,
#
Swaminathan Iyer, his brilliant columns.
#
He was the only pro-free market columnist that I read in the 90s
#
when I started reading seriously.
#
And equally, your uncle, Manishankar Iyer, is kind of on the other side
#
of the ideological spectrum, as it were.
#
And at one point you have this great passage about
#
panditry in general, where you say, panditry is easy.
#
What's harder is the inner work of deconstructing your implicit norms,
#
of admitting that you come to your conclusions
#
not because you have studied the facts,
#
but because of your proclivities and your limitations.
#
And that phrase that you use, deconstructing your implicit norms,
#
and in a sense the anchor that I'm speaking of
#
is exactly those implicit norms.
#
So tell me a little bit about what is your anchor,
#
how has it changed over time and do you need it?
#
So my anchor is essentially being an Indian
#
who was brought up to really believe in the value of pluralism.
#
But I think, even forget the pluralism and all that,
#
I think it is being an Indian.
#
Because like I said, that is where I came from,
#
the rootedness that I was talking about.
#
And so I would naturally see whatever I'm seeing
#
from that implicit perspective.
#
And one of the very first times that it became very clear to me
#
was when I went to Beijing
#
and I was sitting with a colleague from Germany.
#
I was a foreign correspondent.
#
I used to write for the Indian Express and then the Hindu newspaper.
#
And I was with somebody writing for a German newspaper
#
and we were sitting in the same cafe and looking out of the window
#
and looking at Beijing traffic.
#
And I was seeing something that was remarkably orderly and organized
#
and people who drove very well and followed all the rules.
#
And my colleague was seeing something that was remarkably chaotic
#
and crazy and nobody was following all the rules.
#
So we were seeing exactly the same thing, Beijing traffic,
#
which is the fact.
#
But what we were seeing, what we were interpreting,
#
what we were understanding, the meaning that we were giving to it,
#
were diametrically opposite.
#
And so I realized that a lot of the world was being written about
#
by Western foreign correspondents because that's where the money was.
#
That's the people who had the resources to be able to go around
#
and write about the world.
#
But then the world that, for example, even an Indian,
#
the China that they usually read about was the China of terrible traffic
#
because that is how they would end up reading about foreign countries.
#
So it very much became something, my anchor was very much my Indian-ness.
#
Like I wanted to understand these different parts of the world
#
with my implicit lenses becoming explicit.
#
So I made an effort to make those lenses explicit when I was writing
#
because it meant that I was interested in different things
#
to people who had other implicit lenses.
#
And I also saw those things in different ways,
#
whether it is a toilet cleaner.
#
I mean, the Olympic Games were another classic example.
#
We all wrote about the toilets because China had pretty smelly public toilets.
#
And then when it was hosting the Olympic Games in 2008,
#
it went into this overdrive to upgrade the public toilets.
#
And they were called luxurious lavatories by the local press.
#
I loved that phrase.
#
And there was a lot of toilet story writing by foreign correspondents
#
and most of the Western foreign correspondents would talk about
#
authoritarian government that is trying to give this impression
#
of fanciness to the outside world.
#
And in some ways as though they were hiding something by upgrading the toilets.
#
And frankly, my real interest in the toilets was the toilet cleaners.
#
And because I always thought that Gandhi himself always said that
#
in how we clean our toilets,
#
there's something about a society's spirit that is revealed.
#
And so it was very interesting to me that even the old non-luxurious lavatories
#
were cleaned by toilet cleaners who at least wore gloves.
#
And this simple act of protecting clothing
#
and the sort of distance that it put between bare skin and bacteria
#
gave them a dignity of labor that was missing in our own country.
#
And then I also sort of dug further and then discovered
#
that during the communist revolution, one of the great model workers,
#
there used to be these people called model workers that were upheld
#
as the examples of people that the general population should learn from.
#
And they used to be part of the school curriculum.
#
So all primary school children would learn about these model workers.
#
And one of them was, I think his name was Xiuquan Shang, if I'm not mistaken.
#
And he was a toilet cleaner.
#
And his story was like basically people were told to learn from Xiu.
#
So, I mean, when I ended up living in quite a nice courtyard house in Beijing
#
and I discovered that my landowner was in fact a millionaire
#
because he owned several of these courtyard houses,
#
I was also surprised to discover that whenever my toilet stopped working,
#
I would call him. He wouldn't send a plumber.
#
He would come himself and fix it because, you know,
#
it was a very different sort of mentality.
#
But I don't think non-Indians would have noticed all of this.
#
Like the toilet story for them was very different to the toilet story for me.
#
So this Indian-ness has very much been an anchor.
#
You know, whether I'm looking at Spain, because at Spain,
#
then I'm always noticing all the Islamic stuff, like much more.
#
I mean, the effervescence, the geometric effervescence of the Alhambra, for example.
#
It's so much like what you will see at any of the Mughal buildings over here.
#
I notice it in the language. I notice it in the food.
#
And this Islamic influence has become very, again, invisible to most Spanish people.
#
I think today the average Spaniard would find themselves, you know,
#
having more in connection with some New Age Buddhist than they would with a Muslim.
#
But an Indian is able to see that connection.
#
Again, an Indian in Indonesia will see a lot of connections
#
that are completely opaque to Indonesians themselves.
#
I remember going to a pesantran. A pesantran is like a madrasa.
#
It's an Islamic boarding school.
#
And one of the most famous ones in Indonesia is in a place called Gontor.
#
And in Gontor, when I walked in, they showed me the picture of the three founders
#
of this Islamic boarding school.
#
And they said, we call them the Trimurti.
#
And they had no idea what the Trimurti means, you know, and so on.
#
So it was quite funny because, you know, the many things for me,
#
I would make connections that people from those countries themselves would not.
#
And I'm sure that that's the case for people from all.
#
Everybody has their own implicit lenses.
#
And so they kind of end up selectively seeing certain things
#
and being able to highlight certain things.
#
But for me, it was very much being an Indian.
#
So wherever I have been in the world, that is one sort of bridge.
#
And that is my implicit norm.
#
And I think that I want to be able to talk about the world for an Indian audience.
#
That has always been something that I'm interested in doing and I think is valuable.
#
You know, speaking of toilets, you've also written eloquently about Japanese toilets
#
and orienting, which fascinates me no end.
#
But I think Indians have found the perfect balance.
#
You need a good jet spray and nothing else is really required.
#
The jet spray is kind of everything.
#
My next question, following on from what you said before this,
#
when you were speaking about your kids' rootedness
#
and your efforts to kind of give them a sense of where they're coming from also,
#
is this sort of very moving passage you wrote about them when your mom died earlier this year.
#
And your kids were there and you decided to take them to the crematorium.
#
And you wrote, quote,
#
There were some people who asked about the propriety of bringing children to the crematorium,
#
who suggested that it would be better to leave them in air-conditioned comfort at home with Netflix
#
to soothe their frazzled nerves rather than expose them to the trauma of a funeral.
#
But I was adamant that they be present for every moment of the proceedings.
#
If I had chosen to leave the children behind in Spain or even at home in Delhi,
#
the death of their nanny would have been akin to a video game,
#
lacking in corporeality and weight and substance.
#
Already their lives are divorced from the Indian quotidian.
#
I would not have their nannies passing be one among the innumerable fleeting events that happen elsewhere
#
that they are but peripherally aware of.
#
I wanted them to feel its reality in their bones.
#
Stop quote.
#
And you talk about how learning to grieve is as important a life lesson as finding happiness.
#
And I'm thinking about this also,
#
about the importance in modern times of making an intentional effort to privilege the concrete over the abstract.
#
Because too often what happens is that we live,
#
our discourse is full of abstract concepts like nationalism and secularism and blah, blah, blah.
#
And we live in the abstract worlds of our smartphones where we are constantly fleeting,
#
scrolling or swiping from abstraction to abstraction.
#
And sometimes a concrete connection with the real world is important.
#
Like earlier when you spoke about one of your anchors being an Indian who believes in pluralism.
#
And at one level, at the abstract level, that is a Hori cliche.
#
But you meant it obviously in that deeper level where you have seen that pluralism
#
both around you in India and also in your life through all these cultures intermingling
#
and therefore you know its value in your bones.
#
You have in a sense, just as your kids were there physically at their nani's funeral,
#
you physically experienced that pluralism in the concrete.
#
But more and more what I lament in the modern world is that we deal more in abstract ideas
#
and don't embrace the concrete enough.
#
And that can even be in our daily interactions,
#
where you and I could have had an email conversation and not actually sat face to face, for example.
#
And I think that would have made a difference.
#
So is that something you've thought about and what do you think about it?
#
Because I think many of the problems of this world arise
#
because we don't relate with each other as people.
#
We don't actually step out in the real world.
#
We live in abstract realms where so much can turn toxic.
#
Technology is a double-edged sword.
#
I think it has helped us in many, many ways.
#
But I think it also means that increasingly it mediates a lot of our experiences.
#
And also with COVID and everything like that,
#
I think this kind of real-time, very gritty interaction is becoming less and less.
#
And there are repercussions to that because you do not allow serendipity to occur in many ways.
#
And serendipity is such an important part of life and discovery and joy and wonder and travel and all of that.
#
But if you're in a situation, I remember for those two years when we were all masked
#
and you could no longer strike up a conversation with a stranger
#
because you didn't know what virus they were carrying or what you would expose yourself to.
#
I thought that was a great pity.
#
I don't know how much lasting power that has.
#
I think we have sort of gone back to a situation where we are moving around again and we are interacting.
#
But I do think for younger generations,
#
it's true that they end up being a lot more in their room in front of screens than we were.
#
We just didn't have the option but to kind of go out there and talk to people.
#
And the less we talk to people, the less magic is going to happen.
#
There's going to be less of the unexpected, the serendipity that I was talking about earlier.
#
So yeah, I think we'll just see more and more sort of silos.
#
We're already seeing that with technology where you have echo chambers,
#
where you kind of know exactly what you're going to be reading because the algorithms are feeding that back to you.
#
And less and less of the chance encounter,
#
whether it is of the written word or whether it is in terms of actually meeting people.
#
And to a large extent, that's because we are pacified by screens.
#
And that brings about the fascinating possibility that perhaps in this modern world,
#
it is possible to be a global citizen and Hikikomori at the same time.
#
Yeah, absolutely.
#
One in the abstract and the other in the concrete.
#
You can be sitting in your room.
#
I mean, I, you know, to an extent, sometimes I feel because I'm very much also on social media.
#
And there are a lot of people that I...
#
So we were in Goa recently and we met somebody who I felt I knew very intimately.
#
And, you know, he came and he's quite a well-known person.
#
And he came and took us around.
#
And then my kids at some point asked me how I knew him.
#
And I realized I had never met him before.
#
But we knew so much about each other.
#
And more than that, he had introduced me to a cousin of his who lives in Mallorca and is married.
#
He's a Goan. So this cousin is also Goan and is married to, I think, a German.
#
And they live in Mallorca.
#
And this lady and I have been communicating over social media for the last year, became very good friends.
#
And when we went to Mallorca in April, she actually said, why don't you stay at my place?
#
Because I'll be in the UK.
#
So we went and stayed in her house.
#
And again, the kids asked me how I knew her.
#
And I realized that I had never met her IRL in real life.
#
But I was staying in her house with my friends.
#
And they introduced me to so many people right now in Goa.
#
So I was going around and meeting people who were welcoming me into the bosom of their lives.
#
And when they would ask me how I know so and so and so and so,
#
I would have to admit that it had all been done through social media.
#
So my life is also very much like that because it's very geographically dispersed.
#
I don't live physically in one place.
#
So there are many kinds of communities I'm part of.
#
And some of them are real life communities.
#
Some of them are real life, which have become extended into mediated communities because of distance.
#
And in other cases, they have originated on social media or whatever,
#
and have continued to live over there.
#
But they are still pretty real relationships.
#
So it's interesting what you were saying about how you can be a global citizen and still be in your room.
#
You can.
#
You can also develop real friendships, I think, without necessarily physically having been together.
#
So that's why I said I think technology is a double-edged sword.
#
I'm not somebody who's nihilist about it.
#
I've used it a lot.
#
And I don't think I could lead the kind of life I do because I have a reasonable amount of social energy
#
and I have a very wide social net.
#
But not all of it is people that I have met in real life.
#
No, Dan.
#
I am overall a net optimist about technology and social media massively because, you know,
#
it's been such a blessing to me that for an introverted person like me with unusual interests
#
to actually be able to form communities of choice.
#
Exactly.
#
Restricted to communities of circumstance.
#
And I think what social media often does is it improves the surface area of serendipity
#
and those chance encounters which in real life can be restricted by geography.
#
You know, many more of them can happen.
#
And I've also had practically all my lasting friendships, in fact, begin online in some way or the other.
#
Not all, but most.
#
That's an interesting fact, Amit.
#
No, no, literally.
#
I mean, I'm not in touch with anyone who was in school with me, for example.
#
So let's now finally, more than an hour into the conversation, talk about your childhood.
#
So tell me about, you know, where you grew up, what was Delhi like, what was family like.
#
Describe to me the texture of your days as a child.
#
As a travel writer, and you would if you were traveling back to that space and looking on from above.
#
So I guess there was two parts to that life.
#
When my parents were married and after my parents got divorced.
#
My parents got divorced when I was about seven years old.
#
That is when my memories become technicolored.
#
Before that, I do remember things, but only in snatches.
#
My mother was a celebrity in the 1980s.
#
She used to read the news, the English language news on Doordarshan,
#
at a time when there was only one channel and I think there were four or five newsreaders.
#
And so she was like a really big deal.
#
People wanted her hair cut, people wanted to dress like her, people learned their English from listening to her.
#
So I had this sort of celebrity mother, but she was also a single mother.
#
And I didn't have a single other friend whose parents were divorced.
#
So I had this sort of peculiar situation where I had this negative thing of my parents being divorced,
#
but my mother was a celebrity.
#
So, you know, I'm not sure if one canceled out the other, but possibly.
#
I lived with my mother.
#
She moved to her father's house, who was actually not her biological father.
#
Her biological father died when she was two years old and her mother had remarried,
#
but a Maharashtrian called him Mr. Ambe Gaonkar.
#
And she called him daddy and I also called him daddy.
#
So when I say daddy, I'm actually talking about my grandfather.
#
But it was a very unusual living situation because we had daddy, my grandfather, who was suffering from dementia.
#
And he lived with dementia for 15 years, more or less.
#
We had a nighttime nurse and a daytime nurse.
#
So around the clock, we had a nurse who lived in the house.
#
We had my mother who was newly divorced and needed to earn a living.
#
So she actually joined the Taj group of hotels as a sales executive.
#
So she would be working from, say, nine to six.
#
And then in the evenings, two or three times a week, she would also go into the Doordarshan studios.
#
And then she also had a friend from her college days called Kiran Ganguly,
#
who was a very sort of alternative hippie type of person who'd been traveling the world for about 11 or 12 years.
#
After college, I think he had joined Phillips as an executive.
#
And then he had decided to go to Iran on a holiday.
#
And then he never came back for 11 years.
#
And he returned at more or less the same time that my mother got divorced.
#
So he needed a place to stay.
#
And my mother offered him a place to stay, but he didn't really have a job.
#
He used to work in many itinerant fashions.
#
He was teaching English to North Koreans at one point.
#
He was an interpreter during the Asian games for some Spanish speaking delegation.
#
Though why Asians would be speaking Spanish, I'm not sure.
#
Anyway, he did all these different things, but he also acted in many ways as my nanny.
#
He would pick me up from dance class.
#
He would give me books to read.
#
And I think more than anything else, he would listen to me in this very nonjudgmental adult way,
#
which many children, I think, growing up in the 1980s in Delhi just would not have had.
#
So my social circle was very eccentric.
#
It was made up of gang.
#
Kiran Ganguly's nickname was Gang.
#
And his friends who were all adults, some of them impossibly exotic from foreign parts of the world.
#
Some of them were in live-in relationships.
#
Many of them were musicians.
#
And I would spend my days as an eight-year-old hanging out with these people,
#
picking up books from their bookshelves, listening to their conversations going on in many languages.
#
And at the same time, I went to a school which was a very conventional Punjabi modern school in Delhi.
#
So I had a very different social circle who would never have imagined that kind of life.
#
So I had these kinds of two or three separate lives that were going on at the same time.
#
And I seemed to not remember any great amount of tension between them.
#
I also had my father and my mother who had this terrible relationship with each other.
#
That was very difficult.
#
I mean, they were textbook awful, like in the sense like, you know,
#
everything that you should not do when you get divorced is what they did.
#
But I think from a very young age, I had this tendency to sort of be pretty happy.
#
And yeah, I was a sort of glass half full kind of person.
#
So I managed okay.
#
And I think that ultimately it led to a very eclectic and interesting upbringing.
#
And while there were difficulties with it, I think it's probably why I made many of the choices I made,
#
going off to China to be with a Spanish guy at the age of 22,
#
which I think many people from my background would not have done.
#
They wouldn't have taken those kind of risks.
#
So you could probably trace it back to those days in the 1980s.
#
We'll, you know, come to the Spanish guy in China later.
#
And I do want to know much more about that.
#
But I'm also fascinated by the multifaceted nature of the life that you described.
#
Like first of all, and just for my listeners, your mom was Geetanjali,
#
absolute legend in the 1980s.
#
I remember her as a newsreader, one of four or five incredibly elegant women who performed their job with such dignity.
#
Like you look at the nonsense that goes on news television today and it's like a complete world apart.
#
And she was both an independent woman, like a figure in her own right, doing her own thing,
#
and at the same time had the courage to, you know, separate from her husband, you know,
#
living life as a single woman, as it were a prominent Delhi person in many ways.
#
Was she, like I wonder how one forms one's role models,
#
because there can be really two sort of parallel directions we can go in as children.
#
And one is that we can rebel against our parents and want to be anything but them.
#
Perhaps why me being the son of an IAS officer turned out to be libertarian.
#
But the other way could also be that you idolize them.
#
And in some way you turn into them even as the years go by.
#
And perhaps you take certain qualities of theirs without even realizing it.
#
Like I don't want to overthink or read too much into it,
#
but you know when one thinks of your paternal grandmother, Bhagyam, the way you described her,
#
when one thinks of your mother who is such an incredible figure to have around,
#
like she is literally obviously for a significant part of those years a person closest to you.
#
And in a sense she is completely unique in Delhi.
#
And I am guessing other girls that age would have had other kinds of role models and other things to look at.
#
So now when you look back in hindsight, how much do you think that kind of shaped you?
#
And even the difference that, whereas for example you mentioned how Yamini and you, your cousin,
#
you kind of went to school all the way till 12th standard or whatever, you were kind of together.
#
But at the same time you are in the same family, but you also have gang and his gang as it were.
#
You also have this eclectic stuff happening around you.
#
So if you are able to sort of look back and think about how you were shaped by all these difficulties.
#
I think I was shaped, I had three main influences, my mother, my father and gang.
#
It would probably be the three of them in very different ways.
#
My mother and my father were like, really they were like textbook polar opposites.
#
And I don't understand how they really got together, although I have asked them about it.
#
And I will tell you what they told me and it's quite hilarious.
#
So my father is extremely, he's all mind.
#
He's a very, very, he lives in his head.
#
He has a difficult time processing emotions.
#
My uncle, his brother was telling me about them in school.
#
And my uncle said that my father was better than him in academics and better than him in sports.
#
The one thing that my uncle was better at was in making friends.
#
So my father would sort of piggyback on my uncle's friends.
#
My father, apparently when he was in school, he was in dune school.
#
The geography teacher once gave him 52 out of 50 in geography because he said that he knew more geography than he himself.
#
So he was that kind of person. He was incredibly intellectual, but he was not very comfortable socially.
#
He always had trouble forming sort of close social bonds.
#
And I think he piggybacked on his brother for a lot of that.
#
My mother, on the other hand, from what I've heard was this incredibly elegant and beautiful person, very graceful, very popular.
#
Had a very sort of charmed social life, but she was a very emotional person.
#
She was very much, you know, all heart and she did not like rationality.
#
She tended to be very intuitive and she found overly rational people very difficult.
#
My father is all rationality. My father is an atheist.
#
My mother is a deeply spiritual person.
#
And I don't know how they got together. She was 21.
#
He was about 25. And I asked my father, why did you marry my mother?
#
And he said, well, because, you know, she was so beautiful and she seemed to like me and nobody else had ever liked me.
#
And I asked my mom and she said, well, your father, he was just so intelligent.
#
He blew me away. So you have somebody who thinks somebody is very intelligent.
#
The other person who thinks, oh, my God, they're just, you know, very beautiful, lovely, have a lot of friends.
#
But in many ways, they were not like very ideally matched in almost every important sort of way.
#
They were very different people. And I think I got a little bit of both of them in me.
#
I think I'm probably closer to my father in some ways in that I am an atheist and I really don't have deep belief when it comes to spirituality.
#
And spirituality was something that was very important to my mother.
#
I tend to be very rational. But on the other hand, my father is not a nurturing person and he's not at all connected to his feelings in any kind of deep way.
#
And my mother was. She was very much there for us.
#
And so when my parents got divorced, I'm just very lucky to have been with my mother because I think she was a nurturer and she made it very clear to me that I was number one.
#
And that protected me in a way that I think is maybe in other children who come from families which split up, do not have.
#
My father, for example, remarried a year later and moved to the United States and sort of very much lived his life.
#
My mother almost sort of paused her life to kind of bring us up.
#
So emotionally, I think she was an incredibly important part of my life.
#
I think I want to be a parent like her. I want to kind of be all love for my children because I think I realized that children will forgive you a lot of mistakes.
#
We all make mistakes as parents as long as they feel that density of unconditional love.
#
And it was very much there from her.
#
Gang was the person who kind of gave me the ability to be different, you know, not necessarily part of a group.
#
And he also made me a reader and a writer. He's the person that I would write for who was my audience.
#
My brother was in boarding school and my mother was busy.
#
They weren't that many. You know, I didn't have play dates. I didn't have.
#
There was no Internet or anything like that.
#
So I would amuse myself by writing and then Gang would read them and I would ask him questions.
#
And he was the only person I knew who'd been to places like the Serengeti or whatever.
#
So I would set my plays and my short stories in these impossibly exotic locales by drawing a little bit of information from him.
#
He was quite a normie character, so he wasn't very talkative.
#
He would only tell you, you know, whatever you asked, he would tell you in a couple of sentences.
#
But again, he was a very important influence, I think, when it came to just being not necessarily part of a crowd,
#
but, you know, somebody who kind of, you know, marches to their own tune.
#
So all three of them were important to me in different ways.
#
And I hope that I sort of was able to amalgamate some of the best qualities of all three of them.
#
I'm fascinated by sort of the dichotomy in particular or the binaries or whatever, duality between your father and your mother.
#
It was very stark.
#
Yeah, it's very stark. And I also, you know, would place myself in his category.
#
And what you say is your category, atheist, rationalist, all of that.
#
Until I've come to realize over time recently that the mind does not make you happy, only the heart does.
#
And you have to open yourself up to that.
#
Like, you know, in your, again, amazing book on parenting, you have these lines.
#
I'd learned mathematics, history and geography in school.
#
I'd studied Aristotle and Kant, Foucault and Baudrillard at university.
#
But although there was much that I knew about humankind's collective inquiries into epistemology and ontology,
#
no one ever told me anything about babies.
#
What does it say about contemporary society that it can churn out a person who can speak foreign languages, dance a tango,
#
be paid to lecture on Chinese politics,
#
discuss how far the taxation policies instituted by the Count Duke Olivares had contributed to the decline of 17th century Spain,
#
and yet had no clue how to feed and entertain a baby all day long.
#
It became clear to me that I was essentially a quote unquote man.
#
I knew all about the public world of quote unquote work,
#
but nothing about the quote unquote womanly art of nurturing children, stop quote.
#
And I'm very curious about sort of this, you know, resolving within yourself,
#
both your father and your mother who you kind of carry with you.
#
And it would seem to me from a very superficial reading of your books that perhaps a journey is from the father to the mother's side of things,
#
from the intellect to the nurturing experiential.
#
Tell me what that journey has been like in reconciling yourselves.
#
My mother was, you know, while she was very nurturing and all of that,
#
I think she was also a feminist of her generation, which was very much all about work.
#
She never cooked. I had no interest in cooking either because I never saw my mother cook.
#
And I kind of therefore perhaps imbibed a little bit of that from her,
#
that, you know, we didn't talk about babies, we didn't talk about family, we didn't think of family.
#
She wouldn't have either in that sense.
#
There was this public, there was a separation between the public and the private, I think, as far as she was concerned.
#
There was this professional side and then, you know, whatever happened at home was at home.
#
I think I would took that further and really felt very deeply and continue to feel that that separation is artificial and that it is harmful.
#
And that for all of us as human beings, whether we are men or women,
#
it's very important to kind of fuse the public and private spheres together and have an entire person.
#
And for workplaces to acknowledge the importance of families, just as families need to, like your children, for example,
#
need to acknowledge the importance of you as a professional.
#
So I was different from my mother in that sense because I think she was quite old fashioned in that,
#
which is why I probably didn't know much about babies.
#
She never talked to me very much about babies.
#
And when I asked her about, you know, she wasn't at all helpful to me when I had my own babies.
#
I was very disappointed. I asked her to come to be with me and she was there for about a month.
#
But, you know, she was completely useless.
#
She couldn't remember how to make a bottle.
#
I was desperately trying to breastfeed and she was like, oh, just give the baby formula.
#
You know, I was like, what? You mean you didn't breastfeed me?
#
She was like, no, I had to work. So I gave you formula.
#
She seemed to have forgotten everything.
#
She couldn't remember how to sort of put on a diaper.
#
And then she also told me she found it yucky and she didn't want to touch the diapers.
#
She was not at all the sort of typical mom in that sense.
#
She kind of said, I will play with your children when they are two years old.
#
I will love them. But until then, they're all yours.
#
So I did feel a little bit like I had nobody to kind of tell me about the womanly arts of, you know, bringing up a baby.
#
I didn't have an extended family and my mother proved to be completely useless.
#
I didn't have any grandparents alive by that time either.
#
So it was a difficult time for me.
#
And perhaps I think more and more women are in my position because we are not in these extended families.
#
And, you know, a lot of our parents themselves have like, you know, they're having kids older.
#
So by the time, if you are in your 30s and by the time your children have kids, 30 years have gone by.
#
Everything has changed. Technology has changed.
#
The sort of conventional wisdom on how to bring up children has changed.
#
So this idea that, you know, your parents will tell you or your mother will tell you how to look after, I think is very outdated, even if it ever had any cache.
#
And so I've had to kind of forge it.
#
I am my mother in some ways.
#
My mother was a very tense person.
#
She was an anxious person.
#
I think I'm a sort of tense and anxious person.
#
I adjust cushions in the way that she adjusts cushions.
#
I tidy up the carpet in the way that she would sort of tidy up the carpet.
#
She used to have this antenna.
#
She would walk into a room and before she said hello, she would kind of go scan the room.
#
And if anything was out of place, she would first go to that place and sort of organize it.
#
And it would drive me nuts when I was a teenager and I found myself becoming exactly like her and I terrorize my children with the cushions and being neat and so on and so forth.
#
But I think rather than sort of a linear journey of saying going from the rationality towards being more of a nurturer, I'm not sure that there's been that kind of linearity in the journey.
#
And I'm also not sure that I would call my mother all nurture.
#
She was many things.
#
And I certainly think that I channel her in many ways, but not in all.
#
I mean, I didn't mean a linear journey, but just perhaps a deepening of the rational self.
#
Understanding the rationality is ultimately not.
#
Yeah, like, you know, at different parts, you kind of refer to this in the context of Punditri, for example, the quote I already read out.
#
Then in your first book, you speak about the cliches around China and India where you write quote, India was good at software.
#
China had hardware was one such insight, quote unquote.
#
India should learn to invest in infrastructure from China while China should look to India's financial and legal institutions for tips was another.
#
In short, the consensus seemed to be that India should get the roads and China the democracy.
#
There was a nice symmetry to these sentiments that captured the way in which India and China did in fact mirror each other's failures and achievements.
#
But even the less perspicacious among critics on both sides of the border had little trouble pointing out that if China had democracy, perhaps it would not have had the roads.
#
And I was struck by this partly because of this tendency.
#
Like Parumita Vohra has these two great phrases which captures what experts, particularly male experts, tend to do.
#
And she refers to the typical male expert like this as man with beard.
#
So men with beards are pontificating and the other phrase she uses is jogging on the spot.
#
Like I was recently at a conference where I thought everybody has been jogging on the spot for 30 years.
#
So they have their one idea and they keep regurgitating it in different ways.
#
And what I see in your writing is that you've avoided these certainties.
#
Like today people rise to preeminence and they become experts and they're supposed to exude certainty and most often they're wrong.
#
That's ridiculous. I think anyone, the more you know, the less you know.
#
The more you know, the less you know.
#
You also at one point you use…
#
Only the ignorant have certainty. You know what? It's a fact.
#
Television requires certainty and therefore only the ignorant become gurus these days.
#
But you use a great term an guru where at one point you wrote, I am a columnist, I am also an an guru.
#
Mostly I just know how little I know.
#
As a result I often feel like a fraud.
#
A columnist should be someone who knows what they're talking about.
#
That's why people read them.
#
But this columnist dear reader has an appalling track record when it comes to knowing stuff.
#
I get everything wrong.
#
Which is not true. You've got a lot of things right.
#
You've got China right, partly because you looked at it through a different lens in Western observers.
#
I was in fact told by a mutual friend I'm not allowed to name that
#
your insight is staggering but you don't credit yourself enough with it.
#
I've been told about how you got Indonesia right and various other places right.
#
So I think you've probably been overly modest in listing your failures as you did after that paragraph which you wrote.
#
But my deeper question there is that at one level it is fine that the more you know, the less you know.
#
But at another level this can also hobble you.
#
Because the worst can be full of passionate certainty while the best are constantly inflicted with self-doubt.
#
There is even a quote to that effect. I forget exactly what it is.
#
But isn't that a line that you have to cross?
#
Because the other thing that one sees is you've written fantastic travelogues.
#
Both your novels about cats are like so charming.
#
I love your newsletter. Your personal essays recently have just been so moving and have just blown me away.
#
But hidden throughout all of these and stray paragraphs here and there
#
almost like the, you know, like the train moving past and you see fragments.
#
There are all these really sharp insights, right, nuanced insights.
#
And is there then a trade-off that at some level you have had to make about which of these to privilege?
#
You know, I write a lot about foreign countries and to be honest, Amit, I think that it's a very foolhardy enterprise,
#
you know, to sort of go off and live somewhere for four years and then write the story of that country.
#
And how would you like it if somebody came from, I don't know, some foreign country came here
#
and lived here for three years and then wrote an India book?
#
I mean, it's an appalling act of audacity, you know.
#
But that is one extreme. I get that.
#
No, no. But what I mean is so I'm very aware when I write these books
#
that I need to be very clear that what I'm writing is like very much my personal truth.
#
And a lot of it is about flashes of insight, as you're saying.
#
So rather than telling you the country, I'm telling you sort of specific moments of insight
#
that might have come to me, you know, during the course of observation,
#
during the course of deep reading, during the course of conversations.
#
And that's the most that one can really lay claim to, that, you know, you're sort of presenting one version of the truth
#
and that version of the truth is deeply colored by who is telling the truth, you know,
#
the implicit lenses that we were talking about earlier and that ultimately it will be flashes of insight.
#
It's a bit like a haiku, right? I mean, so you will have moments, I think,
#
where there will be some kind of penetration and hopefully the reader will also have an epiphany.
#
But this is not the definitive truth. This is not telling you this is Japan or this is China.
#
And I would never lay claim to that. And I think that's very fraudulent.
#
And I don't think that there's anything wrong with that.
#
I don't think that you need to kind of be the pandit that's telling you that this is the way it is.
#
It really is that way. There are many different ways of approaching things.
#
And I try to bring the multiplicity of ways that you might approach a country out as well,
#
because there tends to be many, many shades of gray always.
#
And I think part of what I try to do is bring many of those shades of gray out,
#
which means that it's very hard to come up with definitive conclusions.
#
I will really say China good, Japan bad, Indonesia very bad, or, you know, going, going, going down the drain.
#
You don't know. What you do know is that there are good tendencies, there are bad tendencies,
#
that there are great things, there are fantastic moments, there are also worrying trends.
#
So, you know, it's a complex situation. I try and bring out that complexity.
#
And if you're going to try and bring out that complexity,
#
there is going to be a little bit of wishy washyness about it,
#
because that sort of very sort of strong certainty I do think is very male.
#
And I don't think it's very necessary. And ultimately, it's counterproductive.
#
I'm not sure what it's achieving. I mean, the number of people who've written about China,
#
I remember there used to be this famous book called The Coming Collapse of China
#
by somebody called Gordon Chang, who wrote it in 2002.
#
And it's hilarious because he's still writing about the coming collapse of China.
#
And it's 2023. And the joke is that one day China will collapse
#
and then Gordon Chang will come out of his grave and say, you know, I was right just ahead of the curve.
#
And you've got a lot of people like that who are telling you what's going to happen in five years.
#
But I don't see why I need to be one of those. Yeah, it's just not the way I think.
#
Yeah, it's like they say about some economists that he predicted 10 of the last three recessions.
#
I love the personal tone of a lot of your work.
#
And I want to kind of dive back to that earlier thing that you were saying about your mom,
#
that there was a public self and then she came home and there was a private
#
and these were two separate worlds.
#
And I recently came across a formulation of the public, the private and the secret,
#
where the private is what you'll tell your intimates, the secret is what only you know.
#
And there was some kind of survey. I vaguely remember. I'll try and find the link for the show notes if I can figure it out.
#
But where people in the survey, people were asked how many things they have,
#
which they tell absolutely no one in the secret domain.
#
And I think the average number of things was four, which was quite interesting.
#
And I feel that at some level it is like forget the secret.
#
But at some level, it's important to have some kind of line between the public and the private for your own sanity.
#
But at the same time, as a creator and as a consumer of what other people put out,
#
what I really value is authenticity, people being themselves, because you straight away have that trust.
#
And that authenticity, if you're being true to yourself, also means a lack of certainty and a lack of all the things we just discussed.
#
So a doubt is public.
#
And the doubt is public and you're just being yourself and then you really relate to that person.
#
And then you don't so much care about right or wrong because right or wrong is, you know,
#
things are not being, facts are not being expressed in absolutist terms anyway.
#
Everything is kind of impressionistic, but you get a deeper picture of the world through somebody's eyes.
#
And I want to ask about how easy or difficult was it for you to arrive at that kind of personal tone
#
where you can put yourself out there?
#
Because I imagine growing up that there must also have been some pressure on you and dual pressures
#
that you're, of course, a celebrity's daughter.
#
So on the one hand, you don't want to put yourself too much out there,
#
but on the other hand, you also perhaps have an image to maintain and, you know, certain things you can do and can't do.
#
And from making that sort of a journey where you're almost, you know, in fishbowl, Delhi, as it were,
#
to come out of that and find that comfort with your own voice and even find your own voice to begin with,
#
what was that journey like?
#
So confession, I'm not sure I've ever told anybody like this, but I think I find myself quite fascinating.
#
I think I did from a young age.
#
Like I was quite, I used to sort of pretend, I used to write a diary.
#
And in those days, the diary was very personal because I used to write it and nobody would ever read the diary.
#
But I had this fantasy that one day somebody would discover this diary and would read it and would be really absorbed in my life
#
and be like, oh my God, there's this incredible person with all of these incredible thoughts.
#
In some ways, social media allows you to do that.
#
It ends up being this public diary where you can actually put your thoughts out there.
#
So it's funny how that's happening.
#
But that's more a performative diary than a confessional diary.
#
Both, both, because I did from a very young age have a kind of, I mean, it was not that I was, I was not,
#
I was performing myself, but I was performing myself pretty authentically.
#
So it was not that I was changing what I was writing because I thought somebody might read it.
#
In fact, I knew nobody would read it. Nobody has ever read the diary, by the way.
#
But, but it was just something at the back of my mind.
#
I think perhaps it is, it was a love of narrative.
#
It was a way of turning my own life into a story about giving a little bit of drama to it.
#
You know, maybe it's this idea of when I was describing my grandmother.
#
I'm not even sure if anyone's told me this whole story about somebody pulling her onto the train and somebody pulling her on the other side.
#
But that's an image that's very much stuck in my head.
#
That's the story I've told myself about my grandmother.
#
And I think I used to tell myself stories about myself.
#
Nobody else found me particularly interesting.
#
I was a plain looking, very thin, very dark child in Punjabi.
#
You know, fair, plumpy, healthy skinned Delhi.
#
You know, a little bit of a nerd with this sort of weird family background.
#
And so, yeah, it was not like I was like somebody that everybody out there would find interesting.
#
So I found myself interesting.
#
And I would tell stories about myself and which again, I think that they were real.
#
This was not fantasy.
#
It's just that I had a tendency towards memoir, perhaps, if you want to write it, like sort of to think about my story from a very young age.
#
So it came to me quite easily, this form of writing, which was a mixture of analysis and autobiography and anecdote.
#
Being a foreign correspondent, even when I was writing for the newspapers, I often used to try to position myself because I found it more authentic.
#
Like I told you, otherwise, journalists tend to blur themselves out of the picture and it gives you this false sense of objectivity.
#
And I was very clear right from the beginning that there was no such objective truth.
#
I told you about the traffic in Beijing.
#
So right from the word go, I knew that what I was looking at, I was looking at because of who I was.
#
So it was quite important for me to kind of also make that transparent for the reader.
#
And I actually thought that this is, you know, an interesting way to write.
#
It helped me to analyze myself.
#
Yeah. So it's always been like that.
#
Does the process of finding yourself interesting lead you to make yourself interesting in the sense, does the writing shape the person?
#
Yes. I mean, the way you tell a story makes it more, I mean, you know, who is a raconteur?
#
Somebody who can take a story and make it interesting.
#
You tell the story in a way that adds a little bit of masala.
#
And I think, you know, that's what storytellers do.
#
And I think ultimately journalists, writers, we are all storytellers.
#
And the most fundamental story is the story of yourself.
#
It's your earliest story. It's the story that's with you at all times.
#
What was the story of yourself that you told yourself at 17?
#
At 17.
#
Or pick any age, pick any young age, if you remember, 15, 14, 18.
#
Probably reasonably Banal.
#
I wanted somebody like Vikram Seth or Amitav Ghosh to happen upon my secret diary and discover this genius who was languishing in Nizamuddin East.
#
Something like that.
#
I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a storyteller.
#
And I wanted somebody to recognize my talents.
#
So possibly a story like that.
#
And what kind of books were you reading? You said gangs introduce you to, you know, gang or gangs. I'm sorry.
#
Gang. Yeah. Short for ganguly.
#
I mean, I know gangulys who are called gangs also, but gang in this case. Thanks for correcting me.
#
So what kind of books did he introduce you to? What kind of books?
#
He read out The Lord of the Rings to me when I was about eight years old.
#
So I think that whole questing sort of idea of going on an epic quest was quite important.
#
And also the idea of different types of people coming together to fight the good fight became quite important to me because of The Lord of the Rings.
#
So, you know, you had the elves and you had the men and you had the eagles and you had the hobbits.
#
So you had the whatever and these dwarves and they had their differences.
#
But when like there was a common evil that came about, you put aside those differences and you came together.
#
That was a very powerful idea for me.
#
And now, of course, I'm reading, I also read out The Lord of the Rings to both my children, which was quite an epic undertaking.
#
How long did it take you, I'm imagining?
#
Oh my God, it went on forever.
#
And I also realized one, how male that world is and B, how much they walk.
#
I mean, what they keep doing in The Lord of the Rings for pages and pages.
#
There's sometimes like 60 pages where they're just walking and talking about, you know, the gloaming and the sort of crepuscular outline of the mountains or whatever.
#
Yeah, I was really quite dull.
#
I don't know how I found it so exciting when it was read out to me the first time.
#
But that was something important that stayed with me, this idea of putting aside your differences when push comes to shove for a greater good.
#
And that was quite influential.
#
What was your sense of self in that time?
#
Like, what did you see yourself becoming?
#
What was that story about, I am going to be this when I'm in my 20s, I'm going to go here, I'm going to do that?
#
I only wanted to do two things.
#
One, at the very beginning, I wanted to be a vet.
#
I wanted to, I think, essentially play with animals.
#
And I thought that the best way of doing that would be to be a vet, which is what I thought they did.
#
When I discovered that there was blood and gore and, you know, intestines and all of that involved,
#
I changed my mind and I might have been about 11 years old at that time.
#
And I decided I wanted to be a broadcast journalist.
#
I wanted to, yes, that's what they used to call them, broadcast journalists.
#
There was also the time when News Track was around.
#
I thought this was going to be exciting.
#
In some ways, it was a great blend of my father and mother going back to that because my father was a journalist as a reporter and my mother was a television presenter.
#
So there was the TV element and then there was the journalistic element.
#
And when I finished university, my very first job was with NDTV.
#
It was in 1999.
#
I had my dream job.
#
And I think within six months of doing it, I realized that I hated broadcast journalism and what I thought I had always wanted to do and how I imagined myself.
#
I was an on-camera television person straight off the bat at the age of 21 or 22.
#
And I disliked it deeply.
#
So then I was in the state of, as the ancient Greeks called it, aporia.
#
I was a little bit lost.
#
I didn't know what to do.
#
And then other things happened, which we can talk about later.
#
But yeah, that's how I had pretty binary.
#
I was the vet, the animal person.
#
And then I was a broadcast journalist.
#
I would be on television, but I would be a reporter.
#
I had a slight sense of disdain for presenting like my mother did because I used to feel that she just reads out the news.
#
You know, I wanted to kind of be the person who was getting the news as it were.
#
These days, if you want to play with animals, news television is perhaps a place to go.
#
No, I did that.
#
I did that when my first few stories with NDTV involved a lot of my playing with animals.
#
And I remember doing a lot of zoo stories and going and playing with tiger cubs.
#
Yeah.
#
So let's take a quick commercial break and we'll continue your journey on the other side of the break.
#
Have you always wanted to be a writer but never quite gotten down to it?
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Well, I'd love to help you.
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Since April 2020, I've enjoyed teaching 27 cohorts of my online course, The Art of Clear Writing.
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We have workshops, a newsletter to showcase the work of students and vibrant community interaction.
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In the course itself, through four webinars spread over four weekends, I share all I know about the craft and practice of clear writing.
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There are many exercises, much interaction and a lovely and lively community at the end of it.
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The course costs rupees 10,000 plus GST or about a hundred and fifty dollars.
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If you're interested, head on over to register at indiaankar.com slash clear writing.
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That's indiaankar.com slash clear writing.
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Being a good writer doesn't require God given talent, just a willingness to work hard and a clear idea of what you need to do to refine your skills.
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I can help you.
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Welcome back to The Scene in the Unseen.
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I'm chatting with Pallavi here about life and times and so on.
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And we've got to the part where, you know, you're at, you know, you're in news television and you leave.
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Why did you leave? Dig a little deeper into that for me.
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Yeah, I think I realized that I didn't enjoy the medium.
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Also, this was like 1999 and I think it was a very underdeveloped medium.
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So we were not professionally trained and we were kind of put into situations that were very important situations
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without any sort of background information.
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And I found that very uncomfortable that I would often have to be interviewing politicians or doing very important stories as a 21 year old, as a 22 year old.
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And my only credentials were really that I had gone to the right college and therefore I'd been sort of taken into this network.
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And this was, you know, when we didn't really have Google and things like that.
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We never had time to actually delve into the background of what we were reporting on.
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I was sent to interview writers who had won awards without having read their books.
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I really hated being put in that position.
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It was very much like there's a fire, grab a mic, go and cover it.
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And, you know, it was also a very adrenaline based kind of reporting and that didn't suit me very well.
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You know, I think some people feed off of that.
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And then the medium in the sense of, you know, you had to write two pictures.
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The pictures actually told the story.
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And I realized actually quite like words.
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And like I told you, even when I was very young, I used to think a lot about how I would describe things.
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And this is not a very descriptive medium because the pictures are what are doing all the descriptions.
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And also in terms of the length of a story, I mean, look at these podcasts you are doing for five hours.
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The average news story used to be one hour and 30 seconds.
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What am I saying? One minute and 30 seconds.
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And so we would have to put about three sound bites in there.
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And so each sound bite would have to be six to eight seconds long.
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I mean, it was really quite insane. And I just didn't enjoy that.
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I didn't really see the point in it.
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So, yeah, I think those were the reasons why I realized that despite the fact that I had always imagined
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myself as being a broadcast journalist and wanting to do this when I was actually doing it,
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it wasn't what I thought it would be.
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I want to ask you a question about form.
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I once wrote an essay on how the fact that I am doing these long podcasts has such a deep influence on both.
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Like one, the form impacts the content, because obviously if you're going to talk for five hours,
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you learn to listen much better. You learn to listen to understand and not listen to respond.
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Your research also has to have that kind of depth and so on and so forth.
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But also as much as shaping the content, the content then shapes a character
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because you become that kind of person who listens more and is more open and all of that.
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And similarly, looking at the range of work that you've done, you've traveled across different forms
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where early on you speak about writing a diary, for example, which is free form.
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And I presume that back in those days, pre-computer days, you're writing by hand,
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which, you know, takes a certain amount of time, which requires a certain commitment and effort
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to actually sit down and scribble those words.
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Pen on paper is slightly, it's a physical task. There's a difference.
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Then there is, of course, television, which is surely the shallowest form that you must have worked in,
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which, you know, like you said, one and a half minute stories, six seconds soundbites.
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Then there is a reportage that you would have done. Perhaps in the early days, the reports would have been shorter.
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Maybe as you went up the ladder or you were doing interesting foreign stories,
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you would have had more space, maybe features, etc., etc.
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Then there's a form of the travelogue, which carries with it also the personal tone and the allowance
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for, you know, you to be in the story and to be fleshed out that way.
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You've also written those two sort of novels.
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Now you're writing the newsletter, which I absolutely love.
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And again, I'd recommend all the listeners to check out.
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And these are like lovely personal essays that also have a different sense of pace and a certain kind of terror after them.
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So what is your sense of working through all these forms?
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And which are the ones that you felt most comfortable in or that were sort of your home ground?
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Like I'm guessing the travelogue is a collection of, you know, like a personal memoir kind of thing is one
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because you've done that so well across the different countries.
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You know, Smoke and Mirrors orienting, your great parenting book, your recent book, Punjabi Parmesan.
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So what is, what's your sense on what kind of form works best for you and that you're most comfortable in?
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And do you think that this is something that creators of all types, writers, etc., etc.
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should think about a little bit more because the form that they choose to work in will ultimately shape them and change who they are?
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Yeah, I think you end up finding the right form for yourself.
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I mean, the adrenaline junkies will be drawn towards television reporting, you know.
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So it's a kind of symbiotic process.
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Like you said, you find the form, the form finds you.
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And I think for me, it is an amalgamation of reportage and of memoir.
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The sort of sweet intersection between that and perhaps deep reading.
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I like to read about a culture, a country, the literature, poetry around that particular place, then have real interactions with people.
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And reportage allows you to do that because it gives you an excuse to go and visit an iron foundry
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and find out, I don't know, what Lakshmi Kant Mittal is up to in Belgium, for example,
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or what the Gujarati diameters are doing in Antwerp or what Punjabi farmhands might be doing in Latina and in Italy.
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It gives you an excuse to do that.
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But then there's also, as you are reporting, there's also that sense of your own story as the reporter,
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because there's a sense of journey as you go to these places, you meet a variety of people.
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It's not just the interview with the person, but there's the whole story that is surrounding.
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You're getting there.
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You're becoming interested in that particular topic and the various characters that you meet that are sort of incidental to the main story.
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And so I think writing these kinds of books that I have about Punjabi parmesan, about Europe, for example,
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orienting about Japan, smoke and mirrors about China, allowed me to bring all those threads together,
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use the reportage that I had done for newspapers over a period of however many years it might have been,
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and sort of also interlace that with the deep reading that I did around the country and around the topics that I was interested in,
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and then bring the story of me and my family into it as well.
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And that really is the sweet spot.
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I mean, I think it's really, it's in some ways, that's how, you know, we were talking about authenticity.
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I feel the most authentic when I'm writing in that mode.
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And, you know, when we are younger, we often think about our lives in terms of things we want to achieve.
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And I think part of aging just means that you begin to think of it more in terms of journey than destination,
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that these are the, you know, Annie Dillard said, how we spend our days is how we spend our lives.
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And we, you know, at least in my case, I begin to think more about how do I want to spend my days,
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because that's really all there is and not in terms of any specific achievement.
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And how has that journey been like you in terms of all the writing that you have done?
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Like I imagine at one point when you start writing Smoke and Mirrors, it's your first book,
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and, you know, it won an award also, and you really want it to be well received, which it was.
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And it is at that moment a destination.
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But at some point in the process of writing it, I'm guessing in your later books especially,
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there is just this beautiful ease, there is this herav.
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It feels, everything feels effortless.
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So did that, I mean, every writer knows it's never effortless, but it feels effortless as a reader.
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And is that a journey you made as well, from, you know, really enjoying the process so much
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that it doesn't actually matter what happens to the book,
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because by now you and I know that writers don't make money and it's okay.
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I think that's absolutely true, that I have reached a point where I have no expectations from my book.
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And I don't even try to make too much of an effort,
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because I feel that whatever you're going to achieve is not going to be commensurate to the effort that it requires.
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So if I go all out trying to promote it or trying to come up with, you know, fancy ways of getting the word out there,
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I don't really think it's going to make that much difference to how much it's going to sell.
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The effort it will take to sort of find agents around the world and try and sell it in the U.
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I have, I've had foreign rights sold in the U.S., in Japan, so on and so forth.
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You know, it's a huge amount of effort.
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If it happens easily, it will happen easily.
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But I have lost the fire to try to make that happen,
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because I don't have any fantasies about myself really being this huge and famous writer anymore.
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I want to write because I enjoy writing.
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I sometimes feel I have something to say.
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And some people who read the stuff enjoy it, and it finds its way into the right hands.
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And I remember actually having a conversation with Amitabh Ghosh about this at some literature festival.
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And he was pushing me and saying, you know, you should meet this agent, and you should meet that agent,
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and you should do this, and you need to do that, and you need to get this out.
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And then I was telling him, but you know, it's a lot of effort.
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I also have to look after my kids.
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I also have to do my day job.
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I have all of these other things to do.
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And then he sort of said, true, not everybody has to want the sun and the moon.
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I remember he put it like that.
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And that's, I actually feel that I don't want the sun and the moon anymore when it comes to my writing.
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I just want to be able to write.
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I'm very happy with my newsletter.
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And I'm, you know, I think it's a very comfortable place to be.
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I don't want to force it down anybody's throat.
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I think it's good writing, and you know, some people really enjoy it.
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Babies and bylines.
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People still write to me telling me that it's transformed their lives.
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That's wonderful.
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There are young people who read books like Chinese Whiskers, Jakarta Tales,
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and you know, end up becoming interested in other parts of the world.
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And you know, there was one child in Belgium who even made a board game for a school project based on Chinese Whiskers.
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It was lovely.
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But these are sort of isolated stories.
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This is not like one becomes a huge writer.
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My children keep making fun of me and, you know, they're telling me whether,
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I mean, they ask me, you know, whether I will ever be like J.K. Rawlings, for example.
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And no one's ever heard of me.
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They tell their friends that, you know, my mother's a writer.
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But then the friends are like, well, why aren't your mother's books in the library like Harry Potter or whatever?
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So it's kind of funny, but it truly, at this point of time, does not matter.
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I do not want the sun and the moon, as Amitav Ghosh put it.
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I'm very happy writing what I write.
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And I feel like I found a kind of sweet spot between ambition.
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I still have that ambition to write.
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But in some ways, it's almost, yeah, it's a bit like the Bhagavad Gita, you know, do your duty.
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Don't think about the fruit.
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Yeah.
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And I'm also sort of struck by the part dependence of random events.
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Like you speak about how you met your future husband, Julio, when you were at LAC, I think, together.
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And then you got together and then he was crazily into China.
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And he went there and he's like, come to China, come to China, et cetera, et cetera.
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And then you went to China.
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And had you not met him, had, you know, had your paths not crossed in that particular way that completely may not have happened.
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And I want to know what are the possible, like, who were you at that point in time, the instant before you met this person?
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And this part dependence kind of happened.
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And you travel the world and you've written so beautifully about so many different countries that you've been in.
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But what are the other possible parts?
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What was your sense of what are you doing and what you want to do?
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I don't know.
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I was very confused because of the fact that after having worked in television, which is what I was very oriented towards doing,
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I discovered it was not what I thought it would be.
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And I wasn't sure what else I do, because this had been something that for many, many years had been with me as my sort of primary ambition.
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And so I did what a lot of people in that position do and that sort of, you know, go off and study more,
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which sort of maybe buys you some time to think about it.
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And I thought perhaps idly that I might end up in academia.
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You know, academia is a refuge for many people like me.
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It's like enjoyable. You study, you do research.
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It allows you to sort of think more deeply about things you're interested in.
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Certainly, I think that if Hulu had not happened to me as it were, my life would have been very different.
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But I also think that if I had not been who I am, my life would have been very different,
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because I mean, Julio could have happened to anybody.
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But it was also the fact that I allowed him to happen to me and sort of followed various directions.
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And going forward, you know, I've been very open to being able to be in remarkably different circumstances and, you know, give it a shot.
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You know, why not move to China? Why not move to Indonesia? Why not move to Japan?
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I feel that a lot of people are very close to that because it takes them out of their comfort zone.
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And there is a tendency amongst people to constantly, wherever, when they're in a new situation,
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to not appreciate that new situation for what it is and rather sort of criticize it for what it is not.
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There's a very sort of expat type of attitude.
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You know, I found this with expats around the world.
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You could be English and you could be in Japan.
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And instead of being fascinated by, I don't know, haiku or whatever, taiko, Japanese drumming,
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you'll be saying that you don't get the right kind of chocolate or something that you do back home.
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I mean, we all end up with these very idealized notions of what it's like back home.
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And in fact, I think every single place in this world is a very fantastic, wonderful,
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very interesting and absorbing experience if you can just focus on what it is rather than what it isn't.
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And that's what I've tried to do.
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And you've also spoken eloquently about the difference between tourism and travel.
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And you know how tourism can often be about ticking boxes.
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At one point you've written, quote, My own first experience with how joyless
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ticking of items on your travel bucket list can be was decades ago in the mid 1990s.
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My first visit to Rome had entailed spending an entire morning in the sweltering July heat
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queuing up at the Vatican City, all for a total of five minutes inside the Sistine Chapel.
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Groups of us packed into the intimacy of a can of sardines were pushed into the hall
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where the crowding made it a feat to physically be able to crane one's neck up towards the creation of Adam
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before being pushed out again.
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To have enjoyed the experience, one would have to be a mathagist.
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And that is sort of one extreme illustration of being a tourist.
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And it's almost sort of cliched, I guess, to kind of bring up that difference.
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But I'm just wondering that in a sense of travel, and I'm thinking aloud here,
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so forgive me if the question is either naive or too vague, but I'm wondering how does one travel?
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Because at one level you have to be able to see in the way that you mentioned
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that you see in the first six months in any new place where you're noticing everything.
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But at another level, you don't want to be hypersensitive to everything
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and find significance in every little rock on a street corner, because that is also...
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And like those words we were talking about, the exoticization of Japanese or whatever.
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So I guess the ultimate form of traveling is perhaps just living in a place
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and just soaking it in without overthinking it.
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Yeah, you can travel in your hometown, you know.
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I think travel is not really about physical movement necessarily.
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Traveling is really a sort of attitude. It's about learning.
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And so that is metaphorical movement rather than physical movement.
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So it's about reaching from point A to point B, but it can be traveling inwards.
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You know, journeys, all lives are about journeys.
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And whether it's a personal journey, you journey within a marriage,
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you journey when you become a parent, you journey when you fall in love,
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you journey when you become a student. These are all basically travelogues.
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Our lives are made up of these mini travelogues.
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You don't have to go to Japan and you don't have to go to China like I have in order to travel.
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And so I think what's important about travel is the discovery and it's the kind of attitude.
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And so you can go to the Sistine Chapel and if you're just ticking off boxes and taking pictures,
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that is not ultimately travel.
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But you can be having this conversation like the way we are.
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And I think we are traveling quite deeply into, you know, we're delving into a variety of different things.
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So there's travel involved in this conversation. So that's how I see it.
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You know, before this, during lunch, we were chatting about how often you live in a city,
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but my sense is that you actually live in a micro-neighborhood where you're just seeing an aspect of it.
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Like I think about how I relate to Bombay. Sure, I've been here since 1995,
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but a lot of the time I've been in a room, you know, one third of the time I've been asleep.
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A lot of the rest of the time I've just been in a room somewhere.
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When I've traveled out, I've traveled out almost in a cocoon.
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If I'm in a car, I may not see what's happening outside the car and the traffic signal besides me.
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And all of that is unseen. And what is seen is very limited.
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And what you say about how one can travel within one's own city is so true
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because Bombay itself is so incredibly complex and full of multitudes, as it were,
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that I just feel that if I had to travel, why would I even need to go anywhere else?
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I want to ask you, tell me about your travels to Delhi in that case,
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that through all these years, through these decades, how have you rediscovered it?
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And I guess every rediscovery of what is your first home, in a sense,
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would be a rediscovery of yourself also in a way, isn't it?
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At the moment, I feel like I went to North Korea when I go to Delhi.
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And I sort of travel from the airport, my neighborhood,
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and I see, you know, Prime Minister's visage on all the sort of the bus, all the hoardings.
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They follow you everywhere. And there's the sense of there's a dear leader, you know, out there.
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And we are in a cult of some kind.
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How else have I felt about Delhi? I don't know. I feel quite romantic about Delhi.
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I grew up thinking of it as somewhere that was, you know, very historic.
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I grew up in a neighborhood called Nizamuddin, which is by an old Mughal tomb,
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Humayun's tomb, which is today a UNESCO World Heritage Center.
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But at the time, it was, you know, a sort of unkempt derelict tomb, which was very wild.
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You had peacocks dancing around there, parakeets.
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I had free access to it and would walk my dog on the tombs.
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I learned how to roller skate on the tombs.
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I would, you know, take books and sit in alcoves and read them.
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The problem with this romanticism was Delhi men,
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because often while I would be sitting there in these alcoves reading them,
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I would find people masturbating next to me.
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And that would sort of take away a little bit from the romanticism of Delhi.
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But generally, because we had these almost stray monuments of great beauty and historical importance,
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I felt that this was a city with a soul, that it was a city of Khans, a city of poets,
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a city where you could really, you know, spin stories. And I loved it.
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Having left and then returned after seeing many other parts of the world, it's been quite disillusioning.
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I've sort of seen, I think more than anything else, I feel this kind of huge lack of,
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I was talking to you about it earlier, but oral sanctuary.
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You know, it's become so crowded that it's almost impossible to hear yourself in any way.
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The complete lack of public spaces, I think, is another thing that grates.
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There were many things that I used to take for normal when I lived in Delhi,
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that after having left, I've realized are very abnormal.
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That makes you see the city in a different way.
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The amount of harassment that you face as a woman.
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You know, I, when I was in college in Delhi, just it was very normal to get on a bus to be groped.
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You know, you'd sort of elbow people.
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I remember I sit standing outside the NDTV office one day trying to get an auto
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and a car just came and stood by.
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They rolled down the window and they asked me how much I would cost.
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All these kinds of things would happen and they were so insignificant
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that it would not be worthy of sort of telling anybody.
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You wouldn't even tell a friend.
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But I think when you sort of leave and you realize how much freedom you can find in public spaces
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in a place like China, in a place like Japan, I find it really quite remarkable
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how many Indian people, posh people, when I tell them that I lived in Japan,
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would say, oh, isn't the situation for women terrible there?
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You know, because they've heard about patriarchy in Japan or whatever.
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I'm like, well, you know, a woman can go for a walk in Japan,
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which is very difficult for a woman to do in Delhi today.
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So, yeah, I mean, coming back, it's I sort of see it in a more sort of it's sort of demented reality
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and it's abnormality.
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The fact that everything that I used to take is somehow just being normal.
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It doesn't have to be like that.
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It's a very difficult, overcrowded, aggressive place.
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And I feel like it's lacking a soul in many ways because nobody is from Delhi.
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I mean, you can't tell anybody that you're from Delhi.
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They say, but where are you really from?
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Everybody from Delhi, you know, went off to Pakistan.
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So it was kind of empty.
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It's suffering from post-partition stress syndrome or whatever.
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I think it was Rana Dasgupta who put it like that.
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And so it's a strange kind of place.
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And I sort of have ended up comparing it to a bad boyfriend.
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You know, it's like I love it and I kind of feel romantic towards it,
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but it doesn't always treat me very well.
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There are a bunch of things that, you know, sometimes you have to leave to see them properly.
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They're so normalized.
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They're so part of the everyday fabric.
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And some of them would be things like the cacophonous soundscapes of Delhi, for example,
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just how noisy it is or any Indian city or the extreme harassment and how bad it is for women
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or what really is happening in the country today.
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And my question is about that.
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Is it that over the course of the last 40 years, India has changed in fundamental ways?
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Or is it that we were in a bubble and that bubble has burst and that we were, in a sense,
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we were like this all along and politics has now caught up with society?
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I think possibly a little bit more of the latter.
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I do feel that the kinds of people that I went to school with,
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I think they do feel a sense that they were not seen at a certain point in time
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and that today that they are recognized and that they can speak in a way
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that they would probably always have wanted to speak, but felt constrained.
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And so in some ways, that's a very deep problem because it's very easy to say that,
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you know, I don't think it's just about our prime minister or politics.
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If it was about that, we would have another set of elections and it would all be over.
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But I think as a society, we are learning things about ourselves and who we are.
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And maybe it's not what we were taught when we were in school.
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You know, we were taught a very particular version of what India was.
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I held on to that. I guess the preamble of the constitution, you know,
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the secular, the sovereign socialist, all of those things.
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I'm not sure how much that really spoke to most of the people who are governed by this constitution.
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And I think that as a nation building project, we have failed to kind of create the nation
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in that image of what our constitution and the preamble stated.
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And so therefore, should that really be our constitution and our preamble?
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I don't know. I think there is a mismatch.
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There's a fundamental mismatch between social values
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and between a kind of constitution that came from a very different set of values.
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And we've not been able to lessen the gap between that.
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I mean, so if that was the nation building project, I think it's failed.
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Yeah, it's almost become a cliche on my show because I keep saying how we had
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a relatively liberal constitution, not as liberal as we'd like,
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but a relatively liberal constitution imposed upon an illiberal society.
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Yes, I totally agree with that.
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And you had to change it from the bottom up, and we failed,
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and the top down doesn't work ever, you know.
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Yes, I very much agree with that.
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Let's talk about another sort of society that is run from the top down,
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contains within it deep contradictions in which you know very well, which is China.
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And at one point you wrote about the quote,
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This cordon blend of authoritarian politics and liberal economics
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that required the leadership of a tightrope act
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that could not be expected to last forever.
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And you wrote this when you had gone to China in the early 2000s.
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This is in Smoke and Mirrors, which was released in 2008.
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And you also speak of things like this great act called Measures
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for Internment and Deportation of Urban Vagrants and Beggars,
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which is, you know, beautifully sort of...
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Communists speak.
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Beautifully communists speak and bureaucrats speak and all of that,
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and it sounds familiar to us here in India.
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And at the same time, when you look at these different contradictions,
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you also speak about your bewilderment that young people were gung-ho,
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that young people did not see it as a problem,
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that, you know, that there was one person who said that,
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Listen, my father used to go to work on a bicycle.
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Today we have two cars. What is the problem?
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And they are sort of gung-ho about that.
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And those are the sort of different directions there,
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that you have an economy which at that time was prospering madly,
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but at the same time you don't have political freedom, you know.
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And that sense that things are going really well
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and things will go really well until they don't.
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By chance something happens, you piss off the wrong guy,
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then you're immediately slammed off.
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But it seems to me that that is true of India also, right?
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And there are so many examples of that sort.
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So tell me a little bit about, you know,
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how your view of China sort of evolved through these years
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because I was having a, like there's a YouTube show I do called
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Everything is Everything with my friend Ajay Shah
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and I brought up to him something that a friend of mine said
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when we were discussing who has had the most positive impact
#
on humanity over the last 40 years.
#
China.
#
And this other person, which individual?
#
And this other person said it's Deng
#
because Deng lifted hundreds of millions of people out of poverty,
#
which instinctively I could not argue with.
#
It is of course correct.
#
And Ajay's point is that no, he doesn't agree
#
because Deng set China upon a path that was bound to fail
#
and that was bound to land up at where it has
#
with all the things that she is doing.
#
Has it failed?
#
I don't agree with that because I think...
#
Has China failed? I mean it's not...
#
Anyway, go on.
#
Yeah, no.
#
Like for him it's failed in the context of freedom,
#
of giving freedom to its citizens.
#
But as far as I'm concerned,
#
hundreds of millions of people came out of poverty.
#
Indians would gladly have settled for that.
#
Yes.
#
It did not happen.
#
And therefore I regard Deng incredibly highly.
#
But I also sort of get the point of view
#
that there is a fundamental flaw in the structure that remains
#
and I have no idea how it would end.
#
They would resolve it, yeah.
#
Yeah, so tell me a little bit about...
#
Yeah, I think I was blown away by how, you know,
#
how unoppressed Chinese people felt.
#
Because I think before I went to China,
#
I very much had the impression
#
that there would be all these dissidents.
#
People would be scared to talk.
#
In fact, I found people had a great sense of humor.
#
There was a lot of laughter.
#
There was a lot of optimism.
#
Again, we're talking about the Hu Jintao Wanjia Bao Day.
#
So we're talking pre-Xi Jinping, pre-2014.
#
I think in the first decade of this millennium,
#
it was a very opening up trajectory generally in China.
#
It was opening up in many ways.
#
You had the state essentially getting out of the way of many things.
#
You had the state getting out of people's bedrooms.
#
There was a time when, you know, the state would decide
#
who you could marry and who you couldn't marry.
#
There was a time when the state decided what kind of job you could do.
#
Now you had the freedom to choose your own job.
#
There was a time when the state decided who could travel and who couldn't travel.
#
Now you had the freedom to have your passport
#
and to be able to travel around the place.
#
So it was basically a liberalizing time
#
when there was more and more freedoms that were accruing to people,
#
and they still had memories of when they did not have that freedom, right?
#
So I think when you still had that memory,
#
whatever freedoms you were getting was something that was very precious.
#
The most of all, you now had the freedom to get rich.
#
So there was this, you know, they used to sum it up as shut up and get rich.
#
So don't talk too much, but make money.
#
And you know, it turned out that that's what a lot of people wanted to do.
#
They wanted the freedom to be able to make money, to have nice lives.
#
And I said in my book, you said I met somebody who said that now I have two cars.
#
I used to have a bicycle.
#
It was not one person, it was everybody.
#
It was like everybody that you would meet in China would tell you the same story,
#
which was my parents had a bicycle, I have a car.
#
Because that was the trajectory that, you know, that they were taking.
#
There was upward mobility.
#
There were more freedoms than there had ever been before.
#
And frankly, most people around the world are not like political creatures
#
in the sense that they want to criticize the government.
#
There was enough bitching and carping.
#
So people would complain about corruption.
#
They would complain about, you know, the local community dude
#
who was, you know, being rapacious or grabbing land.
#
It was not as though that they could not complain about these things.
#
But they actually had a sense, and I think that that was funny
#
and counterintuitive compared to India,
#
that they had a sense where they could actually appeal to the government to make it right.
#
They had a belief in government capacity, which I think we just did not have in India.
#
In India, when things go wrong, the last person you think about turning to is the government.
#
You know, if somebody robs your stuff, you're not going to go to the police.
#
You think you'll get raped.
#
I mean, there, there was still some kind of belief in the apparatus of the state,
#
whether it was the police or whether it was appealing directly to the authorities.
#
And there was a sense that things were not perfect,
#
but they were not perfect because this was a complicated country with a lot of people.
#
There was a lot of stress on the size of the country
#
and the fact that when you have a population like this,
#
you can't compare it to other smaller countries.
#
They would often bring that up in comparison to India as well,
#
which was also a very populous country.
#
And they would say, look at your country.
#
You have the freedom of basically being on the footpath.
#
Is this what you want?
#
I mean, they would bring that up and they would call it chaos.
#
So since Confucian times, I think one of the things that people really fear is chaos.
#
The whole idea of Confucianism is how to avoid chaos and how to impose order.
#
The righteous ruler is somebody who's avoiding chaos.
#
And China has had episodes in its history where it's had these millenarian movements
#
and it's had these revolutions.
#
And of course, you had Chairman Mao.
#
I mean, you had the Cultural Revolution.
#
There was great chaos at that time.
#
So the time that I was there in China, there was this huge tendency
#
and I think desire and as far as I could tell,
#
consensus on wanting to avoid that kind of situation,
#
that kind of chaos that they had just come out of,
#
and instead to focus on things that would sort of better your life in material terms.
#
And that is essentially what was going on.
#
And so I was very surprised by all of that
#
because it was a very different sense to what I had before I went there,
#
that these would be people who were unhappy, who were oppressed,
#
and who would not be able to express their opinions.
#
I found people were pretty free in how they expressed their opinion
#
and very human and humane.
#
So I want to ask a question about culture and the effect authority can have on it.
#
Culture is something that I think of and you'd agree is something
#
that is essentially a bottom-up thing in spontaneous order.
#
You can't direct it in any way.
#
And at the same time...
#
But it's quite deep and it has roots.
#
And I think that culture matters in a way that sometimes,
#
I think modern people often think that it's kind of constructed
#
or we give it too much importance
#
or that we are somehow primordially fixing people
#
into these kind of cultural categories.
#
But in fact, I think that there is something to be said for very deep structures of culture
#
and how they shape, how we respond to events.
#
And so the second part of my question is about
#
how a certain kind of authoritarian planning
#
of what appears to be non-cultural can shape culture.
#
For example, architecture.
#
Like you have this great passage in your first book where you write,
#
quote,
#
The blade-runner-like futuristic cityscape that I saw on display
#
at the Urban Planning Museum remained incomplete during my China life.
#
The Beijing I lived in was more a work in progress
#
with a continually half-complete feel.
#
Its architectural mishmash of styles lent it an urtonal jarring look.
#
Concrete warehouses peeled in the shadow of zooming skyscrapers,
#
a few unyielding courtyard homes crushed up against bathroom tiled office spaces.
#
Bar house, baroque and bathroom all jostled together uneasily.
#
And the only unity the city has was the ubiquity of bulldozers and cranes
#
skewering the haze of construction site dust.
#
That and the omnipresent Chinese character pronounced chai and meaning demolish.
#
Elsewhere you write about how, unlike India,
#
the interiors of Beijing's buildings may have been plush,
#
but so were the exteriors. They were sanitized and sterile.
#
Which is sort of interesting.
#
And you talk about the effect on the people where at one point you write,
#
Beijing was a surrealist paradise.
#
Old bent men in Mao suits taking their cage songbirds for a walk along an expressway.
#
A group of elderly women practicing Tai Chi surrounded by bulldozers.
#
These were common sights as I entered the city.
#
The clash of the past and present was certainly highlighted by Dilchak's repositions.
#
But what struck me most was the fluidity with which the Beijingers, I observed,
#
negotiated this tension, the lack of visible trauma or resistance.
#
And the reason this speaks to me and the question I'm coming at is that
#
I've been increasingly thinking about how deep is culture really and how do we define it.
#
For example, in a recent episode with Krishyashok in Narendra Chinnoy,
#
Ashok spoke about the origin of Upma in South India.
#
In 1941, because of the war, I think Japan came to Burma or whatever,
#
there was a shortage of rice.
#
And South India mainly had rice, which is also why their women were more liberated
#
because they weren't making rotis all day.
#
And there was a diktat given by the government of the day that have more wheat
#
because we have less rice.
#
And South India was like, our women are working, our girls are going to school.
#
No, we don't want to make rotis.
#
And the compromise was a kind of wheat that can be cooked like rice.
#
In other words, semolina, and that's where Upma comes from.
#
And so today we think of Upma as like a deep part of a certain kind of culture.
#
We think it must have existed hundreds of years,
#
but it was contingent, came about at a particular point in time.
#
And similarly, as you look through cuisine, as you look through culture,
#
so much of what we think is fundamental to what we are all about
#
is actually relatively recent.
#
Like salmon sushi did not exist since the 80s.
#
Norway had excess salmon.
#
They managed to get, there's this fascinating story,
#
I'll link from the show notes about how a Norwegian salesman called
#
Bjorn Erik Olsen, I think, went to Japan and he met all the fisheries people
#
and he tried to sell off excess salmon
#
and finally managed to sell off 50,000 tons of salmon at a cheap price.
#
And everybody was like, hey, nobody will have salmon sushi.
#
But not only did Japan adopt salmon sushi.
#
It's become iconic.
#
It's become iconic. It took sushi to the world.
#
And what that tells you is that we think of culture quite correctly in my view
#
as something that is bottom up, that is rooted in something deep, like you said.
#
But it can also evolve.
#
It can also be deeply contingent and things can change.
#
Like within a generation, things can change entirely.
#
And when you speak of, you know, bewildered Beijing residents
#
adapting to the changing cityscape around them
#
and not actually reacting against it and, you know, this...
#
So I want to know how you think about culture
#
because you've kind of seen this, seen modernity shaping tradition
#
and shaping culture in a tradition quote unquote
#
because a lot of what we think of as tradition is relatively recent.
#
And you've seen this across countries.
#
What is sort of your, what are your thoughts on this?
#
Yeah, I mean, obviously when you're looking at things like cuisine,
#
you sort of brought up the upma example.
#
I mean, look at Indian cuisine.
#
I was at what is formally known as the Prince of Wales Museum yesterday
#
and I was just looking.
#
They've got a nice exhibition on Indian food.
#
And, you know, whether it was potatoes or whether it was chilies
#
or whether it was tomatoes, all these very fundamental things
#
that are related to Indian cuisine were all introduced by the Portuguese
#
and they came from South America.
#
The great Columbian exchange.
#
Exactly.
#
And then, you know, tempura was introduced to Japan by the Portuguese.
#
I mean, chai really was, you know, the British took it from China
#
and brought it over here.
#
I mean, so you have all of these intermingling.
#
But culture is not only food, right?
#
And I think different societies, I think they invest their sense
#
of cultural identity in different things.
#
So I think, for example, in some parts of Europe,
#
there is a great investing of cultural identity in architecture.
#
And I think that in China, that was not the case.
#
I think where China got its sort of sense of self, its longevity,
#
its sense of being a continuous culture,
#
was very embedded in the writing in Chinese characters,
#
which are very unique and which have essentially, you know,
#
with some changes, been around for 5000 years.
#
They also invested it very deeply in their sense of, in their cuisine,
#
but not in terms of the ingredients of the cuisine,
#
but in a very deep philosophy of yin and yang
#
and how you balance hot food and cold food.
#
This was something that went on for a very long period of time.
#
But I think historically, they've been quite comfortable
#
with architecture changing,
#
which was something that Europeans had a difficulty understanding.
#
You know, because they're very comfortable with faux antiquity
#
of sort of, you know, if the temple doesn't look great,
#
let's build it down and rebuild it to look like it used to look,
#
and it'll be just as well.
#
Whereas, you know, the Europeans, they feel that
#
it's somehow lacking authenticity if it has been rebuilt.
#
I don't think that the Chinese really felt that
#
about their physical architecture.
#
But on the other hand, you know,
#
there was also, I mean, you know,
#
policy planners have used architecture in China as well
#
to deliberately erase certain kinds of memories
#
and rebuild and reassert what they want that particular city,
#
for example, to mean.
#
So Beijing, when I lived there,
#
I would say really had like three parts to it.
#
It had the old imperial heart, which was the Hutongs,
#
which used to be these criss-crossing alleyways
#
in about a two-kilometer radius of the Forbidden City.
#
These used to be the sort of areas where the grandees would live,
#
the very rich merchants and the noblemen in pre-1949 China.
#
They would have these huge courtyard houses.
#
They would be the equivalent of the Havelis of Old Delhi, for example.
#
Then you have the Communist Revolution in 1949,
#
and what the state does is it expropriates all of this land,
#
and it turns them over to workers' units,
#
to things that are called Danwei,
#
and they basically became like urban slums.
#
So what would have once been a grand courtyard would now belong to a workers' unit,
#
and it would house maybe 80 families, people lying in bunks.
#
There were also no toilets in any of these.
#
So what did they do? They built public toilets,
#
which became very important because these public toilets
#
were what brought the community together.
#
And also, I think, because they became so overcrowded
#
that you could not have interior lives,
#
and lives began to be lived on the street.
#
So during the communist times, you had a lot of collective life
#
that was happening on the streets.
#
People would sit outside, they would chat,
#
they would do calisthenics together in the evenings,
#
and they would congregate around the public toilets and sort of chit-chat.
#
Then you have this new Beijing that is being built.
#
It was, in fact, called New Olympics New Beijing.
#
I can't remember the exact catchphrase,
#
but you had the 2008 Beijing Olympics,
#
and under that umbrella, there was a push to kind of change
#
all the architecture all over again.
#
There was a time when the Beijing municipal authorities
#
were publishing new maps of the city every three months
#
because it was changing so much.
#
So as far as I was concerned, there was huge instability
#
because I couldn't orient myself.
#
You would find a favorite restaurant,
#
and you would come back there two months later,
#
and it just wouldn't be there.
#
But I think for a lot of people who were living there,
#
they just continued on.
#
That's what I write about in my book.
#
So this would be a park, and then suddenly it was bulldozed,
#
but people would still take their dogs for walks over there
#
as though it was still a park.
#
It was very interesting.
#
So anyway, you had this new Beijing,
#
and what they were doing with the new Beijing
#
was demolishing both the communist architecture,
#
the hutongs, and then putting up these glass and chrome structures.
#
And again, it was going to have a lot of impact
#
because suddenly, you know, you would have elderly people
#
who would be in high rises, who could no longer come down,
#
who could no longer meet their friends.
#
It was taking away these social focal points
#
that existed because of the public toilets.
#
So there was a huge social and cultural impact
#
that architecture was having, and it was also an erasure
#
because the communist buildings that you had
#
were essentially being completely taken away and being replaced.
#
So it's almost like toying with people's memories, you know,
#
because it is that space that you remember certain things
#
very deeply connected with neighborhoods.
#
We all have that.
#
When I go back to the neighborhood that I grew up in,
#
you know, there's certain nostalgia memories that attach to that.
#
When that's taken away, it's very easy.
#
It makes it easier, I think, to just kind of look forward.
#
And that was very much the trajectory.
#
Let's look forward. Let's not talk about the past.
#
And I came across that very much.
#
So, you know, the other thing about when I would talk to people
#
and they would say my parents had a bicycle, we have the two cars, yes,
#
but they would never talk about the Cultural Revolution.
#
Why? Because the parents wouldn't talk to the children about it.
#
There was this kind of unspoken consensus in society
#
that move forward, move forward, let's just keep going.
#
Why dwell on the past?
#
I think we've seen it in India with partition as well.
#
We'll often see that families don't actually talk about it to their children.
#
And then there's a kind of erasure of memory that's happening within families
#
and that was reinforced by the architecture as well,
#
by the whole entire cityscape changing
#
so that the memories that are attached to the city are erased.
#
And what you said also resonates with what I was saying earlier about forms.
#
And I was talking about forms in the creative economy,
#
longer pieces, shorter pieces, all of that.
#
But even forms of living within a city can shape a culture.
#
Like what you said about communal living is so sort of reminiscent
#
of why so much slum redevelopment fails in India.
#
Because you're living in a chawl and all the homes are sort of cheek by jowl as it were
#
and they have common kitchens and the women are congregated
#
and the kids are playing together and going in and out of each other's homes.
#
And it's a community and the old people could just be sitting there in the courtyard all day
#
with life all around them.
#
And then you put them in apartment blocks and everything is torn apart
#
and destroyed and you're completely atomised.
#
And I think it particularly affects the elderly.
#
There was a visibility of old age in Beijing in these hutongs
#
which I thought was wonderful and you didn't see that very much in India.
#
Old people were very integrated into the fabric of everyday life
#
and I think it had a lot to do with how the hutongs had developed.
#
And not just the old people, it would also affect the young people
#
perhaps not in such a poignant way but it would shape the direction of how they go.
#
I also want to, I now want to shift attention to Japan
#
where you wrote about like a similar sort of subject
#
where you wrote about Japanese culture and about how incredibly safe it is
#
that kids who are seven years old are going to school alone, they're trained to do that.
#
For women obviously it is like so much safer than Indians can imagine.
#
And at one point you write, quote,
#
Perhaps the most crucial ingredient in the recipe that allowed Japanese children such independence
#
was an accepted reliance on community,
#
more reminiscent of a village than of big city culture.
#
While researching a story on the subject I came across an article in the Atlantic magazine
#
that quoted Dwayne Dixon, a cultural anthropologist, as saying,
#
now his quote,
#
Japanese kids learn early on that ideally any member of the community can be called on
#
to serve or help others, stop quote.
#
And then you write,
#
Over the years I came to the conclusion that trust bred trust,
#
good deeds encourage good deeds.
#
If someone had taken the trouble to turn in your valuables to the police,
#
you were more likely to do the same for someone else, stop quote.
#
And here it seems to me that what happens is that a certain cultural norm,
#
however it forms, creates a virtuous cycle.
#
That's right.
#
That because there is this trust, because people are helping each other,
#
if somebody, if you know people will be around to help you,
#
you are automatically going to help them when called upon.
#
If you know that your wallet will be returned to the police station,
#
as indeed happened with you,
#
then you know that when you find a wallet you are also going to return it.
#
I think you had a statistic of, I think in Tokyo or Japan, I don't know where,
#
but 313,000 lost umbrellas were found in a year,
#
were handed into the police stations, you know,
#
which is incredible because I have lost many umbrellas,
#
none has ever come back to me, which is incredible.
#
And what I'm thinking here is that just as you have a virtuous cycle,
#
you can also have vicious cycles where this trust breeds this trust.
#
And I think that something like this has happened in India,
#
that there is a particular trait that people think of as cultural,
#
but I think might have institutional origins,
#
which is essentially what Jagdish Bhagwati referred to as our rent-seeking mentality
#
when contrasting us with China of 2000 saying they had a profit-seeking mentality.
#
And I think that, quote-unquote, rent-seeking mentality,
#
that urge to take advantage of someone, to exploit someone, etc., etc.,
#
possibly comes because of our post-independence institutional arrangements,
#
where you had a strong parasitical predatory state,
#
which is essentially rent-seeking.
#
And if you want to get ahead in life, it's really hard to make an honest living.
#
And you have a sense of it being a dog-eat-dog world, no?
#
Yeah.
#
The pie is not big enough.
#
Yeah.
#
I think there's the sense that it's just not big enough to share,
#
so you need to get ahead. It's a dog-eat-dog world.
#
But you're absolutely right.
#
And I think that all sort of behavioral economists have also noticed this,
#
that if you go to a very clean place and you litter, as you see litter,
#
you'll notice it and you will not litter.
#
If it's clean, you won't litter.
#
If it's very dirty, you'll also start littering.
#
So I think it's sort of similar to that in Japan,
#
because it's created this virtuous cycle where every single Japanese person
#
has had experiences where they have lost things and it has been returned.
#
You are far more likely to do that.
#
In India, I walk past and I see things lying on the road,
#
and I just walk past them.
#
In Japan, if you walk past something on the road, you would pick it up
#
and you would just put it on the side for somebody who would later come back,
#
you know, looking for it, and they would find it.
#
So I think you kind of mimic the behavior that you see around yourself,
#
and that's a very human thing.
#
And Indians themselves behave very well when they go abroad,
#
because that's what they're seeing around them.
#
When they come back, they'll behave in a completely different way,
#
because we mimic the environment.
#
How do cultural norms change?
#
Have you seen examples of, say, a vicious circle turned into a virtuous cycle
#
all the other way around?
#
Yeah, I mean, I think you've seen it quite clearly in China,
#
but there was a lot of social engineering involved.
#
And some of it was, you know, quite funny to the non-Chinese ear,
#
because they have this concept of a wanhua, which is civilization,
#
and what is civilized behavior and what is not civilized behavior.
#
And they would even have signs up at airports which would call them civilized airports.
#
And in English, they would translate them as civilized airports,
#
so it led to much hilarity.
#
And again, I think the Olympic Games were this kind of umbrella
#
under which a lot of this social engineering was going on.
#
So not only the building of the new city of Beijing physically,
#
but it was also supposed to create a new character of people.
#
And that included a whole list of uncivilized behaviors,
#
and the uncivilized behaviors included spitting, pushing in queues, keeping pigeons.
#
I think they were very anti-keeping sort of pigeons as pets
#
because they would go pooing all around the place, and so on.
#
Oh, kudangu.
#
There used to be this thing where people who came in from the countryside
#
would put their children in trousers that had a split on the butt.
#
And they would just, when they needed to go to the loo,
#
they could just essentially sit down.
#
They wouldn't have to take their trousers off.
#
This was very common, 2002, 2003.
#
And there was this ban on kudangu and how this is not civilized,
#
and you need to use the toilet.
#
Then they built the luxurious lavatories.
#
So there was a lot of training on how to use the luxurious lavatories,
#
like the don't squat on top, how to flush.
#
And there was a lot of this teaching that they would put up notices in the hutongs.
#
It was in the newspapers.
#
And there were even civic classes that were organized in a sort of community-based.
#
This was a communist society.
#
So they used that machinery to improve the Wanhua level,
#
the civilizational levels of people.
#
They were uplifting it.
#
And there was also a lot of foreigners are going to be coming in 2008
#
from all over the world.
#
What do you want them to see?
#
But, you know, eventually it sort of worked over the years.
#
I mean, today, if you go to Beijing, it is a very different place to 2002.
#
Partly, I just think it's a richer place.
#
So people have got more education.
#
They have more money.
#
They're more house proud.
#
The architecture has changed.
#
All these poor, spitting people now face some amount of social censure,
#
which perhaps they wouldn't have because younger people have been taught
#
a different set of norms.
#
It used to be very common for Beijing people to kind of roll up their vests
#
and then have these protruding potbellies and also roll up their trousers
#
up to over their ankles.
#
And it was hot.
#
And you'd see like hordes of these people wandering around airports.
#
Today, you won't see people dressed like that.
#
So it's a kind of sort of moving away also from a village,
#
you know, like culture to a more urban culture
#
where people have essentially, I think, just gone up, you know,
#
the material value chain with help by social engineering,
#
which has actually changed some of these norms.
#
None of these norms were nobody, no country was born with them.
#
I mean, there was spitting in every country.
#
Japan had terrible sanitation.
#
All of these things at some point came about as a result of improved,
#
you know, government capacity and educational campaigns.
#
And I guess it would be hard to disentangle what is coming from these top-down efforts
#
and what is coming organically from A, increased prosperity and B, globalization.
#
It's a combination.
#
I mean, what used to really make Indians and Chinese seem the same to me,
#
this Hindi-Chinese bhai-bhai, at least in 2002, 2003,
#
that when you were in an airplane full of Indians or Chinese,
#
and the moment the plane touched down,
#
everybody would jump out of their seats while the air hostesses were saying,
#
sit down, sit down.
#
And for foreigners, like for foreign correspondents in China,
#
they would see this as something peculiarly Chinese,
#
that all the Chinese people somehow, you know, are so uncivilized or whatever,
#
that they jump out and they don't listen to the air hostesses.
#
So common to an Indian.
#
So we shared all of this, you know.
#
It was a lack of familiarity with global norms.
#
And now they have that.
#
And so it's changing.
#
So every time a plane lands, the Hindi-Chinese bhai-bhai get up quickly.
#
So let's sort of go back to your personal journey.
#
And I want to talk about parenthood and, of course, your, you know,
#
Babies and Bylines, your great book on that.
#
And so I'm going to quote a couple of passages and then get to my question.
#
At one point you write about how you were never interested in babies,
#
and you write, quote,
#
Babies had never interested me.
#
I'd never been struck by a longing to coo at a bundled up newborn.
#
I found toddlers having tantrums in airplanes intolerable.
#
I was not a natural nurse.
#
I found rule unpleasant.
#
I disliked mess.
#
I once got sight of a friend tasting pureed baby food with a finger
#
before feeding it to her seven-month-old.
#
It made me nauseous.
#
That same friend just messaged you.
#
Just messaged, you see.
#
Well, it's good that she's still your friend and you haven't held it against her.
#
And then you write, quote,
#
Mine was a wanted pregnancy.
#
I was 32 years old and had been in a relationship with Julio for almost eight years.
#
It was time I decided.
#
In retrospect, however,
#
I realized I hadn't decided as much as responded to my mother's queries
#
to what common sense conquered was normal,
#
to some kind of mysterious biological tick-tocking.
#
It was also a submission to adulthood,
#
to my commitment to Julio, to Darwin, stop, quote.
#
And my question here is about, you know, thick and thin desires.
#
That's a frame that Luke Burgess came up with in his book, Wanting.
#
And he was referring to the notion of mimetic desire,
#
which René Girard wrote about,
#
where René Girard was this philosopher whose theory was
#
that most people want something because somebody else wants it.
#
And therefore you come at thin and thick desires.
#
And thick desire would be something that is deeply intrinsic to you,
#
like your desire to write and tell stories, as you just mentioned it.
#
And a thin version of that would be the desire for validation
#
and to win an award, which you've done.
#
And one of the classic thin desires that I think of
#
is indeed the desire for young people to start a family
#
and have kids because they see everybody around them doing it
#
and they assume it's just a natural thing to do
#
and they fall into that groove.
#
And so I want to kind of ask about that,
#
because in that last para I read out,
#
it feels like it was a bit of thin desire.
#
It was a groove that felt natural to get into it.
#
But then later, the more I read,
#
it feels that you really began to enjoy it
#
and you immersed yourself in it.
#
So tell me a little bit about that journey.
#
I mean, being the parent of a very young baby is not enjoyable.
#
I mean, by any normal definition of the word of enjoyable.
#
No, it was very much a thin desire.
#
I think it was more about worrying that I might regret it
#
rather than something that I actively wanted.
#
I didn't know how I would feel about it.
#
My mother would tell me that it was something that was very important to her
#
and that she could not imagine her life without me.
#
And that was something that would sort of stick to me.
#
I suppose I could imagine her life without a child
#
because you wouldn't know what it was like.
#
But what if it brought this incredible positive aspect to your life
#
that you just wouldn't know otherwise?
#
I also decided to adopt two cats.
#
Julio and I did that as a kind of pilot project.
#
You know, we lived in China at the time,
#
and the Chinese were famous for their pilot projects.
#
Before they did any economic policy or whatever,
#
they would first try it out.
#
So we thought, okay, we'll do it in a small scale
#
and we'll get these two cats.
#
And I mean, it's not the same as a baby,
#
but it means you have to look after them,
#
you have to take them to the vet,
#
and you can't be as spontaneous,
#
somebody has to land up home for the night and be out partying,
#
somebody has to feed the cat and so on.
#
And I realized about two years into being cat parents
#
that I was having these very abnormal fantasies
#
of, you know, hosting a cat birthday party.
#
And I sort of was telling Julio,
#
oh, the cats are going to be two,
#
and wouldn't it be sweet if we could have a little salmon cake
#
and have their little cat friends over?
#
So at that point, I was thinking, oh, my God, I need to have a baby.
#
There's something that's telling me I need to have a baby.
#
But it was never a very, very strong desire.
#
It was more a fear of what if I didn't have a baby
#
and then somehow regretted it in the future.
#
And I decided that I would just not overthink it
#
and it would be a bit like jumping off a cliff
#
and then the deed is done, so let's just do it.
#
And I hated being a mother for the first, I don't know,
#
four or five months, probably, when Ishan was born.
#
He was a nightmare child.
#
He didn't sleep all night.
#
He screamed all the time.
#
I just couldn't believe what I had done.
#
And there was this finality to it that was so frightening
#
because everything else in your life you can fix, you can reverse.
#
And there I was with this baby who had just turned my life upside down
#
and there was nothing I could do.
#
It's not like I could take him back to the hospital
#
and say, you know, here, you take him back, please.
#
And I remember thinking I've just made the biggest mistake of my life.
#
Like, what have I done?
#
Yeah, and I think perhaps many, many, many women feel that,
#
but I just hadn't been exposed to that version of motherhood.
#
Nobody had spoken to me about it, including my own mother.
#
Perhaps she hadn't experienced it.
#
Not everybody goes through that.
#
Ishan, also we have discovered with time that, you know,
#
he has Asperger's, he had sensory issues and so on,
#
which made him very difficult when he was a baby,
#
but we didn't know that.
#
But as a new parent, it was a huge shock to the system.
#
It seemed extremely abnormal.
#
And I remember thinking that, you know,
#
everyone said that having a child was the most normal thing you could do.
#
It was the biological norm.
#
But psychologically, it felt extremely abnormal.
#
I did an episode with Mrinal Pandey and Mrinalji spoke about
#
this gathering of mothers when she was a young mother
#
and they all discuss this news piece that one of them came across,
#
which was about a mother murdering her babies.
#
And at first they all expressed horror,
#
but then one by one they all confessed.
#
They all confessed that we also had fantasies.
#
Oh my God, I could have thrown him out.
#
But I had a very fierce sense of protectiveness.
#
And, you know, in some ways I tortured myself with it
#
because he was such a horrible child
#
that I thought I couldn't let anybody else be with him
#
because I thought they would murder him.
#
And I was the only person who could tolerate this.
#
That's a very cool thing to say about you.
#
He'll listen to this, right, at some point?
#
At some point.
#
Just because he cried a lot.
#
I mean, he was only two months old at the time.
#
But imagine this kind of high decibel screeching, you know,
#
and nothing would sort of really soothe him.
#
He was just very, very difficult.
#
And I just thought if I leave him with a nanny
#
and, you know, he just keeps screaming and doesn't get soothed,
#
she might hurt him in some way.
#
So I thought I was the only one who was kind of capable of taking that punishment.
#
And I sort of punished myself with being with him constantly.
#
My first break was when I went to see Pankaj Mishra.
#
And I was about three months into it.
#
We'll talk about that later.
#
But I want to talk about the aspect of it,
#
about how unequal parenting can be.
#
Where at one point you write, quote,
#
I didn't admit it to myself at the time,
#
but while I'd obviously known that Julio could not breastfeed,
#
what I really wanted was for him to feel as tired and discouraged
#
and overwhelmed by it all as I did.
#
There is patently a biological asymmetry in infant rearing,
#
but that didn't prevent me from desiring an emotional and mental equality,
#
the lack of which seemed far more egregious.
#
And I recently was chatting with Mahima Vashish,
#
who writes a newsletter, Womaning in India,
#
and we were at a conference and she was like,
#
you know, everybody else at this conference is networking, meeting people.
#
For me, I'm just happy to have a break from motherhood
#
because, you know, she had an infant kid.
#
And she also said, like, her husband is an old friend of mine,
#
delightful guy, as feminist as you can expect a man to be.
#
Salil puts in all the work at home to help.
#
But even then, it can never be equal.
#
Even then, it's a mother who's kind of has to sort of bear the brunt of it.
#
And how does this change everything in your life?
#
Because are you, like, is the pre-motherhood Pallavi dead at that point?
#
And are you just a different person?
#
Different person.
#
I had a different person, different relationship with my husband,
#
different awareness of biology,
#
different sense of what feminism is, different sense of equality.
#
I mean, it changed a lot of things for me.
#
I mean, you know, it's also a phase.
#
These things don't last forever now that my children are older
#
and I sort of look back on that.
#
It was all a bit apocalyptic at the time and it no longer is.
#
I think, and in some ways, I think maybe it was unfair of me
#
and maybe it's unfair of all women who feel the same way that I do,
#
which was basically for their husbands or their partners to be as miserable as they were.
#
And, you know, that maybe it is a bit unfair.
#
I don't know.
#
I just felt that my husband had a certain amount of ability to compartmentalize.
#
And I think for a lot of women, that becomes very difficult.
#
So there was almost no baby-free mental space.
#
And no matter what I was doing, whether I was at a lit fest,
#
whether I was writing, there was always one part of my brain
#
that was thinking about, you know, whether Nico had done pupu that day
#
or whether somebody had eaten the banana that they were supposed to eat or not.
#
Did I do that to myself? Was that because of my biology?
#
I'm still yet to figure out how much it is constructed and how much is necessary,
#
whether it is something that, you know, that is social,
#
whether it is something that is biological,
#
whether it's something we do to self-sabotage.
#
And, you know, why is it that it doesn't seem to affect men
#
and even men who are very good fathers and hands-on?
#
It is the mental space that is different.
#
So physically, they can sort of take on 50% of the tasks, you know,
#
not that my husband did, but I think it's possible for a man
#
to take on 50% of the diapering, the feeding, the bathing, like all of that.
#
But how can you kind of dictate how a person is supposed to feel about it
#
or, you know, how their mental space is supposed to be occupied or not?
#
I just think around the world, most men are still able to read a newspaper.
#
They're still able to listen to a song when they have an infant.
#
And I think that's very rare for a woman to be able to do.
#
I was just, I couldn't believe that he could read a paper.
#
I just lost that ability for a very long period of time,
#
to be able to just do something with concentration and focus.
#
Not only that, he actually geeked out.
#
I love these passages on him. It's a bit long, but I'll read this out
#
because it's such good writing and I really love it
#
and makes me like Holiw a lot as well, where you write, quote,
#
I didn't have a wife, but I did have a husband, a much loved one.
#
All I wanted of this husband, or so I told him often,
#
was more of his involvement in the everyday details.
#
And so I learned the truth behind another Holi cliche.
#
Oh God, when he started telling me about how to breastfeed.
#
Be careful what you wish for, it may come true.
#
Six years on, it is easy for me to insert myself in Holiw's shoes.
#
He had taken a month off from work to find himself essentially superfluous
#
in a home filled with baby screaming and his wild-haired wife's accusations
#
about the unfairness of everything.
#
And a little later, you write, eventually he turned to the one activity
#
that gave him a simultaneous sense of control and involvement.
#
Research, and as all baby-related roads lead to the mother's breast,
#
Holiw soon fancied himself an expert on my breast and what I should be doing with them.
#
He would stay up nights reading the blogs of assorted lactation consultants
#
and scribbling neat notes for me to peruse.
#
He sent out orders on Amazon for fennel seed supplements,
#
a known herbal lactation aid.
#
He suggested I try getting a prescription for Domperidone,
#
a medication often used to ease symptoms of nausea and vomiting,
#
but also shown to increase milk production in some women.
#
But when Holiw recommended that I set the alarm clock
#
so as to wake every two hours through the night
#
in order to attach my chest to a pump for a 20-minute milking session,
#
therefore stimulating my supply, I'd heard just about enough.
#
And I read out the full thing because I just love the writing and the storytelling,
#
and this is kind of exactly, I have to admit, with some guilt.
#
This is exactly what my instinct would be,
#
that men would have this instinct from problem-solving research,
#
this matter, let's solve it.
#
Actually, I just wanted emotional support.
#
I think what I wanted was for him to be a bit miserable rather than solve the problem.
#
There was no solving the problem, really.
#
I mean, I was going through it and I think it was,
#
there's a sort of disconnect sometimes in terms of the coding and the decoding between parents.
#
Tell me your Pankaj Mishra story, it's awesome.
#
The Pankaj Mishra story.
#
Yeah, so I was going through all this with Ishan,
#
who had essentially stopped sleeping.
#
I think it's very hard for many parents to believe me when I tell them this,
#
but it's true, he didn't sleep for more than half an hour at a stretch.
#
And even those half an hour stretches used to involve
#
an incredible amount of calisthenic activity on our end.
#
We had to do deep knee bends and things like that to get him to relax.
#
And I was also going through this huge struggle with my milk supply
#
and I really wanted him to be breastfed and I was having a lot of issues with that
#
and I was like pumping milk and it wasn't working and he seemed to be very hungry.
#
And so anyway, the whole thing was a mess and my entire mind was suffused with all of these issues
#
and various things were happening around the world.
#
I think Obama had got elected.
#
I think the terrorist attack in Bombay in 2008 had happened.
#
I think Lehman Brothers had collapsed.
#
I mean there were these huge world events and I was a journalist.
#
Because of Mukul Chadha, Lehman Brothers collapsed because of Mukul Chadha.
#
Basically, it was all Chadha's fault.
#
And there I was very peripherally aware of all of this,
#
but then I got a call from a writer friend in Beijing, Lijia Zhang,
#
and she said, you know, there's this Indian writer who's coming,
#
his name is Pankaj Mishra and I'm having a dinner party for him
#
and why don't you also come and meet him?
#
I had read Pankaj's book Butter Chicken in Ludhiana in the 1990s
#
and Love Date and I'd read his book on the Buddha also
#
and so I was quite a big fan, you know, fan girl.
#
And I just thought, oh my God, that would be so incredible
#
if I could actually leave this baby behind and go and meet Pankaj.
#
But how do I do this?
#
Because how do I leave the baby?
#
Like I told you, I was very worried that people would harm my baby.
#
It was so difficult.
#
So I told Julio and Julio was very supportive and said,
#
don't worry, between me and the nanny, we're going to manage
#
and you can go out for the evening.
#
And sort of we'd gone into overdrive in terms of how we were going to manage this.
#
And I had an hour and a half.
#
I arrived at the party and Pankaj Mishra turned out to be lovely.
#
He was very generous.
#
He talked to me about my work as a journalist.
#
And then he suggested that we meet for tea, you know, two days later somewhere.
#
And I sort of said yes, because the idea of meeting Pankaj Mishra alone
#
seemed kind of incredible.
#
But inside I was thinking, how the hell am I going to be able to leave the baby
#
and go off for tea?
#
Anyway, I went back, I talked to Julio about it, and we came up with this plan.
#
So for the next two days, I was like pumping milk and I'd filled up these two bottles.
#
And you know, there was really, it was not easy to get to this point.
#
But we were able to, with the best efforts of three adults, the nanny, Julio and me,
#
let me go and meet Pankaj Mishra for a cup of tea two days later.
#
And we sat down in the park and were drinking, you know, sharing some jasmine tea
#
and chatting.
#
And at some point I told him about my baby.
#
And then he said, oh, how old is your baby?
#
And I said, oh, three months old.
#
And he said, oh, I also have a three month old.
#
And I just stared at him and stared at him because he'd been in China for the last month
#
wandering around, you know, fanning about, reporting, being at all these parties,
#
having tea with me.
#
And I just remember thinking, my God, how is my life so different from his life
#
at this point of time when we both have these three year olds?
#
So yeah, anyway, I asked him about that and he said that he had a support system.
#
And so, of course, it just meant that he had a wife.
#
And you didn't have a wife.
#
No, I had a husband, a good one.
#
So here's a question.
#
I was, you know, very struck by what you mentioned about your kids' relationship with music.
#
Like at one point you, like, humble bragged about Ishan, to a friend of yours,
#
that he's only able to sleep after humming the entire overture of The Marriage of Figaro.
#
And earlier you like, you wrote about, you know, the kids' response to Bob Marley,
#
Dire Straits, Bach, Flamenco, so on and so forth.
#
And I'm just wondering in these natural and spontaneous reactions of both need and anger
#
and love that babies show, that, you know, when I think of babies and when I think of cats,
#
do we get a glimpse of true nature at work there?
#
It's only instincts expressing themselves, unadulterated by nurture or by culture
#
or the things that we are taught.
#
And that is when all the differences happen.
#
But if you look at cats and dogs in a good way and cats in a bad way,
#
because I think they're all murderous, malicious sociopaths.
#
Taking over the world, yeah.
#
I mean, enslaving humanity.
#
You've written two lovely books about them, but yeah, quite apart from that.
#
That, you know, that a lot of the project of adulting is often covering up this basic instinct
#
that we, instincts that we express as children.
#
And that a lot of it is therefore pretense, a lot of it is fake,
#
a lot of it can fall apart if picked in the right places.
#
I think the basic instinct we all have is that need for connectivity, that need for touch,
#
the need for, you know, just someone kissing and making it better.
#
I think that's the only way to put it.
#
We have a very deep need, all of us, for somebody who will just make it better for us.
#
And that's the, you know, and that makes it very hard when you lose a parent, I think,
#
because, you know, suddenly, even if that has not been reality for many, many years,
#
it's somewhere in the back of your mind that there is somebody out there
#
who can do that when the shit hits the fan.
#
And when that's taken away, it is very difficult.
#
Sorry.
#
Let's, I'll come back to that later.
#
Let's also talk about your process as a writer.
#
Like when men talk of process as writers, they often do so from a, you know,
#
position of privilege where somebody will say, oh, I get up at five in the morning
#
and I write for seven hours straight and et cetera, et cetera.
#
And they have the ability to carve out their masters of their time.
#
They have the ability to carve out those chunks of time.
#
I've been dying to go on one of these writers' retreats, you know,
#
where I can go to Lake Como and spend three months writing a book.
#
But, yeah, that's not happening.
#
Yeah.
#
And you mentioned, like, at one point you wrote about how you wrote
#
Spoken Mirrors during the evenings and on weekends.
#
Yes.
#
And you finished writing it in six months flat.
#
It's between the pauses of the demands of your children, really.
#
It's like, you know, in the sort of commas of life, it's in the gaps that you get.
#
It's very hard for me to be able to close a door.
#
And that's sometimes what you want, you know.
#
Virginia was a room of your own.
#
It's very hard to have that room of your own when you have young kids.
#
So it's in the snatches and the pauses and the gaps and the semicolons
#
and the whatever you want to call it.
#
And you learn to be very productive and you learn to do it when you have the moment.
#
And so, yeah, you don't have these three months, you know, pressures
#
where you can just go and think and process.
#
At least I haven't had that privilege.
#
In that experiment, you never had the kids.
#
You were master of your own time.
#
Maybe you won a lottery somewhere and had like 10 million dollars.
#
Would I write differently?
#
You would have the freedom to change your process in any way.
#
You wouldn't have to write in the gaps in the commas.
#
Would you write differently? Would you write different things?
#
It's possible.
#
I mean, as you've noticed, I've written a lot about my children.
#
I've written about, you know, I've written about the cats.
#
And I think very much I've had the children in my mind
#
when I've sort of been writing these stories spun around the cats.
#
It's possible that I would have been, you know, more of a pandit.
#
I might be one of those people who's telling you about the coming collapse of China.
#
I don't know.
#
I mean, I think it was Alice Walker who said that, you know, you can have one child,
#
but if you have two children, then you're a dead, dead duck.
#
And it's true. Two kids really, really make it complicated.
#
On the other hand, I also think that being a mother means that,
#
or being a parent probably means that you become super productive
#
and that, you know, there's very little procrastination that has gone on in my life.
#
And I've never had writer's block, for example.
#
I just think writer's block is a privilege.
#
You write when you can write because you're not going to have another moment
#
to be able to write that.
#
So it's also possible that if you have endless stretches of time
#
and you don't have these kinds of deadlines that are set,
#
that you would just, you know, fritter that away.
#
So it's a difficult counterfactual.
#
Tell me about frittering time away.
#
Let's talk about cancer.
#
In September 2022, which was recently, you were diagnosed with stage two breast cancer.
#
You know, tell me a little bit about that.
#
Like, what was it like finding out about it?
#
What were your...
#
Long and complicated process.
#
And I wasn't diagnosed with stage two cancer.
#
I was diagnosed with stage zero cancer.
#
And I realized that this is something that's quite common
#
in that you get misdiagnosed with stage zero cancer.
#
So anyway, how it all went down, I remember very clearly.
#
It was the last day of July, last year of 2022.
#
And I remember it because my brother was visiting me in Spain.
#
And we went out with the family to have lunch at a nearby cafe
#
and who was sitting at the table next to us, but Zinedine Zidane.
#
And so we actually have a photograph with Zidane on that day.
#
And that afternoon I went back home and I was solving a jigsaw puzzle.
#
I'm a great aficionado of jigsaw puzzles.
#
And while I was solving it, my arm sort of brushed against my left breast.
#
And I felt something.
#
And that's a really awful moment.
#
I think a lot of us, it's a stuff of nightmares
#
when there's something on the edges of your consciousness
#
where you have a premonition.
#
And then I felt it again and there was something hard.
#
And I wasn't sure if I was imagining it.
#
And I asked my husband to come and sort of press upon it.
#
Is there something there? He said, possibly.
#
And then that set the whole thing in motion.
#
And it actually took me about two months before I ended up
#
with my diagnosis of stage two B breast cancer.
#
It began with my going to the GP, felt various things,
#
said, yes, there's definitely something there.
#
You should go and get a mammogram and an ultrasound.
#
It's probably nothing.
#
The problem then was that this was August.
#
August in Spain and much of Europe means that everybody's on holiday
#
and everything takes longer.
#
But I was able to get an appointment and I went and I got a mammogram.
#
I went and I got an ultrasound.
#
And I could make out pretty much off the bat
#
the expression of the technician that something was not great
#
because initially she was chatting and then suddenly she went a little bit grave.
#
And then she did it again and then she disappeared.
#
And then she returned with a doctor.
#
And then the doctor went through the entire process again.
#
And then they all disappeared.
#
And I asked my husband because I was speaking to them in Spanish
#
and my Spanish is all right, but it's not great.
#
And I asked my husband to ask them if they had seen anything,
#
if they could tell us anything.
#
But they were very tight-lipped and said, you'll get your results in four days.
#
And in the meantime, we had planned a holiday in Galicia with common friends.
#
So we went off on the holiday.
#
And on the fourth day during that holiday, I got a call.
#
And I was basically told that it showed a mass of very high suspicion
#
and that I needed to come in and have a biopsy.
#
And it was something called Byrads 5, which of course I Googled.
#
And it was very surreal because we were on this incredible island
#
called the Cislas Islands off the coast of Galicia.
#
And people were looking at wildlife and the birds.
#
And here suddenly I was being confronted by the fact that I might, in fact,
#
I probably had cancer because as I Googled,
#
Byrads tells you the level of certainty with which it's probably malignant.
#
And mine was very high. It was Byrads 5.
#
So I'm not sure at that moment how I felt.
#
It was a bizarre feeling. On the one hand, I felt apocalyptic.
#
It was all over. I might die.
#
I had images of my children having to live without a mother.
#
Because I like drama and I like my own life, like I told you,
#
I imagined my own funeral.
#
I imagined people saying nice things about me.
#
And then I cried even harder as people were saying,
#
she was such a great writer, what a great mother.
#
It's funny. It's almost like you're sort of enjoying the misery in some ways, I would say.
#
But at the same time, I was with friends and I was in this very disconnected place.
#
And we were on holiday.
#
And we were there for the next three days.
#
And the next time that I could get my appointment for the biopsy was a week later.
#
So I think that week was probably a very, very hard week.
#
But I would go through phases when I was able to sort of forget.
#
And then there would be moments when it would come to me very strongly.
#
And I had not told my children at that point of time.
#
So I would spend long periods of time crying,
#
but without them knowing that I was very disconcerting.
#
I then returned to Spain.
#
In Spain, I had the biopsy, which was a pretty horrible experience.
#
And the biopsy results were great that I had stayed zero cancer,
#
which is kind of precancerous,
#
and that they also did a biopsy on my lymph nodes.
#
And it was clear.
#
So at that point of time, I felt very happy.
#
And I was told that this was going to be very simple.
#
I was going to have a lumpectomy and then offer that some radiation.
#
And that would be the end of that.
#
But I decided I'd get a second opinion.
#
And I went to another hospital.
#
And they made me go through a series of tests again, including an MRI.
#
They said that there was some discrepancy between the results of my biopsy
#
and what they were seeing on the MRI.
#
And therefore, they wanted me to do a second biopsy.
#
And it was a more extensive biopsy.
#
And when they did that biopsy,
#
it showed that the cancer had actually was not stage zero.
#
It was stage one cancer.
#
So at that point, I then had stage one cancer.
#
I went through surgery.
#
I had a lumpectomy, et cetera, et cetera.
#
And at that point, they also, for all women with breast cancer,
#
take out what is called the sentinel node,
#
which is the lymph nodes closest to the breast to check.
#
And to their surprise, they found that I had one sentinel node
#
that was infected with cancer cells,
#
which meant that now it was stage two cancer.
#
So through the whole process of actually arriving at the correct diagnosis
#
was a two and a half month process.
#
And it was very difficult because I had to keep kind of leveling up.
#
You know, you kind of go from, OK, I have cancer.
#
OK, it's stage zero.
#
OK, it's stage one.
#
Now it's stage two.
#
And then there was this long and difficult conversation
#
about whether I would have a mastectomy or stick with a lumpectomy.
#
A lumpectomy is when they only take the tumor out.
#
Anyway, long story short, in the end, I had a lymphodectomy
#
where they took out all my lymph nodes.
#
I had a mastectomy.
#
And I needed to have five months of chemotherapy
#
as a kind of insurance policy.
#
They couldn't, after you had the mastectomy,
#
they couldn't detect any visible cancer cells.
#
But because it had infected at least one lymph node,
#
there's always the possibility of some cancer cells having escaped
#
and just essentially being invisible.
#
And the chemo is a full body treatment that attacks that.
#
So, yeah, we went through that.
#
And I finished chemo in April, about four months ago.
#
And I feel very, I don't know what the word is.
#
I don't feel abnormal in any way.
#
Like, I think initially when you discovered that you had cancer,
#
you suddenly felt that everything had shaken up.
#
You couldn't trust terra firma.
#
You couldn't trust anything anymore.
#
That feeling has eased.
#
And it just feels like part of life.
#
And I think it's just the realization that all of us are dying.
#
Some of us are maybe dying a bit faster than others.
#
But ultimately, we don't know what's going to happen next year.
#
So at the moment, what they call NED, which is no evidence of disease,
#
long may that last.
#
But yeah, I feel like hopefully it will last for a long time.
#
And if it doesn't, well, something else could have also happened to me
#
or to anybody else.
#
There's this kind of crossing over between what Susan Sontag called
#
the kingdom of the well and the kingdom of the sick
#
and the fact that we all have dual passports.
#
And yeah, I ended up using my passport for the kingdom of the sick,
#
but almost everybody is going to at some point.
#
And so it's reality as we know it.
#
It just kind of brings it home to you more clearly.
#
I think everybody knows that life is very fragile.
#
We just tend to spend our lives acting as though that's not the case.
#
And this made it a bit clearer that it would have been otherwise.
#
You said we went through it.
#
Tell me about how it changed the dynamics within the family.
#
How did you tell your kids about it?
#
This, I suppose, becomes a one thing where you can't just be authentic
#
and just tell them straightforwardly.
#
You have to be tactical about it.
#
Think of the impact on them.
#
But once they know, how did they respond?
#
I was quite authentic.
#
So I was surprised by how much people do not tell their children
#
because my youngest son's friend's mother came to visit me
#
and she told me that she had had breast cancer four years ago
#
and she told me that she had not told either of her children,
#
despite the fact that she had gone through the whole process that I had,
#
including a mastectomy and all the chemotherapy.
#
And she said she wore a wig through the entire process
#
so that her children never saw her losing her hair.
#
And she said she found it much easier that way
#
because she didn't have to deal with the stress of their stress,
#
which I just found amazing because I saw it completely differently.
#
I would have found the stress of keeping something that was so huge almost unbearable.
#
And I was quite, I mean, very transparent with my children.
#
I don't think maybe everyone would have agreed with that parenting tactic,
#
but I cried when I cried.
#
I expressed my fears to them.
#
But also, I actually genuinely feel that I'm going to be all right,
#
and my children are very mad.
#
They've Googled everything and they have all the stats on this.
#
So if you look at it statistically, I have very good prognosis.
#
So that's what they think and that's what they keep telling me.
#
They were incredibly supportive through the whole process,
#
not overwrought, but at the same time very helpful.
#
My husband had a great time because he told everybody he would take over.
#
And while I would lie in bed being sick and he was supposed to be doing all the housework,
#
instead he got the children to do all the child labor.
#
So I remember him saying, kids, clean up, kids,
#
stack the dishwasher, and they did.
#
And I think it's actually been quite a wonderful maturing process for them.
#
And I don't think they're frightened.
#
I really don't.
#
I think that they feel, yeah, I mean, this was a horrible thing that happened,
#
but they feel quite confident in things are going to be okay.
#
And I think perhaps it's because I feel that and my husband feel that
#
and we communicate it to them.
#
But at the same time, they know that it was a difficult period.
#
And I think that maybe it's good exposure to know that life is also difficult
#
and how you deal with these difficult moments is very important.
#
And I think we dealt with it with a certain equanimity,
#
which will keep them in good stead.
#
I love the lightheartedness with which you wrote about this where at one point you wrote,
#
How does one say farewell to a part of oneself?
#
In my case, this is quite literal as I will have a radical mastic to me later this afternoon.
#
It's been a good breast, tingling pleasurably at the appropriate moments
#
and feeding my babes when needed.
#
So I bear it goodbye with sadness, but also the knowledge that impermanence is a way of the world
#
and that appreciation is deepened by finiteness.
#
And this is something which at an intellectual level,
#
many of us can pretend to understand and all of that.
#
But for you, it was perhaps visceral because you're actually facing
#
Something like this makes all those intellectual things visceral.
#
And there's nothing I think that's actually quite beautiful
#
because there is a lot of appreciation.
#
You know, the Japanese have that, right?
#
It's monono avare. Why do they like the sakura so much?
#
Why do they like the cherry blossom?
#
Because it is so finite. You have this moment of searing beauty.
#
But what makes it beautiful is that it does not last.
#
When something lasts forever and ever and ever, it loses what makes it special.
#
And so in some ways, you know, life is also like that.
#
I think what makes it beautiful is that it doesn't last forever.
#
I wouldn't want to be 120, 150 or whatever.
#
What makes it special is the way that it burns brightly while it's there.
#
You know, and I actually really believe that.
#
Has it made you intentional in different ways?
#
Tell me about that.
#
Well, in all of those ways, I mean, these are cliches.
#
You know, the cup idiom, seize the day, live life as if it were your last.
#
You know, I came pretty close to that, to thinking that this might be my last day.
#
So what do you do with that day, Amit?
#
Do you sort of cry and sort of, you know, or do you go out and have a great time, discover something,
#
learn, read a poem, you know, play the piano with your child and sing?
#
And frankly, I would rather do all of those things than lament my fate.
#
I've had a very good life. I've had a very privileged and fortunate life.
#
And I think, you know, there's a lot of people in this situation who end up with this why me, why me question.
#
And I very strongly felt straight off the bat, why not me?
#
You know, I mean, it happens to so many people.
#
You go to a cancer hospital and you'll see rooms full of people with all kinds of diseases.
#
It happens to them. Why not me?
#
So I felt that, you know, quite strongly from the word go that it's not abnormal.
#
A lot of people get sick. And so I'm sick.
#
I'll deal with it to the best I can.
#
And frankly, there's a lot of privilege in how I was able to deal with it.
#
I was in a first world country. I had the best doctors.
#
I had insurance, which covered the whole damn thing.
#
Paying chemotherapy can cost $200,000, $300,000 if you're paying out of pocket.
#
I mean, that's insane.
#
I didn't have to pay anything because my insurance covered it.
#
And it was, you know, stage two is early. It's not late.
#
I mean, it's not metastasized or anything like that.
#
So it was caught reasonably early as well.
#
There's a lot of research going into breast cancer.
#
You know, given that situation, it's not a bad hand of cards to have been dealt.
#
You also have a moving post about how your mother came to visit.
#
And you write, quote, What she did do was tell me to rest
#
when everyone else was telling me to exercise.
#
She massaged my shoulders gently. She stroked my hair.
#
These were primal moments. It made me hold for a few seconds,
#
recalling a time when I didn't know what a surgery was and everything was still ahead.
#
And being brave meant holding back the tears
#
because you came second in the three-legged race that you really, really wanted to win.
#
And in that post, one gets a sense that, you know,
#
that there is either then or later, after your mom died suddenly, after coming back,
#
a deepening appreciation of that bond between you and your mother.
#
Tell me a bit about that.
#
Yeah, you know, my mother could irritate me a lot.
#
And in some way, she was very infantile, you know,
#
because, I guess, living in Delhi and being surrounded by help,
#
when she would come and visit me when I lived abroad,
#
I would find her incapable of doing very basic things like using the coffee machine
#
or, you know, figuring out how to use the microwave.
#
And, like, even the toaster was an adventure for her.
#
She would kind of stare at the toaster for ages as the toast popped out,
#
as though it was about to explode.
#
Or the Wi-Fi password.
#
The Wi-Fi password. When she used to visit us in Japan,
#
she was terrified of the toilets because they had all these buttons.
#
And, you know, we had this warm toilet seat.
#
She was convinced it was going to electrocute her.
#
And, you know, so there were times when I would get annoyed by her
#
because of that kind of behavior.
#
And she didn't want to explore herself.
#
She always wanted me to be with her.
#
And, you know, I remember, like, I would say, why don't you go for a walk?
#
She'd be like, no, it's okay. I'll wait for you to finish work.
#
And then she would kind of wait.
#
And, you know, while I was working, I'd sort of look out and she'd be waiting.
#
And then, so I wondered for quite a long time
#
whether I wanted her to be there when I had the surgery.
#
But then I sort of said, yeah, maybe, maybe I'd want her there.
#
And for a long time, I said, don't come, don't come,
#
because she wasn't doing very well.
#
She had some health problems,
#
which we thought were related to her having COVID in 2021.
#
But it had made it difficult for her to sort of travel.
#
Later, we discovered that she had Parkinson's.
#
But at that point of time, it had not been diagnosed.
#
Anyway, so she came. I told her, do come.
#
And she said, fine, I'll be there.
#
And she arrived.
#
And when we went to pick her up at the airport, she was in a wheelchair.
#
And I said, what the hell has happened?
#
And it turned out that the day before she had fallen down
#
and now we of course know she had Parkinson's.
#
But anyway, she had lost her balance.
#
She had fallen and she had broken her ankle.
#
And so she had come in this kind of semi-caste.
#
And I again remember feeling this huge flash of irritation
#
because I was like, my God, you're supposed to come here to help me.
#
And now you've come as an invalid with this broken leg.
#
And now, you know, we're going to have to look after you.
#
And all this attention is kind of going to be on you
#
when I have to go into surgery three days from now.
#
And so I had this kind of complex feelings about her being there.
#
And I think she did too.
#
And I think she felt very bad about it
#
because she told me that, you know, I've come and I can't...
#
After I was out of the surgery, she couldn't really help much.
#
She was hobbling around and we did have to take her to the doctor.
#
And I think she kind of felt guilty about the fact
#
that she wasn't of more sort of physical use.
#
And at the time, I don't know, I guess I was quite focused on myself
#
and on my recovery.
#
It was wonderful that she was there.
#
But again, it was not a pure positive feeling.
#
It was livened by some of this irritation and so on.
#
But she was there.
#
She did have those...
#
There were those moments that I write about when she would tickle my foot,
#
when she would just sometimes stroke my head.
#
And she would just let me be vulnerable.
#
It was difficult for me to be vulnerable.
#
I think ever since I've become a mother,
#
I think for all mothers, it's difficult to be vulnerable
#
because we feel so protective of our children that it's hard.
#
It's hard to be the child.
#
And, you know, the only person you can be that with is your mother.
#
So I did have those moments with her.
#
And, you know, sometimes when I was in extreme pain
#
and I didn't want her to know because I knew it would hurt her,
#
but somehow she knew because I think mothers know this.
#
And then she left one month into it.
#
I have a photograph at the airport.
#
That was the last time I would see her.
#
And I think it was six months later that she passed very suddenly.
#
So this writing that I've done was kind of in retrospect.
#
So it was really looking back on it from a future where she was no longer there
#
that some of this made itself apparent to me
#
of how important it was that she was there during that time
#
and how it allowed me to be the child for one last time in my life.
#
Tell me about The Jar of Happiness.
#
So when she was visiting me in the aftermath of my surgery,
#
she borrowed a book that I had on my bedside table.
#
And it was a very prosaic book on the ins and outs of breast cancer
#
and different types of tumors and the histology of tumors.
#
But both the writers were women.
#
One was a doctor, one a nurse who had been through breast cancer themselves.
#
And there were little periods where they were also sort of bringing their own story into it.
#
And one of them talked about how it helped for her to write, you know,
#
just happy moments during the day and put them in a jar
#
so that at other points when she was going through treatments like chemotherapy and felt down,
#
she would look back on those moments reading those notes
#
and sort of remember happy things that had happened.
#
So my mother had borrowed this book and she was reading it
#
and she decided to put her own spin on this jar.
#
And she worked in collaboration with my youngest son, Nico.
#
And they basically wrote notes to me every evening for a month.
#
And they were wonderful notes.
#
And I read them and they were kind of sweet.
#
But again, I don't think I really appreciate.
#
I mean, they were kind of nice, but I just thought that they were nice.
#
And that was the end of that.
#
And then six months later, she was gone.
#
And I went to India for the funeral.
#
And a week later, I flew back to Madrid.
#
And I remembered these notes that she had written to me.
#
And I knew exactly where they were because my oldest son had actually pasted them into a book for my birthday.
#
And he had called it the Book of Memories.
#
And I went running and I found the book and I opened that.
#
And the hair stood up on my neck because there was something so prescient about those notes.
#
And it felt like she was speaking to me.
#
She was comforting me about the grief I was feeling at her passing, which was very bizarre.
#
Because she was saying all these things in those notes like, you know, I'm so proud of you.
#
The best day of my life was the day that you were born.
#
And there will be storms in the future, but you know, you will weather them.
#
And there was just this infinite ocean of love and wisdom contained in these notes.
#
And it really felt as though there was some kind of premonition she had.
#
I mean, when you read them with that hindsight, it is quite an experience.
#
Yeah, it's a beautiful poster. I'll link it from the show notes.
#
So the listeners can sort of you've posted some of those notes, images of some of those notes.
#
And it just made me tear up.
#
So, you know, I've taken many hours of your time.
#
Thank you so much for doing this. You were in Bombay only for three days.
#
So I'm really grateful that you spent almost an entire day like this with Chaddha and me.
#
I'm much more fit with me than Chaddha.
#
So I'll ask you to end it the way I traditionally end my episodes these days.
#
Recommend for me and my listeners books, films, music, which mean a lot to you.
#
So I'm reading a really interesting book right now.
#
It's by an author called Maggie O'Farrell and it's called I Am, I Am, I Am.
#
And it's a kind of memoir, but it's one of the most interesting memoirs I've read.
#
It's told in 17 episodes.
#
It's 17 different essays of near-death experiences through her life.
#
And it made me think about my own life very differently because none of some of these were real near-death experiences,
#
like, you know, medical emergencies and things of the sort.
#
But many other times it was just like brushes with death that you almost don't realize.
#
Like, I don't know, you're swimming in the ocean and there's a very strong current and you go under.
#
And then you're able to come back out and everything, nobody has even noticed.
#
But in that one moment, you thought you were drowning.
#
And yeah, and so she recalls her life like that.
#
So I would recommend that very much.
#
Like I said, it's by Maggie O'Farrell.
#
In terms of music, let me think.
#
Let me have a look at what I'm actually listening to.
#
So what's very big in Spain is reggaeton, which I absolutely love.
#
And it's so kitsch.
#
And there's people called Bad Bunny.
#
This is basically from Colombia and Latin America, so kind of the empire strikes back and coming back into Spain.
#
A lot of sort of heavy bass notes.
#
So I quite like reggaeton and in particular this guy called Bad Bunny, which is very unlike me.
#
But there you go.
#
So books and music.
#
Films?
#
What's the last film that made you cry?
#
The last two films I saw were Oppenheimer and Barbie.
#
And I can't really remember what I watched.
#
Neither of them made me cry.
#
I liked Oppenheimer and I was indifferent to Barbie.
#
What was the film that made me cry?
#
Ever.
#
No, I'm sure there have been many.
#
They're just being put on the spot right now.
#
I can't come up with any.
#
Tell me yours and then perhaps I shall think of one.
#
I actually cry very easily.
#
I mean, like I told you, you know, I made even things like The Lord of the Rings.
#
The moment that there's a hint of sort of, you know, good against evil, I get quite teary about it.
#
So it's not been that difficult to make me cry.
#
But I'm just not sort of thinking of a single movie right now that is sort of popping up in my head.
#
What is the movie that has made you cry?
#
Kieslowski's Decalogue.
#
That was years ago that I watched that.
#
Dead Poets Society when I was a teenager.
#
Oh yeah, Dead Poets Society had me in tears and it still does.
#
Oh, Captain My Captain, you just need to say that and I'm flooded in tears. Absolutely.
#
Did too. That's a great note then to end the episode on.
#
Pallavi, thank you so much for your time. This was fantastic.
#
Not at all. Thank you.
#
Visit your nearest bookstore online or offline by all her books.
#
Tremendous writer. You can follow Pallavi on Twitter at Pallavi Yair.
#
That's one word. You can follow me on Twitter at Amit Varma A-M-I-T-B-A-R-M-A.
#
You can browse past episodes of The Scene and the Unseen at sceneunseen.in.
#
Thank you for listening.
#
Don't forget to subscribe to our channel.