The first thing that drew me to Jayant Kripalani’s Cantilevered Tales (Readomania, Rs 295) was, for once, the blurb. While this is the dream for all blurbs, this one wasn’t simply a summary of the book with a peg that hoped to hook the reader. In the blurb, Kripalani explains what led him to write the book, and this in turn leads the reader to turn to Page 1.
Thus begins Kripalani’s amusing string of anecdotes that reveal not a riveting plot but a riveting set of people, each with a more intriguing history than the last, written in his unmistakable sardonic voice; one can almost hear him read out loud.
And although not all of it was inspired from real life, some of the best bits were, which I discovered when I met the author in his Ballygunge home.
First things first: where did your opening line come from?!
I was in a bus and it happened. This was in the ’80s. You stepped out of Howrah Station and stood in line to take a cab and you knew they were going to try to extort money from you. So I thought, screw this, let me take a bus. Forty-five minutes later I was still on a bus and this man beside me said… “eta ki Haora Bridge na L**ra Bridge?” And I thought I’m going to use this somewhere. He was actually the man I based Khokon Lahiri on but I had Ashutosh Babu say those lines.
You’ve said in the acknowledgements how your characters are cantilevers and the name wrote itself. Did you have the story first or the title?
Oh no, first it was supposed to be Aitaki? Haora Bridge na L**ra Bridge? but then better sense prevailed! Then I read the whole thing and realised the story was the base on which the cantilevers were and each cantilever was a person. People tell me it might evoke The Canterbury Tales but I said no, no, please, I’ve never read Chaucer! We used to have a teacher of Old English who never showed up. So I know nothing of Old or Middle English.
And so it became an interesting exercise in creating these characters. I meant it to be a series of short stories but they kept coming across one another and it became a novel. The jheel was supposed to be a short story on its own but all these characters started fighting and I thought, where did they come from? They just popped up in my head so I had to give them backgrounds.
Are a lot of these characters based on real people?
There was a thelawala who used to work in my father’s factory and he used to pull this huge thela. He was tough, not a spare ounce of flesh at the age of 84. He told me, “Nothing will happen to me, I drank my mother’s milk till I was 15 years old.” So that’s what Haren did.
I did visit the real Khokon Lahiri in Santragachhi and I did see a stand that said ‘Bird Witchers Association’ and thought it was a marvellous typo. All of this got shelved in a compartment in my head and I never thought I was going to be a writer anyway. When I moved back to Cal recently, I bumped into a guy who turned out to be the inspiration for Banshi.
A lot of the characters are completely fictitious except, of course, Oleek Babu who everybody recognises as...
... Alyque Padamsee?
Yes. Over a period of time, I discovered that the bombast is a cover for something, I don’t know what. Underneath all that he’s a hell of a nice guy. He’s a legend in his own right. He’s extremely delightful, volatile and sometimes overly pushy. He’s a professional crusader. He wasn’t involved in any lake business but I just put him in. The chief minister story is true, where he told him — “I can’t get the peon to come into my room and you think I’m going to tell Calcutta what to do?”
You seem to be very familiar with the workings of Writers’ Buildings...
About 10 or 12 years ago, I did a television series called Ji Mantriji in which I played a bureaucrat. I spent about six months researching what a bureaucrat does and what things look like. Writers’ Buildings was very kind and let me in. I met a lot of bureaucrats and watched them work and talked to them. I’m not surprised Mamatadi moved out of there. The place smelt of stale files and piss. For years.
While you’re writing these authentically Bengali characters, are they talking in Bengali in your head?
I act out those characters in my head. I become them and therefore they become easy to write. So I think in whatever language I’m supposed to think. I’m passingly familiar with some of these languages. I should know more Bangla than I do. I don’t know why my parents were such Anglophiles. Also, school didn’t allow you to speak in any language other than English… until we did andolan.
You did andolan?!
I did andolan. I said, how can you stop me from speaking in my own language? Then the truth came out that the Italian priests did not understand what we were saying to each other! I said, trust us, we are honorable people; if we have to swear at you, we will do so in a language that you understand.
What is it about Bengalis you identify with most?
My father rented a space from a young Bengali gentleman who happened to be renting it himself. He told my father, “I’m going home, do you want this property?” My father asked, “What will you do?” He said, “I’ll go read, I’ll go write...” My father asked, “What about work?” He said, “The concept of working for a living is so vulgar.”
And that stuck with me even though my father told me this much later. That’s the part of the Bengali that I like. Here is a beautiful state. You throw dhaan anywhere and it grows. You can use your time more effectively writing poetry, doing theatre, being an observer of life.
Your first book, New Market Tales, was published four years ago. What have you been writing since then?
A book of poetry that will never be published.
Why not?
Don’t want it to be.
Writing or acting?
Writing.
Why is that?
I can’t remember anything. Tanaji Dasgupta and Bornila Chatterjee did a remake of Titus Andronicus called The Hungry. And they gave me the role of a politician there. So there we are in the middle of Bulandshahr (Uttar Pradesh) earlier this year, surrounded by 250 people, and they start the camera and I’m blank. Can’t remember a thing. It’s gone. I made up my mind to never, ever waste another producer’s time and money or go on stage again until I’m sure I’ll get my memory back or unless I have a prop in my hand. This is the third time this has happened to me.
Are you a disciplined writer?
I’m disciplined, yes. Sometimes I write, sometimes I don’t. I’m at my desk at five every morning and I finish my day’s work by 10am. If I sit at my desk after that it’s because I’m faffing or talking to my friends around the world or doing research. The actual writing stops at 10am. Sometimes I’m not writing; sometimes I’m playing Sudoku or doing a complicated crossword. Or sometimes I’m just surfing and I come across some interesting information that I bookmark. But those five hours of concentrated time is always in the morning.
Are you ever distracted by social media?
Facebook. I can’t do without it! I do like to make the occasional snide remark on Twitter too. I talk about my book on Facebook as well. New Market Tales sold about 2,000 copies from Facebook alone, I know that.
What do you think of e-books?
Actually, I think the print book is coming back. You’re going to get angry with me for saying this... I don’t like what Chetan Bhagat writes, BUT what he’s done for the publishing business is, he’s created almost three to four lakh new readers. Therefore you’ll find a lot more books on the shelves these days. If a person’s intellect can’t take more than Chetan Bhagat, at least he’s reading the printed word instead of watching rubbish television and maybe he’ll graduate to something better. He’s created money in the publishing world. This is my pragmatic outlook. Besides, I’m in Calcutta so I have to be a little bit of a snob.
Is there a screenplay you wish you’d written?
The American, which starred George Clooney. It was a quietly brilliant screenplay... tragedy from the word go. And I also wish I’d written The Godfather Part II.
Is there a writer you can always revisit?
I love the old classics and the new classics, like Amitav Ghosh. I also love Jerry Pinto’s writing.
Text: Ramona Sen
Pictures: B. Halder
