Despite my rather young age as a 20 something back in the 2000s, the best times I had were with a 50+ year old Publisher Uncle who lived across the street and a 60+ year old Intellectual Uncle next door. Whether it had anything to do with my being a rolling stone lost in thoughts and books, or it had something to do with other people of my age being too engrossed in reality shows, super bikes, swanky cars, international pop-stars and most importantly the opposite sex, I do not know.
Intellectual Uncle was a retired, unmarried IAS officer who had served in high posts in various capacities. The only ambidextrous person I knew. A treasure trove of anecdotes, he was a great raconteur who seemed to have an unconventional take on the political and historical events that shaped our nation. For instance, he had a hilarious take on how Mr.Devegowda became PM. The Janata Party was thinking about the right candidate to choose for PM. As is his wont, he was catching up on his dose of doze. Noticing that his dhoti was slipping away, he got up to adjust it. Fortuitously for himself (only!) when he stood up the question was being thrown around for volunteers to the most coveted post. Lo! He was chosen. I often pestered Intellectual Uncle to write a book comprising all his anecdotes, only for him to shoo me off with a dismissive wave of his swarthy hands and his mumbles which contained ‘defamation, vendetta, mad, peace, dirty politics’.
Publisher Uncle as his name suggests, was a highly successful publisher of books. He had all the most popular authors on his side for a couple of decades now. That he had an excellent taste for literature was almost a foregone conclusion. He had a keen sense of politics and cricket. And the biggest home-library I have ever seen in my life belonged to him. Intellectual Uncle could be found there almost always.
For years, the three of us sat down in Publisher Uncle’s library, with finely brewed filter coffee or fine whisky (of which Intellectual Uncle was a connoisseur). It was intellectual nirvana. No topic in the world was left untouched. But invariably, the one thing that wove our strands of thought together was our passion for literature. Hence, all our conversations would go hither and thither before turning back to books and litterateurs. Although I would like to think I was endowed with the proverbial pen since birth, it is undeniable that those conversations were the most deciding factor in shaping my thought and my current occupation – an exponent of the written word.
Intellectual Uncle, was a sort of an open book. From the sexcapades of his younger days, to the predicaments of his old age, nothing was taboo. He would often bring the personal angle to most of what he spoke. Publisher Uncle on the other hand, was extremely secretive, impersonal and an enigma of sorts, whose soul you knew you could not fathom.
Some of the most interesting and fulfilling conversations we had were about a hugely successful author of those days. He wrote all of four books. All bestsellers. He wrote under a pseudonym – Savyasachi Krishna. He remains, to this day, my favourite. I haven’t seen anyone else who could write a subalternist version of the Mahabharata narrated by Karna in which Karna is eventually crowned, follow it up with a huge treatise on the political machinations behind many important events of India from Nehru’s times till the early nineties, then write a book on a Pharaoh in ancient Egypt and finally round them all off with a Sherlock Holmes style thrill-a-minute detective novel based in the USA. Four books of themes from almost different worlds. The sheer versatility, the way the author communicated with readers at various levels, the clairvoyance of a seer and the witty ironies woven into the daily lives of characters in all these books were a total standout. What I loved most about his books were the women. Intelligent, exciting, strong yet grounded.
Publisher Uncle was the publisher for Savyasachi Krishna. He said even he didn’t know the identity of the author, apart from the fact that it was a man, and an Indian. I refused to believe that Publisher Uncle did not know him although I did not make that known to him. He thought Savyasachi was an excellent author, among the best he had read, but used to have a few specific criticisms of him.
Intellectual Uncle was full of criticisms about Savyasachi, always presenting many parallel views to what Savyasachi had deduced at various occasions in his books. I used to have impassioned debates about this with Intellectual Uncle, moderated unofficially by Publisher Uncle. Some debates even bordered on the rancorous given my irrational hate for any criticism leveled at my favourite author. But I could see that every alternate view Intellectual Uncle propounded was a valid one and could be a perfect fit for stories to metamorphose, different from how Savyasachi had shaped them.
We had one such discussion, sipped some scotch and retired for the night.
The next morning I woke up to the news that Intellectual Uncle had passed away due to a massive heart attack while sleeping. Shocked as I was, I called Publisher Uncle to inform. It was news to him too. Intellectual Uncle looked peaceful in his eternal sleep, the serenity of a man who had seen, loved, lived and deciphered all that he surveyed.
Drowned in my reminiscences of this favourite companion of mine, I stood there expressionless. Publisher Uncle came close and whispered, "I know it appears a strange question to you, but what were the most striking physical features of this man?"
"His unusually dark complexion and his ambidexterity", I replied.
"Which was his favourite language?", Publisher Uncle questioned further.
"Sanskrit", said I.
"Connect your answers", he said.
Tears started flowing involuntarily as I managed to figure out – Savyasachi Krishna!
