Khushwant Singh with Humra Quraishi
ABSOLUTE KHUSHWANT
The Low-Down on Life, Death and Most Things In-Between
Contents
Preface
On Being A Very Old Man
On Happiness
Solitude: The Secret of Longevity
All About Sex
My First Love
Love and Marriage
Kaval and I
My Regrets
My Biggest Worry: Intolerance
My Weaknesses and Insecurities
On Work
On Being A Writer
Those I Respect and Admire
Jawaharlal Nehru
Indira Gandhi
Sanjay and Varun Gandhi
Rajiv and Rahul Gandhi
On Honesty
On the British
On Delhi
On Partition
On the 1984 Riots
The Sikhs
On Communalism
On Politics Today
On Pakistan
Terror and 26/11
On Religion
On Urdu
Destiny, Luck, and Faith in Humbug
On Death
On Myself
Postscript
Illustrations
Follow Penguin
Copyright
Preface
I first met Khushwant in the early eighties. I was looking for a job and went over to the Hindustan Times office. He was very courteous. He made small talk for a while and then said a polite but firm ‘No’.
About a decade later, my daughter Sarah, who was taking Kuchipudi lessons from Radha and Raja Reddy, had Naina, Khushwant’s granddaughter, in her dance class. Around the same time, I was assigned to do a feature on bedrooms of celebrities for The Times of India. I called Khushwant, introduced myself as ‘Sarah’s mother’ because I didn’t think he’d remember me from the job interview all those years ago, and asked for an appointment to meet him. When I landed up with the photographer, Khushwant introduced me to his wife and proceeded to give me a thorough tour of his house.
Over the years I wrote for various publications and each time Khushwant saw my byline he would call me to tell me he’d read the piece.
In 1996, I lost my father to Alzheimer’s. When Khushwant’s wife was detected with the same disease a few years later, it was something I could relate to—it brought us closer.
Khushwant is a very special human being. There really is no one like him. His loyalty, friendship, his kindness and generosity, are unparalleled. He’s the most transparent person I’ve met, and yet I’ve never seen him being rude or ill-mannered. He is also one of the most hardworking people I know. He is childlike in his simplicity and people often take advantage of this. Being sharp, perceptive and sensitive, this is something he is aware of— he realizes he’s being used, but he is unable to say no when asked for a favour. In spite of the image he likes to portray, Khushwant is, surprisingly, extremely conservative. There’s a warm, good feeling in his home—you sense it the moment you step in. I have always felt safe and secure there. Spending time listening and talking to Khushwant is therapeutic, as those who’ve had the opportunity to know him will agree.
It’s been a great honour working with him on this book. It’s given me an insight into a man I respect, admire and love dearly.
HUMRA QURAISHI
On Being A Very Old Man
I am beginning to think there is some truth in the traditional Hindu belief in the four stages of human life: brahmacharya or bachelorhood, grihastha, the householder, then retiring to a forest, one’s natural habitat in vanaprastha, and sanyaas, solitude. Guru Nanak described what happens to a person who lives into his nineties. In a hymn in Raga Maajh, he says the first ten years of a man’s life are spent in childhood, the next ten growing up. At thirty he blossoms into a handsome youth, at forty he is a man. At fifty he starts feeling weak, at sixty he feels old; at seventy he feels the weakening of his senses, at eighty he is incapable of any work and at ninety he keeps lying down and does not understand the reason for his weakness.
I have been fortunate that at ninety-five I am only just beginning to feel what Guru Nanak has written about. I am not prone to lying down but these days I find I need to rest more often. I am a man of habit and have stuck to the same routine for over half a century. I think it’s my writing that’s kept me going.
I often ask myself why I write. While it provides me my daal, chawal and Scotch whiskey, I could earn as much, if not more, running a dhaba on a national highway. However, writing also boosts my ego, which selling tandoori chicken and parathas would not. Some people read what I write and send me their opinions. It assures me that what I write has some impact, however small. Since some of what I write also gets published in regional languages, chaiwalas at railway stations, ticket checkers on trains, policemen on patrol and butchers in Khan Market make it a point to tell me that they have read some of the stuff I churn out. I feel mighty pleased with myself. Do any of them change their views after reading what I have written? I am not sure. I believe I was able to persuade some educated sections of my community not to listen to Bhindranwale or consider demanding a separate state. I’ve also written against religious bigotry. The fundoos never agreed with me because they dismissed me as an agnostic mischief-maker trying to undermine the basis of Indian culture.
I get inspiration from Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore’s ‘Ekla Chalo’ (Walk Alone) when I feel abandoned. I continue to tread the lonely path.
I’m up at around 4 a.m., work right through the day till the evening, till my sundowner. Now I write two weekly columns plus the occasional book review. And I’ve started working on a novel. I don’t know how long I can keep at it and carry on this way.
My eyesight is fading, and though I’m lucky I have no serious problems, I’m finding it harder to read and write these days. I enjoy listening to Western Classical on radio, but my hearing is on its way out. I can’t watch much TV unless I sit right next to the television set. I usually watch the 6 o’clock news bulletin on NDTV, or Gurbani, and I watch ‘Animal Planet’ sometimes but ab woh bhi dekh kar thhak gaya hoon—those crocodiles, snakes and cheetahs chasing antelopes and eating them up—it’s the same every time. I can’t watch Sach ka Saamna- type of programmes—I find reality shows a big waste of time. Just as I find throwing parties and going to them are. In fact, lately I’ve even started avoiding meeting people. I get tired very easily and somewhat impatient. I keep thinking about the novel I have to finish.
My morning begins with a glass of fresh orange juice. That’s followed by a mug of Korean ginseng tea. Then another two mugs— one of regular tea with a teaspoonful of sugar and milk, and one mug of plain hot water. I take all these fluids in the morning to get my bowels moving.
When I was younger and watched my American friends popping an assortment of coloured pills, I used to find it amusing. I don’t find it funny any more, because I have to take around a dozen with my breakfast and dinner.
I have a light breakfast of one toast of wholemeal bread and a mug of tea, my fifth of the morning. The toast is accompanied by a capsule of Becosule, two pills of Trefoli, one for high blood pressure, one Zyloric for uric acid and a capsule of garlic oil. At around 11 am I take a mug of hot water with Marmite. I take garlic pearls with both lunch and dinner. I don’t take sleeping pills but do have an ayurvedic after-dinner digestive, Sooktyn. I don’t take any tonics but am a firm believer in the powers of vitamin C. I suck vitamin C tablets whenever I feel under the weather.
But yes, my heart is still young . . . dil badmaash hai . . . bure bure khayaal aate hain . . . I fantasize. When I fantasize, I’m very happy. Those are
my most precious moments. Earlier, when I fantasized in my younger days, I used to go and act out my fantasies, put them to practice. Now, of course, I can’t. But there’s no censorship on thoughts. Who do I fantasize about? About all those who come to see me? You can keep guessing. It is easy to be honest in one’s old age. But an old man is entitled to his secrets, fantasies, scotch, good company. At ninety-five, this is worth taking the pills for.
On Happiness
I’ve lived a reasonably contented life. I’ve often thought about what it is that makes people happy—what one has to do in order to achieve happiness.
First and foremost is good health. If you do not enjoy good health, you can never be happy. Any ailment, however trivial, will deduct something from your happiness.
Second, a healthy bank balance. It need not run into crores, but it should be enough to provide for comforts, and there should be something to spare for recreation—eating out, going to the movies, travel and holidays in the hills or by the sea. Shortage of money can be demoralizing. Living on credit or borrowing is demeaning and lowers one in one’s own eyes.
Third, your own home. Rented places can never give you the comfort or security of a home that is yours for keeps. If it has garden space, all the better. Plant your own trees and flowers, see them grow and blossom, and cultivate a sense of kinship with them.
Fourth, an understanding companion, be it your spouse or a friend. If you have too many misunderstandings it robs you of your peace of mind. It is better to be divorced than to be quarrelling all the time.
Fifth, stop envying those who have done better than you in life—risen higher, made more money, or earned more fame. Envy can be very corroding; avoid comparing yourself with others.
Sixth, do not allow people to descend on you for gup-shup. By the time you get rid of them, you will feel exhausted and poisoned by their gossip-mongering.
Seventh, cultivate a hobby or two that will fulfil you—gardening, reading, writing, painting, playing or listening to music. Going to clubs or parties to get free drinks, or to meet celebrities, is a criminal waste of time. It’s important to concentrate on something that keeps you occupied. I have family members and friends who spend their entire day caring for stray dogs, giving them food and medicines. There are others who run mobile clinics, treating sick people and animals free of charge.
Eighth, every morning and evening devote fifteen minutes to introspection. In the mornings ten minutes should be spent in keeping the mind absolutely still, and five minutes listing the things you have to do that day. In the evenings, five minutes should be set aside to keep the mind still and ten to go over the tasks you had intended to do.
Ninth, don’t lose your temper. Try not to be short-tempered, or vengeful. Even when a friend has been rude, just move on. To carry on and live reasonably well you don’t have to be rich or be socially up there—good health and some financial stability are important, but there has to be that focus.
Solitude: The Secret of Longevity
What I enjoy is solitude. I’m fortunate I can spend a lot of time by myself. It is very beneficial to be alone. The mind gets an enormous amount of rest, and a day’s silence gives you more energy. If you keep your mind blank for a while—and this is the sole purpose of meditation—you can enjoy solitude and you’ll find it empowering. The fact that I’m alone, and sit in silence for most of the day is like meditation. When in Kasauli, I could be alone for weeks at a stretch, exchanging just a few sentences with the cook and gardener who double as caretakers. There’s no television set there, and newspapers and a couple of neighbours are my only contact with the outside world. But I don’t miss human company, and I’m happy there. Last summer was the first time I wasn’t able to make my annual trip to Kasauli; I couldn’t have taken that long journey, so I had to remain at home in Delhi. At times I sat in total silence, at times introspecting and happy in solitude.
Even when my wife passed away—we were married for sixty-two years—I sat like this, alone, all night, going over the past. Then, when people kept dropping in, it became tedious. I found it difficult to cope and went off to Goa. Today, my friends and contemporaries have all gone—all. I feel like a solitary traveller left on the road while others have fallen by the roadside.
I never thought of marrying again—not even when I became a widower. Even though mine wasn’t a particularly happy marriage, the thought of marrying someone else didn’t cross my mind. I’ve never wanted to be close to anyone. I’ve never believed in seeking advice or solace from someone or looking for someone to confide in. I don’t like the idea of being emotionally dependent on people. I’ve always managed on my own, even during the worst crises. I don’t sit back feeling depressed. Work is the cure of all ills.
There was a brief phase, when there was an injunction on the publication of my autobiography, when I was upset and angry. And the other time I felt low was when my marriage was going through difficulties and my wife threatened to leave me. I went to the Bangla Sahib Gurdwara and spent hours there trying to gather strength to deal with the crisis. But these were exceptions. Generally, I have never been depressed . . . not even when I was sacked as editor of The Illustrated Weekly of India. I didn’t go into depression but started writing a novel and it was writing that helped me go on. I’m emotionally strong. Even as a child I was known to speak my mind and have rarely ever lied. I hardly ever get angry or hassled. I think one lives a happier, longer life if one is able to get rid of irritants. No matter how big the setback, if you are able to say this one-liner, it helps: ‘It doesn’t matter . . . I don’t give a damn!’
I have had my share of setbacks—and financial insecurities—in my earlier days. What helped me carry on is work. When I was sacked in that discourteous way I drowned myself in work. I decided to complete Delhi, which I’d been working on for some years. And after my wife passed away I immersed myself in more writing. I wrote much more than before. I believe in what the Quran and Hadith stress on: Don’t waste time. Every single moment should be used. One cannot sit and brood.
Earlier, whenever I was tense, I used to go and visit the cremation grounds. It has a cleansing effect. But now I can’t go anywhere. It’s work that keeps me going. My writing has been a constant factor. I’m engrossed wholly in writing, and will be till the very end. There’s no retirement for me. In fact, in my third year as editor of The Hindustan Times, when my contract was due for renewal, K.K. Birla asked me about my retirement plans—whether I’d like to retire. I told him rather categorically, that I’d retire only at Nigambodh Ghat!
Nathaniel Cotton (1707-88) sums up what I feel:
If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies,
And they are fools who roam.
The world has nothing to bestow;
From our own selves our joys must flow,
And that dear hut, our home.
All About Sex
As a man gets older, his sexual instincts travel from his groin to his head. What he wanted to do in his younger days but did not because of nervousness, lack of response or opportunity, he does in his mind.
If you ask me what’s more important, sex or romance, it’s sex. Romance is just a gloss, some sort of sheen that wears off, and it loses its lustre very soon.
I’ve never really had the time nor the inclination for romance. Romantic interludes take up a lot of time and are a sheer waste of energy, for the end result isn’t very much. Sex is definitely more important, though sex with the same person can get boring after a while . . . you know, routine. Phir wo baat nahin rahti hai . . . A partner once bedded becomes a bore. Even the best-looking man or woman becomes boring. When it comes to sex, I don’t think looks matter much.
I have many women friends. And I also keep in touch with those I’ve made love to in the past. I can’t stand women who are not animated. She could be the most beautiful woman, but if she’s not lively, then, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no point. I’ve been with many women ove
r the years. I’ve never worried about infections or sexually transmitted diseases. You don’t think of all this while making love. You just go for it. Once it’s up it has to go in there—there’s no other way!
I’ve had affairs that I’ve used as material for my writing. They contributed to the love-making scenes and passages in my stories and novels. The affairs were very good while they lasted but then you move on, without any unpleasantness. You just drift apart. And in the instances where the women have persisted, I’ve withdrawn after a point—I’ve always wanted my space and have never wanted anyone to get too close to me emotionally. I value my space and have guarded it because of my writing. I’ve never had any close friends or deep emotional relationships. Writing is a solitary task and I’m more comfortable being alone. I get impatient with people and places, so I move on. I’ve been like this all my life.
I have been with women of almost every nationality and they are the same in bed. Foreigners don’t make love differently; their attitude towards love-making might be different. And all those notions about the French being great lovers or that English women are frigid— they are all myths. Years ago, before I’d travelled to England, I had heard that Englishwomen were frigid, cold and reserved. Nothing could be more wrong. That sort of stereotyping—it’s absolute rubbish. Nationalities, even religious backgrounds, make no difference at all. It’s the desire, the intensity, that’s important; there has to be that attraction. Of course, there could be problems if one of the partners has an insatiable appetite and the other has little interest in sex! As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never been in a situation like this, so I’ve never really had any awkward moments.
And like nationality or religious background, size does not matter either—whether it’s the size of the penis or that of the breasts, whether the lips are full . . . None of it matters. There just has to be desire on both sides, and reciprocation of feelings. And there should be no suppression or holding back. For if you withhold your urges it will come out in some other form; there’s bound to be some aberration. There’s far too much sexual frustration in our country and this probably explains the rapes and molestations we hear about every other day. They happen in other countries too, but in India it seems to be a problem now more than ever before. And it’s linked to sexual repression and our hypocrisy— we Indians are very interested in sex, we have the curiosity and the drive and we pretend to be prudish and conservative.
Absolute Khushwant Page 1