Nothing rude about this life

 

(A review of veteran journalist Vir Sanghvi’s memoir, ‘A Rude Life’)

By Shevlin Sebastian

One afternoon, in 2007, Vir Sanghvi, the editorial director of the Hindustan Times, strode into the Mumbai office. He had come straight from the airport following a flight from Delhi. After conversing with the resident editor, he came to the features section, pulled up a chair and requested a sub-editor to open a word file. Then he dictated his column, which would appear the next day. In his dictation, he would also say, ‘Comma’, ‘question mark’, ‘open quote’, ‘close quote’, ‘para’, and ‘full stop’.

Twenty minutes later, the column was finished. Later in the evening, a sub-editor gave Vir the proof of the page where his column had been placed. He made a few changes, using a gel pen, and it was ready to go.

Those of us who watched the afternoon dictation could only watch with envy, this effortless ability. I am not sure I can write anything by dictation. I have to sit and hit the keys. And it takes time to frame thoughts and move from one sentence to another. I cannot get so much clarity in the first draft, as with Vir. I need to work on the copy.

Throughout his career, Vir has written lucid articles. It gripped the reader, as it is mostly about well-known people.

So, no surprises, his just-released memoir, ‘A Rude Life’, is an easy read. I read page after page without a pause. When I looked up from the book, the 61st episode of Season 1 of the hit series, ‘Resurrection: Ertuğrul’, on Netflix, was on freeze-frame at the 21st minute. But Vir could easily keep me away from the twists and turns of the 12th-century fictional story set in Turkey.

Thanks to his father’s time in the Communist Party of India, Vir met notable people from his childhood. The then Defence Minister VK Krishna Menon, a friend of his father, Ramesh, often came to the Sanghvi house for dinner whenever he was in Mumbai. It was Vir’s duty to lead Krishna Menon from the car to the fourth-floor flat.

In November, 1961, Yuri Gagarin, the first astronaut to go to space, came to Mumbai. Ramesh was invited to dinner with the astronaut. Vir wanted to come along. Ramesh agreed. But Ramesh coached his son that the name was Yuri and not Urine, which was how Vir called him.

Throughout his life and career, Vir knew all the notable people so well he had lunch or dinner with them.

Vir became friends with the late Shiv Sena leader Bal Thackeray at the beginning of the latter’s career. And when, after dinner, Thackeray would come to the car to see Vir off, he would sign off by saying ‘Jai Maharashtra’. Vir countered it with ‘Jai Gujarat’. “He would laugh and eventually we reached a compromise, ‘Jai Mumbai,’” wrote Vir.

What became clear soon enough is that all these affluent and powerful personalities went through the same reactions as us normal human beings. They had the same insecurities and inferiority complexes, and ego battles. The only difference was that while our fights affected our family and a few other people, in their tussles, they could affect the destiny of a nation.

What was also clear from reading the book is how having contacts is so important for a successful career, especially in a country like India. Take Vir’s case. His best friend in school was Nikoo Bhullar. Nikoo’s mother Mohini worked for Thomson Press. When the company started ‘India Today’, Mohini asked Vir to write for the magazine. Later, the ‘India Today’ management, through a nudge by Mohini, appointed Vir as the editor of ‘Bombay’ magazine. He was only 22 years old. Later, his father’s friend, RV Pandit, who owned ‘Imprint’ magazine, appointed Vir as editor.

Vir may be one of the few journalists who could cold-call Aveek Sarkar, the owner of the Ananda Bazar Group, asking for a job. The result: he became the editor of ‘Sunday’ magazine at 30. Later, he became editorial director of the Hindustan Times and did many TV shows on various channels and published books too.

Everybody used contacts. Vir recalled that when ‘India Today’ wanted to do a cover story on the famed director Raj Kapoor, who was making the sensual, ‘Satyam Shivam Sundaram’ and remained inaccessible, Vir turned to ‘India Today’ editor Aroon Purie for help. Aroon asked his father, V V Purie, who had financed many of Kapoor’s films to secure the interview. End result: Raj Kapoor spoke to Vir.

Vir’s education was also elitist. He studied at the Mayo College in Ajmer, Mill Hill School, London, and later, at Oxford University.

However, his turning point was a tragedy. When Vir was 15, his father, Ramesh, whom he idolised, died of lung cancer at New York University Medical Centre. On his deathbed, Ramesh told his son, “You are my link with the future. There is enough money. Look after your mother. You will do much better than I could ever do.” It was at that moment Vir realised he could not depend on anybody but himself.

The book is awash with unforgettable anecdotes about the who’s who of Indian society. They include politicians like Sharad Pawar, industrialist KK Birla, actor Dilip Kumar, author Dom Moraes, and director Satyajit Ray. You can plonk down the money to buy the book and remain satisfied.

The book has a striking cover, although it puzzled me about why the designer shifted Vir’s head so much towards the spine that an ear has been cut off. There was enough space on the right to get the full image.

Ah, well, everybody is entitled to his or her creativity. 

In youth’s lustrous glow, a glance at the future

 

By Shevlin Sebastian

Most evenings, after I finish my run, I go for a walk to relax my muscles. Frequently, I walk past a group of fifty-odd aspiring nurses, aged between 18-20. They have stepped out of their college hostel to go to the canteen some distance away.

Expectedly, there is a lot of laughter and giggles, high-pitched yelling and teasing jibes. They wear midis, maxis, jeans, trousers, skirts, and, of course, the go-to practical garment for every woman in India: the salwar kameez. All of them wear slippers or flip-flops. And there is always the musky aroma of coconut oil, which they have pressed liberally into their black hair.

When I look at them, I realise they are at the start of their adulthood. Soon, destiny will start making its moves. After their graduation, some will go to the US and Europe. The rumour is that there is a shortfall of nurses in America and Ireland. So, they will try their luck. If some go, they will lift their families, especially post-Covid, when most people are hurting financially.

This step of going abroad will transform their lives. They will become confident and outgoing. Later, most of them will become prized assets in the marriage market. But now, since they have the upper hand, these girls can make choices, and pick the most eligible man.

Some will go to other states in India. Several will work in Kochi and Kerala itself.

What sort of marriage will they have? Again, destiny will play its role. Some will be lucky and have caring husbands. Others may get wife-beaters. There may be husbands who could be alcoholics, drug addicts or womanisers. Some husbands may be lazy and don’t want to go to work. The entire pressure of earning a livelihood will fall on the woman. But there will be some girls who will fall into the lap of luxury because their husbands are business magnates or top-drawer professionals. Or these women may set up nursing homes or hospitals and end up becoming successful entrepreneurs.

Who gets what? It’s a throw of the dice. Who can explain why some have a smooth ride in life, while for others, it is a steep uphill climb on a problem-strewn path. When I look at my friends, some have successful marriages, some have split up, while a few are in agony because they are so unhappy in their marriages but remain unwilling or unable to break up. Some have become widows, losing their husbands early and are struggling to run the family.

How many children will the nurses have? One, two or three. There will be some among them, even though they are nurses, who will find it difficult to conceive. Then they will embark on another type of suffering. The desperate visits to expensive fertility clinics, even as they endure the sarcastic comments by relatives and grandmothers who will poke their stomachs and say, “Is there anything inside?” Bit by bit, the carefree scenes they experienced in their hostel life will become like a faded photograph.

Some will have health issues. They may suffer from a malfunctioning thyroid, diabetes and osteoporosis. An unlucky few may get breast cancer and have to undergo a mastectomy. They will worry if their husbands will lose interest in them and go outside for pleasure.

And what about the loss of looks as they age? How agonising is that? They had prided themselves on their lustrous hair, bright cheeks, thick red lips, and sparkling eyes. Now, life’s repeated blows and sheer ageing will dim it all.

Of course, it is not all darkness and gloom. Many will experience pure happiness. A fulfilling career and harmony in the home. They will have enough money to spend on clothes and good food, go on annual vacations, have a satisfying relationship with their husbands, and be able to send their children to the best schools.

For many parents, children will provide happiness. Parents feel thrilled, especially if their children shine on a national or international stage. Think about the joy of the parents of Neeraj Chopra, India’s first Olympic gold medallist, and PV Sindhu when she was crowned world badminton champion.

But children can cause sorrow. What happens if a child dies in a car accident? That is an agony that will never lessen, despite the passage of time. The whole of Kerala was aghast at the recent car accident in Kochi, where two young girls died at the peak of their youth. What about a child who becomes an alcoholic or drug addict, a criminal or murderer?

But in life, you realise light and darkness are twins. You cannot enjoy one without the other hovering in the background. So, bad times can be followed by good times and vice versa. As these girls went past, I thought about all these things.

It all boils down to your destiny. But we have little control over it or about God’s decisions regarding our lives.

As the noted but controversial film director Woody Allen once said, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”