V S Naipaul died at his residence . His wife Nadira Alvi Naipaul and daughter were at his bedside. His death brought him to spotlight once more. He was suddenly alive in the newspapers,television-channels and social media. The Wall Street Journal ( newspaper published from New York) wrote :-
" Naipaul chronicled the colonial experience in haunting prose that contained a writer's lyricism with an anthropologist's scrutiny. He was a relentless and cool observer, unapologetic maverick who resisted sentimentality yet prized history."
Author Salman Rushdie paid his tribute to Naipaul, writing:-
“We disagreed all our lives, about politics, about literature, and I feel as sad as if I just lost a beloved older brother. RIP Vidia.”
In the Time magazine published from New York, noted writer, poet and translator ,Meena Kandasamy writes this:-
" When V.S.Naipaul —who died at 85 on Aug. 11—stormed that exclusive literary bastion with his irascible portrayal of life in the former colonies, he irrevocably changed the landscape. As we marvel at his tremendous, formidable body of work in the wake of his passing, we inevitably have to contend with his polarizing, reactionary legacy."
I was 18 when I read his two books : "An Area of Darkness" and “In a Free state “. I have a long association with his books, essays, interviews and biographies. For the last three days, I read what well known writers spoke about him and his style in their tweets.I mean writers like Salman Rushdie, Amitav Ghosh, Reza Aslan and Hari Kunzru .Most of them including Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott have disagreed with some of his personal opinions; yet they were all in total agreement about the brilliance and originality of his style, language and sentence. His opinions as they surfaced from some of his books, lectures ,write-ups and essays ,created a few controversies . He didn't change his stance and was never ever apologetic about what he wrote or said. Interviewing him was not so easy. To his interviewers, he would always pose questions like :-
" Have you read my books? Which book you have read ? Have you read my essay on....so and so...? "
Naipaul's ancestors were indentured (sugar plantation) labourers from India shipped to British Trinidad and Tobago in the mid 19th century. Naipauls were Dubey Brahmins from Gorakhpur area of Uttar Predesh .Seepersad , Naipaul's father got good education and became a journalist who worked as correspondent for the 'Daily Trinidad Guardian' . He authored two books. Shiva Naipaul , younger brother of VSN went to Europe on a scholarship and ultimately became a brilliant writer who remained overshadowed by his brother's colossal image. He married a European, wrote some books and suddenly died of a heart attack. He must have been 40. I have read " Fireflies" an absorbing book that Shiva wrote .
VSN studied at Oxford and finally settled in London and married Nadira Alvi in 1996 after his wife Patricia died of cancer. Nadira Naipaul is a Zambian of Pakistani ancestry.For more than twenty years, VSN remained in an intimate relationship with Margret Gooding, an Argentinean woman whom he met in 1972. VSN received Nobel Prize and has been knighted. His Nobel Prize Citation read ( a , b , c and d ):-
(a)
“For having united perceptive narrative and incorruptible scrutiny in works that compel us to see the presence of suppressed histories.”
(b)
" V S Naipaul is a literary circumnavigator, only ever really at home in himself, in his inimitable voice. Singularly unaffected by literary fashion and models he has wrought existing genres into a style of his own, in which the customary distinctions between fiction and non-fiction are of subordinate importance.”
(c)
" Naipaul is a modern philosopher,
carrying on the tradition that started originally with Lettres persanes and Candide.
In a vigilant style, which has been deservedly admired, he transforms rage into
precision and allows events to speak with their own inherent irony.”
(d)
"He took a giant stride with ‘A House for Mr Biswas’, one of those
singular novels that seem to constitute their own complete universes, in this
case a miniature India on the periphery of the British Empire, the scene of his
father’s circumscribed existence. In allowing peripheral figures their place in
the momentousness of great literature, Naipaul reverses normal perspectives and
denies readers at the centre their protective detachment. This principle was
made to serve in a series of novels in which, despite the increasingly
documentary tone, the characters did not therefore become less colourful.
Fictional narratives, autobiography and documentaries have merged in Naipaul’s
writing without it always being possible to say which element dominates.”
Apart from Savitri , Mira and Nalini are his other two living sisters .Savitri is a writer. The old family house in Trinidad built by VSN's father has been converted to a museum by the family.
KASHMIR CONNECTION
VSN stayed in Kashmir for about five months in 1962. He stayed in Hotel Leeward ( Liward at that time ) in the Dal lake located behind Nehru Park. His popular book “ An Area Of Darknesss ” was written in this hotel. Half of the book covers his Kashmir stay, a closer version of travelogue full of his keen observations .One of the impressive descriptions of the life that existed in that era, the Doll’s House on the Dal lake is an unmatched narration of the struggle of a hotel owner in keeping the show going on, using guests to manage regulators and occasionally as, brand ambassadors too. Naipaul mentions many names in this book. Ali Mohammad , Mohammad Sidiq Butt and Aziz come up repeatedly .Ali Mohammad ,the person who brought guests from Tourists Reception Centre , Mohammad Sidiq Butt the owner and Aziz , the clever helper(as he appears in the book) at the hotel. Ali Mohammad and Mohammad Sidiq Butt are no more . Aziz is alive and an old man who owns the hotel at the moment . He has diversified his business. Some years back when I met him, Aziz told me that he had preserved a letter, photographs and the hand written comments of Naipaul on the visitor's register' of the hotel . Naipaul also met Sri Kanth Kak ( IAS ) who told me this :-
" I vividly remember him. He would come to speak for the owner of the hotel where he stayed. They needed some approval from the government. The proprietor would be always accompanying him. He spoke English with a British accent."
He met the proprietor of’ Hind Book Shop’, Residency Road ( Srinagar ) , a Sikh gentleman and had tea with him. In 1979, this gentleman told me :-
" Yes he came to this shop three times. I didn't know him. He had already written one or two books . He said he was writing a book. He sought some information and purchased a couple of books on Kashmir. Unassuming but fluent in English , I could never think that one day I would be selling his books."
I also met Mr Soni the proprietor of ‘Premier Hotel cum Bar’ (since closed) , The Bund , Srinagar . I told him what Naipaul had written about the hotel in the book. He smiled.
In the book, ‘An
Area Of Darkness’ , Naipaul, with his sharp observations, describes the life of lake dwellers ( Dal
lake ) in such a manner as is easily identifiable for any person who has moved
inside this lake and known its inhabitants and their living style and
reflexes . He also writes how he was
smilingly tricked in the hotel. He writes about Ali Mohammad , Mr M S Butt and
Aziz in his inimitable style . Naipaul writes this :-
(1)
“ The hotel stood on one of the main boat lanes, the silent highways of the lake. In the morning the flotilla of grass laden boats passed, paddled by women sitting cross-legged at the stern, almost level with the water. ”
(2)
“The clouds fell low over the mountains,
sometimes in a level bank and sometimes shredding far into the valleys. The
temple at the top of the Shankaracharya hill, one thousand feet above us, was
hidden. We would think of the lonely Brahmin up there, with his woollen cap and small charcoal brazier
( Kangri ) below his pinky brown blanket. ”
(3)
“ The lake was rich. It provided for all. It provided weeds and mud for the vegetable plots …………….. A boy twirled his bent pole in the water, lifted and he had a bundle of rich dripping weed. It provided fodder for animals. It provided reeds for thatching. It provided fish, so numerous in the clear water that these could be seen just below the steps of the busy Ghat……………….. On some days the lake was dotted with fishermen who seemed to be walking on water: They stood erect and still on the edge of their barely moving boats, their tridents raised, their eyes as sharp as those of the kingfishers on the willows .”
(4)
“I was asked by Mr Butt to write a petition to the Director Transport for more frequent bus services to the Dal Lake area. I drafted it and typed it. The electric bulb inside the room gave poor light. I complained about the weakness of the electric bulbs and asked for one to be replaced. At this, Mr Butt said, ‘ two rupees! three rupees !. You buy, I buy, what difference ?’ I did not feel I could object. I bought .”
(5)
“ Both Aziz and Mr Butt would ask me to speak to tourists who were brought from the Tourist Reception Centre to the hotel by Ali Mohammad. I was jealous. I wanted the hotel to myself. Aziz understood, and he was like a parent comforting a child. ‘ You will eat first. You will eat by yourself. We give you special. This is not Mr Butt hotel. This your hotel.’ Sometimes Aziz would raise one hand and say ‘ God ! send customer ’’
(6)
“With the summer season, flies too entered the hotel rooms. These settled on my hands even while I worked and for several mornings in succession, I was awakened before six by the buzzing of a single Flit surviving fly. To this Aziz promised mosquitoes. Mosquitoes would rout the flies. To him, a fly was an act of god. One afternoon I saw him happily asleep in the kitchen, his cap on his face, black with contended flies. I had asked for Flit but for Aziz, mosquitoes were the solution. Then one day I asked for ice. And Aziz said:
‘Anybody don’t like ice. Ice is heating.’ And this reply led to one of our silences .”
(7)
“One day Aziz
brought a college student to the hotel and introduced him as Bashir. Bashir was
nineteen. Bashir introduced himself ‘ I am best sportsperson. I am best swimmer. I know all chemistry and all
physics. I am inter-dined .’ Bashir brought another friend to the hotel who
introduced himself as Kadir. Kadir had small eyes and a square gentle face. He
was studying engineering and wanted to be a writer. Bashir added ‘ he is best
poet .’ The best poet’s shirt, open at the neck, was dirty. There was hole in
the top of his pullover. Bashir added ‘ He is great drinker. Too much of
whiskey.’ And this was a proof of his talent. In India poets and musicians are
required to live the part. It is necessary to be sad and alcoholic. I said to
Kadir ‘ Do you really drink ?’ ‘ Yes ’ he said. Bashir ordered him to recite
his poem. Kadir said ‘ But he will not understand Urdu .’ Bashir said ‘ I
translate ’. And Kadir recited. Bashir added ‘ He talk about poor boatman’s
daughter in the poem. She give colour to the rose . You get it mister. Another
man would say that the rose gives her colour. He say she give colour to rose’
. ‘That is beautiful ’ i said .The
discussion switched over to Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah. Kadir said ‘ I will give
you one example of the greatness of Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah. One year, you
know, the crops failed and people were starving. They went to Sheikh Abdullah
and said. ‘ Sheikh Abdullah, we have no rice. We are starving .Give us rice .’
To this, Sheikh Abdullah said ‘ eat potatoes’. Humour was not intended. The
advice was sound .”
( 8 )
“ When I decided to go for Amarnath Yatra, Aziz said ‘ You want a cook. You want a coolie. You want sweeper. You want seven pony.’ And each pony came with its owner. This would make fourteen of us altogether, not counting animals, with Aziz in charge. I began pruning ‘ no cook.’ Aziz said: ‘ he not only cook, sahib he guide’. The cook was Aziz protégé. The cook had revealed to me that he could not walk and he needed a pony. He had also sent a word from the kitchen through Aziz that he also needed a pair of new shoes for the journey. In the meantime, Mr Butt had summoned an English knowing scribe from the lake who had prepared a rough estimate for the Yatra. It was a remarkable document, an unfamiliar language and an unfamiliar script and most of its approximations understandable. Too understandable . I was being overcharged.
1 From Srinagar to Palguime boy Bus Rotine Rs30=
2 Roding Poine Rotine Rs150=
3 Pakige Ronie Rotine Rs100=
4 Tente a kachen Rs25=
5 Tabel chare bed Rs15=
One Colie Rs30=
6 Sweeper Rs 20=
7 Extre Loding and Noey Lodin Colie Rs20=
8 from 11 august to 17 august 7 day
Conteri food Rs161=
__________________________________________________
Total…Rs 551.00
If you are going Bus for Imri Nath
then is last 100 Rs.......
(9)
“On my departure day, Mr Butt assembled the servants for the tipping ceremony. Ali Mohammad, Aziz, the gardener and the cook. ……….The Tonga roof sloped low. We had to lean forward to see the lake and the mountains. The town was awakening from minute to minute and the Tourist Reception Centre, when we got to it, was infernally alive. ‘ Three rupees ’ The Tongawalla said. I paid two. The Tongawalla refused to touch the notes. I offered no more. He threatened me with his whip. I seized him by the throat. Aziz intervened ‘He not tourist .’ ‘ Oh, ’ said the Tongawalla. He dropped his whip and I released him. Our seats had now been secured and our bags placed below the tarpaulin on the roof of the bus. We shook hands with Aziz and Ali Mohammad and went inside.
‘ You do not worry about Tongawala sir. I settle . ’ said Aziz.
There were tears in his eyes. The engine started.
‘ You do not worry sahib. Correct fare three rupees. I pay. ’ said Aziz.
The driver was blowing the horn.
‘ Correct fare. Morning fare Sahib. Two rupees three rupees, what difference? Goodbye. Goodbye.’
I dug into my pockets.
‘ Don’t worry Sahib. Goodbye. ’
Through the window, I pushed out some notes. He took them. Tears were running down his cheeks. Even at that moment, I could not be sure that he had ever been mine. ”
Naipaul visited Kashmir again in 1988 when he was researching to write.” India: A Million Mutinies Now”. It is the third volume of Naipaul's acclaimed Indian trilogy, which also includes An Area of Darkness and India: A Wounded Civilization.This time he stayed in the Palace Hotel, the palace of the Dogra Maharaja converted into a hotel, perhaps the only luxury address in Srinagar. In 1988, he saw a changed Kashmir and its people too. “Much money had come to the valley; many people had risen; there was a whole new educated generation,” Naipaul wrote. “But a good deal of that improvement had been swallowed up by the growth in the population.” He wrote “There was security at Srinagar: the Kashmir valley was restless. It had been restless in 1962 as well”. Later, in the hotel, he could feel the change in the environment: “A secessionist Muslim group had been setting off bombs in public places in the city. The group had also made a number of demands. It wanted no alcohol in the state; it wanted Friday and not Sunday to be the day of rest, and it wanted non-Kashmiri residents expelled. The hotel people, while they waited for the authorities to take action, had met among themselves and decided to avoid trouble. That was why the Harlequin Bar of the palace served no alcohol, and why – until some Japanese visitors insisted – not even beer was served at dinner in the dining-room.”
Naipaul wrote about 30 books . I must have read 25. Out of all these books , I rate " A House For Mr Biswas" as amazing and impressive. After reading the novel and after reading what Savitri Naipaul has written about her parents and brother, I am convinced that VSN has skillfully made the novel's story revolve around his own father. In the Novel, Mr Biswas, a downtrodden Trinidadian journalist wants his independence: “a place of his own”. It’s not easy.
A few years back, in the Jaipur Literary Festival, Naipaul broke down after Paul Theroux praised his book "A House for Mr Biswas " and compared the author to Charles Dickens. I have every reason to say that Naipaul was a master writer of his age. His story telling style had an eye for tragedies of mankind that had unforgiving comic crispness. This comic crispness is starkly visible in his travelogues. His books like ‘Enigma of Arrival ‘, ‘Mimic Men’ and ‘A Bend in the River’ are again master creations of his crafty pen.
He had a few personal friends. They have commented that to those who never knew him closely , he appeared a little haughty but in reality the man was profoundly affable. And Khushwant Singh once played host to Naipaul, his sister Savitri and his mother Droaptie Naipaul when they visited India.
VSN is the only every time readable writer that we have around . His sentence construction is unique. The paragraphs that he creates keep you focussed.Through his fiction, he makes you believe something that may not be always true . And he was the greatest supporter of fiction. He would often say that Imagination and fiction make up more than three quarters of our real life. For him, fiction was the platform where writers come to reveal truth.
I quote Naipaul : -
"An autobiography can distort, facts can be realigned. But fiction never lies. It reveals the writer totally.”
In his Nobel Prize speech , VSN defined his style as under . I quote him:-
"Both fiction and the travel-book form have given me my way of looking; and you will understand why for me all literary forms are equally valuable. It came to me, for instance, when I set out to write my third book about India – twenty-six years after the first – that what was most important about a travel book were the people the writer travelled among. The people had to define themselves. A simple enough idea, but it required a new kind of book; it called for a new way of travelling."
I am sure even his critics or detractors will continue to read his books. Goodbye VSN.
(Avtar Mota)
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