I have never made any claims to being particularly well-read, knowing very well that the same claims would never survive the test of public scrutiny. But I have read a fair bit of everything that I came across, only I was never discriminating about what I read.
In my adolescence, I started with Bengali translations of English classics, thanks to Deb Sahitya Kutir, and then graduated to Alistair Maclean and Louis L'Amour. I remain an unabashed fan of both till this day. Then there was the Leon Uris phase. My early knowledge of, and self-proclaimed expertise on, Arab-Israeli conflict stemmed entirely from my reading of Uris' runaway bestseller, Exodus.
During my school, even college, days I devoured Bangla fiction. I read anything I could lay my hands on -- from the more classic Rabindranath Tagore and Bankim and Sarat Chandra to the more contemporary Shankar and Shirshendu.
In my final year of college, I became friends with three of my seniors -- Partiosh, Madhulika and Ujwal. Paritosh and Madhulika would gently nudge me towards the direction of interesting, even exciting books. Ujwal, who had the uncanny ability to call a spade a bloody spade, wouldn't mince his words : "Bhai, Ye tum kya parte rahte ho (Bro, what is this stuff that you read)". He appeared deeply affected by my evidently poor taste in reading. All the three, in their differing styles, guided me to some of the most interesting books I was to ever read.
It was in Paritosh's cosy apartment, one rum-drenched evening in the summer of 1987, I first came face to face with Granta. We both were young. I was 23, and -- I distinctly remember -- it was Granta's 21st issue. Called The Storyteller. The name caught my attention. Some of the names I saw on the writers' index were then completely unknown to me. Bruce Chatwin, Ryszard Kapuscinski, Oliver Sacks, Richard Ford, Primo Levi. I borrowed the book (I don't know of any other magazine that is so often referred to as a book) from Paritosh.
I stayed up the night reading Chatwin's fascinating account of the Australian outback. Chatwin wrote of a simple uncomplicated world in which the Australian aborigines believed that their ancestors had actually sung the world into existence. That the entire world was in fact physically divided into songlines. I had no clue about the Australian aborogines' theory of evolution, but I so wanted to believe Chatwin. The concept was so beautiful. By next morning I was hooked to both Chatwin and Granta.
Twenty years on, the fascination has endured. Sadly, Chatwin, featured in several later issues of Granta, is dead. But Granta is alive and kicking, and over the past two decades has had a profound impact on my reading, as it has on thousands who have been fortunate to read Granta.
Perhaps the finest literary magazine of our times and definitely my favourite, Granta has come out with a smashing hundredth issue. Thanks to Granta, all those unfamiliar names I came across that evening at Paritosh's house, today occupy pride of place on my bookshelf.
During these twenty years, Granta has come up with its unique mix of essays, articles, photo features on subjects that have been topical as well as issues of universal interest. The quality of English has been consistently very good and the subjects the magazine has dwelled upon have often provoked lively discussions.
I remember one Sunday many years ago when I was sitting at home and reading the latest Granta. My mother sat not too far away with a distinctly unhappy look. She finally pointed to what I was reading and said a little testily: "I don't think this Granta which you rate so highly is actually all that good." I immediately launched into an elaborate defense, until I took one look at the cover of the issue I was reading. Suddenly, the reason of my mother's ire dawned upon me.
It was Granta's 37th issue. The subject was Family. The cover simply said : "They Fuck You Up". No wonder my Ma was so upset.
Not just the stuff inside the magazine, even the back covers of Granta often make compelling reading. One of my personal favourites is the issue devoted to Children. Its back cover read :
"Research and development period : nine months. Most common product faults : noise, mess, puking and mewling, irregular sleeping and eating patterns, amorality and irresponsibility. Economic productivity : almost zero in the developed world. Leading economic beneficiary of their desires : Walt Disney Inc. Chief virtues according to their owners : joy, innocence, love, the perpetuation of the gene pool. Chief demerits according to non-owners : lawlessness, refusal to obey adult commands, their growing global numbers.
"Ah, the darling little ones. According to UN estimates there are now 1.7 billion of them under the age of sixteen, nearly a third of the world's population. In thirty years there will be 2.1 billion. We will go on making them. This issue of Granta describes the rearing, loving, loathing and fearing of them, and evokes what it was like to be that lost personality in a vanished time, a child."
Inside, there were two particularly memorable pieces, one by Adam Mar-Jones and another by Blake Morrison.
Personally I have been most fascinated, and influenced, by the travel writing I have come across in Granta. The Granta Book of Travel Writing is a collectors' item.
James Fenton's piece on the fall of Saigon is among my favourites. I would never have heard of the mad but brilliant Redmond O' Hanlon, had it not been for Granta. O'Hanlon is a bit like USS Enterprise from Star Trek, with a penchant for going to places where no man has ever gone before. From Borneo to Amazon to Congo, he has become known for his journeys into some of the most remote and desolate jungles of the world.
Another brilliant writer I met thanks to Granta is Jonathan Raban. Though he is primarily regarded as a travel writer, Raban’s accounts often blend the story of a journey with rich discussion of the history of the water through which he travels and the land around it. Having spent the first ten years of my life next to the sea, I find it easy to identify with and admire Raban's writing.
I don't possess the earlier issues of Granta, though through no lack of effort on my part. In India they are simply not available, though sporadically I have managed to pick a few from second hand bookshops. The earliest Granta I possess is the 5th issue, A Literature for Politics. I picked it up in the Jewish quarters of Old Cochin from a bookseller dealing in second hand books.
Today as I leaf through the 100th issue of Granta, I feel a bit confident about facing Ujwal some day. Next time, he says , "Bhai , ye tum kya parte rahte ho", I can wave a Granta at him.
In my final year of college, I became friends with three of my seniors -- Partiosh, Madhulika and Ujwal. Paritosh and Madhulika would gently nudge me towards the direction of interesting, even exciting books. Ujwal, who had the uncanny ability to call a spade a bloody spade, wouldn't mince his words : "Bhai, Ye tum kya parte rahte ho (Bro, what is this stuff that you read)". He appeared deeply affected by my evidently poor taste in reading. All the three, in their differing styles, guided me to some of the most interesting books I was to ever read.
It was in Paritosh's cosy apartment, one rum-drenched evening in the summer of 1987, I first came face to face with Granta. We both were young. I was 23, and -- I distinctly remember -- it was Granta's 21st issue. Called The Storyteller. The name caught my attention. Some of the names I saw on the writers' index were then completely unknown to me. Bruce Chatwin, Ryszard Kapuscinski, Oliver Sacks, Richard Ford, Primo Levi. I borrowed the book (I don't know of any other magazine that is so often referred to as a book) from Paritosh.
I stayed up the night reading Chatwin's fascinating account of the Australian outback. Chatwin wrote of a simple uncomplicated world in which the Australian aborigines believed that their ancestors had actually sung the world into existence. That the entire world was in fact physically divided into songlines. I had no clue about the Australian aborogines' theory of evolution, but I so wanted to believe Chatwin. The concept was so beautiful. By next morning I was hooked to both Chatwin and Granta.
Twenty years on, the fascination has endured. Sadly, Chatwin, featured in several later issues of Granta, is dead. But Granta is alive and kicking, and over the past two decades has had a profound impact on my reading, as it has on thousands who have been fortunate to read Granta.
Perhaps the finest literary magazine of our times and definitely my favourite, Granta has come out with a smashing hundredth issue. Thanks to Granta, all those unfamiliar names I came across that evening at Paritosh's house, today occupy pride of place on my bookshelf.
During these twenty years, Granta has come up with its unique mix of essays, articles, photo features on subjects that have been topical as well as issues of universal interest. The quality of English has been consistently very good and the subjects the magazine has dwelled upon have often provoked lively discussions.
I remember one Sunday many years ago when I was sitting at home and reading the latest Granta. My mother sat not too far away with a distinctly unhappy look. She finally pointed to what I was reading and said a little testily: "I don't think this Granta which you rate so highly is actually all that good." I immediately launched into an elaborate defense, until I took one look at the cover of the issue I was reading. Suddenly, the reason of my mother's ire dawned upon me.
It was Granta's 37th issue. The subject was Family. The cover simply said : "They Fuck You Up". No wonder my Ma was so upset.
Not just the stuff inside the magazine, even the back covers of Granta often make compelling reading. One of my personal favourites is the issue devoted to Children. Its back cover read :
"Research and development period : nine months. Most common product faults : noise, mess, puking and mewling, irregular sleeping and eating patterns, amorality and irresponsibility. Economic productivity : almost zero in the developed world. Leading economic beneficiary of their desires : Walt Disney Inc. Chief virtues according to their owners : joy, innocence, love, the perpetuation of the gene pool. Chief demerits according to non-owners : lawlessness, refusal to obey adult commands, their growing global numbers.
"Ah, the darling little ones. According to UN estimates there are now 1.7 billion of them under the age of sixteen, nearly a third of the world's population. In thirty years there will be 2.1 billion. We will go on making them. This issue of Granta describes the rearing, loving, loathing and fearing of them, and evokes what it was like to be that lost personality in a vanished time, a child."
Inside, there were two particularly memorable pieces, one by Adam Mar-Jones and another by Blake Morrison.
Personally I have been most fascinated, and influenced, by the travel writing I have come across in Granta. The Granta Book of Travel Writing is a collectors' item.
James Fenton's piece on the fall of Saigon is among my favourites. I would never have heard of the mad but brilliant Redmond O' Hanlon, had it not been for Granta. O'Hanlon is a bit like USS Enterprise from Star Trek, with a penchant for going to places where no man has ever gone before. From Borneo to Amazon to Congo, he has become known for his journeys into some of the most remote and desolate jungles of the world.
Another brilliant writer I met thanks to Granta is Jonathan Raban. Though he is primarily regarded as a travel writer, Raban’s accounts often blend the story of a journey with rich discussion of the history of the water through which he travels and the land around it. Having spent the first ten years of my life next to the sea, I find it easy to identify with and admire Raban's writing.
I don't possess the earlier issues of Granta, though through no lack of effort on my part. In India they are simply not available, though sporadically I have managed to pick a few from second hand bookshops. The earliest Granta I possess is the 5th issue, A Literature for Politics. I picked it up in the Jewish quarters of Old Cochin from a bookseller dealing in second hand books.
Today as I leaf through the 100th issue of Granta, I feel a bit confident about facing Ujwal some day. Next time, he says , "Bhai , ye tum kya parte rahte ho", I can wave a Granta at him.
1 comment:
heartfelt post and i really envy you for having got introduced to granta so early in life and having had the good fortune of reading the actual magazine.
rashmi
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