March 20, 2024, marked the tenth death anniversary of Khushwant Singh (KS). To commemorate this occasion, his son, Rahul Singh, along with Bhaichand Patel, the ever-green octogenarian known for his conviviality, loyalty to friends, and memorable parties — as also his close friendship with Rahul — invited friends and admirers of KS. Vikramjit Sahney, entrepreneur, philanthropist, educationist, and an MP in the Rajya Sabha representing the Aam Aadmi Party, was a co-host too. Vikramjit knew KS well. One of his passions is Sufi music, which he sings as well. That evening, accompanied by a band, he regaled the audience with songs of Bulle Shah and Shiv Batalvi.
Bhaichand’s large lawn in Sujan Singh Park in Lutyens Delhi was packed to capacity. Barkha Dutt, Rahul Singh and I were the speakers at the event. Shashi Tharoor was also to speak, but could not get away from his election preoccupations.
KS’s tenth death anniversary was a celebration. He lived till the age of 99, and lived on his terms, writing fearlessly on a wide variety of subjects. In fact, he became a legend in his own lifetime.
Khushwant Singh and his image of an iconoclastic bohemian
KS loved notoriety. Indeed, few people have so assiduously cultivated an image of an iconoclastic bohemian, who is more fond of women and alcohol, than KS. The truth is that this is exactly what he wanted to project: an image. In real life, he was a serious scholar, who led a highly disciplined life, sleeping early and waking up before dawn, punctilious about his exercise regimen, and his meal timings. While he enjoyed his drinks in the evening and the company of good-looking and interesting women, he remained fully absorbed in writing his countless number of books, both fiction and non-fiction (including highly researched and scholarly works like his two-volume History of Sikhs), as also his many columns, the most popular of which was “With Malice Towards One and All” for Hindustan Times.
The reason why he made light of his scholarship was that he hated the hypocrisy of the self-righteous. He took great pleasure in shocking them and pricking their prudish holier-than-thou attitude. Far from being an alcoholic, his drinks time was strictly between 7 to 8 pm. It was then that he invited people of distinction, scholars, politicians, journalists, artists, writers and poets. It was the most exclusive salon in the national capital, and to get an invitation was highly coveted.
KS was not religious, but he was spiritual, listening daily to Shabads. He was a liberal to the core, unhesitatingly castigating hatred and religious bigotry, and any encroachments on democratic rights. He neither sought nor asked anything from the Establishment and lived his life on the courage of his convictions, with which he never compromised.
A writing career sparked by Khushwant Singh
In my speech at the event marking the death anniversary of Khushwant Singh, I made a public confession that my career as a writer was entirely due to him. In the late 1980s, I had finished a 300-page book: Ghalib: The Man, The Times. I was then posted in New York on the Indian mission to the United Nations and was visiting Delhi on home leave.
A first-time author is a bit like an orphan in the publishing industry. He has to be lucky to have someone whose views matter to promote the manuscript. My book was turned down by most publishers. In those days, there were not too many publishers around, and most of them said they were busy printing educational textbooks. Deeply disappointed, I was about to return to New York, when HD Shourie, the highly respected former bureaucrat and social activist (father of Arun Shourie), whom I knew well and was very fond of, advised me to meet KS.
I got an appointment the very next day. When I entered the hallowed portals of his study, he was, to my own surprise, reading my manuscript. It turned out that it had been given to him for his opinion by his son-in-law, Ravi Dayal, the then editor of Oxford University Press, India. KS told me that he was enjoying the book thoroughly, and added that he was going to recommend it to David Davidar, the founding editor of Penguin, which was shortly to open shop in India. Frankly, in a situation where no publisher had said yes, the fact that Penguin may consider it, was something I did not believe. But KS did precisely that, and a few months later, I got a call in New York from David that Penguin India would publish it.
The book did very well and has gone into innumerable editions, and published in translation in almost every Indian language. The success of this first venture, in the most improbable of circumstances, gave me the confidence to continue to write, for if the book had sunk, or not been published, my writing career would have ended. Now that I have written some 24 books, the manuscripts of first-time authors keep coming to me, either for an opinion, a recommendation or a blurb. And, remembering what KS did for me, I always take the trouble of going through them.
In describing him and his attitude to life, I am reminded of this couplet of Firaq Gorakhpuri:
Aage kisi ke kya karen dast-e-tama daraaz
Yeh haath so gaya hai sirhane dhare dhare
Before whom should I extend this hand of want
This hand has long gone to sleep resting against my head.
Pavan K Varma is author, diplomat, and former Member of Parliament (Rajya Sabha). Just Like That is a weekly column where Varma shares nuggets from the world of history, culture, literature, and personal reminiscences with HT Premium readers. The views expressed are personal
