Jai ho jai-pur!

Day One, Jaipur Literature Festival 2012- A 22 year old, as disillusioned as a baul singer from bankura district of West Bengal would claim to be, looking for some connect (atleast around, within her immediate physical space), finds none. A heavy bladder becomes commonplace- thanks to the back to back sessions (read running around),she finds a well furnished commode room converted into a bathroom, but is happy nevertheless; negotiates with a german (or did she say she was Italian?)to use the loo(a long queue otherwise), exchanging pretty much what her lunch was- a packet of biscuits; to find out that the latch of the loo-room was an issue. And how does she find that out?

Well, she went into the loo, realizing very soon that there was another person, sitting on the commode, already. How the German/Italian did not know that, is , well, never mind.

To begin with...

A lot more crowded than how it was (atleast from the previous year), The Jaipur Literature fest 2012 has had its very own (and exclusive) reasons to attract every tom, John and Radhika , into walking in and (atleast) trying out the free kulhar chai, if nothing else.

The Rushdie furore has been the USP of the festival. No, wait.

Oprah, oh Oprah.

Sunday morning, day 3 of the festival, roughly around 11 am- doors get jammed, little kids start crying, middle aged women become conscious of their absolute lack of propriety (too bad, they had been doing very well so far) and the security guards (Rajasthani security guards-mind it) take their cool pix camera out, clicking this female, who apparently is the major reason behind Obama becoming what he has (since SHE “endorsed him”?).

Come on Barkha, you can look up better websites, and get better scoops on winfrey. What happened to your “im- so- cool-journo-i-therefore-am” thingy? Better research you need, don’t just quote!

“We love Oprah”, “I waited 10 years for you..”- Placards put up for Ms. Winfrey. God, such love.

Let’s wonder whether Rushdie would have found such a tremendous response.

X aunty talks to Y uncle, about who Rushdie is, and the whole big hype behind his coming, not coming, going, or staying, or whatevering. After a 15 minute conversation on this strange being-Salman Rushdie, she asks, quite sweetly, “waise yeh Rushdie ji , kis type key books likhtein hai?”

It definitely has been unfortunate (most genuinely I hope) for a few people who “like” his works, and therefore wanted to see him. Some people planned their trip keeping their eyes on the Rushdie sessions, some people re-read his books overnight before the festival began so as to be able to put forth “vishesh tipanni”, some people dreamt of him for nights , before the festival, too.

But, all that was left, was an odd four known/well-known writers , reading verses from Rushdie’s works, stopped and asked to leave.

Ah, Literature.

You teach to question, deconstruct, reconstruct, unlearn.

But alas, paisa mangta more?

Sponsors would have probably withdrawn, the overcrowded Diggi palace would have become a vacant cemetery, and writers would have probably taken the first flight home ; if Rushdie did afterall turn up, false threat rumours –yes.

JLF has most definitely become a page 3 party site, where one would find the most beautiful women, not attending sessions-but smoking in the lawns. Nobody really bothers about who comes or not (ofcourse the ones who do, are not photographed), but they do care about any controversy that’s brewing, and wouldn’t mind giving a bite or two to just about any TV channel journalist loitering around (talking randomly about whatever everything they know about whatever nothing that’s happening). Thanks to the few writers who did manage to speak (all though with fear and self-disgust) on the hypocrisy of the system and laws in general, and on the absolute lack of individual Democracy in the country today; that genuinely agitated audiences still stuck around a little while more.

The Rushdie affair was “made” into a hot water balloon affair in the world outside the Diggi Palace. Inside there, Oprah oh Oprah, was the opium of the masses.

Day 3, Rushdie dies a writer’s death.