He has lived in South Delhi for years, but Siddharth Chowdhury still hasn't become Sid for his friends. Instead of being part of Page 3, he would rather sit on it in a park looking for his characters. Three books old, he still hasn't developed a taste for book reading and signing sessions. It's this rooted reality that reflects in his writing which has a touch of noir. If “Patna Roughcut” was shot with a multi-camera setup, in “Day Scholar” (Published by Picador and shortlisted for The Man Asian Literary Prize 2009), he has zoomed into Delhi University with minimal paraphernalia and razor sharp detailing.
With a muscleman and his madam, a wannabe author who doesn't want to change his personality to be an insider in the sanitised world of literature — something his girlfriend is ready to shed — besides some innocent freshers, who want to feel the University universe, and the perennial seniors polluting the air, “Day Scholar” has nothing scholarly about it but it stays in your heart long after Hriday gets on top! Siddharth says those who pick it up for titillation will give up after a few pages, because nothing really happens, since the way Siddharth has painted Zorawar's sexual escapades eventually makes you question your morals, your values.
Even the names of the locations tell a story. The protagonist starts at Shokeen Niwas and ends up at Hakikat Nagar!
Siddharth calls it neo-realism, but to a layman it would read like the script of an Anurag Kashyap or Dibakar Banerjee film. He likes the comparison and relates with their work but he finds his writing closer to what Saeed Mirza's cinema stood for. “Nobody seems to finance the man anymore,” says Siddharth as we settle for a quick bite at Zing, the new all-day world cuisine restaurant at The Metropolitan Hotel. Swathed in warm and welcoming colours, vibrant fabrics and warm woods add elegance to its contemporary interiors.
As the conversation gets a tad animated with beer and watermelon juice, Siddharth recalls the time when once in a while he and his mates used to stop over at Broadway at Delhi Gate for a drink on their way back from Zakir Husain College, which also happens to be Hriday's alma mater. “Every author draws from the world around him. Some travel a lot, so they have more experiences to weave; others have a limited universe to work on.”
Food always remained on the fringe in Siddharth's life and it's not something where he has a definite choice. “ Ghar ka khana , rajma chawal or at times something Continental,” says Siddharth as he orders char-grilled sole. Over time writers generally get addicted to something, but for Siddharth writing helps de-addict him from worldly attractions. “A few cigarettes, maybe…I can eat virtually everything.”
When you spend your growing up years on dabba food, relates Siddharth, choices cease to matter. “In college days you are hungry all the time. Interestingly, that four storey tiffin had everything: dal, sabzi, roti, raita, even salad. And on Sundays, we used to have sweet dishes. I waited for gajar ka halwa. Sometimes, I would slip into Hindu College hostel for food. Things like quality come only in hindsight. In those days, the idea was to have something filling.”
Even as the sole fillet served with tangy potato, salad and vegetables arrives, Siddharth continues with tales of his very limited culinary skills. He never ventured beyond tea and boiling an egg and was largely a dish washer during get-togethers. “I watched from the sidelines. During one such gathering, we accidentally attempted sarson-mutton. When I tell this story, people say how could you eat it, as mustard goes with fish, but at that time it was considered a successful experiment.”
His observations have become key ingredients for the novel as the road side eateries of Delhi University play an important role in student politics, posturing, fracases over female folk and then the all important compromise. “In India, authors generally sugar-coat these confrontations, perhaps because they have not observed the characters closely enough. I have. I know exactly where they are coming from. That's why the reader can actually feel the characters moving around him.”
He says it shows in the attitude of the new generation of Indian authors. “They are not unduly concerned about validation from the West. Part of the reason is they have a growing indigenous readership,” says Siddharth as he picks up some pappadam, which are refusing to part with their crispy demeanour.
Siddharth works as an editorial consultant with the house of Manohar and deals with academic writing. Isn't it boring? “No, writing is not something I look forward to every day, but publishing, yes. I write only when there is an irrepressible urge.” No wonder, his next novel is set in the world of publishing. And yes, he doesn't look forward to gajar ka halwa any more!
