Kasauli, in the foothills of the Himalayas, has not seen its most famous resident for two years. And now it never will. For more than 50 years, Khushwant Singh spent many summers in a cottage here, bought by his father from a British couple who left India after Independence. He did much of his writing here. For the last two years, his son, Rahul, has been organising a literary festival here named after his father. But an ailing Khushwant Singh could not attend. The journey from Delhi to Kasauli had become too tedious for him.
Over the years, Mr. Singh made many friends in Kasauli. It was always house full during the evening parties he hosted that lasted for exactly one hour. “He was a ladies’ man,” recalls Iknam Bath, a Kasauli resident and friend. “There was always good scotch, cheese and crackers, and all beautiful women including my wife would hover around him,” he says. “I had a seat reserved next to him,” says Mr. Bath’s wife, Ashima, who teaches at the Lawrence School in Sanawar, on the outskirts of Kasauli. “And as long as I stayed there, a good conversation was always guaranteed.” At 7.30 pm, everyone had to leave. Mr. Singh would then have his dinner and go to bed — a regimen he followed even at his Delhi residence. He was an early riser.
For that one hour, Mr. Singh would regale his guests with stories from his life, including his encounters with some famous women. All his friends heard of the night actor Nargis had spent at his cottage. Her children studied in Sanawar and she could not find any other suitable accommodation. Mr. Singh told her she was most welcome to stay provided she would let him tell the world that Nargis had slept in “my bed.” Nargis is believed to have laughed and agreed.
“What stuck him most about him was his zest for life,” says Rajesh Dogar, head of the Bharat Sanchar Nigam Limited in Kasauli. “Even at such old age, his mental faculties were really sharp,” he says. Mr. Dogar says he met Mr. Singh in 1998 when he had gone to his cottage to get a telephone installed. They met again a year later. “I was pleasantly surprised when he called me by my name; he remembered it,” says Mr. Dogar.
“I spoke to him over telephone in December when I was in Delhi,” says Ashima. “He invited me for a drink. But I could not go. Now I will always regret it.”
