My Opening to Page 3 -- Ankush's new Book !

It was during the late nineties that I joined the not-so-exclusive club of listless-Delhi-to-Gurgaon-commuters. During those days we had the unprecedented luxury of an employer provided bus which would at reckless and breakneck speeds, ferry us between Gurgaon and Delhi. To distract me from the near death experiences during this roller-coaster-esque ride to Gurgaon and back, I decided to carry some reading matter with me. That is when I discovered Page 3.

The Times of India served the purpose of the above mentioned reading matter. This particular publication had been picked for two reasons. Firstly, I thought that the regular perusal of a newspaper ( the TOI being a newspaper ) would broaden me as a human being, and secondly, it was extremely convenient to pinch the neighbour's copy on my way to work. So there I was, one day, trying to catch up on the latest political developments, whilst being violently jolted from side to side, when my eyes fell on Page 3. I immediately knew that it was the one. It was the only way in which I could ever get my picture into some sort of publication, and if I should fail to do so, the rest of the voyage of my life would be bound in shallows and miseries.

There however was a slight problem. To get my characteristically facile smile flashing on Page 3, I had to be someone, or actually know someone. I am sad to report that despite my sincere efforts, I magnificently failed on both counts. As a result, over all these years, no Page 3 happiness has ever graced my unfortunate life. I am therefore now, extremely happy to deplane the news that at last, the silver lining has appeared. There is hope. I now shall ( most probably ) not be denied my rightful place under the Sunday Supplement anymore !

The news is that my good friend and the possessor of a gigantic brain, Ankush Saikia has unleashed his first book. The book is called Jet City Woman and the prosaic details for the book can be found here. The cover of the book looks like this: (Click to zoom)

Ankush of course, has been previously short-listed for his very clever writing in the Outlook/Picador India Non-Fiction Competition. The short-listed entry is called Spotting Veron and was one of the better travel essays that I had read in some time.

This time around he has published a complete novel. It is an intense, funny, sad and engaging coming-of-age novel set in New Delhi and in north-eastern India. The author also maintains a blog, documenting the happenings and events around his first book. I would therefore urge my scant readership to go visit the blog and also buy the book and in the process, promote my brainy chum.

The Readership, at this point of time, must be raising its collective questioning eyebrow, and asking "Whats in it for you chump ?" Some must be also asking "And what of the Page 3 tish-tosh that you were waffling about ?" The combined answer is -- long awaited Page 3 domination ! Allow me to soberly outline the whole process.

1. Hordes of impatient readers converge in bookstores and start buying Ankush's book like there is no tomorrow.
2. Ankush, as a result, is showered with an insane amount of biscuits, doubloons and accolades.
3. Ankush starts getting invitations to extremely trendy parties and fashion shows.
4. He, in a moment of foolishness, invites me to one of these parties.
5. I appear on Page 3, in the Sunday Supplement, wearing a violently pink shirt and carelessly holding a drink, in a photograph titled -- Ankush and friend.
6. I achieve elusive happiness !

Early Monsoon Rains and Other Potent Liquids

Although I am not in complete agreement with this passage-of-time thingy, the sad truth is that time does pass with exacting surety. And while it goes about doing the passing thing, it does strange things to the market value of your mobile phone and even stranger things to Michael Jackson's face. Also, at most times, it changes the people one once knew and the places one once used to live in. Due to this remarkable phenomenon, the exercise of chewing the fat with a close friend after a long long time can culminate in two varieties of experiences. The first kind of experience is very much akin the finding of a significant amount of money in the pockets of an old pair of jeans and the second like the discovery of a putrid pail of ice-cream in the dark recesses of the freezer. I am therefore happy to announce that spending the weekend with ADJ after the above mentioned long long time has most certainly been of the former variety. No putrid ice-cream in the freezer -- just a lot of beer. (ADJ's refrigerator is not now that strength which in the old days moved earth and heaven, and so the freezer does not actually manage to freeze the beer. It just keeps it crisp and cool)

The nature of the monsoon in and around Delhi like all other things is marked by rude curtness. It makes intermittent, squally cameos to make way for steamy, humid sunshine. The last weekend however was a welcome difference. It was late in the afternoon when we finally rose and shone to find the whole of Gurgaon soaked in a continuing slow, silent, seeping shower. There was nothing else we could do. ADJ and me settled down into a couple of rocking-chairs, bought out the good scotch, and watched the rain gently settling into ADJ's expansive terrace. When the good scotch was exhausted, we bought out the cheaper stuff, and then the beer. As we sat there, we talked of time gone and innocence lost. We talked of the evils of not drinking. We exchanged notes on the merits of long, steady relationships and steamy one-night stands. (We both have concluded that both of them are not too bad) We made plans to drive across the country. We called up old friends. While I had easy conversations with a few, some I could not connect with anymore. Specific female anatomies were also discussed and critiqued upon with due diligence and sincerity.