After a lot of thought I have concluded that Delhi probably launches more books than Houston will ever launch rockets. Forget dengue, malaria or swine flu — I’ve got the real illness. I’ve been bitten by the New Delhi Book Launch Superbug (and you can go ahead and sue me and tell those Lancet guys about it, so there!) and have been

attending launches with a frenzy which would put Chenghiz Khan to shame. I simply can’t get enough of them. But I am not alone since the NDBLS has spread like wildfire and every one is suffering from Extreme Launchitis. I don’t know what the antidote is — unless someone offers to line up all the offending authors and summarily executes them? Where have so many authors suddenly sprung up from? Is this an invasion of some body snatching aliens? Or a conspiracy by the Chinese? We are supposed to be an illiterate nation, for God’s sake!
Though, of course, there are many reasons why one goes to a book launch and the book, usually, is the least of them. For instance, I have been away for six months and have to catch up with the latest gossip and trends in food and fashion — all of which are available at these events. The only two people concerned about the literary masterpiece are the publisher and the author. The rest of us buy the book so we can wave it around to catch the attention of the Page 3 photographer.
The number of books being catapulted into existence is mind-boggling as every nook and cranny of the city (i.e., those buildings still left standing after the concerted assault of the Commonwealth Games-wallahs) is being utilised for this peculiarly popular activity. And why is it so culturally unique to New Delhi? This is something that requires a deep sociological research (and of course, once it is conducted and written up, we can all, ahem, go for the launch of the resulting book) and understanding of the New Delhi Jet Set who can be divided neatly into those who write the book and those who attend the launch. Sometimes it is the same crowd , i.e., you can walk into a room and find that an assortment of authors are being loyally supportive — and also simultaneously surreptitiously handing out invites for their own forthcoming book event.
Once upon a time, we used to call them book releases. We used to beg our reluctant book publisher to part with a few measly rupees and serve samosas to all our relatives who had been threatened and cajoled into coming. The “ceremony” was simple and very boring where some alleged chief guest (probably also bribed by the samosa factor) would grab a microphone and ramble on for hours about the greatness of the author. The venue was usually the India International Centre and most of the audience was comatose, waking up only for the tea at the end. Completely irrelevant comments would be made at the conclusion, such as “I have known the author for the last 80 years…” and so on.
But now you cannot walk into any hotel, seminar or conference room without being attacked by a bevy of very glamorous but completely crazed book launchers. You can recognise them all — because they appear regularly as Page 3 item numbers — and they generally have a drink in one hand, whilst on the other they superciliously count the number of launches they have been to. Sometimes it is up to three in a day! I tell them I am seriously worried about them because I can see that it is becoming an addiction. But secretly, I am envious of their much higher score. I obviously have to work hard and improve my attendance.
I also have to sheepishly admit to being one of the demented authors who believes that unless your book is “launched” it has no right to life. It is almost like inviting an audience to attend the birth of your child — and with every howl you emit — the crowd drinks a toast and cheers you on. I know that some people are already planning the launch before they have written the book. And now that William Dalrymple has also upped the ante by adding music and baul singers to his book launch, I can see that people are going to find a whole new career as professional book launch managers. Soon we will have Book Launch — The Movie… Just be prepared with your Gucci handbag and pink Jimmy Choos to star in it.
And yes, so I had to go to author and columnist Khushwant Singh’s book launch. But only because he is a very special 95-year-old, whom I, like millions of others, shamelessly adore. The book called Absolute Khushwant has been written along with journalist Humra Quraishi. Humra has known Khushwant for a long time and can perhaps be described as one of “Khushwant’s girls” (an innocent description of those of us who attend his regular evening soirees) — and this is an appellate which she no doubt wears with pride. In fact, Rahul Singh (Khushwant’s son) introduced me to someone as one of “Khushwant’s girls” as well — and I was totally thrilled. Khushwant is a great friend, completely honest and very hardworking. I have to say that he has now been a friend for more than a decade and I love his great sense of humour, devastating honesty and the fact that he has been a pillar of strength to many around him. It is amazing that he is still writing . His latest novel gets published in December.
However, my mind also went to another 95-year-old celebrating his birthday, though in exile in London. This is another super-energetic, immensely talented man — someone who is equal to 10 Commonwealth Games put together because he has singlehandedly brought us international fame with his prodigious output. A man who never tires of creating and still walks the streets of London, barefoot. There will be a sufi evening in his honour at a friend’s home next month in London but, sadly, I will still be in India, unable to attend. Nonetheless one hopes that just as we celebrate Khushwant’s coming of age, we will also remember the great and wonderful M.F. Hussain as he crosses this landmark moment. So in advance, a very happy 95th to you too, Hussain sahib!

The writer can be contacted at kishwardesai@yahoo.com