Sunset Club

Khushwant Singh

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books Ltd
• Date de parution: 13 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788184752953
• Langue: English

Extrait

Meet the members of the Sunset Club: Pandit Preetam Sharma, Nawab Barkatullah Baig and Sardar Boota Singh. Friends for over forty years, they are now in their eighties. And every evening, at the sunset hour, they sit together on a bench in Lodhi Gardens to exchange news and views on the events of the day, talking about everything from love, lust, sex and scandal to religion and politics.
As he follows a year in the lives of the three men–from January 26, 2009 to January 26, 2010–Khushwant Singh brings his characters vibrantly to life, with his piquant portrayals of their fantasies and foibles, his unerring ear for dialogue and his genius for capturing the flavour and texture of everyday life in their households. Interwoven with this compelling human story is another chronicle–of a year in the life of India, as the country goes through the cycle of seasons, the tumult of general elections, violence, natural disasters and corruption in high places.
In turn ribald and lyrical, poignant and profound, The Sunset Club is a deeply moving exploration of friendship, sexuality, old age and infirmity; a joyous celebration of nature; an insightful portrait of India’s paradoxes and complexities.
A masterpiece from one of India’s most-loved storytellers, The Sunset Club will have you in tears and laughter, and grip you from the first page to the last.


K HUSHWANT S INGH is India’s best-known writer and columnist. He has been founder–editor of Yojana , and editor of the Illustrated Weekly of India , the National Herald and the Hindustan Times . He is the author of classics such as Train to Pakistan , I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale , Delhi , The Company of Women and Burial at Sea . His non-fiction includes the classic two-volume A History of the Sikhs ; a number of translations and works on Sikh religion and culture, Delhi, nature, current affairs and Urdu poetry. His autobiography, Truth, Love and a Little Malice , was published by Penguin Books in 2002. Absolute Khushwant: The Low-Down on Life, Death and Most Things In-Between was published in 2010.
Khushwant Singh was a member of Parliament from 1980 to 1986. He was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1974, but returned the decoration in 1984 in protest against the storming of the Golden Temple by the Indian army. In 2007 he was awarded the Padma Vibhushan.
The Sunset Club is Khushwant Singh at his best—as a storyteller, a chronicler of our times, a nature-lover and an irreverent sage.
Cover photograph by Bhavi Mehta
Author photo by Mustafa Quraishi
Cover design by Ajanta Guhathakurta
THE SUNSET CLUB
Analects of the Year 2009
Khushwant Singh
VIKING
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in Viking by Penguin Books India 2010
Copyright Acknowledgements is an extension of the copyright page.
Copyright © Khushwant Singh 2010
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-06-7008-519-4
This digital edition published in 2011.
e-ISBN: 978-81-8475-295-3
This e-book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser and without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above-mentioned publisher of this e-book.
For Reeta Devi of Tripura Maharani of Sujan Singh Park Delhi’s own Mother Teresa
CONTENTS
Copyright
Apologia
1. Lodhi Gardens
2. The Month of Flowers
3. Spring into Summer
4. Now that April is Here
5. May of the Laburnums
6. Month of the Scorcher
7. Cry of the Peacock
8. Nothing to Celebrate in August
9. Summer Merges with Autumn
10. Gandhi’s October
11. The Guru’s November
12. December of the Blue Moon
13. The Sunset Hour
Copyright Acknowledgements
APOLOGIA
I had no intention of writing this novel. I had turned ninety-five and was not sure I would be able to finish it. Having nothing to do I became restless. Then Sheela Reddy of Outlook magazine suggested I record memories of my dead friends about whom I talked so much. The idea germinated and I got down to doing so. I mixed facts with fantasy.
My readers may find what I’ve written to be in bad taste—unacceptable in polite society. So be it. I have never been known for politeness or propriety. If you are offended by some things in the book, cast it aside.
I wish to place on record my deep gratitude to Diya Kar Hazra and Nandini Mehta, my editors at Penguin Books, and to Lachhman Das and Rajinder Ganju who put my scrawl into readable shape.
1 LODHI GARDENS
M y story begins on the afternoon of Monday, the 26th of January 2009, the 59th anniversary of the founding of the independent Indian Republic. Although India gained independence from the British on the 15th of August 1947, its leaders wisely decided that mid-August was too hot and humid for outdoor celebrations and late January was a better time of the year to do so. So they picked the 26th of January, the day they gave the country its new Constitution. They declared it a national holiday and named it Republic Day—Ganatantra Divas.
By the end of January, winter loosens its grip; by sunrise, foggy dawns turn into sunny mornings; the time for flowers and the calling of barbets is round the corner.
Republic Day is the biggest event in India’s calendar. It is the only one celebrated throughout the country by all of India’s communities—Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Sikhs, Jains and Parsis. In every state capital they have flag hoistings, and parades of troops, police and schoolchildren.
However, there is nothing to match the grand spectacle in the capital city, with its display of India’s military might and cultural diversity. Tanks, armoured cars, rocket launchers roll by; cannons boom; massed squads of soldiers, sailors, airmen march past, dipping their swords in salute; cavalrymen mounted on camels and horses are followed by floats of different states highlighting their achievements, with folk dancers dancing round them. People start assembling from the early hours of dawn, to line up along both sides of Rajpath. This broad avenue runs from Rashtrapati Bhavan—the President’s Palace—atop Raisina Hill, down the slope between the two huge Secretariat buildings, North and South Blocks, to the massive War Memorial Arch known as India Gate, which bears the names of Indian soldiers who fell in the First World War, the Third Afghan War in 1919, and the 1971 confrontation with neighbouring Pakistan. In the centre of India Gate burns a celestial flame all day and night, in honour of men who laid down their lives for their Motherland.
You may well ask why India, which prides itself as the land of Gandhi, the apostle of peace and non-violence, celebrates the national day with such a display of lethal arms and fighting prowess. The truth is, we Indians are full of contradictions: we preach peace to the world and prepare for war. We preach purity of mind, chastity and the virtues of celibacy; we are also obsessed with sex. That makes us interesting. However, we do make up for the vulgar display of arms by having a Beating Retreat ceremony on Vijay Chowk (Victory Square) facing the Secretariat buildings. Here massed bands of the Army, Navy and Air Force bear no arms but trumpets, flutes, clarinets, drums and bagpipes, and march up and down the Square. The function ends with bells ringing out Gandhi’s favourite hymn, ‘Abide with Me’. A day later, on the 30th of January, the day we murdered Gandhi, our leaders assemble at Rajghat where we cremated him, and strew flowers on a slab of black marble where we reduced him to ashes. That’s the kind of people we are. And that is why we are interesting.
Let me get back to my story. Around noon, the parade on Rajpath is over and crowds begin to disperse. Some go to the nearby Purana Qila, the Old Fort, to picnic on the lawns and doze in the sun. There are other ancient monuments which provide similar space and quiet. The most popular of them is Lodhi Gardens. It is within easy walking distance from Rajpath, and has a vast variety of trees, birds and medieval monuments. It is perhaps the most scenic historic park in India. At one time it was a scatter of tombs and mosques in a village called Khairpur. In the 1930s the villagers were moved out and the monuments taken under government protection.
Then the Vicereine, Lady Willingdon, who was somewhat batty and wanted her name to go down in posterity, had the scattered monuments enclosed within walls and an entrance gate erected on the north side, bearing the inscription ‘Lady Willingdon Park’. She also had a cinder track laid out for the Sahibs and their Mems to ride on. All that is history. No o