World Book Fair, New Delhi 2008 and the Footpath Poet
-Brian Mendonça
Poets are the soul of a country. Sometimes they can also be treated as pariahs
by a country.
As if self-publishing my book of poems 'Last Bus to Vasco: Poems from Goa'
(2006) were not enough, I was also warned not to display it at the World Book
Fair by the organisors the marshals of the National Book Trust who were
scouring the various halls. All they needed of me was Rs 38,000 for a weekend
since I work on weekdays. They said they could give me a concession. I had
priced my book, inclusive of audio CD, at Rs 150.
The day the World Book Fair opened in New Delhi, was also the opening day of
the Carnival in Goa, 2nd February. I put my Goa T shirt in the biting cold and
packed some books in my canvas bag. None of the stalls at the 14 Halls had a 5
x 8 space on their racks to display my book. I sold one book to an
ex-colleague at one of the stalls.
Having been listed in the India chapter of the international Journal of
Commonwealth Literature (December 2007), cut no ice with a prominent
distributor who I went to see at Daryaganj. See me in April, he had said, We
dont take new books in the current financial year. Ill do my best for you.
So on the following Saturday morning, on the penultimate day of the Book Fair,
I decided to brave the odds. If only to prove something to myself. To prove I
had some space in this ancient land, however tiny, which would bid me welcome.
The carnival was over. I was also buoyed by the exuberance of the Kolkata book
fair, which had artists selling their paintings on the lawns, and where I had
once played the guitar. This 'nasha' (spell)was sadly lacking at the World Book
Fair.
I packed the foldable wooden minitable I had picked up from Tilonia, the
Barefoot University in Rajasthan and decided to display my book on the
footpath. As I steadied it on the footpath opposite hall No 1, I covered it
with the beautiful off-white crochet doily I had bought at the Mapusa bazaar
a tribute to so many Goan ladies who had spent their lives knitting. On top of
that I placed the 16 postcards of Goa done in sepia by Mario Miranda all around
the doily. These were a collection made possible by Museums of Goa,
Salvador-de-Mundo, Goa. On top of that went 10 books with a stand on which I
displayed one book.
At the end of the 3 hours that Saturday from 2 pm to 5 pm I had sold 5 books.
After 5 pm the wind grew cold and the sunlight was receding. The exposure was
thrilling to say the least. A publisher friend from Agra bounded across to meet
me saying he was keen to know what 'junoon'(madness) it was that made me sit
there. A bevy of young female journalists thrust their ID cards in my face and
said Sir we would like to ask you some questions. They opened with, Why are
sitting here? I said, To display my book Because they wont let me do that
inside. We have been watching you. Many people just walk past. Does it bother
you? they persisted. I replied No, I am here to display my book. It is a
shame that Goa has no presence here at the Book Fair, at the State Pavilions at
Pragati Maidan, nor at DelhiHaat. I am doing what little I can. Besides, these
books already have clients abroad in the UK and Canada.
It was wonderful how the footpath, wiped clean by some dexterous sweepers,
began to exert its own energy field once the books were placed there. How its
quiet space made the world book fair more egalitarian. A world with a human
face where those left out could cock a snook at those ensconced right inside.
People who stopped for an ice cream at the stall nearby looked at me curiously.
Others, exhausted after doing the rounds just plonked down beside me, for want
of a proper space to sit. An elderly gent from Chennai gamely sat on the
footpath beside me and shared his nostalgia with me for his hometown and I
exchanged notes with him about my recent trip to Coimbatore and Mamallapuram.
Suddenly that wee space became a mini-India where I was embraced by the warmth
of India and its people.
A teenager came up and browsed through the book very thoughtfully. When he was
joined by his friends he said in Hindi, He is asking for Rs 150. It was
apparent he could not afford the sum. Ask him to lower the price his friend
suggested. The boys answer still rings in my ears, He is a poet. He is free
to quote his price. He resignedly gave the book back to me. I asked how much
he was willing to pay. With great effort he took out a crisp note of Rs 100 and
gave it to me. And walked away with the book. What humbled me about my
experience was that I could know my readers on a one to one basis, and what my
poems meant to them.
It is unfortunate that prominent publishers in India today do not publish fresh
new Indian poets writing in English. What you get to see are reprints of an
older generation, or in some cases of a generation before the older generation,
like Derozio. The only fresh new young poetry being published is by the Sahitya
Akademi, Delhi; online poetry blogs like glorioustimes .com from Chennai;
online literary journals like museindia.com from Hyderabad and online Journals
like Hudson View published from South Africa. Even recent studies on
post-colonial poetry in English have a sense of déjà vu stopping at Kolatkar
after paying due obeisance to Mehrotra and Kamala Das. The same names the same
quotations. Old wine in new bottles. If you are living you have a slim chance
of being published!
Exhibiting at the World Book Fair 2008, in this manner, in the capital of
India gave me a rush of adrenaline to realize that with my small table from the
Barefoot University at Tilonia, the Footpath Poet was ready to sell his poems
anywhere in the world. Perhaps with a hat and a guitar next time. Being the
writer, editor, publisher and seller of my book of poems, this served as an
inspiration to many. Youve got guts, man, drawled one wag from college. The
new frontier beckoned.
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Traveller-poet Brian Mendonças second book of self-published poems 'A Peace of
India--Poems in Transit' is forthcoming this year.
