If I were to add it all up – events that I’ve spoken at – the number would be upwards of a hundred and fifty. Gosh! That includes literary festival sessions, book launches, lectures to college and university students, community gatherings and book clubs. But just as the first book is most memorable of all, I have vivid memory of my very first author event.
It happened sometime in May 2001 after publication of my first novel, The Opium Clerk, at the Nehru Centre in London. New to England, it took frequent consultations of a map to make my way over from Oxford to London’s South Audley Street. I don’t remember much about the hour I spent on stage, reading from the novel and answering questions, except a distinct feeling of wellness afterwards. The enjoyment of my very first book event convinced me that sharing my thoughts about writing came second to the excitement of writing itself. And thus, I ploughed on.
Does the size of the crowd matter? I have been asked a few times. Once I have my book in my hand, it doesn’t. Reading before a thousand, as at the Jaipur Literary Festival, or to a group of three sweet old ladies in Atlanta, does the same thing: makes the blood surge through the veins.
