I was born – as I am given to understand – at dawn on the 4th of May 1956, rather unexpectedly in our North Calcutta home, as my mother was hurrying to finish off a manuscript for her publisher. It was a dangerous event that could've killed us both. I was delivered by my aunt in the library, gawked at from the shelves by an army of bemused authors. In the confusion of the morning, my father forgot to register the birth of his son with the authorities, which is why I don't have a birth certificate. Raised by unorthodox parents, both litterateurs and political activists, I developed an early love for the arts: painting, acting and writing. The third of these has survived the vagaries of life, numerous false starts and unhappy diversions, and come to reign over my life in the manner of a grand obsession.
Since 2001, I have published twelve novels, two collections of stories, two volumes of creative non-fiction, a few screenplays and copious volumes of (mostly unpublished) poetry.
It will always be my next book that captures my mind most fully, and this biography is a quick glance over my shoulders rather than a full look ahead.
“The pen is the busiest instrument, and the eyes must continue to suffer. Every word must be written down before I lose them inside my head.”
