'I'm not really a rude man': Vir Sanghvi on his memoir A Rude Life

Dubai - In an exclusive interview with wknd., the famous journalist and TV presenter takes us through the journey of penning down his upcoming memoir

I guess it would be acceptable, albeit clichéd, to call Vir Sanghvi a man who wears many hats. Journalist, editor, author, television host, someone who finessed the lifestyle sector in a (then) newly-liberalised India (both in print and on the telly), an epicurean, an entrepreneur (with part of his business interests right here in Dubai) and so on.

And yes, also a Khaleej Times’ guest columnist (he used to do Pursuits for wknd.).

But for those who worked with him — myself included — and went on to become storytellers across the globe, there was a single takeaway: we all wanted to write like Vir.

It’s almost fitting, then, that his memoir, A Rude Life, is finally out — after a series of other ‘non-personal’ books. From the 70s’ old-school mould — when he was editor of (the New York magazine-style) Bombay at 22 — he now, at 65, admits to pandering to clickbait. “I’m not a rude man really,” he says, “but the marketing guys [of the publishing house] thought the title would have a connect [plus, he does a hugely popular food column ‘Rude Food’]… and yes, the tone of the book is irreverent.”

A Rude Life is quintessentially Vir. Chatty, engaging, anecdotal. There’s his hallmark lucidity. Maybe “controversial”: there will be, I suspect, a few knickers in a twist given how the book is, at one level, a tell-all account of the political history of a new India as it evolved through his career.

Away from the intrigue that may be stirred up, here are a few of my favourite bits:

How Sir William Gilliatt, the ‘royal’ doctor who “delivered” Prince Charles, delivered Vir — and how (and why) it came to such a pass.

When Raj Kapoor told Vir (during the course of an interview), “You hear a beautiful voice but only later do you discover that it comes from an ugly girl”, and then asked him to take it out because “Lata (Mangeshkar) will get upset”.

How he got an interview with George Harrison after The Beatles split.

How when he, as a kid, met Yuri Gagarin, he thought the name was Urine Gagarin.

The time when (gangster) Haji Mastan told him his life had been more Godfather II rather than Deewar.

How Rajiv Gandhi — then the Indian Prime Minister — put a 31-year-old Vir at ease by doing a “photography talk” as an ice-breaker.

How he was asked by an Oxford panel, when he was a teenager, “Would you say you were Keynesian or a monetarist, Mr Sanghvi?”

And how Hugh Grant called him “common” when he failed to show up for a dinner.

I’ve worked with Vir in two professional stints. Both times, he was unapologetic about not being able to “type” to save his life.

And unwavering about putting pen on paper (lined notepads, large ones) whenever he wrote. He says he did the same with A Rude Life. The longhand was the long and the short of it.

Excerpts from an interview with him:

So finally, your memoir! How did it come about?

I had never thought I would write it, but I just got so [expletive deleted] bored sitting at home during the lockdown, I thought I should do something. This was easy enough: I just had to sit down, think back and put it down on paper. Also, I am conscious that I’m 65 now, a time will come when I may start forgetting.

The book wrote itself, there wasn’t any great thought given to it. It’s a series of adventures and anecdotes strung together, with no particular agenda.

From teaching at Mayo College at 19 [over a gap year] to editing a niche magazine at 22 to reinventing a newsmagazine (Sunday) at 30, you almost grew up in a hurry… and yet, you’ve kept yourself relevant…

I don’t think 30 is that young... Now you see 24-year-old billionaires owning startups — I realise we lived in a very structured world where there was a sense of seniority… The world has gotten younger now, so there are many young people doing things now that would have been impossible earlier. New professions, new technologies…

So, the age factor was only significant in 1986 when I became editor of Sunday, or in 1978 when I became editor of Bombay… now it doesn’t matter so much.

I don’t think I’ve made a conscious effort to remain relevant: just happened to be at the right place at the right time. I was at the right place when news TV took off, there weren’t that many television professionals in India, so they just picked up people from journalism. From there, [being editor of] Hindustan Times was pretty much a natural progression, so I did that. After that, it was basically doing enough to keep body and soul together, and make a living, and doing things I enjoyed — rather than trying to be relevant.

I often wonder if any of us oldies — anyone above 40 — are ‘relevant’ any longer!

Are you anticipating a backlash on the book? Trolling?

If I did a book on Noddy and Big Ears and what they did in Toyland, I would be trolled. That’s the nature of trolling these days: you will be trolled regardless of what you write about. So, I’m not worried how people are going to respond, I didn’t have to make this up. This is my life. I just wrote what happened. It will annoy people, I’m pretty sure, and it will irritate certain others… it will make some envious, contemptuous… But this is who I am. This is my life, take it or leave it.

You talk about the past and the present, but not about the future. Why?

Because, honestly, I don’t know. As John Lennon sang, ‘life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans’, so I’ve really not thought about what the future will be. All I know is that I don’t want to manage, run teams of people, take responsibility for others.

As a journalist/writer, have you reinvented yourself?

There is shortened attention span these days, no one wants in-depth any more... all over the world. So I have had to adapt to the needs of the medium. I do 2,000-word pieces and put out two or three tweets simultaneously. It’s like the difference between interviewing someone and writing it out as a profile for a newspaper — and interviewing someone for a television show. You adapt.

The newspaper business is on a new trip: addressing millennials and post-millennials. What do you think about that?

This urge to attract readers who are 18, 19, 20, 21 doesn’t come from people in the same group — it comes from people who are 40 and above. And it is born out of a certain desperation, a certain desire to seem relevant, and to reach out to the new ‘happening’ generation. For better or for worse, this new happening generation does not read newspapers, it does not read magazines. So, I always say it’s a somewhat doomed effort for the print media to try and reach out to millennials. Millennials have their own media, which are produced increasingly by other millennials. And they are happy with it. Nor are advertisers necessarily happy with you trying to reach out to millennials, because the spending power in most societies is still with the 30-plus category.

sushmita@khaleejtimes.com