It is truly exhilarating to speak to Shahid Siddiqui! Away from the chaos of politics, he is a fascinating man, one who understands the subtleties of tea like few others; a man who loves to design clothes, a man who loves to be a playwright — by the way, his first English novel, “The Golden Pigeon” recently hit the stalls. He is a wonderful mimic too. Without a pause he can reproduce the accents of people in different lanes and bylanes of Delhi, the Jatland of Uttar Pradesh, the Patna boys, the Madrasi men. “I can speak English in all Indian accents,” he informs me with a little twinkle in his eyes. And when he is through with all that, he can play a good host too. But today, I am hosting him over lunch at Le Meridien’s Monsoon restaurant, the adults-only food corner that encourages conversation over food and drinks.
Shahid is prodded to the cellar for a picture. Initially reluctant, he soon overcomes his inhibition and gladly obliges us. So, how did “The Golden Pigeon” come about? More is the curiosity because not many in the world of literature could suspect him of writing a short story in English, leave alone a novel. He was, in the mind of the common man, the proverbial political writer, someone who hopped from one political party to another without so much as dust on his lapels. “But I never allowed the contents of my newspaper, Nai Duniya , to be affected by my politics. I told this to Rajiv Gandhi also with whom I shared many memorable moments,” says Shahid and bolsters the claim by recalling the late Prime Minister’s reaction to a kurta he wore to one of the party meetings. “I have failed in politics because of Nai Duniya ,” he continues. “My politics and my paper do not mix,”
Shahid is clearly in a gregarious mood, but if we could have a word about the novel please? It will have to wait a bit as we order fresh lime soda, sweet and salt. “When you are pregnant, you got to deliver,” Shahid says, referring to his first novel. “I had the story with me for a long time. I started it as an autobiography. Then I made it a work of fiction around Muslims at the time of Partition. I finished the novel in six months. All along I was conscious that it should not be taken as an account of Old Delhi. The novel is much more than that. There is this story of two boys who are separated at the time of our Independence; one of them grows up in Pakistan, the other here. Those who stayed back succeeded because it was a pluralist society.” He is clearly passionate about his writing. “I was writing till about 3 this morning. I am working on a play, ‘Love in Times of Jehad’. It is about an old age home and a fan of Dilip Kumar there.”
He wants to elaborate on the play but I gently nudge him towards the mustard sole waiting for attention. The fish is, as it should be, spicy, hot, tender. Then there is Peking duck. “It takes about six months to flavour. You have to manage your flavours for that long for it to taste right,” Shahid says, revealing another lesser known facet to his personality. There is more to come.
“I take my wife out for coffee every day. Around noon we go to South Extension for our tea,” he says, adding without realising the anomaly, “I don’t drink coffee.” So, he goes out just to give his wife company. “I started liking tea after reading Maulana Azad. He has written a lot and beautifully on tea. His writing is a celebration of tea,” Shahid says, then goes on to imitate Maulana Azad’s imaginary conversation with Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru over tea.
Shahid orders his from London.
“I opt for Earl Grey. They know how to blend it. If you want really good tea then the bag should be freshly opened. And the pot or kettle in which you make your tea or boil your milk should not be used for any other purpose.”
No matter how much he loves tea, Shahid, for all his years in Urdu journalism, can’t stand paan. “I hate paan. We used to have mushairas at our office with Josh, Kaif Bhopali and others. At the end I had to wash the spittoon. But that apart, I am a foodie. I can make out food from its fragrance.”
The timing of his words is just right, for the ever courteous staff of Monsoon brings us chicken tikka. It smells good. Then there is a handi of mutton biryani and another bowl of chicken curry with tandoori naan. He does not try out too many things today, opting only for tikkas and a small helping of kababs.
As the staff offers kalakand with chocolate, Shahid declines, asking for a cup of tea to round off the conversation. “People who see me today do not realise the things I have had to do along the way. I used to study in Delhi College when I started Nai Duniya . I realised back in the ’70s Urdu was not the language of the elite. Nai Duniya used colloquial Urdu. It worked. But things have not always been smooth. My father went to jail during the Emergency. In hard times, I have had to set up a food stall too.”
The hard times are long since over.
Today, Shahid Siddiqui, like the golden pigeon, can look forward to a new flight. As an English author. And maybe an upcoming playwright.
