AKSHAYE KHANNA TALKS ABOUT VINOD KHANNA, HIS RETURN FROM OSHO AND MORE

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Vi propongo una delle rare interviste concesse dal riservatissimo Akshaye Khanna. Akshaye Khanna talks about Vinod Khanna, his return from Osho and more, Mayank Shekhar, Mid-Day, 2 gennaio 2020:

'There are two ways to look at a chat with actor Akshaye Khanna. One, that he is so painfully shy, no matter how hard you try, he's unlikely to dig deep and open up (about his life; or otherwise). That said, for the same reason, anything you pointedly ask is likely to elicit a response you haven't heard before. Because we know so little about him anyway - right down to something as rudimentary as his name. (...)

If you Google 'Akshaye', ending with the letter E, the only person likely to show up is you! Is there a story to your name (is it different from 'Akshay')?

You know, I had asked my father this many times, as to why my name's spelt the way it is. There was a specific reason that he had given me, on two or three occasions. And I can't remember. My mum's gone, and my dad's gone as well, so I don't know who to ask. (...)

The other mystery: Where do you live?

I've lived at Malabar Hill (in South Bombay) all my life. (...)

I'm told you always wanted to be a movie-star ever since you were a teenager. Where did that come from (doing stage in school, perhaps)?

Oh, from much before [my teens], I always knew this is what I wanted to do. But more than that, I never saw myself being able to do anything other than be an actor. I think it was more from seeing my father (Vinod Khanna). I spent a lot of time going to work with him as a kid, which influenced me a lot. I did amateur theatre in school, but I am not a fan. I have huge stage fright. Still do. Somehow I always felt this [film] was the right fit for me. The first hurdle to cross was telling parents. Once I did that, then it was, kind of, out of my hands! Because dad said he wanted to make a film for me. I have always been naive in life - unable to plan things. Still am. I just go with the flow. (...) I didn't say I wanted to be a movie star. I wanted to be an actor. But if you are a successful actor, then you're a star! You're also asking me about what I thought about, a long time ago. It's impossible for me to remember. It's really scary how I can't remember things - events, faces, names, it's very blurry. So anything about the past... If you ask me two years from now what I spoke to you about [here], I wouldn't remember. It's always been that way, ever since I was a child. It's very embarrassing. (...)

According to Karan Johar, you wouldn't step out of your Alibaug weekend home, even if invited to pick up the Academy Award. True?

Yeah. I like my weekends in Alibaug. (...)

You were originally cast in Aamir Khan's role in Dil Chahta Hai (DCH), (...) true?

No, out of all three [lead] actors, I was the first person to hear the script [of Dil Chahta Hai]. When I first read it, the role that I wanted to instinctively play was Aamir's. And that's not the role that Farhan wanted me to play. When [Farhan] heard me out, I think he was a little disappointed. He went and got the cast that he wanted [in place first], and then he came back to me and said, "I know this is what you wanted to do, but this [Sid] is the role I have written for you, and so will you please consider it again?" I heard [the script] again, and again, and again, until I was convinced that what Farhan was saying was right, and I was wrong. So I did that [role]. (...)

The other thing about your career are the big gap years - at least two or three blocks of them in your filmography.

Having worked continuously from a very young age, not working is the hardest part. It's depression time - not something that I seek, or look forward to. But somehow, destiny has played its cards in such a way that I've taken certain forced breaks in my career. They never have been by choice, and never will be in future. This is rare, especially in the Hindi film industry, because there are such few actors, and there is so much work.

How do you overcome that phase? (...)

You don't. You just go through that phase. (...) I am not going to tell you what my day looks like, when I'm not working. Why would you even want to know? (...)

When your father (Vinod Khanna) passed on, the obituaries in the press revealed an incredibly committed yet uniquely free-spirited man. Are there any stories you can recall?

I think once a person who's been in public life for decades is gone, if there is a side of them that they wanted people to know about, they would have managed [to convey] that in their own life, right? So I don't know if there is any aspect of him that I'd like to throw light on, which maybe he didn't [want].

What's in public domain: a man who left everything at the peak of his career to join Osho. You were probably four or five then. Did you want to know, who's this guy [Osho]?

One doesn't look at it like that at five. Osho had nothing to do with my thoughts about why my dad wasn't there. That came much later. As one grows, maybe 15 or 16, you start learning, listening or reading about the person who...

Influenced your father so much...

To not only leave his family, but to take 'sanyaas' (renunciation). Sanyaas means giving up your life in totality - family is [only] a part of it. It's a life-changing decision, which he felt that he needed to take at the time. As a five-year-old, it was impossible [for me] to understand it. I can understand it now.

You can, in what sense?

In the sense that something must have moved him so deeply inside, that he felt that that kind of decision was worth it for him. Especially, when you have everything in life. And when life doesn't look as though there's much more that you can have. A very basic fault-line/earthquake has to occur within oneself to make that decision. But also stick by it. One can make the decision and say this doesn't suit me - let's go back. But that didn't happen. And circumstances in America with Osho and the colony, friction with the US government - that was the reason he came back.

Oh, I was given to believe that a lot of people like him got disillusioned with Osho eventually, which led to their return.

From whatever memories I have about my father talking about that time in his life, I don't think that was a reason at all. It was just the fact that the commune was disbanded, destroyed, and everybody had to find their own way. That's when he came back. Otherwise I don't think he would've ever come back.

And you read up on Osho when you became older?

I've read a lot of Osho's discourses and seen hundreds of thousands of videos, I love him.

You could join an Osho commune? They still exist.

I don't know if sanyaas is something that I could do. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy his discourses, respect his intellect, oratory skills, and his way of thinking. I have deep respect for him.

[Back to movies] and trivia list, your favourite director is Priyadarshan. True?

One of them. I've done five films with him. And if you take Malayalam, Tamil, Hindi, I'd say Priyan would've done 100-plus films, which is a rare achievement for any director. Some directors like to move on. But he's also tended to repeat actors he's enjoyed working with - Akshay Kumar, Paresh [Rawal], there're many. He has done 30 films with Mohanlal. I always know when Priyan likes an actor. He makes it obvious. When I was doing Aakrosh (2010) with him and Ajay [Devgan], I told Ajay, he'll definitely offer you a couple of films in the future. They did a film together right after.

You tend to protectively advise co-actors about directors, it seems. Saif (Ali Khan) (....) told us about how you advised him about becoming warm and breaking ice with Abbas-Mustan during Race (2008), and that he was behaving too much like a star!

Did I? If he [Saif] says so, maybe I did. Abbas-Mustan are very gentle people. I've done four films with them. When they direct you, and even in their personal life, they are very soft. You have to be very soft with them, otherwise they clam up. You cannot be loud and aggressive. And Saif, sometimes, can be a little, you know how Saif is... I must have told him something to that [effect], I don't know. But I think they got along fine.

(Audience) Loved your film Section 375. What did you think of the timing of the film's release - coming a year after the MeToo movement? How do you think it changed the narrative around the movement itself?

The timing was never the intention. Neither was it the purpose of making the film. It was just a great story. It [delved on a] topic of the time. Which it always will be, because there are always people from both sexes, who don't know how to behave appropriately. Having said that, Section 375 is a film that I am very proud to have in my filmography. Sometimes, box-office numbers of a film are not always commensurate with the quality of a product. This film I will continue to be proud of. It will age well. (...)

Having been an actor for over 20 years - with Section 375, one sensed that you were totally stepping out of the usual tropes and mannerisms that we've of course admired you onscreen for. Would you agree?

On the contrary - to be able to engage an audience purely through dialogue, without other things, itself is not easy. And it's a combination of how you are directed, and how you perform. But the direction side is more important. That's why I felt very satisfied, creatively, with the way Ajay [Bahl] directed Section 375. It's very easy for a director to impose direction on an actor, when it's really not required. And I think Ajay has a very good sense of when to direct an actor, and when to not direct. That's very important. I don't know if I am making any sense.

Yes, you are.

Acting has been primarily one thing - being in the moment. Like, in the last few years, I've been noticing that we always do photo-shoots for a film's poster and publicity material. I just don't like the quality of photo-shoots - no matter how good the photographer or subject is. Since everything is digital now, a great alternative is you remove a frame from a scene of the film. It is always more honest. Eyes are more honest. The actor is acting. That 'being in the moment' doesn't come across in the photo-shoot. You understand what I'm saying?

Would you say that about dubbing as well, as against sync sound?

I wouldn't compare it with dubbing, no. But I know what you're saying. Sync sound is way more honest than dubbing. It has to be, right? It is like real life is more honest than fiction.

Saying this because Dil Chahta Hai also got credited with reviving sync sound in mainstream Hindi films in a way.

Yeah, the realism of sync sound was lost to Hindi cinema for many decades. I think millions of performances that have been dubbed for so many decades would have lost a certain edge [as a result]. I've worked the majority of my career dubbing in my films. Only in the last 10-12 years, we've been spoilt with sync sound. I really feel bad for actors who never had sync sound. Not that they knew the difference, because they never experienced it, but I still feel bad for them.

Do you closely follow latest releases/films?

Yeah. I primarily watch at home. I might wait three months for it to come on one of the platforms, but I will watch it.

Two back-to-back releases in 2019 were Bala, and Ujda Chaman (by the same producers as Section 375). (...) They were both on premature balding, and how it affects confidence levels. You've had that situation in your life. Is it such a big deal?

Well, because it started happening to me at such a young age, it was like a pianist losing his fingers. It almost felt like that to me, in those days. Till you really come to terms with it, and then it starts bothering you less. It's like, I suppose, waking up one morning and saying, "Oh shit, I can't read!" So it would affect you, right? Or you get up in the morning and your knees are paining, and the pain just won't go away. (...) And you might be a sportsperson, so it is heartbreaking. You might lose a year or two of your career. So, as I said, it is like a pianist losing his fingers. Because the way you look as an actor is very important. And especially this part (pointing to the face upwards). [Balding] at 19 or 20 is devastating. It can mentally like kill you. But, as I said, it is like anything else - someone needs glasses, someone needs something else... It's up to you, and what you are comfortable with doing [about it].

Did it affect your confidence levels as an actor at some point?

I think it did affect my self-confidence as a young actor - more than I'd like to admit, actually. Definitely.

(Audience) Lot of actors these days interact with their fans through social media. Do you ever intend on doing so?

Can't say for the future, but right now, whatever I hear from my colleagues, especially my friends on social media, I've never got a sense that it is something constructive. It just doesn't serve any purpose. I am not comfortable with it.

(Audience) Do you think you resonate more with the scripts being offered/churned out today than, say, 2001/2002?

People's memories are short. So they kind of think that what I'm doing now, is what I have always wanted to do, but never got those opportunities before. That's never the case. Your current choices in films, at least for me, are very instinctive. They are not well planned, or thought out. And some of those films might not appear to be hardcore commercial cinema. But when I view myself as an actor, I see myself as a very hardcore commercial actor, given the choices of my films, right from the beginning of my career. I do understand, especially since I have started working more regularly in the last two to three years, that my choices have been a little cerebral - if that's a word you could use for, say, even Mom, Ittefaq, Accidental [Prime Minister], or Section [375]. But that is just some choices of films. I don't intellectualise it. And neither should you.

Are there films you've seen lately that you wished were offered to you?

When I watch most films I always feel that the person who has done those parts has done them better than I could.

Any script you can remember saying no to, which turned out to be a pretty good film?

Yeah. Saif's role in Parineeta (2005). I didn't do it for some reason. I don't know why. After the film released, I called up [producer Vidhu] Vinod [Chopra] and said I really enjoyed the film, and wish I had done it. You know how Vinod is. He said, "Yeah, I told you, you should have; you're such a b******, d***, and this, and that!" I was, like, fine. There are times you could be in a bad mood, when you hear a script. There could be so many things that influence your decision. So, yeah, sometimes things slip out of your hands. And sometimes things fall into your lap, which you never expected. (...)

Last question: You might be the only person in Indian showbiz to take a stand on an institution, and say that you'll never get married! And that you want to live alone "forever".

I have always known instinctively that I would very much prefer to live my life without someone by my side all the time. I find that suffocating. That's the only reason.

Do you go on dates?

All the time. But to commit to a lifetime of togetherness is virtually impossible for me.

Serially monogamous - is that what it would mean?

No, it means knowing oneself reasonably well enough to not ruin somebody else's life!'.

SAIF ALI KHAN: WHEN MY FATHER DIED, PATAUDI PALACE GOT RENTED

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Vi propongo una piacevolissima (e lunghissima) intervista concessa da Saif Ali Khan a Mayank Shekhar, pubblicata da Mid-Day il 7 novembre 2019. Il testo include il video dell'intervista integrale. Saif Ali Khan: When my father died, Pataudi Palace got rented:

'You get called the 'Nawab', which inheritance-wise, you are [of Pataudi]. But the fact is you're actually a self-made actor, having taken nothing from parents, ever since you moved to Bombay, at 20!

Yes, thank you. (...) People have a certain fixed notion. For that matter, even [with] Pataudi [palace], when my father [Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi] died, it got rented to Neemrana Hotels. Aman [Nath] and Francis [Wacziarg] used to run [the hotel]. Francis passed away. He'd said that if I wanted [the palace] back, I could let him know. I said: I want it back. They held a conference, and said, okay, you have to give us lots of money! (...) Which I then consequently earned. So, even the house I'm supposed to have inherited has been earned back through money from films. You can't live off the past. At least we can't in our family, because there was nothing. There is history, culture, beautiful photographs; and, of course, some land. It has been a privileged upbringing. But there's been no inheritance.

You moved to a rented apartment in Bombay, is that how it worked?

I was born and even raised in Bombay. My father lived with my mother in her [Carmichael Road] flat; I went to Cathedral, spent time in Bombay Gym - in a world more influenced by my father's, than films. He had just finished playing cricket. His last Test series was when I was four/five. My mother [actor Sharmila Tagore] says he was bunking his responsibilities. His mother was looking after things in Bhopal and Pataudi. She'd got old. So we moved to Delhi to live with her. It was a nice, big old house in Delhi, which she had been given for her lifetime, in return for land, property and other kinds of deals that these old [royal] families had made with the Indian government.

That'd be 1971 [when privy purses were abolished], right?

1971, exactly. So, that's why we moved to Delhi. I had fun. That was the generation of designers like Rohit Bal, Rohit Khosla, Ashish Soni... These were the first people I came across, doing something off-beat, in terms of art, culture. Which might have planted a seed [within me] to go and act in films!

You did start off with an ad.

My father sent me to an ad agency to get a job, because I was partying a lot.

Where were you partying?

In Ghunghroo [discotheque at Delhi's Maurya Sheraton]. It was fantastic. My father put me on a bus to an ad agency in Sunder Nagar. One of my jobs was to make religious calendars for Birlas. The only creative [call] was whether we should put Lord Vishnu in October, or November. I soon lost interest!

And the Gwalior ad happened?

Which, again, had to do with my father. My parents were shooting a Gwalior ad together. Honestly the way my upbringing was, the kind of life I'd had, or lack of confidence - I wasn't a cinematic figure, in terms of being shot in photos. I was effeminate, coy, shy, unsure, worst qualities for a...

A leading man?

As an actor in Bombay, yes. But not bad for a western, academic school-boy. That was a different culture altogether. So some quick learning was required.

And then you moved to Bombay. Where did you first rent a place?

In Lokhandwala; a building called Red Rose One. It was a small flat with cane furniture. The producer's daughter had very kindly done it up for me. Until one night I came home with friends, and couldn't open the bedroom door. She had locked it. I think she had a plan. There was a big gap between the door and carpet. I peeped from under, and could see her lying like a whale on my bed. And I thought I'm not going in there. So we went out again!

You began your career pretty much by yourself, and it was, I hear, a disastrous start! Take us through it?

So I went to a really academic, school - the oldest in England - Winchester. The idea [of being there] was obvious. You go to Oxford [or a similar place] thereafter. That hadn't worked out. I was in the black books of my parents, what with Delhi, partying and Ghungroo. I was getting scared. Because there was nothing I was interested in. After the Gwalior ad, when [director] Aanand Mahendroo mentioned a film [to me], bells started ringing. The thought of moving to Bombay sounded so exciting. I remember having that shower in Delhi, in that old house, which had funny water [plumbing], it wouldn't work half the time, and I'd fiddle with it, too hot or too cold...

Saif, you're digressing.

Sorry. Chipkalis [lizards] on the ceiling. Okay, stop! I remember that shower and being excited about a kind of life I could see - coming to Bombay, struggling, little rented flat, films, meeting people, collaborating... It is the only job that, from 18, when I started considering it seriously, I've always been passionate about.

Were you not a movie buff?

Yeah, but a western, as an American, movie-buff. When I was young and my mother [Sharmila Tagore] was an actor, I'd see her crying on screen. It's not something I enjoyed. Hindi films in the '70s were also overtly emotional.

So, Aanand Mahendroo...

He offers me this movie, and comes to Ghungroo. I tell my friends, "Hey guys, this is my director..." He has a couple of vodkas. The same guys tell me, "Bro, your director friend is in the bathroom [throwing up]!" I should've realised we were in a bit of trouble. We came to Bombay. Sattee Shourie was our producer. Then somebody told me a story about an ambitious film she had made called Farishtay [1991] with Vinod Khanna. There were panthers chasing him in a shot in that film. She ran out of money during shoot. In the same scene, when he [Khanna] comes around the corner, there are no panthers. Because no money. So, she got some dogs, and painted them black. This is after she had been kidnapped by a cab-union driver!

That was your first producer!

Yes, she used to pay me Rs 1,000 a week. And I'd have to kiss her 10 times on the cheek. Anyway, she had a fight with the director, and I got saved. Because the film got shelved. Then, Rahul Rawail cast me in his film.

And that was a disaster too?

Kamal Sadanah was in the movie. So he [Rawail] threw out Kamal, and took me - for no fault of Kamal's. And then found out that I was worse, and threw me out. And took him!

Apparently you showed up drunk on set, slept off...

You've done your research. But no, that's not true. Nobody turns up drunk on set. I was just not subservient, sitting around all day. There could've been some attitude problem, which I myself wasn't seeing. I [probably] didn't understand how serious things are. You might come across as really cocky, because you think it's really funny, when it's not.

Did you make friends easily in Bombay though?

I did. Many of them are producers now. Some of them are in LA. I remember Dileep Singh Rathore [Hollywood production manager for Blood Diamond, The Dark Knight Rises] and I used to do acting classes together. And we'd get asked to take our shirts off; another guy would do push-ups with his shirt off. All the things [work-place sensitisation] happening lately is good. This crap's been going on forever. Luckily, we were like, no bro, we're not doing this.

And then you finally debuted with Yash Chopra.

It is personal and I don't want to dwell much on it - I also ran away from home, and got married at 20. And I've to give Amrita [Singh], my ex-wife, credit for being the only person who taught me to take it all [work/show-business] seriously. She said you can't hit the target while laughing at it. That's when Parampara happened. Yashji called to say he was looking for a fourth lead, or something. I was like, great; yeah, anything. I'll do it. It's like investment in stock - if Yash Chopra is taking him in Parampara, [the industry believes] let's invest in this. For me, it was as simple as, this has to work. There's nothing else. That focus was required. And taught to me, and I inculcated.

If we watch retro Lehren [video-magazine] interviews from back then, it seems like you, now, and that guy are two different people!

I sometimes find myself doing the same stuff. Maybe I haven't changed! But it's an age, and exposure thing. Your upbringing, the culture you're given, and the academic grounding that teaches you to be humble, understated... They come flooding back later. Not when you were trying to fit in - giving gaalis, drinking Bacardi, being one of the boys in the '90s; and then you question: Do I want to be known like that? Or should I be comfortable about how I express? It's true for people. I've read characters in plays that are rebellious, and then embrace everything they rebelled against.

I meant more in terms of the duality between who you were as a person, and what you did [in terms of movies] in the '90s.

For sure. Because you had to fit into a certain mould in the '90s. There wasn't that much room for experimentation. Aamir Khan said he'll do max five films a year, when others were doing 15! Shakti Kapoor said he felt insecure when he didn't have 17 films on floor!

You still had some hits to keep you going though.

This is an organic kind of an industry. Like crude oil, you distil off at different temperatures. So people find their own level. And you need a certain amount of success to survive. So Parampara, the great Yashji film, didn't work. It was his 'safe' film after Lamhe didn't run. Aamir, who did Parampara, got offered Darr. I was the fourth lead. And got offered Yeh Dillagi, a smaller film, with Akshay Kumar also in it. But my role was fun, music was great, so I scored something there.

As a person, did it occur to you that you're not exactly that 'Ole Ole' fellow [from Yeh Dillagi]?

In fact that merge [of sensibilities] is happening now. Which is a sign of some civilisation. Earlier, what you do for a living had nothing to do with what you are [as a person]. The minute we're on set, we are equal; and just part of this thing, and it doesn't matter what... (...) A lot of these films in that time, had great music. That kind of helped [us] survive. You could be an audio hero. I think, I kind of was - quite presentable doing a lot of songs. As for performance, even a big star said, what is acting? Just say your lines in a sincere fashion! Which is how it remained for the longest. There was also the 'Mr Bachchan' hangover.

Dil Chahta Hai [DCH], in that sense, is obviously Saif 2.0.

I would have to say it is people like [director] Farhan [Akhtar] and Aamir Khan, who were effecting change, and I benefitted. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do DCH. I was the third lead, while playing hero in multiple films. Aamir asked me about films I was hero in. I named them. He said this film [DCH] is about three times the size of all those put together - Can you get on the page, it is good cinema, you have to do it. (...) When LOC, or a two-hero film happened, I'd think of Bud Spencer and Terence Hill. In my head there's nothing wrong with it. I've always been happy to compete with the other guy as well. I'm like - you might be the biggest star; but I am going to give you a run for your money. The idea of a buddy-movie was also being liked at the point.

After DCH, there appears to have emerged a certain confidence. How many Bollywood stars have attempted an English film? You did Being Cyrus [2006].

Also, Kaalakaandi [2018]. With Being Cyrus, there was the question of the English sounding natural. American is the language of our English. [Director] Homi [Adajania] wanted me to sound a little Indian. We had to get it right. This is what's happening today - guys who basically speak Hindi are better actors. Language is the thing. (...) Well that was the time when things were coming together. I was at the right place, and also looking like the right guy - it was no longer that funny haircut. Films like Omkara and interesting stuff with Yash Raj were coming together.

And you were killing it with the dialect in Omkara. Tough?

Kind of. But despite perception and projection, I am not actually English, you know! I have grown up in Pataudi, which is in Haryana. I have heard that dialect all my life.

Saif 3.0: You turn producer with Love Aaj Kal. I'm told [director] Imtiaz Ali offered you Rockstar first. True?

Yes, that's right! Of all the ideas, Love Aaj Kal just sounded a bit more commercial, although not the way he wanted to make it. He had quite a grim ending in mind, where this flaky guy finally returns to find out that his girl is eight-months' pregnant. We had to plead with him, until when we were on set in London, he said alright, we can have a happy ending!

Which makes sense, because by then you were the quintessential rom-com leading man; Bollywood's own Hugh Grant, as it were.

Yeah [Hugh Grant], I've heard Karan Johar say that as well. Don't know where it came from. I remember Aditya Chopra telling me that he's got Shah Rukh Khan, who's the king of box-office. That there's this thing called the 'multiplex hero' coming up. And that he's trying to get a handle on it. And he thinks that I could be that multiplex hero, because I'm a little different. Cast correctly, I should hit that genre. So he started making Hum Tum, Salaam|Namaste.

Rom-coms seem to have died altogether. In Hollywood, it's all Marvel anyway. And here...

My wife [Kareena Kapoor] told me that that genre has changed into [films like] Badhaai Ho. Don't know if true. Think she means the lead character, trying to figure out life in New York etc., is passé. Also, confusion, being unsure, a bit of a mess, is the hallmark of the rom-com hero. Because there is no villain. Villain is your flaky self. Which, maybe, doesn't fit well, when you're supposedly more grown-up. Maybe she [Kareena] just doesn't want to see me like that!

Still with [producer] Saif 3.0, you did a zombie-comedy [Go Goa Gone] in Bollywood -spoof/subversion of a genre, while we hadn't had a proper zombie film!

It seemed like a good, entertaining idea. Frankly I don't think I'm a great producer. What I love might not be everybody's cup of tea. A great producer can tell: Okay, this is a joke, as in an amazing, four-line anecdote; not a film. Or this is a film. Or this is a short-story/book. He can sort out different mediums. Within films, he should also be able to tell at what budget that story should be made. Don't think I have that ability.

[Referring to Sriram Raghavan's] Agent Vinod, that you wanted to make?

I made a mistake. I thought Jack Bauer from 24; so why not an Indian Agent Vinod? Apart from a complicated script, we missed out on the character's 'Indianness'. This guy was looking bit too western - dinner-jacket, suaveness. He should've been wearing chashma, holding a ball-pen...

Did you decide to shelve the film during its making?

No, again, Dinesh Vijan was [co-]producing. He is good at balancing stuff. What had happened was that we were shooting at a heritage site - action-sequence, with machine guns and all. We needed to blow up stuff. So we said, okay, there are a couple of beautiful, medieval temple structures...

No!

Of course not! We built replicas 100 yards away. The people there went nuts, suggesting that we were blowing up the complex. They stopped our shoot. We had to reschedule, scrap what we were doing, etc. But we managed.

Curious to know, why did you name your company Illuminati? Anything to do with the conspiracy-theory about a society of elites that secretly rules the world?

No. There was something about illumination and light. There's also the fact about Illuminati being a group of people, including Isaac Newton etc, who questioned authority of Church and talked about importance of secular knowledge. But, ultimately, 'Illuminati' is to illuminate. And that is what a film projector does. Johnny Depp had a production company called Infinitum Nihil - 'nothing is impossible'. And I used to look up to him. Now he's been replaced by Tom Hardy.

Why did you and [your co-producer] Vijan part ways?

Because Dinesh Vijan is on his way to becoming a big film-producer. I wanted someone to run my production company. Which is fair. That's why people usually leave. I don't want to make films for 20 other people. I see myself as more of an actor.

In Cocktail, you did offer the lead role to other people.

We did. I only stepped into Cocktail, because Ranbir [Kapoor] and Imran [Khan] didn't want to do it. So I said, okay, I'll do it. They should remember that.

Stepping into Saif 4.0: Your entire career put together would be the polar opposite of the subdued Sartaj Singh from Sacred Games [on Netflix]. Conscious call?

It's got a lot to do with [director/show-runner] Vikram Motwane. On Day One, we were in Madh Island. Distance wise, this was painful for me, before the ferry, I realised... (...) I was doing an investigation scene. And he [Motwane] said, cut, and just told me to bring my energy levels down: "You're too hyper!" It was a different kind of communication from anything I had done before - the feeling of trusting the camera, and not showing what you feel. It was the first piece of film I had ever worked on with that thehraav.

You've been talking about unlearning, reading acting books etc, something you didn't do before.

But before that, a little bit of background. Which is about the way we were brought up in the movies. I don't know about Dilip Kumar Saab, and Amitabh Bachchan. But after the '60s and '70s, there was a creative slump, where the attitude with cool guys was: We don't talk about acting, work... Who learns lines? It was like how we used to laugh at nerdy kids in school. People used to wonder why Aamir is taking things seriously - there was just this whole attitude of 'unseriousness'. There was a glamour and starry vibe. It certainly wasn't about prepping for work, which has changed.

You were the first Bollywood star to green-light a web series. And you said no to Homeland, is that true?

Well, I was asked to read for Homeland, which I did, and then asked to come down to LA or New Zealand to read some more. I could have pursued it more aggressively. But I was busy here. I remember [daughter] Sara [Ali Khan] helping me a lot, people getting excited. But it wasn't a great part. It wasn't the main lead. The part went to an Etonian [Damien Lewis]. Now you can't have a Winchester boy playing [second fiddle to an Etonian]!

Would Sacred Games be the first time your school-friends watched your work?

Yes, good point. And they are quite academic, and say things like, it's really interesting that a Muslim guy plays Sardar, and in this kind of world, that's good contribution!

(Audience) Pacing of Sacred Games 2 came under question. What did you make of it?

I didn't like the second season as much as I liked the first, which was the newest and most interesting thing I had ever seen on TV, from any country. It was a mafia show with a disturbed cop. But it [Season 2] became a bit esoteric and slow, with the treatment of the guru with Gaitonde.

'I did not like Sacred Games Season 2,' reads like a headline!

But, you know, I didn't. We were in England. It was my birthday [when the season dropped]. Five of us had rented a country-cottage, including a South American book publisher friend of mine, who also speaks a bit of Hindi, loves different cultures. We opened a bottle of Champagne, got Netflix on...

That was your premiere.

Yes. We didn't even tell Kareena. And we sat. After a while I said, okay, I'll watch this on my own later. That didn't happen with Season 1. I shouldn't probably say this.

(Audience) In [Raghavan's] Ek Hasina Thi [EHT], you play the most believable f***boy. How did you pull it off?"

I was just happy to play something cooler, and darker. (...)

What happened in the second half of EHT, though. You think it went a little berserk?

It did. Sriram and I have gone berserk a couple of times [laughs]. And then he does Andhadhun [without me]! I don't mean to sell Sriram out, but he paints himself into a corner, and then tries to write himself out of it. Which is great. But might not always work, although the good stuff about EHT outweighed...

The first half was killer.

Yeah.

(Audience) You've often gravitated towards morally corrupt characters. Does that give you more room?

I'm just interested in those situations, more than glory of God. Hrithik, for example, suits a Ram-like character.

What role did you play in Hum Saath - Saath Hain?

Krishna - he's a naughty little version. Salman was Ram. I found it exhausting. One of the most tiring things is to be so happy and positive all the time. And Sooraj-ji [Barjatya] used to say, "Do it your way. But smile!"

How different is it to work with, say, Abbas-Mustan, from Sooraj Barjatya?It took me a while to figure out Abbas-Mustan. Mustan Bhai would give instructions. (...) Then there's Hussain Bhai, the third brother, who is unsung - one of the best editors. He probably contributed the most to films like Race. They'd start shoot at 10 am, wrap at 5 pm. Love these guys, easiest shoot ever.

They never shoot nights.

They just can't. Then Akshaye Khanna told me that I was behaving like a star with them. That I'm not hugging them enough. That I should hang out, and give them more love! I went to their room at Hilton, in South Africa. There was a white sheet on the floor they were sitting on, and having whiskey and peanuts. They asked me to join in. I sat there for a bit. At some point, they told me I don't have to do this [socialising], if I don't want to - just turn up on set, do my bit. That was great relief. We got along really well after. With Sooraj-ji, I just remember the sheer number of people coming to see him on set, touching his feet - from top heroine to struggling actresses.

Just to say hi on set?

In the most charming way! I remember Rekhaji coming to see him, and she's senior. That's power. And distributors would throw themselves at their feet on set, asking when's the film out, that there's a drought in theatres. They [Barjatyas] were the princes of the film industry. I remember Salman telling Sooraj-ji [about HSSH], "Do you think you'll give a hat-trick? It's quite rare." And I'm like, God, who talks to him like that! So, Abbas-Mustan and Rajshris are different sides of a coin.

Can't imagine Barjatyas on the floor, with booze and chakna.

Definitely, around the table, eating together. No, drinking, that's impossible!

Last question: You've been vocal about issues all along. But when the #MeToo movement happened, it seemed like you didn't say much, or anything; especially given that the head of the company managing you was accused.

But I said so much about #MeToo. Never heard? It's disgusting to make a workplace hostile. Whatever is happening is really good. I don't think there's any smoke without fire. But sometimes they [survivors] have to come forward. You have to. And we have to support these women. [At the same time] a guy's career can be destroyed, without any proof. So there are two things. You've got to be a little sure, before you destroy somebody, in any way. Also, whether it is a sign of our culture - we take down one or two juicy targets, that nobody really minds plucking out. Nobody touches the big boys! I don't know how civilised that is'.

SALMAN RUSHDIE: LA CADUTA DEI GOLDEN

[Archivio]

Nel 2017 era stato distribuito - anche in Italia per Arnoldo Mondadori Editore - il romanzo La Caduta dei Golden di Salman Rushdie. Il 2 agosto 2019 Open pubblicava una lunga intervista concessa due anni prima dallo scrittore ad Aatish Taseer. “That the world that you knew, and that in a way made you - that world vanishes. I don’t think I’m alone in that,” says Salman Rushdie:

'It is that way with Rushdie: there is the work, dazzling and copious, but there is also the life, which has run like ‘a purple thread’ through our times. Indian independence; the Partition; the Emergency; demagogues on both sides of the border, and the rise of every species of fanaticism: they are part of the work; but they are also, in an almost freakish way, part of his life. History - and the pressures of the past - is his great theme; but he is also a plaything of history. It has used him in its story; it has made him seem like a character out of a Salman Rushdie novel, the creation of an imagination no less outlandish than his own. Writers normally sit at an oblique angle to the flow of events, quietly recording their passage. Not Rushdie. He has been swept up in the current, held aloft by the tide. He is a symbol of our times, forced forever to look in on himself, as if at another, and there must be something utterly weird about being Salman Rushdie. (...) He is forever bleeding off the page, and events in the outside world are forever seeping into his fiction. The new book, The Golden House, is no different. (...) The house whose garden we are sitting in once belonged to Bob Dylan. It has, now for many years, belonged to our mutual friend the painter Francesco Clemente. He, along with his wife, Alba, are the dedicatees of Rushdie’s new novel. (...) 

What struck me most forcefully as I read your new book - what I found very moving - was a kind of euphoria about escaping the past, and what America could mean in this context. (...) Have you known a euphoria akin to this yourself?

Not exactly in that way. But, of course, if you change countries, there’s a part of yourself that you leave behind. And I mean, that’s happened to me twice in my life. (...) The question you ask yourself, when that happens to you twice, is: what exactly has been left behind? (...) You know there’s always loss, but hopefully there’s also gain. I have thought a lot about both those things. Clearly my life would have been something else, if at the age of 21, I hadn’t decided that I wanted to stay in England, and try to write. (...) My parents had recently - to my mind, mistakenly - moved to Karachi. And so, the family home in Bombay was not there anymore. I’ve always thought that if my parents had still been living in our house in Bombay that I would have gone back, and I would just have continued there. (...) I felt deeply rooted in Bombay, and as far as I was concerned going to school [in England] had been an unhappy experience, going to university had been a much happier experience... but I thought of myself as from there. And had they not done this strange thing of moving (...) I think I would have just gone back there, and seen what I could do. But given the choice between Karachi and London, I felt much more at home in London than in Pakistan, where I’d never lived. But that clearly was a big fork in the road. And, in a way, Midnight’s Children came out of that. Because after some time of living in the West, I became quite aware of this probability, or the possibility, of losing touch with where I come from, especially since my family was not living there anymore. And I didn’t like that feeling, so writing that book was in a way an effort at reclaiming that past. And it meant a lot to me that the book was so well received there. (...)

America was something else...?

Well, America was two things. It was first a youthful dream. I had come here as a kid. I came to America for the first time when I was maybe 25, 26 or something like that. And that was very different. New York of the 1970s, this area, was completely unlike what it is now, much more run down, and dirty... Anyway, I kind of fell in love with it, partly because it was very youthful. New York in those days, because it was so cheap, was around here full of young artists. So, you came here and you met young writers, young painters, young film makers, young musicians. I thought: this is kind of amazing. This is a city of young people trying to do creative work. And then I came over the years, and I came to know it much better, and made many friends here. So, I told myself: one of these days... I want to just go and put myself there, and see what happens. I think it might be good for me. And when I actually did, towards the turn of the century, sort of around 1999, early 2000, when I finally did it, I truthfully didn’t set myself any limits. I thought this could be a few months, or it could be the rest of my life. I’m just going to go and see. I didn’t initially buy a place here. I only rented a place. (...)

But also, on the abstract level of the idea of America... you kind of fell in love with that too, didn’t you? I mean, you believed it? It has a hold on you.

Ya. But I’ve always thought the thing that has a hold on me is cities more than countries. I mean, I feel much more attached to Bombay than to India. And, in the same way, I felt a sense of belonging in London... And here...

You say that, but unlike certain writers, who write in very small ways about cities, you inhale countries. You deal in the grand format...

But the point of view is from the city. The point of view of America that one has from this city is very different than if we were, you know, sitting in Dallas... And there’s plenty of America that I don’t feel I would be at all at home in. But here, I did feel at home, and very quickly. Very quickly. That was what was interesting to me. I wasn’t a stranger here. I knew a lot of people. So, it wasn’t a cold entry. But I did quite unusually find myself feeling comfortable, feeling at home here at a very high speed, in a few months, and I thought: Oh. And I stayed, and then it became clearer to me that I would stay.

You spoke earlier about an anxiety about losing touch when you were in England, what about the anxiety of a writer whose entire subject is history, who adores history... What was it like to be in a place like America that is almost willfully ahistorical?

But you see, my whole training was as a historian, and I’ve never lost that way of looking at the world. In your final year in Cambridge, in a history degree, you do three special subjects. It’s all you do. They offer you 75. And you just have to choose three, and that’s all you do. And the three that I chose have in their own way ended up being very significant in my life: One was Indian history from 1857-1947, that was one. The second was: Muhammad, and the rise of Islam, the early caliphate. The third was the United States, or America, from 1776-1877, the end of reconstruction. (...) So, I was really quite deeply interested in American history from then, and have remained so. (...) Having come from a very old country, and then to quite an old country, and then to arrive in a young country, it’s different. You know, a house in New York that’s two hundred years old is really old. Whereas in London, everybody lives in houses that are two hundred years old. So even on that level your relationship with the past is different. And this is a very unsentimental town about the past. It tears down the past all the time. Every day you drive somewhere and you see a missing block. And what is interesting is that people immediately forget what was there. It is an immediate erasure of the past. (...) I have also suffered from the same kind of amnesia. This city tears itself down, and immediately people forget what was there. (...)

There’s this feeling - and it runs right through this book, and the rest of your work as well - of release from the past, and then on the other side there’s this Cassandra-like voice of caution that keeps reminding people of the dangers of that loss. In Midnight’s Children, you talk about ‘the clouds of amnesia’. That forgetting is on the one hand a very troublesome thing, but it’s also a liberating thing...

Yes, as long as you know that it’s both. One of the things I tried to do in this book [The Golden House] - it’s related to your question about the ahistorical - is to do something, which is quite dangerous, which is to write up against the present moment. To write about the day before yesterday. It’s very dangerous, of course. Because you can be wrong, you can be very rapidly outdated. There are all kinds of elephant traps about doing that. It also seemed very exciting, and right about the kind of place I was writing about, just to try to engage with the absolute contemporary, and see if you could get some kind of handle on it, and capture it. I did it before, you know. One of the things that happened with Midnight’s Children was that the later parts of Midnight’s Children were being written as the events were taking place. I was writing about the Emergency while the Emergency was still happening. And I remember thinking that I didn’t want the book to end like that, but I thought I can’t end the Emergency in the novel if it hasn’t ended in the world. So, when Mrs Gandhi called that election, and lost it, I felt kind of grateful to her. She gave me the end of the book! She allowed me to allow the book not to end in that moment. But I was really writing right up against it, you know... and there’s actually a passage in Midnight’s Children, in which Salim talks about this question of approaching the present, he talks about it using the metaphor of a movie screen, that the closer you get to the screen, the images break up, and I was very aware that that was what I was doing. And I’m doing it again. (...)

I feel that if intellectually-speaking we were to talk about Trump, or the political situation, you would regard it with a certain amount of dismay; but artistically, you’ve dealt with demagogues all your life. (...) There is a kind of artistic excitement in dealing with Trump, isn’t there?

I mean, you know, monsters are interesting... [chuckles under his breath, then aloud.] There are all kinds of awful things one can say, for example, the arc of history that goes from Obama to the election of Trump is actually quite pleasing: to go from a moment of complete hope and optimism to its absolute negation. That’s actually satisfying. I mean, I kind of guessed right; but I always also knew that if the other thing had happened [that is, had Hillary got elected], which would have been much more preferable to all of us, I would have had to shift the ending of the book around, and maybe it would have been less aesthetically pleasing... Somehow the thing that is very good for the book is very bad for us.

He likes you, doesn’t he? Trump?

No. I don’t know. He likes himself. But I’ve met him a couple of times. And he was very friendly. Terrifyingly. [Guffawing, and general laughter] (...) The most obvious demonstration of his affection was that - it was right about this time of year, when it was coming up to the US Tennis Open - and in that way that we’ve all become slightly too familiar with, he said, you know, that he had the best box - that his box was better than all the boxes. [more laughter]. And that if I - you know - wanted, I would be welcome to use his box at the US Open whenever I wanted...

Did you?

No, of course I didn’t! I immediately thought this would be like a career-ending move. (...) I’ve met him in passing two or three times, but I’ve never had a real conversation with him.

Well, we have this little background of history, and the past. So, when you see somebody like that [Trump], does he represent to you a politicised nostalgia for the past? Or is he quite an ahistorical creature? Where does he stand in relation to this idea of history?

Well, one of the things (...) I thought when I was writing Shame, which I thought again when I thought about Trump etc, was that sometimes you have very big historical events, which you can even describe as being tragic, but that the people are not of tragic stature, you know. (...)

It seemed to you like a Shakespearean play with...

With clowns! And I remember thinking that about Zia and Bhutto and all that. What would happen if you would perform King Lear, with everybody in it, like, circus outfits. It would still be King Lear, but it would acquire some horrible black farcical quality. And that’s sort of what I think about this. And that’s why in a novel [The Golden House] which is otherwise completely realistic, I introduce this idea of comic-book figures to represent these powerful combatants. I mean, just to put it simply: the Trump and the Joker are both unusual playing cards. [laughter]. So, I thought: well if not this one, then that one. Many people have talked about Trump coming from a reality show background, and about the country being debased into a kind of reality show mentality, and I think there’s a lot of truth in that. But I also think - in the way cartoons, whether Marvel or DC, have taken over the movies, things like that - I thought, in a way: here we are, three-dimensional, flesh and blood, realistic people, being ruled by cartoons. (...) 

With that Burmese diplomat in the novel there’s this moment when he says, ‘I’m never going home,’ there’s a point when you recognize that the journey stops here. Are you at that point?

Yes, yes I am. In the previous novel, there’s this moment, when my gardener, you know, who’s in love with his Djinn princess, where she tries to re-create him for the fantasy of the past, she sort of brings him back into old Bandra, and it upsets him. He says, ‘Stop it. I don’t want this.’ That realization that the sense in which you can’t go home again is: that it’s not there to go home to. That the thing that felt like home to you has changed so much that going back there doesn’t give you that feeling. And I think... Bombay, there’s still little bits of what is now called South Bombay, where I grew up. Many of those little bits are still there, and they still have a kind of evocative nostalgic force, but they don’t have more than a nostalgic force. They don’t have the sense of telling me that this is where I belong. They just don’t anymore.

There’s this moment in the novel where a character says to Nero [the main protagonist], ‘The city of my dreams is long gone. You yourself have built over it and around it and crushed the old under the new. In Bombay of your dreams everything was love and peace and secular thinking and no communalism, Hindu-Muslim bhaibhai... Such bullshit... Men are men and their gods and these things don’t change and the hostility between their tribes also is always there.’ And then there is this chilling bit: ‘Just a question of what’s on the surface and how far beneath is the hate.’ Well, the hate has come right to the surface...

Well, yes. That’s a global phenomenon. The rise of hate to the surface.

But wait, let’s stay with India...

Yes. I mean, it’s shocking to me... but you can be shocked, and not surprised. I don’t think it’s surprising. The way in which for many years - since the Emergency - politicians of all parties have used communal language in order to play this strange vote bank politics. They let that demon out of the bottle, and it doesn’t go back in.

Is Modi an embodiment of that demon?

No. Not only him. I think, everybody. The thing that is more alarming than Modi is the popularity of Modi. The fact that he is very, very popular. And that means that it ain’t just him. (...) The point is that there’s craziness bursting out all over. (...) All these countries that I’ve been so deeply connected with - the post-Brexit Britain, the post-Modi India, and the post 2016 election America - it’s all a question of what’s the matter with us. It’s too easy to put it all on the shoulders of one person.

But in Britain and America, there’s a difference. The two sides have held. The pendulum could swing again. India has been completely remade, don’t you think?

Yes, I think that’s true. It’s partly to do of course with the absolute Anschluss of the Congress party, the way there isn’t an opposition, which gives the government a very free hand, and yes: they’re embarking on a project of remodeling the nation, starting with text books... I haven’t been there, so I’m a little reluctant to say too much. Because the last time I was there was before the Modi election. Four years I haven’t been there. And that’s been a conscious choice, because I had a really horrible time the last time I was there.

How so?

I got surrounded by so much security that it became almost impossible for me to move. And, you know, if you’re in Bombay and you have a hundred men with machine guns going everywhere you go, you can’t say to your friends, ‘let’s meet for a coffee,’ and such and such, because you’re arriving with all that. It became almost like house arrest. I mean, in a hotel suite... But it was very, very difficult to deal with. Because you know I’ve had periods in my life when I’ve had to succumb to some of that, and for a long time now I’ve not had to, and having got out of that trap, the idea of putting yourself back into the trap is anathema. There was a strange moment. I was supposed to go to Calcutta to talk about the film [Midnight’s Children] there, and then I was informed that the government in Calcutta had instructed the police to refuse to allow me to enter. And I was told that if I landed in Calcutta, I would be put on the next plane out. I thought: apart from anything else, it’s incredibly insulting. And I thought, I don’t need to be treated like this.

We’ve been talking history. What do you think is the deeper historical urge that is expressing itself in India right now?

Well, it’s just that idea that the Hindutva people talk about all the time. Which is that in some way the Muslim arrival in India, and the many centuries of Muslim rule, and therefore, the spread of Muslim (rather than Islamic) culture, whether artistic, or architectural, or poetic, whatever - that, that is all somehow to be rejected. Because it was in some way inauthentic, and damaging of the - quote-unquote - ‘real India.’ And that the real India, which is Hindu India, must assert itself, and erase all that. Can any good come from that? Because when I go there, and I see young people who are very proud, I find myself very susceptible - not necessarily to their politics - but to their feeling of hopefulness... This is why I’m reluctant to say too much, because I haven’t been there. And so, I don’t know the answer. But what I do see has been unleashed is a kind of brute force, which is very worrying. And again, there are echoes everywhere. Like here, there are certain kinds of attacks that the President doesn’t condemn. (...)

Have you worried about your place as a writer in America, [or for America], even just how to write about America? Do you worry that America might not know what to do with someone like you?

No, no. I’m too long in the tooth. At this point, I just say what the hell I think, and people can make of it what they like. There are people who seem to willfully misunderstand what I think. I can remember, to name only one person, very unpleasant personal attacks on me from Pankaj Mishra, for example, to my mind completely misrepresenting my politics, and my way of thinking about the world. But that’s ok. I can argue back. But on the whole...

Well, since you brought him up, is there a certain kind of Left that is guilty of the things that it’s being accused of? There’s very nice discussion of transgendered identity in this book, and of identity in general, and the question of whether identity is a choice at all; or rather, as you say, a discovery...

Well, first of all, the question of identity is at the centre of the book. But what we mean when we talk about that is different. Here, the identity question is most often expressed in terms of gender identity, and of sexual politics. Whereas in India, for instance, it is much more in terms of religious identity, and communal politics. So, identity shifts. In England, the identity question had much more to do with whether England wanted to be part of Europe. So, the subject of identity is very heated these days, but the location of it varies in different places. I’m kind of amazed that there isn’t a Museum of Identity that I made up in the book. And I suspect there will be...

Are there excesses of the Left that worry you...

Yes. I think those Left-Right terms are beginning to matter less to me; but I do think it is easier to see the excesses of the Right because they are so in your face. (...) But I’m not impressed by the unwillingness of the Left to call things by their true names. And this idea, which started with Obama here, of trying to somehow... for example, trying to separate the words Islam and terrorism, as if the people performing the terrorist attacks could not, ipso facto, be Muslims. That seemed to me like nonsense. Someone who shouts Allah Hu Akbar before he blows himself up, and somebody who says that everything he does is done in the name of Islam - why should we not take that seriously? Now quite clearly it’s an idea of Islam that many Muslims might reject, you know, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a kind of Islam. And to say that it must be considered to be Not-Islam in order to maintain the idea that Islam is a good thing, it just seems disingenuous. I know that one of the things that happened with me in India was that there were many people on the Left who were unwilling to be supportive of me...

Because you had offended Muslims?

Because I had offended Muslims. And I think that’s still the case. And, actually, when you look at the world - just casting one’s eye out - yes there are moderate Muslims, but really the story is of the unraveling of that old Islam, the Islam you grew up with. The terrorists might be a tiny exception, but the change in the religion... is very real. It’s very real, and it’s partly fueled by enormous amounts of money for schools and priests, mullahs, to come and propagate this new Arabized, Salafi-Wahabi Islam.

So, here’s a question: do you feel that what we’re seeing in these countries - in the West, certainly in India - do you feel it’s a reaction to what happened to Islam? (...)

There is some of that. I think certainly some of what elected Trump has to do with fear (...) which he expertly manipulated. I think again in the Brexit vote there was a fear, but oddly it was a different fear. I mean, one of the things that has been unleashed in Britain is a hostility towards people with brown skins. Actually, they were more afraid of Polish immigrants than Muslim ones. But there was certainly xenophobia, and there’s certainly xenophobia here, and here there is also always the continuing story of racism towards African-Americans, and I think all of that elected Trump. There was just a whole bunch of Americans who could not stand it that for eight years there was a black man in the White House. (...)

There’s almost a feeling of emasculation related to exile. At one point in the book it is said, ‘maybe a woman’s life gains its meaning through such metamorphoses... but for a man it is the opposite... The abandonment of the past makes a man meaningless... An exile is a hollow man trying to fill up with manhood once again... Such men are easy prey.’ Do you feel like you are easy prey? Has exile made you vulnerable to women?

No, because I don’t feel like an exile. There’s a difference between a migrant and an exile. (...) The bits of the world I can’t go to, I don’t care about. The bits of the world I do feel connected to, I can go to. As I say, there’s a kind of problem that arose in India because of security, but that’s a solvable problem. And I’m in the process of talking to people to solve it. No, it’s not that kind of exile; it’s not a physical exile. I remember reading.... I don’t know if this is true, or not, because this was only one news article... that the Indian Academy had refused to allow any of my work to be on the syllabus because apparently I was insufficiently Indian. That feels offensive, that feels more like being excluded from something...

But what about just the fact of your carrying around the broken pieces of different societies that don’t exist anymore. (...)

That’s quite true, that’s quite true. But I think that happens to many people if you have a longish life. That the world that you knew, and that in a way made you - that world vanishes. I don’t think I’m alone in that. I think previous generations probably had that feeling too.

Yes, but there are people who have also known a feeling of wholeness...

I’ve always envied writers who have remained deeply rooted in one place all their lives, and just written from that knowledge. Like Faulkner. You live in this tiny corner of the world, and it’s enough. You can make a lifetime of art out of your deep knowledge of that little place. I’ve always thought that would be nice. But that hasn’t been what happened to me. And so, you have to use what your life gives you. And yes, I do feel that the India I grew up in - and loved - is vanishing at high speed. That the England that I thought I knew turns out to be a different place. One of the things that all of the people who were on the other side of the Brexit campaign have to recognize is that the country isn’t what we thought it was. And all this little England nostalgia behind Brexit - it’s the same as Make America Great Again - comes out of that same nostalgia for a non-existent past. When was it that America was great? (...)

You’re seventy this year. In the years that you’ve been alive, we have seen the phenomena of the rise of America, of a country on the up. Do you feel that the years you have left in America will be a time of pessimism and decline?

This is a time of pessimism and decline; but, beneath that, there is another thing happening. Which also partly explains the Trump phenomenon: which is that the country is changing very dramatically. That White Americans are like a minority, and that Hispanic and other Americans are rapidly becoming a majority. And also, where the social attitudes of the next generation are much more progressive.

So, it’s just a question of waiting for some old white people to die. Really?

Really, it is that. It’s that Gramsci thing: the old refuses to die so the new cannot be born. It feels like a transition moment. There’s old White America clinging on for dear life...

So, this seems to you much more like a last gasp, a death rattle...

I hope so. I hope so. Yes, it does feel like that... because it’s so crazy. The things being clung on to are so before-the-flood, sort of ancient idea... and one of the things that are puzzling about this country is that in the last few years, whenever there have been national surveys about the social attitudes of Americans, progressive attitudes have a very large majority. So, if you ask most Americans what they think about gay rights, or climate change, or gun laws, or immigration reform, on all these issues there are very large progressive majorities. The one exception is abortion, which is fifty-fifty. But, apart from birth control, there are progressive majorities on most social issues, and yet this country just elected the most regressive government that there’s been in a century. And that’s partly because nobody goes to vote.

Now you say that you love cities, but when you venture out of New York, do you feel that Nabokovian love for the great bosom of America...

In a way, yes I do. One of the things I’ve been thinking since I finished this book. You know you’re always thinking: what next? The truth is I don’t know what next, but I do know that I want to get out of the bubble. And, you know, if New York is this rather unusual place in America; I mean, I love it, but it’s unusual, then I think maybe, you know, I have to get on the road. (...) Sometimes you have to go and find the story. (...)

Now, we’ve talked about the past; we’ve talked about India and America; we’ve talked about Trump, I want now to talk about women and love... (...) 

It is difficult being physically separated from my family. Not just both my sons, but my sister, and her daughters. That’s not easy, but it’s easier now that the boys are older. Because when Milan was little I felt the need to zoom back and forth a lot. Now they can do the zooming back and forth. They like the idea of having a place to stay in New York City. It kind of works out, but it’s difficult. But there we are! It’s just the way things are. As far as the rest of it is concerned, ya, everybody wants love. And I’ve been lucky and unlucky, and no doubt the next thing will let me know which one I am.

Is it different with age? Does that stuff make a difference? Or do you feel exactly as you did when you were 45?

Well, I feel the same, but it’s quite clear to me that what people see is not the same. [Laughter] So it is different, ya. But you have to play the cards you’re dealt. And it’s alright. I’m not unhappy. I have a good life. [Pause] Don’t ask me to tell you more because I’m not going to tell you. Not on the record, anyway...[Laughter]'.