An original city of letters: The Way We Were by Poonam Saxena

The proliferation of litfests really began with the founding of the Jaipur Literature Festival (JLF) in 2006, and in most people’s minds, that’s when the phenomenon of writer-as-celebrity in India truly emerged.

But long before this, in the Allahabad of the 1950s, Hindi writers enjoyed staggering levels of popularity among devoted readers.

In his engaging memoir, Jo Maine Jiya, published in 1992, gifted short-story writer, novelist and scriptwriter Kamleshwar (1932-2007) offers a tender, wistful and humorous homage to the city that was the beating heart of Hindi literature at the time. A veritable galaxy of famous writers became its most cherished inhabitants, many of them at the zenith of their creativity, others just coming into their own.

Kamleshwar writes of how legions of readers, as well as aspiring authors and poets, would travel to the city in buses and trains, carrying little diaries in which they’d noted the addresses of their favourite writers. Some also carried with them two-line letters that a few kind writers had scribbled to them in response to letters of their own.

These aspirants would wander through the city’s lanes, looking for certain writers’ homes. To name just a few of the literary stars who lived in Allahabad then, there was Upendranath Ashk in Khusro Bagh, Dharamvir Bharati in Attarsuiya, Suryakant Tripathi Nirala in Daraganj, Mahadevi Verma in Rasulabad, Agyeya and Sripat Rai in Civil Lines, Dushyant Kumar at Kanpur Road, Kamleshwar in Badshahi Mandi, Firaq Gorakhpuri and Harivansh Rai Bachchan near the university, Sumitranandan Pant in Elgin Road.

Local newspaper hawkers and postmen knew the writers’ homes and would direct the wide-eyed visitors. The latter would knock on doors and rattle latches in the hope of getting a darshan, stories they would no doubt dine out on for years after.

Many Allahabad writers belonged to different literary camps and engaged in fierce clashes by day, drawing blood with their unsheathed pens, but as the sun set, the blades would slide back into their covers and the warriors would return to the one camp that belonged to them all: the coffee house.

A popular old coffee house was near Palace Cinema, and resounded with the sound of animated discussion and uninhibited laughter. As the evening wore on, a second wave of writers — those with jobs — would arrive. They paid for everyone’s coffee. Most of the others made a precarious living and were often broke.

Along with the resident luminaries, there was no dearth of visiting writers, poets and critics — Rahul Sankrityayan, Hazari Prasad Dwivedi, Ramdhari Singh Dinkar, Yashpal, Bhagwati Charan Verma, Amritlal Nagar and more.

Once, the great Krishna Sobti came to the city. A rickshawalla knocked on Kamleshwar’s door. His rickshaw was parked in the street below, with colourful gas balloons tied to it. He handed Kamleshwar a one-line note in Sobti’s beautiful handwriting: “Kamleshwar dear, how are you?” This was Sobti’s way of greeting him, and letting him know that she was in the city.

Kamleshwar had two very close friends in Allahabad, the poet Dushyant Kumar and the short-story writer and novelist Markandeya; all three were from different parts of Uttar Pradesh. They were inseparable, like family to one another. Kamleshwar writes in his memoir that his elder brother, Manna Dada, was everyone’s older brother. The three writers’ mothers were everyone’s mothers. Kumar’s mother knew that Kamleshwar loved ghee and sent some from the village, from time to time, especially for him. Markandeya’s mother would grind sattu and send it for them all.

When Markandeya’s first short-story collection, Paan-Phool, came out in 1954, the trio decided to celebrate by “drinking”, something they’d never done before. With great trepidation they set off for a bar, and lurked around it for a while before Kumar gathered up the courage to drag them all in. When the bearer arrived, he bravely ordered “teen peg beer”, much to the man’s amusement.

One bottle each made them tipsy. Stumbling and lurching, they reached Company Bagh, where they splashed water on their faces and heads. But the nasha didn’t go, says Kamleshwar.

The intoxication of that time in Allahabad would eventually wear off. Personal matters began coming in the way. Kamleshwar fell out with Markandeya over one such matter. Many writers, including Kamleshwar, left the city. Quite a few ended up in Delhi. Some went to Bombay. Only the memories remained, of a lustrous time in Allahabad’s history when the city attracted passionate literature lovers in droves because of its unparalleled literary talent and energy.