The story thus far...

Seasoned author Joginder Paul shares the crests and troughs of Urdu in Delhi, the city of immigrants

It is difficult not to like Joginder Paul, the silver-haired 85-year-old author, much hailed and translated. Measured words, generous smiles, one moment he comes across as a family patriarch on a relaxed late summer afternoon: a cotton kurta on his body, a cigarette placed between his fingers and a mop of hair that constantly demands attention. Next moment he is a scholar whose every sentence comes cloaked with words of wisdom. Sitting in his unpretentious study in South Delhi, Paul has a black-and-white painting of Ghalib on his right, and Saadat Hasan Manto peers from a calendar just behind him even as Krishna keeps a silent watch. There is Kabir too, another painting reminding us of the varied hues of the gentleman's tastes. This Sunday, he heads to Aurangabad, where 500 of his admirers and former students (Paul was college principal for over a decade there) gather to felicitate him on Gratitude Day.

Predictably enough he is on the ball from the first sentence. “I am a Punjabi who speaks Punjabi at home. I read and taught English in college for a living, and write in Urdu.” Paul, clearly, has the talent for making anomalies sound not just normal but also desirable. Pratibha India has just reproduced a story he wrote in the 1970s, but Paul is in no mood to wallow in nostalgia. “Nostalgia is natural at my age, but I don't bank upon the past. Nostalgia makes you feel old. Courage to play the fool makes me feel young.”

Full report here Hindu