Why Authors and Writers turn out to be the Deadpan Fashionista?

Whats in appearance when the mind can do the talking?

Well, this largely holds true for most of the writers and authors who hardly indulge in the ‘Sauvé’, ‘savoury’ or the ‘savoir faire’ of the moral scabbards. Fashion does not come easily to them. The tendentious Shashi Tharoor is one author whose ‘swag’ is the bonhomie of abundant knowledge minced with a ratatouille of words rather than the indigenous ‘Kurta-Pyjama’—pardonably exempted from the taffeta of colours he wears. Clad in a filtered green crisp kurta eclipsed partially by a black jacket, hair neatly brushed more to one side; the ‘man of pleonasm’ or the ‘word-sorcery magician’ is a revered speaker at the Jaipur Literature Festival 2023.

I think, a torment I often give to my brain—what if Tharoor arrived in a foppish designer clad ‘kurta’ or a finely tailored cleavage suit with a miniature of his name embossed all over the fabric?—maybe inspired from the Modi’s designer wear during his republic day treats.

But, is Tharoor really bothered about how fastidious his dressing should be? Or for that matter the celebrated authors and writers whose not so fancy clothing is a desideratum and presumably a demure to the dishabille.  So, what is it that makes them so hard-pressed from being what they are?

  • Is it a de rigueur for knowledge to be closely withheld in the tiny nerve impulses that the propensity to acknowledge other flavours is a piffle-paffle?

Or, perhaps a passerine of chemicals that elude you to be the ‘wannabe’ of the highly dilettante society!What about the silent deprecation of the ‘disinterested’ in matters of intellectual pedigree?

Here, the intention is not to be censorious of the draping nomenclature among the authors but a vast temptation to understand their mind that reflects on realities as paradoxes, considers ‘perception’ to be a process rather than a conclusion. It is also to extrapolate the mind that is not averse to non sequitur, as deviations are necessary to penetrate more into the ontology. 


During one of the book-signing events for her latest book ‘Independence’, Chitra Banerjee made a mesmerizing entry; readers awestruck by her pleasant demeanour and the ‘you just click’ persona. I looked at her, screening from top to bottom as if a sycophant would admire its own gullibility. She was clad in a simple ‘Salwar-Kameez’ and carried a sling bag that only tucked in an air of necessity leaving behind the luxuries of ‘Gucci’ and ‘Prada’. Glamour eluded the novelist of five best-sellers and the event too was not a pantomime of frantic ‘hand-waves’ and ‘watermelon kisses’. She carried a mind in sanguinity with her comfort and definitely a palimpsest of ideas curated to re-establish the forlorn ‘women identity’.

The process to be earthen and not be ingratiated by the ‘glam and glint’ is not a choice. Isn’t it a revulsion of the mind to give knowledge a credence over the piquant prolificacy and pullulative penchants?

The extravagance of the mind in disinterring the Palaeolithic relics of history, advancing as an incumbent to reason the lost and lame and then create an interpretivist molecule to give substance of reason to the nuclei of progeny is an engagement with life in itself. Where is the time to adorn oneself in the carnivalesque of the pomp and pageantry when the mind is embellished with the jewel of knowledge?

It’s always peculiar to see these artistic word progenitors roaming callously on streets undeterred from the eyes watching them vaguely from far. Nobody cares to fonder them but they still travel the populated roads enraptured by just a vague thought that could one day be a perception and gradually become someone’s reality encapsulated in their ‘revealed book.’

Even with their simple sleigh of walk, the beauty of the mind cannot be missed!

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