When I read yesterday that the great Indian playback singer Kumar Sanu confessed that he was feeling hurt on not winning his country’s national award, the Padma Bhushan, I was initially taken aback by the news knowing that he has won everything else in the musical arena that Bollywood has to offer and that national awards are often bestowed upon individuals not for artistic excellence (as in his case) but for one’s ingratiating genius to kiss boots and butts of those who have the power to determine who qualifies for what.
Further down in that article, I read of the great female playback singer of this era, Alka Yagnik being ignored when even awards of lesser prestige like the Padma Shri are given out and realise that the pick-a-pan culture of Sham Mohammed must be the factor in this inexplicable oversight aka discrimination.
The way I see it, Alka is the voice that more than succeeded Lata’s in much the same way Sachin in cricket overtook Gavaskar. Acceptance of the newcomer is often an insurmountable leap in the dark for lots of people, so while Alka sounds even as good if not better than Lata, to say that might be sacrilegious enough to qualify one to be burnt at the stake.
Libraries have often attracted me so wherever I come across them I am tempted to pay them a courtesy call knowing that that they are the repository of knowledge and just to walk pass by them is akin to a biblical sin. When, therefore, someone texted me with the news that the Mayaro Library might be renamed after writer Michael Anthony, I thought how appropriate; that for once, Anthony not being here to kiss boots and butts, was duly being recognised.
What kind of startled me in that text was the presumption that the Princes Town library where I spent countless hours over the years should be renamed after L. Siddhartha Orie. Wow! In the big picture, although I have 17 books to my credit as a writer, I still see myself as a pipsqueak (not as a writer per se – because I know how close to transcendence I have reached in the field) but because boot-licking and butt kissing are not among my forte, because I am not afraid to expose my fangs to those on either side of the fence, I am what Trinis call Bad news in some quarters.
I have, however, honoured myself 17 times via my books and every time another one came out I had cause to celebrate knowing that while I could complete a book of accepted international size and quality in weeks, I know there are so-called real writers taking years to do so. And because I am narcissistic as I have said, I say unto me, honour thy self, L. Siddhartha Orie, knowing that even those close to me are not going to do it let alone those who fear that by doing so might diminish themselves even more than they are already in the nihilistic world.
Finally, unlike Kumar Sanu, I am prepared to just glory in my work. The artistes of the world create their own immortality and it is almost obscene for some lesser mortal to think that by granting you recognition only then you have made it. My books are in bookstores (Amazon, Barnes and Nobles), libraries, homes across the globe and so is the name:
L. Siddhartha Orie.
