No-frills Narayan

years ago, i saw myself as an aspiring author. and it was in that avatar that i once spent a morning with r k narayan. i had always pictured him as one of the characters from his malgudi tales, but in real life he reminded me of yoda, luke skywalker's infinitely wise, infinitely gentle mentor in star wars, albeit in an oversized, starched, white bush-shirt.in my best paris review style i tried to interrogate him about his writing. how did the creative process work for him? where did he get ideas for his characters, his stories? "oh, just by looking at life around me", he replied simply. he took me to the window and pointed, "look what's happening out there, for instance. see? that is a short story in the making. that watchman, that driver, the argument they're having. you could sit down here and write a story about them in half an hour". he made it all sound so easy. did he have any special rituals, i asked? anything he used to get the creative juices flowing? "no, no", he chuckled, "i can write anywhere, any time. in fact, i think i do some of my best writing in airport departure lounges. there's so much happening around you - the noise, the people, the children running around. it's wonderful". no rituals at all? i persisted. no "little red wagon", so to speak? no old, favourite typewriter? no desk-facing-north? "no, i say", he said, "i'm a very boring fellow. nothing colourful like that at all". the following sunday i tried to borrow his technique. i placed my desk near the window, and looked out. there was a mochi's shop down below, and i tried to write a story about it. but a couple of hours later i had nothing but a bit of second-rate prose and lots of first-rate doodles. for about a month i persisted, and then gave up. no, i might not have learned anything from r k narayan, but i was lucky enough to get a rare, precious insight into the kind of man he was. it happened like this: as i was leaving his hotel room, i pulled out the copy of bachelor of arts i had specially picked up from a bookshop that morning and asked him to sign it for me. he took the book and casually turned it around. "two hundred rupees!" he said indignantly, spotting the price on the back, "you paid two hundred rupees for this book? why do you waste your money like this, i say? you can get the same thing in the indian edition for just eighty rupees. what a waste". he clucked disapprovingly as he signed my book. i often remember that incident in today's world of high-pressure literary marketing, authors-as-businessmen and wine-and-cheese book launches; r k narayan shaking his head indignantly and saying, "two hundred rupees? why do you waste your money like this, i say?"