If something itches, I
scratch. It was the same whenever someone asked me to write about Leela Naidu.
I’d grunt or shrug; or promise to, and do nothing. Sometimes I even said I’d
forgotten how to write. After she died I thought I’d be left alone. But the
petitions continued. Until, recently, a dear friend and excellent hostess in
Bangalore, having handed me a after-dinner whisky, threatened to lock me up in
a room and not let go unless I produced a draft!
Gradually, this chor
is a self-taught writer and an arts and antiques dealer, specialising in old maps, photographs and prints. He is based in Bangalore.
