Manu Joseph and I have some things in common. We like to call the city we grew up in Madras. We studied literature in overrated arts colleges, among people he aptly labels disabled or destined for the clergy. And neither of us pretends we don’t think he’s a wonderful writer. We meet at the Madras Club, as he’s touring the country on what he calls “the performing monkey routine after the book is released, where I go from place to place, doing readings and launches.” Amid the cawin