At large in Kala Ghoda

SPEAKING VOLUMES

As I walk into the David Sassoon Library, I bump into someone I'd met just last week at the Jaipur Literary Festival. "How's it going?" I ask. "Great," she says, "but I'm all festivalled out."

With two literary festivals in quick succession, followed by the Delhi Book Fair, I know the feeling. But within an hour of hanging around the gardens at Bombay's Kala Ghoda festival, I'm glad I came. This festival is as different from the giant circus of Jaipur as you could get, and in many ways, attending both festivals points up the virtues of each one.

If Jaipur is India's Hay-on-Wye, with the draw being a blend of Indian writers and some of the best of the West, Kala Ghoda is proud of its local roots. The gardens at the Sassoon Library make for a small, intimate setting, with the audience fluctuating from about 40 to about 120. Writers are often joined on stage by the three kittens who seem to belong to the library; and Bombay's own literary luminaries, from Adil Jussawalla to Altaf Tyrewalla, can be spotted in the audience. The feel is quiet and intimate, and novice poets and writers are welcomed with as much warmth as the Kiran Nagarkars and Paul Therouxes.

Kala Ghoda has a split focus, with workshops and panel discussions balanced by readings and one-on-one sessions with authors. I missed the panel on Partition Narratives, but it's discussed in so much detail that at the end of the day, I felt as though I was present. That's a Kala Ghoda specialty, it turns out, the way conversations tend to continue long after the official discussion is over. Other sessions showcase young and sometimes unpublished writers; one of the highlights is watching musician and poet Anand Thakore in discussion with poet Dilip Chitre. Sometimes it takes one writer to get to the heart of another writer's work.

And one of the surprises is the Open Mike session, where anyone with a poem gets his or her two minutes of fame. It drew very few takers on the first day ""but by the third, people are queuing up for their turn. It's wonderful to see a poet like Jane Bhandari or an activist like Sathyu Sarangi step up alongside less seasoned writers "" that's exactly how an Open Mike should work, as an open space for all.

R Sriram, the moving force behind the Crossword Awards, has been helping to organise the Kala Ghoda literary festival, pulling in participants despite the constraints of a slender budget. I ask him whether he wants to go the Jaipur literary superstar route, and he says, not really. He sees Kala Ghoda as a literary festival whose strength lies in keeping the spotlight on local writers. It's an attitude reflected in the sessions, which discuss everything from the history of Bombay's Samovar Cafe to religious harmony/ intolerance in Bollywood cinema "" while still saving space for debates on the Bhopal gas tragedy and women's writing.

If you step out of the Sassoon Library, you're back in the excitement of the main festival itself; I sample the bhelpuri and the funky sculptures (an old car dressed in fur, a giant boot festooned with dozens of tiny ceramic shoes), wander into the Jehangir Art Gallery, wish I had time to attend some of the music sessions. And I think, we need both festivals.

Like many literature lovers, I've criticised aspects of the Jaipur festival, but its USP remains strong: it provides a platform where the best and newest of Indian writing can share a platform with some of the world's most interesting authors and thinkers. It's only in its third year, and it has room to evolve. Kala Ghoda, conversely, illustrates how welcoming "" and necessary "" a local festival can be.

On my second day at Kala Ghoda, I watch a young couple stop outside the Sassoon Library. They want to come in, but they're nervous: "This is about writing? Can we also come?" the woman asks a young writer who's walking in. "Of course you can," he says. "Everyone's welcome." They're still uncertain, whispering to each other. "Let's go for ten minutes," the man ventures, "If we don't like it, we can leave." Three hours later, I look up from the stage. They're still there.

I like this festival. Did I mention that?

nilanjanasroy@gmail.com

The author is chief editor, Westland/ Tranquebar. The views expressed here are personal