Author Amitav Ghosh on poppy fields, shifting mountains and eco-anxiety

A prolific writer, Ghosh talks to Chintan Girish Modi about ec0-anxiety, his passion for cooking, and Waheeda Rehman

I meet author Amitav Ghosh, 67, for a delicious lunch opposite the picturesque Bandstand Promenade in Bandra just a day after the Mumbai launch of his new book Smoke and Ashes at the Royal Opera House on July 18. Published by HarperCollins India, it is a work of non-fiction that traces the economic and cultural history of the opium trade, focusing on “the transformative effect” it had on Great Britain, India and China. The research for this book took him to Guangzhou and Mauritius, and also made him confront how the history of his own family intertwined with the journey of the opium poppy. 

Ghosh’s ancestors, who were displaced from their ancestral village in what is now Bangladesh, settled in Chhapra in the 19th century as the town in Bihar was a major trading centre for the colonial opium industry.

We pick a table in a quiet corner of Vista, the multi-cuisine restaurant at the Taj Lands End hotel, and opt for the à la carte menu over the enormous buffet so that we can talk at leisure without any distractions. “What should we have for lunch?” he asks. “What do you feel like having?” I ask in reply. Since the Jnanpith and Sahitya Akademi awardee lives in New York, I wonder if pizza is his go-to meal on days when he cannot make up his mind.

“No, I am into home-cooked food and fresh ingredients,” says Ghosh, who often posts photographs of food on his Instagram account. “I used to cook for my children, Lila and Nayan, until they went to college. I would discourage all kinds of fast food; pizzas and hamburgers in particular. Eventually they tried those on their own, and did not like them much,” he says, pleased with himself. “They were so lucky to have their Baba cooking for them. There aren’t very many fathers in this world who cook for their children,” I say.

After a good laugh, Ghosh – who has written novels like The Circle of Reason, The Shadow Lines, The Glass Palace, The Hungry Tide, Sea of Poppies, River of Smoke, Flood of Fire, Gun Island, and non-fiction books such as In an Antique Land, The Imam and the Indian, Incendiary Circumstances, The Great Derangement and The Nutmeg’s Curse –tells me that he is in the mood for a plain dosa and crisp medu vadas with piping hot sambar and coconut chutney. We decide to share the vadas, and I get a masala dosa for myself. We realise we might need more food, so we also call for besan chillas stuffed with paneer. The order is ideal for the weather this afternoon.

With the fabled – and equally notorious – Mumbai monsoon in full swing, the rain lashes outside as Ghosh speaks about how grateful he is to readers who travelled long distances to make it for his event, hear him speak and get their copies signed. Sipping on Darjeeling tea, as we wait for our lunch to arrive, he says, “It is always gratifying to meet people who come and tell me what my books have meant to them. What can be more rewarding for a writer than knowing that people are still reading a book like The Shadow Lines, which came out 35 years ago?” Taken back, I blurt out, “Oh, wow! I was three years old then.” He is obviously tickled by that disclosure, and says, “Chintan, I am surprised you were even born.”

Taking a few sips of the masala chai placed in front of me, I tell him that The Shadow Lines was part of a course on Indian writing in English that I took in my college days. Though it was not a prescribed text, my professor loved Ghosh’s writing and made us read the book. It instilled in me a great fondness for Calcutta (now Kolkata), the city Ghosh was born in, and also made me reflect deeply on the human impact of borders between nation-states. Chuffed to hear this, he says, “I think that the best teachers are always those who have their own passions, and communicate their likes and dislikes to their students. They don’t just stick to the syllabus.”

We polish off the dosas in a few minutes, but Ghosh reserves his most appreciative words for the medu vada. “These are so good; easily the best I have had. My day is made,” he says. Our server, beaming with pride, promptly brings us some more chutney and sambar. The chillas do not seem to do much for Ghosh, but I enjoy the taste and texture.

I had glanced at his Instagram account before our meeting, so I know that actor Waheeda Rehman was also present at his book launch the previous evening. I ask him, “If you could cast her in a film based on any of your novels, which character would you want her to play?” His eyes lit up at the thought. “I can think of so many, but let’s go with Mashima from The Hungry Tide who runs a hospital in the Sundarbans,” he says. “Do you think she could play Tha’mma, the school principal from The Shadow Lines?” I ask. “Why not? She’d be excellent,” he says.

I enjoy speaking with Ghosh because he is not obsessed with plugging his latest book or his stature in the literary establishment. He is polite to the staff, enquiring what is possible to do with the dishes rather than directing them to prepare them his way. People who are good cooks can, after all, be finicky that way. That is humbling to watch. He also asks about my life, education and work, and listens with genuine interest.

Because of the recent floods in Delhi, Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Punjab and Haryana, our conversation shifts to his recent books, Jungle Nama (a graphic verse novel, his first such, in collaboration with Pakistani-American artist Salman Toor) and The Living Mountain, which talk about the environmental damage caused by human actions often rooted in greed. I am curious, among other things, about his thoughts on the connection between ecological disasters and mental health.

He says, “The intense eco-anxiety that young people are experiencing seems to be mainly a Western thing. Since childhood, they have been brought up on the promise of progress, on the idea that everything is always getting better. They have a kind of mandatory optimism built into their outlook.”

He, however, was raised being told that life is hard and things will not always turn out well. When he pauses, and asks me to weigh in, I say, “The idea of karma is strongly present in our culture, isn’t it? Even people who do not identify as religious seem to believe that actions will lead to consequences.” He nods in agreement. “We have lost so much, thanks to colonialism and capitalism, but that idea still remains quite powerful in our psyche,” he says.

Before we delve further into existential questions, the server arrives with complimentary caramel pudding and pineapple pastry. We are quite full, but do not want to turn the offer down. The leisurely conversation concludes on a sweet note. Ghosh has to catch a flight to Goa, and his cab has arrived. We bid goodbye after I request him to sign my copy of Smoke and Ashes. He writes my name in English, and his own in Bengali. The torrential rain shows no sign of taking a pause, so I walk out slowly with my umbrella, my head bowed to the power of nature, which we so often and so foolishly fail to acknowledge.