Without malice towards Khushwant Singh

Khushwant Singh, the grand old daddy of Indian journalism, is still standing tall and writing big at the ripe old age of 98. In a country presided over by a Sikh gentleman, and another overseeing the working of the Planning Commission, Khushwant Singh is one of the most recognizable Sikh faces in not just India, but the world.

I recently finished reading a collection of Khushwant Singh's essays and profiles (Why I Supported the Emergency: Essays and Profiles), and my word, I was blown away. In a media world filled with hypocrites and writers with views as fickle as a hysterical female, Khushwant Singh serves a reminder that honest and unbiased writing still exists. 
A large portion of his works were published in his weekly column series With Malice Towards One and All - and the name exemplifies the humorous and satirical nature of his pieces.

He is widely traveled and his personal experiences with leading figures who have shaped contemporary Indian history coupled with his willingness to share these with his readers ensure that his profiles capture the imagination and make for great reads. His pieces are one of the few out there which explore the men and women behind these luminaries. Add to this Khushwant Singh's disposition towards controversial opinions plus his total disregard of the consequences of airing them and you're in for a riveting read.

His ability to be objective about issues close to his heart also deserves credit. Take for instance his large number of pieces on the anti Sikh riots of 1984. Although he has been very vocal in his condemnation of these atrocities, he does take time to reflect on the views of the other side and tries to reason from their standpoint as well. 

His more long-winded pieces, or essays, on topics like religion, old age and the monsoon are works of art in themselves. They provide a manner of insight which is unique to Khushwant Singh. This passage taken from a piece entitled A Hossana To The Monsoons is quite brilliant.

The Indian's attitude towards clouds and rain remains fundamentally different from that of the Westerner's. To the one, clouds are symbols of hope; to the other, of despair. The Indian scans the heavens and if nimbus clouds blot out the sun, his heart fills with joy. The Westerner looks up and if there is no silver lining edging the clouds, his depression deepens. The Indian talks of someone he respects and looks up to as a great shadow, like the one cast by the clouds when they cover the sun. The Westerner, on the other hand, looks on a shadow as something evil and refers to people of dubious character as shady types. For him, his beloved is like the sunshine and her smile a sunny smile. An Indian's notion of a beautiful woman is one whose hair is as black as monsoon clouds and whose eyes flash like lightning. The Westerner escapes clouds and rain whenever he can to seek sunnier climes. An Indian, when the rains come, runs out into the street shouting with joy and lets himself be soaked to the skin.

Khushwant Singh was once awarded the title 'Honest Man of the Year' by Sulabh International (which, contrary to what everyone seems to think, is involved in more than just setting up toilets all over India). I cannot think of anybody else more suited to such a moniker, although the man himself will probably be the first to laugh at the irony that an organisation famous for erecting shit-pots is lauding him for the freshness of his writing.