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V Gangadhar

The diary of…

James Boswell, Virginia Woolf, Annie Frank. Other men of letters, important personalities all over the world. How do we remember them? From their diaries.

Annie Frank, an ordinary Jewish teenage girl, was unfortunate enough to die in a Nazi concentration camp in the second world war. Her death was not an unusual event; many millions died in the camps. But she has been immortalised through the diary in which she recorded her feelings. I cannot read that document without tears welling up in my eyes.

While Annie Frank's diary was a very personal one, Virginia Woolf's was on the literary side. It gives a lot of background and information about the Bloomsbury group to which she belonged.

Diaries of the famous and talented continue to be published. Despite careful editing, they run into 600-800 pages and required a patient read. To appreciate their worth, you must know a lot about the writer and his subject. A person to whom the second world war meant nothing will not have the inclination to go through the published diaries of General De Gaulle.

Diaries are much more than one's daily encounters, engagements, list of expenses and so on. In Anne Frank's case, it was the record of her innermost thoughts which she was unable to communicate to anyone as her entire family, along with some friends, were hiding from the Nazis in an attic. Virginia Woolf poured out her thoughts on writing, literature, books and bits and pieces from her personal life into her diaries. These were not intended for publication.

Such diaries always make fascinating reading.

What about the diaries which were never written? Gosh, if only Richard Nixon had kept a diary (even without deleting the expletives), we could have understood the psychology behind the Watergate crimes. Elizabeth Taylor would have needed many diaries to describe her life with her several husbands. Why didn't Jesse Owens, Don Bradman and Bjorn Borg keep diaries?

As for Indians, former prime minister Morarji Desai did write his memories but, if only he had kept a diary, it would have been a more interesting read. One can deviate from the truth in one's memoirs, but not in one's diaries. A diary is a friend and, normally, people do not lie to their friends on issues close to their hearts.

January 1, 1998, is only three days away as I write this column; every new year makes me wonder whether I should keep a diary. "You are creative writer," my friends have argued in the past. "You should keep a diary; it may be of interest to the reading public." While the idea of sharing my innermost thoughts amused me; I'm sure it would have alarmed my readers.

When I was young, my father would get plenty of diaries from commercial firms and government offices. Most of these were distributed to friends and relatives. Two or three were kept back, mainly for noting down the household accounts. We were not allowed any pocket money, but could take money from inside the cupboard whenever we needed anything. We were expected to write the details in the family accounts diary. This habit was religiously maintained for several years.

Somehow or other, maintaining a diary meant keeping accounts. One of our elderly peons once showed me an old, tattered diary he had kept while he had served under a British officer. I was fascinated at the items mentioned therein - muttai, pura kunju, appalam, surutu (eggs, pigeons, papad, cigars) and so on. Every week, the dorai (white master) gave the peon a fixed amount to buy provisions and household goods, for which he kept the accounts.

My mother kept a one; no one was allowed to peep into it. Some months after her death, I came across one of the diaries and flipped through the pages. They contained the events of the day, from her point of view. 'Religious function at home, got up at 5 am and cooked feast items. The priest came to officiate. Lakshmi (my sister) celebrated her birthday. New clothes made. A grand feast, including pal payasam (a milk-based sweet)'. While this was the usual trend of the entries, there were surprise mentions of India's rare victories in cricket. Mother always watched cricket on TV, but I did not know she entered the details in her diary.

Some years ago, when I visited my home town Palakadu, my cousins who live the family home showed me our grandfather's diaries. He was an irascible old hypochondriac who worried constantly about his health. Most of the entries were details about his bowel movements! One of the pages contained this gem: 'Went to the doctor and complained about the gudu gudu noises in my stomach. He asked me if I had swallowed a motorbike!' The doctor, by the way, was familiar with grandfather's imaginary ailments.

As for myself, I did attempt to keep a diary during my teenage years, when I used to fall in and out of love with so many girls. I started the year with the hope that I would faithfully keep on account of my emotional entanglements. But these were so frivolous and fickle in nature that I gave up the attempt after two or three months. What could I write about being in love for six months with a college mate whom I had not spoken to during the entire period? I am sure Charlie Brown never wrote about his love for the little, red-haired girl in his diary!

Collage: Dominic Xavier