Dear Loyal Reader, You are keeping me alive. Your interest in my weekly ramblings have given me a reason to go on. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I want to continue sharing my progress with you. You are on this journey as well. I kindly ask that if you have the means, it would mean a great deal if could support my writing by becoming a paid subscriber, and keep this show on the road.
You were ‘that’ writer - the one who helped the teenage me realise that a repressed Indian teen from Birmingham could actually live a life of (mis)adventure and some fulfilment, and for that I owe you a debt. You might imagine, then, that I was shocked when my friend first alerted me to what happened to you months ago. Hearing about what you experienced felt like the latest, most pronounced jab from mortality, reminding me of what must befall us all. Last year there was Salman’s brush with death, then what happened to you and then more recently, Martin Amis passed away. Three fearless and formidable writers for whom I have deep-rooted respect and admiration all, to varying degrees, tussling with the reaper. Sorry - this doesn’t seem to be heading in a particularly cheerful direction!
I have no reason to assume you’d remember but I met you a couple of times in the late 1990s when I introduced you at a couple of book readings for Waterstone’s in Manchester. You and your publisher were gracious enough to take this impoverished bookseller out for dinner, and to sit through what was probably a gruelling evening of inane fan-chat. But I won’t forget how interested you seemed to be - listening to me talk about my dad, India, the dissertation I’d written about your work. I remember telling you of the slightly uncanny sensation of reading ‘Intimacy’, whose two main characters were but one letter apart in name from me and my future wife. I can report - it didn’t end well!
In another case of happenstance, I now sit reading your chronicles, in which you often talk fondly about your absent canine friend, Cairo, in his namesake city, one in which I’ve lived and taught English literature for the past six years.
I want to say that I’m glad you found your voice so soon after it was almost snatched from your mouth along with your breath - it feels like it could be so easy, when confronted with something as terrifying as your ordeal must initially have been, to simply retreat, to curl up and shrivel because the vessel in which the writer, Hanif Kureishi, has resided for so long has changed beyond recognition. To speak - to write, of sorts - so soon after your fall is, I think, a defiant act, and one which embodies the very fearlessness you wrote about recently in your ‘Rude’ post. It’s as though somehow, whatever happened to your body, there was some force which understood the importance of preserving your ability to speak; to write. With that intact, I share people’s optimism - including your physiotherapist’s - that your physical body will also again begin to assert itself in some fashion.
I’m glad you’re still with us, glad you’re heading back to your beloved London and glad you’re still demanding to be heard.
The radical honesty of your writing in these posts has been balm to my soul, yes, I can say that. I feel so much for Isabella, your rock, a guardian of your dignity. Her devotion moves me because my beloved mother was paralyzed due to a spinal cord tumor, and my father was unable to lovingly rise to the situation’s detailed hells. I send you sincere sisterly love from a minor writer (Harbor, Knopf; The Room and the Chair, Knopf) in New York City, who has come to idolize your inner demons, angels and life force.
Brilliant! So happy for you to back to your homeland. Reminds me of a poem I read ...'A haven that is safe and sure in this sea of life'. My husband was in hospital seriously ill for nine months. Reading your blogs, it has been his strength of character and determination not to give up. He's now at home still unable to walk, still determined.. Last week he was able to get himself off the bed unaided and touch the floor. The next stage is to get him outside. To salute the sun,
Stick with it Kathryn! You’re image of getting husband outdoors ... ‘salute the sun’ feels exactly right! All best wishes to you & all the caretakers and family supporting your husband ... and to him for keeping ON!!
enjoy the vongole, Hanif. remember me? We met casually long ago.. when i was a full-tilt broadcaster. Not any more: jobs get fewer as you get older. easier for writers eh? joan bakewell
Oh wow, wonderful news. I’m so happy for you all. The photos you e shared too move me enormously. So much love and support radiating in everyone of them. So much strength. You’ve all been through so much. Love and kisses to you all and may your journey home be smooth and swift xxx
Wonderful news to be going home. Thanks for the photos and video too. It’s nice to see the incredible support team behind you as well. Sending you love and strength in the coming days and weeks as you embark into uncharted territory.
Really happy to read you are headed back to England! I would think that, despite the difficulties of getting there, it will feel wonderful to be home. Looking forward to hearing about your next chapter.
Tears of Joy upon hearing your good news, Raising a toast to you in spirit at your luncheon tomorrow in the eternal city which has kept you in its caring embrace. Homeward Bound..safe and sweet travels
It's so odd, but never having heard you speak i was at first surprised to hear your English accent... ! can't say why... and also, I thought you'd fallen outside in the Villa Borghese, that's how i pictured it, not in a flat. yes, we are there with you while you're watching the fly on the ceiling and wondering about him/her/they/them and we're cheering you on as you make your move to London. You have so many who care about you! Your family is amazing... love seeing your kids and a glimpse of Isabella, your rock, and many many kudos to them all for their lovingkindness which you inspire. and yes, your life force. your life force. from your admirer, Louise
Thank you for sharing these photos. It is wonderful to see you sitting up, being outside, conversing with loved ones. Your posts have been very moving and thought-provoking. One reason they touch me so deeply is that my father had Parkinson's Disease and while his frustration at his increasing dependence on others was palpable, he didn't really share what he was feeling/thinking about. Over time, his ability to speak and write became very limited. You and he have little, if anything, in common but reading your posts reconnects to him as well as well as adding a new dimension to my feelings for you--an artists whose writing and films have meant so much to me.
What a joyous subject heading! Oh Hanif whom I do not know, whose writing I love, whose dispatches have been (and will continue to be) a difficult and, at times, delightful journey: I am so grateful and happy for you that you will be able to go home soon, or so much closer to home home, where your dog can visit and you'll make new friends and you'll continue healing and learning and relearning. With love from a fan--my heart is beating fast for you!
Your cronicle help your readers to demystify tragedy. It's still shattering and baffling, and who know if there is a meaning, probably none, but the day to day of it is a family trying to move forward with the details in the best possible way. Family and friends are your life raft in a tragedy.
Or faith, if you have it, but l hope you will be in the circumstance to be in nature in the UK, nature can give you a sense of belonging and continuity. All the best, keep writing. We'll keep reading.
This is such great news! I love all the photos, too. You look good, Hanif! Just not ready to run the marathon at the moment. Your family are marvelous. All good! All good!
Dear Hanif.
You were ‘that’ writer - the one who helped the teenage me realise that a repressed Indian teen from Birmingham could actually live a life of (mis)adventure and some fulfilment, and for that I owe you a debt. You might imagine, then, that I was shocked when my friend first alerted me to what happened to you months ago. Hearing about what you experienced felt like the latest, most pronounced jab from mortality, reminding me of what must befall us all. Last year there was Salman’s brush with death, then what happened to you and then more recently, Martin Amis passed away. Three fearless and formidable writers for whom I have deep-rooted respect and admiration all, to varying degrees, tussling with the reaper. Sorry - this doesn’t seem to be heading in a particularly cheerful direction!
I have no reason to assume you’d remember but I met you a couple of times in the late 1990s when I introduced you at a couple of book readings for Waterstone’s in Manchester. You and your publisher were gracious enough to take this impoverished bookseller out for dinner, and to sit through what was probably a gruelling evening of inane fan-chat. But I won’t forget how interested you seemed to be - listening to me talk about my dad, India, the dissertation I’d written about your work. I remember telling you of the slightly uncanny sensation of reading ‘Intimacy’, whose two main characters were but one letter apart in name from me and my future wife. I can report - it didn’t end well!
In another case of happenstance, I now sit reading your chronicles, in which you often talk fondly about your absent canine friend, Cairo, in his namesake city, one in which I’ve lived and taught English literature for the past six years.
I want to say that I’m glad you found your voice so soon after it was almost snatched from your mouth along with your breath - it feels like it could be so easy, when confronted with something as terrifying as your ordeal must initially have been, to simply retreat, to curl up and shrivel because the vessel in which the writer, Hanif Kureishi, has resided for so long has changed beyond recognition. To speak - to write, of sorts - so soon after your fall is, I think, a defiant act, and one which embodies the very fearlessness you wrote about recently in your ‘Rude’ post. It’s as though somehow, whatever happened to your body, there was some force which understood the importance of preserving your ability to speak; to write. With that intact, I share people’s optimism - including your physiotherapist’s - that your physical body will also again begin to assert itself in some fashion.
I’m glad you’re still with us, glad you’re heading back to your beloved London and glad you’re still demanding to be heard.
The radical honesty of your writing in these posts has been balm to my soul, yes, I can say that. I feel so much for Isabella, your rock, a guardian of your dignity. Her devotion moves me because my beloved mother was paralyzed due to a spinal cord tumor, and my father was unable to lovingly rise to the situation’s detailed hells. I send you sincere sisterly love from a minor writer (Harbor, Knopf; The Room and the Chair, Knopf) in New York City, who has come to idolize your inner demons, angels and life force.
Brilliant! So happy for you to back to your homeland. Reminds me of a poem I read ...'A haven that is safe and sure in this sea of life'. My husband was in hospital seriously ill for nine months. Reading your blogs, it has been his strength of character and determination not to give up. He's now at home still unable to walk, still determined.. Last week he was able to get himself off the bed unaided and touch the floor. The next stage is to get him outside. To salute the sun,
Stick with it Kathryn! You’re image of getting husband outdoors ... ‘salute the sun’ feels exactly right! All best wishes to you & all the caretakers and family supporting your husband ... and to him for keeping ON!!
Thank you Carol for your kind words. My family are too far away to physically help, but hearing the mundane reality of life is comforting.
enjoy the vongole, Hanif. remember me? We met casually long ago.. when i was a full-tilt broadcaster. Not any more: jobs get fewer as you get older. easier for writers eh? joan bakewell
Oh wow, wonderful news. I’m so happy for you all. The photos you e shared too move me enormously. So much love and support radiating in everyone of them. So much strength. You’ve all been through so much. Love and kisses to you all and may your journey home be smooth and swift xxx
Wonderful news to be going home. Thanks for the photos and video too. It’s nice to see the incredible support team behind you as well. Sending you love and strength in the coming days and weeks as you embark into uncharted territory.
Really happy to read you are headed back to England! I would think that, despite the difficulties of getting there, it will feel wonderful to be home. Looking forward to hearing about your next chapter.
Tears of Joy upon hearing your good news, Raising a toast to you in spirit at your luncheon tomorrow in the eternal city which has kept you in its caring embrace. Homeward Bound..safe and sweet travels
It's so odd, but never having heard you speak i was at first surprised to hear your English accent... ! can't say why... and also, I thought you'd fallen outside in the Villa Borghese, that's how i pictured it, not in a flat. yes, we are there with you while you're watching the fly on the ceiling and wondering about him/her/they/them and we're cheering you on as you make your move to London. You have so many who care about you! Your family is amazing... love seeing your kids and a glimpse of Isabella, your rock, and many many kudos to them all for their lovingkindness which you inspire. and yes, your life force. your life force. from your admirer, Louise
pasta con vongole! good choice!
all I see here in these pictures is love, pure love.
all that matters, all that redeems us, love.
we all love you Hanif.
Thank you for sharing these photos. It is wonderful to see you sitting up, being outside, conversing with loved ones. Your posts have been very moving and thought-provoking. One reason they touch me so deeply is that my father had Parkinson's Disease and while his frustration at his increasing dependence on others was palpable, he didn't really share what he was feeling/thinking about. Over time, his ability to speak and write became very limited. You and he have little, if anything, in common but reading your posts reconnects to him as well as well as adding a new dimension to my feelings for you--an artists whose writing and films have meant so much to me.
What a joyous subject heading! Oh Hanif whom I do not know, whose writing I love, whose dispatches have been (and will continue to be) a difficult and, at times, delightful journey: I am so grateful and happy for you that you will be able to go home soon, or so much closer to home home, where your dog can visit and you'll make new friends and you'll continue healing and learning and relearning. With love from a fan--my heart is beating fast for you!
Good luck to all of you, change is good!
Your cronicle help your readers to demystify tragedy. It's still shattering and baffling, and who know if there is a meaning, probably none, but the day to day of it is a family trying to move forward with the details in the best possible way. Family and friends are your life raft in a tragedy.
Or faith, if you have it, but l hope you will be in the circumstance to be in nature in the UK, nature can give you a sense of belonging and continuity. All the best, keep writing. We'll keep reading.
Magnifica notizia ! Buon viaggio, e buon ritorno a Roma, guarito ! Grazie di questo e degli altri testi, continuerò a leggerti, qui e a stampa.
This is such great news! I love all the photos, too. You look good, Hanif! Just not ready to run the marathon at the moment. Your family are marvelous. All good! All good!
Well, hooray! Delighted you’re coming home. ❤️