Dear Readers, Last week I decided to do my first TV interview since my accident. As you may know, I’m currently on a general ward in a NHS hospital, waiting to move onto a more specialised facility. I was in a lot of pain the morning of the interview. I told my son Carlo I couldn’t sit in the wheelchair, that the nurses would have to put me back to bed, and that the interview should be cancelled. I was nervous, I’ve done thousands of interviews in my life, but never while in pain, and never with so little sense of humour.
So great to hear you and see you—looking beautiful—and moving your arm! This connection you have with people is life saving. Not just for you but for us. It's this caring so deeply for one another, strangers as well as family and friends, that gives meaning and strength and universality.
I was hospitalized long ago with Guillain-Barré, which is a mysterious autoimmune syndrome where the nerves are under attack and the brain stops communicating with the body. Gradually the whole body is paralyzed and things like blood pressure and breathing are affected, speech is slurred, even the muscles of my face froze.
I'm essentially back to normal now, but I remember what it's like to be disconnected from my body. Wondering where I—the real me—was located. As a metaphor, I imagine tapping on a piano key over and over and getting so sound, no feedback. I was already partly dead, already nowhere.
There was a point when I realized that I would likely die and I was panicked by how mundane it was (and therefore how forgettable my life was). But the panic was all internal. I've never shared this with anyone before. There should be drama, an epiphany, MEANING, or just a way for me to give my body the most basic instruction: don't self-destruct. There was an absurdity about losing myself this way, and also a sense of failure or disappointment. Even embarrassment. My terror was matched by a sense of the futility of being afraid. I was being canceled out.
I haven't entirely lost that feeling (death is near/control is an illusion) though I have the luxury of being relatively healthy and able to distract myself now. What feels better than distraction, though, is love, kindness, and sharing ourselves with one another.
Your writing connects me back to myself, and then back out to you and your loving readers, and beyond, to anyone experiencing the human condition. There's a rhythm I'm coming to depend on here. Feeling the terror (rather than avoiding it) and then converting it to love. xx
Dear Hanif, after reading your last few desolate and desperate posts, I was paralyzed into not being able to comment. I know how cliches and commonplace reassurances sound to those who are depressed or in pain. When I am face to face with patients in the depths of whatever horrors they are going through I can listen, make my empathy felt through my presence, hold their hands. Life is often unfair and, at times, unbearable with no silver lining. How do I hate those two words - silver lining- some sort of shitty consolation prize. However. You are loved beyond measure by family and friends. You have a loyal partner (indulge me in a bit of patriotism, she is Italian so I believe she is fabulous), your intellect is intact and there is life beyond what you are going through. Please believe there is life. The patients who do best are the ones with something to look forward to: your house, your writing, your London. A few days ago I went for my biannual oncological tests. While I wait for the results, I fall into an all enveloping anxiety, the brunt of which is borne by my husband. He said to me: you know, one day something will happen. We are not special, you and I. It will happen to us. So, in the meantime, live to the best of your abilities. This reminder lifted me up. I am not special but I have this imperfect life. And it is my responsibility to live it.
You will get to where you want to be. Imagine it. Keep taking drugs that make you believe it if that is what you need. Can’t wait for the book. Will buy a stack to give as presents. One last thing. Please eat.
I have been reading your posts "since the beginning" and finally subscribed. Thank you for sharing your experience, unfiltered, with strangers like myself.
I think about your writing long after I've read it. I am a nurse in the US. It's easy to get lost in the tasks of nursing and/or guard yourself against the crushing pain (emotional or otherwise) of those in our care. So I read your posts and it chips at that armor and allows me to really see a person behind the label of a condition or diagnosis. It's devastating and somehow refreshing? ....I don't know what I'm trying to say....maybe just thank you. Thank you for sharing and helping me remember what's important, personally and professionally.
I'll spare platitudes and positive spins. This sucks in every possible way. Grief, depression, anxiety don't have quick fixes. When you are up in the middle of the night, I am wrapping up my day on the US East Coast. If it's ok, I would like to send you a "thought" (I'm not a prayer person) in those hours. Maybe a "Hi, I'm awake too. I'm thinking about you." Would that be ok?
I have been following your journey from your first post, and to finally hear you speak from the heart about your ordeal brought tears. Blessings to you for your courage, honesty and resilience. I was happy to hear that through all this darkness that you can envision improvement in a year. Keep up the good fight.
Leaving the ward for your interview was no doubt an arduous experience; both physically and mentally exhausting. I have no desire to trivialise it, but nevertheless can't shake the mental image of Cathy Newman frantically beckoning to you from the corner of a hospital corridor, as you prepare to temporarily leave behind a string of pillows that have been arranged under a bed sheet as a Kureishi substitute.
You are very frank in your writing on this Substack. I wasn't prepared for how that directness would translate in person. Given that in the majority of news interviews, the volume of packaging greatly exceeds the actual content, as both sides attempt to outmanoeuvre the other, your forthright answers were jarring in their honesty.
I suspect that this mindset will be to your long-term benefit. It is important in a time of crisis to be unemotionally honest with yourself and about yourself: This is where I am at the moment. This is where I would like to be. This is what I need. This is what makes me angry. This is what scares me, etc.
It is the foundation upon which you build a recovery. It may not be ideal, but the more you know about its quirks, the better the quality of your judgement and the more confident you can be moving forward.
I refuse to believe that there isn't a significantly-improved of version of yourself occupying an arbitrary point in the near future. Throw a 'My Beautiful Laundrette' promotional hacky-sack into July 2024 and it will roll to the feet of a more physically-able Hanif Kureishi. He may even catch it.
I have seen people wheeled off an acute stoke ward who looked so hopeless that their presence on the rehab ward felt like a formality. A few weeks later and they were hobbling past my desk, greeting me on their way to make a cup of tea in the rehab kitchen.
You have lost a great deal. Nobody could deny that with a straight face. One I think that I think survived your fall intact is the respect and esteem of your peers and your readers. If anything it has increased. You and Rushdie were both beaten down in different ways and you have both risen back up. That doesn't happen automatically. It take willpower and resolve. Warriors, the pair of you.
Very moving interview, also, succinct and direct. I feel a jolt of relief that you are writing again and that you have physical sensation, this means a lot ! Well done Hanif, we love you....Jane xx
Thank you for your honestly, Hanif. You have managed to become both some sort of cautionary tale and terrifically inspiring. It’s the most human we can get.
Your interview was very good. I know you are depressed at the moment but you still came across as vibrant and strong, even if your body has let you down at the moment. I hear your frustration and hope that you will be moved to the rehab centre very very soon. I will say a prayer that that happens for you. So try to eat a little. Keep up that strength you are showing to the world. Things will get better.
That was brilliant - you said something very moving about holding onto the essence of who you are and building your life back from the broken pieces you saw lying on the floor. You're still doing that reconstruction - you're still in the middle of it, so it must still feel dreadful, but you have clearly come a long way. Hold onto that sense of who you are beneath the broken bits and enjoy your family and friends, and I think you are right - in one year, you will be out of this crisis point and finding a way forward.
THANK YOU Hanif for pushing through your pain this morning so as to share your soul with us in this interview. The inner you has much to share with us who happen to be whole and fairly well. As always blessed Isabella shines as a precious jewel ! I loved your words that slipped out when you had spoken of her “ I’m learning to love in a new way “.
And your sons . Always doing the hard things that keep you going and being the author for us , in a new way.
I send you love and admiration and my gratitude to your family
It was indeed very important to do this interview and we thank you for it. I was glad to see that you can move your arm. I hope you will get over your depression soon and I wish you and your family all the best, Mr. Kureishi.
You are showing us all how super-bloody-amazing you are Hanif. You’re experiencing all kinds of the worst nightmares a human can go through; yet you force yourself through the pain barrier to share your thoughts, feelings and emotions, & in front of the camera too... for us, because we want to know that you’re coping, with this hell that your life has become. You are made of very brave and resilient DNA. You are a warrior. Respect & admiration to your bravery & courage. Keep going, get through the misery, keep drawing on the love that surrounds you and you’ll find there will be brightness ahead. ❤️
Such a brave interview. Whilst you are in a low place please know that your words are beyond inspiring too others. Hope you can find your light again soon.
Sam wrote "your forthright answers were jarring in their honesty" -- yes! And Julia mentioned sending out thoughts in what for you is the middle of the night: so many of the rest of your not entirely imaginary friends around the world are doing the same.
So great to hear you and see you—looking beautiful—and moving your arm! This connection you have with people is life saving. Not just for you but for us. It's this caring so deeply for one another, strangers as well as family and friends, that gives meaning and strength and universality.
I was hospitalized long ago with Guillain-Barré, which is a mysterious autoimmune syndrome where the nerves are under attack and the brain stops communicating with the body. Gradually the whole body is paralyzed and things like blood pressure and breathing are affected, speech is slurred, even the muscles of my face froze.
I'm essentially back to normal now, but I remember what it's like to be disconnected from my body. Wondering where I—the real me—was located. As a metaphor, I imagine tapping on a piano key over and over and getting so sound, no feedback. I was already partly dead, already nowhere.
There was a point when I realized that I would likely die and I was panicked by how mundane it was (and therefore how forgettable my life was). But the panic was all internal. I've never shared this with anyone before. There should be drama, an epiphany, MEANING, or just a way for me to give my body the most basic instruction: don't self-destruct. There was an absurdity about losing myself this way, and also a sense of failure or disappointment. Even embarrassment. My terror was matched by a sense of the futility of being afraid. I was being canceled out.
I haven't entirely lost that feeling (death is near/control is an illusion) though I have the luxury of being relatively healthy and able to distract myself now. What feels better than distraction, though, is love, kindness, and sharing ourselves with one another.
Your writing connects me back to myself, and then back out to you and your loving readers, and beyond, to anyone experiencing the human condition. There's a rhythm I'm coming to depend on here. Feeling the terror (rather than avoiding it) and then converting it to love. xx
You put this very well; i shared your experience, you said it well for me. Many thanks for this insightful reflection.
Ken harrow
Thank you for sharing in such an authentic and articulate manner.
Dear Hanif, after reading your last few desolate and desperate posts, I was paralyzed into not being able to comment. I know how cliches and commonplace reassurances sound to those who are depressed or in pain. When I am face to face with patients in the depths of whatever horrors they are going through I can listen, make my empathy felt through my presence, hold their hands. Life is often unfair and, at times, unbearable with no silver lining. How do I hate those two words - silver lining- some sort of shitty consolation prize. However. You are loved beyond measure by family and friends. You have a loyal partner (indulge me in a bit of patriotism, she is Italian so I believe she is fabulous), your intellect is intact and there is life beyond what you are going through. Please believe there is life. The patients who do best are the ones with something to look forward to: your house, your writing, your London. A few days ago I went for my biannual oncological tests. While I wait for the results, I fall into an all enveloping anxiety, the brunt of which is borne by my husband. He said to me: you know, one day something will happen. We are not special, you and I. It will happen to us. So, in the meantime, live to the best of your abilities. This reminder lifted me up. I am not special but I have this imperfect life. And it is my responsibility to live it.
You will get to where you want to be. Imagine it. Keep taking drugs that make you believe it if that is what you need. Can’t wait for the book. Will buy a stack to give as presents. One last thing. Please eat.
Dear Mr. Kureishi,
I have been reading your posts "since the beginning" and finally subscribed. Thank you for sharing your experience, unfiltered, with strangers like myself.
I think about your writing long after I've read it. I am a nurse in the US. It's easy to get lost in the tasks of nursing and/or guard yourself against the crushing pain (emotional or otherwise) of those in our care. So I read your posts and it chips at that armor and allows me to really see a person behind the label of a condition or diagnosis. It's devastating and somehow refreshing? ....I don't know what I'm trying to say....maybe just thank you. Thank you for sharing and helping me remember what's important, personally and professionally.
I'll spare platitudes and positive spins. This sucks in every possible way. Grief, depression, anxiety don't have quick fixes. When you are up in the middle of the night, I am wrapping up my day on the US East Coast. If it's ok, I would like to send you a "thought" (I'm not a prayer person) in those hours. Maybe a "Hi, I'm awake too. I'm thinking about you." Would that be ok?
With kindness, Julia
I have been following your journey from your first post, and to finally hear you speak from the heart about your ordeal brought tears. Blessings to you for your courage, honesty and resilience. I was happy to hear that through all this darkness that you can envision improvement in a year. Keep up the good fight.
Leaving the ward for your interview was no doubt an arduous experience; both physically and mentally exhausting. I have no desire to trivialise it, but nevertheless can't shake the mental image of Cathy Newman frantically beckoning to you from the corner of a hospital corridor, as you prepare to temporarily leave behind a string of pillows that have been arranged under a bed sheet as a Kureishi substitute.
You are very frank in your writing on this Substack. I wasn't prepared for how that directness would translate in person. Given that in the majority of news interviews, the volume of packaging greatly exceeds the actual content, as both sides attempt to outmanoeuvre the other, your forthright answers were jarring in their honesty.
I suspect that this mindset will be to your long-term benefit. It is important in a time of crisis to be unemotionally honest with yourself and about yourself: This is where I am at the moment. This is where I would like to be. This is what I need. This is what makes me angry. This is what scares me, etc.
It is the foundation upon which you build a recovery. It may not be ideal, but the more you know about its quirks, the better the quality of your judgement and the more confident you can be moving forward.
I refuse to believe that there isn't a significantly-improved of version of yourself occupying an arbitrary point in the near future. Throw a 'My Beautiful Laundrette' promotional hacky-sack into July 2024 and it will roll to the feet of a more physically-able Hanif Kureishi. He may even catch it.
I have seen people wheeled off an acute stoke ward who looked so hopeless that their presence on the rehab ward felt like a formality. A few weeks later and they were hobbling past my desk, greeting me on their way to make a cup of tea in the rehab kitchen.
You have lost a great deal. Nobody could deny that with a straight face. One I think that I think survived your fall intact is the respect and esteem of your peers and your readers. If anything it has increased. You and Rushdie were both beaten down in different ways and you have both risen back up. That doesn't happen automatically. It take willpower and resolve. Warriors, the pair of you.
Very moving interview, also, succinct and direct. I feel a jolt of relief that you are writing again and that you have physical sensation, this means a lot ! Well done Hanif, we love you....Jane xx
Perhaps it will cheer you up to know you are still an attractive man. Why does this matter? But it surely does, and I hope this will give you a smile!
The eyes have It. :)
I thought the same - Hanif you’ve still got it
Thank you for your honestly, Hanif. You have managed to become both some sort of cautionary tale and terrifically inspiring. It’s the most human we can get.
Wishing you and yours well, always.
Your interview was very good. I know you are depressed at the moment but you still came across as vibrant and strong, even if your body has let you down at the moment. I hear your frustration and hope that you will be moved to the rehab centre very very soon. I will say a prayer that that happens for you. So try to eat a little. Keep up that strength you are showing to the world. Things will get better.
That was brilliant - you said something very moving about holding onto the essence of who you are and building your life back from the broken pieces you saw lying on the floor. You're still doing that reconstruction - you're still in the middle of it, so it must still feel dreadful, but you have clearly come a long way. Hold onto that sense of who you are beneath the broken bits and enjoy your family and friends, and I think you are right - in one year, you will be out of this crisis point and finding a way forward.
THANK YOU Hanif for pushing through your pain this morning so as to share your soul with us in this interview. The inner you has much to share with us who happen to be whole and fairly well. As always blessed Isabella shines as a precious jewel ! I loved your words that slipped out when you had spoken of her “ I’m learning to love in a new way “.
And your sons . Always doing the hard things that keep you going and being the author for us , in a new way.
I send you love and admiration and my gratitude to your family
Eartha
It was indeed very important to do this interview and we thank you for it. I was glad to see that you can move your arm. I hope you will get over your depression soon and I wish you and your family all the best, Mr. Kureishi.
Caught thst interview on C4 news...
Brave and insightful stuff...well done.
This ain't going to be easy...but keep up the good work. Marginal gains will all add up over time.
You are showing us all how super-bloody-amazing you are Hanif. You’re experiencing all kinds of the worst nightmares a human can go through; yet you force yourself through the pain barrier to share your thoughts, feelings and emotions, & in front of the camera too... for us, because we want to know that you’re coping, with this hell that your life has become. You are made of very brave and resilient DNA. You are a warrior. Respect & admiration to your bravery & courage. Keep going, get through the misery, keep drawing on the love that surrounds you and you’ll find there will be brightness ahead. ❤️
Such a brave interview. Whilst you are in a low place please know that your words are beyond inspiring too others. Hope you can find your light again soon.
Sam wrote "your forthright answers were jarring in their honesty" -- yes! And Julia mentioned sending out thoughts in what for you is the middle of the night: so many of the rest of your not entirely imaginary friends around the world are doing the same.