Browse Archives

By Category

By Date

About Amit Varma

Amit Varma is a writer based in Mumbai. He worked in journalism for over a decade, and won the Bastiat Prize for Journalism in 2007. His bestselling novel, My Friend Sancho, was published in 2009. He is best known for his blog, India Uncut. His current project is a non-fiction book about the lack of personal and economic freedoms in post-Independence India.

My Friend Sancho

My first book, My Friend Sancho, was published in May 2009, and went on to become the biggest selling debut novel released that year in India. It is a contemporary love story set in Mumbai, and had earlier been longlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize 2008. To learn more about the book, click here.

If you're interested, do join the Facebook group for My Friend Sancho

Click here for more about my publisher, Hachette India.

My posts on India Uncut about My Friend Sancho can be found here.

Bastiat Prize 2007 Winner

Recent entries

Where Your Taxes Go: 48

Towards advertising in The Organiser, the RSS magazine. As India Explained remarked, Achhe Din. Really, all that a change in…

Delicate Cages

The Monday Poem: TAKING THE HANDS by Robert Bly Taking the hands of someone you love, You see they are…

Uber and Governance

Anant Rangaswami tweets: [tweet] I love Uber, as much for what it is as what it represents. But here’s the…

The Real Issue Regarding The National Anthem

There’s an interesting video that seems to have gone viral on social media showing a bunch of hooligans in a…

Carlsen 1, Fischer 0

In an excellent feature on Magnus Carlsen in the Telegraph, Nigel Farndale writes: He [Carlsen] has always been interested in…

17 June, 2008

A Night Owl’s Lament

Balzac may have worked through the night, “fueled by innumerable cups of black coffee,” but night owls are frowned upon at large. As Anne Fadiman wrote in “At Large and At Small”:

The owl’s reputation may be beyond salvation. Who gets up early? Farmers, bakers, doctors. Who stays up late? Muggers, streetwalkers, cat burglars. It’s assumed that if you’re sneaking around after midnight, you must have something to hide. Night is the time of goblins, ghouls, vampires, zombies, witches, warlocks, demons, wraiths, fiends, banshees, poltergeists, werefolk, bogeymen, and things that go bump. (It is also the time of fairies and angels, but, like many comforting things, they are all too easily crowded out of the imagination. The nightmare trumps the pleasant dream.) Night, like winter, is a metaphor for death: one does not say “the dead of morning” or “the dead of spring.” In a strange and tenebrous book called “Night” (which every lark should be forced to read, preferably by moonlight), the British cynic A Alvarez (an owl) points out, glumly, that Christ is known as the Light of the World and Satan as the Prince of Darkness. With such a powerful pro-lark tradition arrayed against us, must we owls be forever condemned to the infernal regions—which, despite their inextinguishable flames, are always described as dark?

I was reminded of Fadiman’s essay when I read Deepa Ranganathan’s piece in Slate, “Can a Night Owl Become a Morning Person?” In my case, the answer would be a resolute no. If I need to be awake at seven in the morning, I stay up, for that is easier than waking up at that undemonly hour, and I find that my best work, such as it pitifully is, is done at night. Like now, when it’s almost 2 am.

So what am I doing writing this post? Bye.

Posted by Amit Varma in Arts and entertainment | Excerpts | Personal

Copyright (C) India Uncut -
All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without permission. Email:
This article is permanently archived at:

Commenting is not available in this weblog entry.