The Perfectionist

Ravi Dayal died within 24 hours of surgery for a cancerous growth in thelungs on Saturday, June 3.

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Ravi Dayal started publishing my books nearly twenty years ago, at a timewhen there were very few English language publishers in India. Soon enough, thesituation changed dramatically, but Ravi remained untouched by the currents: hewas like one of those great rocks in the streams of his beloved Kumaon - a forcethat stood immovably against the flow. While everywhere around him the talk wasof inventories and advances, computerization and shelf-space, Ravi continued athis own stubborn and painstaking pace, paying close attention to every word onevery page that appeared under his name. His was a mill that ground slow butawful sure, and a manuscript that had passed under his pen was a thing ofbeauty, in which no comma or semi-colon was allowed to stand without accountingfor its existence. It was no easy matter to slip an ellipsis past his hawk-likeeye: he was scornful of the implications of vagueness that lie behind thosethree little dots, so beloved of fabulists. As for split infinitives, he wastheir Grim Reaper, his nib the instrument of their perdition. Plainly put, Raviwas one of the great editors of his time: the sort of expertise he brought tothe printed word simply doesn’t exist any more, not just in India butanywhere.

It was never Ravi’s intention to found a large publishing house. He wascontent to issue some half-dozen titles a year and he was adamant that he didnot want his company to grow to a size where he might need even a singlepermanent employee. Ravi was a perfectionist and he liked to do everythinghimself, from receiving a manuscript at his door, to delivering it to theprinter. The arrival of his royalty statements were events to look forward to:meticulously accurate and punctually delivered, they were always written in hisown hand, in the beautiful flowing script of another era. Yet, for all hisgentlemanly, old-fashioned ways, Ravi was also a tough-minded professional andhe more than held his own against the behemoths of the marketplace. This was notsomething that he would have wanted to be widely known - for no one understoodbetter than he, that there’s more to life than making a big noise - but it wastrue nonetheless. And the reason why his company flourished was that he carednothing for success or failure: for him publishing was its own reward - it waswhat he loved to do and that was, for him, the best possible reason for doing itwell.

As a man and as a publisher, Ravi was defined by integrity, taste, reticenceand decency. His passing represents the end of an era in Indian publishing: Iwill miss him dearly.

Amitav Ghosh needs no introduction, but it was Ravi Dayal who introduced him to the reading worldwith his imprint, Ravi Dayal Publishers, and remained the Indianpublisher for all his books.