The many roles editors play in shaping writers and stories

Some editors are like barbers. They're always keen to take 'a bit off the top'. Some are like urologists, constantly worried about the 'flow'. Some are chefs, always looking for 'consistency', like in an onion soup. Some are like cardiologists, putting in narrative stents to ward off potential 'blockages'.

Some of them are like long-distance runners - the bigger you go in your narrative, the more they applaud your 'stamina'. Some are like shrinks. They want to stay inside your head and help you to 'mine' your memories. Some editors mimic plumbers, for in a story they are always in the quest for 'hidden depths'.

Some are like schoolmarms of yore, always with a cane, when you are in the mood for a bit of spanking. Some are as formidable as aunts out of PG Wodehouse. Forever doing an inspection - of your prose, nails, breath, politics...


Some are like rockstars. What they appreciate most is a bit of 'volume'. Some editors are like Sinatra. With them, it's either 'My Way' or the 'Highway'. Some editors are like parish priests. They fervently believe there should be no secrets between a shepherd and his sheep.

Some are like fashion stylists. In your storytelling as in your wardrobe, they always advise extensive 'layering'. Some editors are like 80s Aussie fast bowler Terry Alderman on an English summer. They swear by the 'rhythm' method.

Some like to sing the body electric. They adore a lot of 'jump' in the narrative. Some editors are card-carrying members of Sablok Clinic - forever worried about your 'positioning'. Some apply a whiteface diligently each morning before brushing their teeth. Every time you mention 'roti', they are quick to italicise.

Some editors are like bespoke tailors out of Savile Row. At some point they are keen to ascertain whether you 'dress' to the right or to the left. Some, on the other hand, are as efficient as darzis. They will make sure that you cut your conscience to fit the fashion of the day.

Some editors are Bengalis. They are, for the lack of a more charitable word, a bit 'dushtu'. Some on the other hand are Malayalis. Whenever they say 'chumma', it's like the kiss of death for your banal prose.

Some editors are like Bishen Bedi. Generous to a fault. They will routinely empty their wallets of spare change to pay 'advance'. Some are as astute as Sunny G. They teach you that for the first 20 overs of your career most lit fests are better 'well left'. After that the shine wears off anyway. Some routinely get off on fireworks. They are always sending you 'rockets'.

Some editors are like proctologists. Come what may, they promise to 'have your back'. Some are like dyslexic labour welfare officers. Forever worried about your safety. Each time you write 'Maoist', they are sure to make it 'Moist'.

Some editors are always rushing to Frankfurt. Some, on the other hand, have never set a foot out of Khan Market. Some moonlight as yoga instructors. They train you to take a deep breath and practice 'Anulom-vilom' before you read your first reviews.

Some are as restless as cats. By the time you thank them in 'Acknowledgements', they have wandered off to a new 'house'. Some are like a weathervane. You can gauge your current eminence by their constant presence, or absence by your side.

Some editors are like marriage counselors. They are big on 'commitment'. They are also usually bearded. Even the women. Some are master carpenters. They value 'chiselled' prose and love it when you go against the 'grain'. Some editors only cultivate 'Stars of the Month'. Some on the other hand, like Jackson Lamb, swear by their stable of 'Slow Horses'.

Some editors are Punjabis. You can gauge your literary standing by the hooch they serve you. You are either Lagavulin or Lagachunrimeindaag. The latter more likely than the former.

Some on the other hand are Biharis. Old Monk is their gold standard. Enough said.