Every year, we say we won’t go this time. It’s a jamboree, nothing literary about it, where is the quiet moment. Yet when the time comes, we are all on the Ajmer Shatabdi, on NH 8, on that 40-minute flight. That is only the Delhi gang, not counting the thousands pouring in from Guwahati to Guntur. And now the Jaipur Literature Festival, JLF, is ten. In 2004 when it was still Jaipur Virasat Festival, there were 16 people in Durbar Hall, the smallest venue at Diggi Palace, 12 of them Japanese tourists who had accidentally strayed in. Till about 2008-09 it was a bit like that—a few hundred people, somewhat bewildered, gathering to listen to a few authors, equally flummoxed.