“I never thought I’d make it so far, but having got here, I don’t feel very different,” Ruskin Bond, who turns 90 on May 19, tells me over the telephone from his balmy perch in Landour, Mussoorie. “Except I don’t walk as far as I used to walk. I don’t see as well as I used to see. And I’m not making love as I used to when I was younger.”
Barring those blips, it’s business as usual for Bond sahib. As he (from Aleph; Bond calls it “an essay on life”) and, for younger readers, (HarperCollins) and (Puffin). A couple more are planned for next year. “Even if I kick the bucket, they will come out,” he says reassuringly.
