Ruskin Bond as a young man, pho­tographed in Delhi’s Patel Nagar. One of our best-loved writ­ers, Ruskin Bond is final­ly out with his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, titled Lone Fox Danc­ing, which charts, in great detail and with char­ac­ter­is­tic panache, the unlike­ly tra­jec­to­ry of the author’s life: from his child­hood in Jam­na­gar to his writer­ly retreat in Mus­soorie. Pre­sent­ed here is an excerpt. Sit­ting in the moun­tains, I remem­ber the sea: tin­sel on a vast field of water, and sun­ny white sheets bil­low­ing in the wind. I remem­ber a for­est of nod­ding flow­ers and patch­es of red, yel­low, green and blue light on a wall. And I remem­ber a lit­tle boy who ate a lot of kof­ta cur­ry and was used to hav­ing his way. My moth­er always said I was the most trou­ble­some of all her chil­dren — an angel in front of strangers, and a stub­born lit­tle dev­il at home. Moth­ers often say that of their first­born, who are inclined to look down on the com­pe­ti­tion, but mine did so with good rea­son. Evi­dence of my stub­born nature must have emerged when I was three or four. Baby pho­tos show me as some­thing of a cherub, always smil­ing, chub­by, charm­ing, cheeky. Vis­i­tors […]