Vogue hosts a literary dinner in Jaipur

It started with the roses. Two attendants stationed on a low terrace made sure that each guest was met with a sigh of rose petals as they walked in. Musicians on the tabla, sarangi and santoor flanked the entrance while we were anointed and garlanded.

We crossed a moat, a plush lobby and several archways to get to the heart of the royal resort, built in a style that replicates the famous pink lime plaster walls of Jaipur. Our tables were set on a raised platform between two baradaris—or open pavilions—with pools on one side and lush green on the other. At a time when casual usage has made many words lose their meaning, the scene spelled out "spectacular".

The baradaris doubled up as a convenient bar area as the champagne and hors d’oeuvres were passed around. Author Akhil Sharma was the first to join us, followed by Alexandra Pringle, editor-in-chief of Bloomsbury Publishing, and her husband, the writer and filmmaker Rick Stroud.

As they were introduced, the Welsh novelist Sarah Waters and Booker Prize winner Eleanor Catton, both awestruck by the gorgeousness of the venue and the exclusiveness of the gathering, wondered aloud what they could have done so far to merit such an invitation. "Maybe it's for what we're going to do," laughed Catton.

Table talk

When we were seated for dinner, Catton, who'd been touring Indian schools in the two weeks leading up to Jaipur along with her mother Judith Catton, shared her experiences, talking about the writing process with school children (she thought Indian 11-year-olds were staggeringly smart).

The American author Nicholson Baker had a big fan in my husband, the film critic Raja Sen, and they bonded over the New Zealand comedy troupe Flight Of The Conchords and their first season on American television. Catton, who is from New Zealand, joined the chorus. As it does these days, conversation soon moved to the Golden Age of television and we discussed the excellent quality of contemporary television writing—and the lessons it holds for writers. Shifting scene, Sharma posited that in India, high art is consumed more in the form of music than by the written word.

"I hate people who are not serious about meals"

…Or so the dandy Algernon outraged in The Importance Of Being Earnest. Oscar Wilde's character would have loved the company of this set, who fell to silence as our elaborate five-course menu flagged off. The amuse bouche was the menu itself: printed with edible ink on rice paper with tiny garnishes for effect. Then a flight of little tasting dishes, each more inventive than the other, appeared. This included steamed idlis with prawn mousse and a foie gras-crusted Hyderabadi shikampuri: the fatty goose liver only increasing the creamy texture of the kebab. But what showcased executive chef Ajit Raman's culinary chops best was an entrée option: the smoked laal maas. Raman took the most traditional of Rajasthani dishes (mutton slow-cooked with Mathania chillis) and presented it in a manner befitting a Masterchef finale—on a bed of wok-fried spinach and bajra khichdi.

Anshul Kaul, the hotel's general manager, added that the hotel staff had conducted four tastings to ensure everything was perfect for the day. The truly breathtaking moment, however, arrived with the dessert assiette. Alongside the black cardamom and nutmeg kulfi, strawberry rasgoola, smoked dark chocolate mouse and meetha paan tortilla were miniature white-chocolate versions of every author’s book cover. It elicited exclamations from everyone, including Bloomsbury India's Diya Kar Hazra and her husband, the journalist and author Indrajit Hazra, who was surprised to see the cover of The Bioscope Man after many years.

The authors also spoke about the books that made them writers: for Baker, it was Pale Fire by Vladimir Nobakov; for Sharma, The Young Hemingway by Michael Reynolds.

It was a gorgeous evening from start to finish, right down to our names painted in gold on frangipani leaves that made for place settings. Kaul encouraged us to take our menu scrolls away. Printed on handmade paper embedded with basil seeds, we could sow it later to keep the evening alive. Because, both literally and figuratively, that night all the stars were out.