By Alex Perry

Posted Monday, June 27, 2005; 20:00 HKT
Asia offers endless possibilities for literary trips. Book in hand, you can ride the Iron Rooster with Paul Theroux, take a passage to India with E.M. Forster, or explore the modern Japan of Haruki Murakami. But if you want to meet actual authors, the hill station of Kasauli—seven hours north of New Delhi, in the state of Himachal Pradesh—offers the chance of bumping into a walking library of talent. Kasauli's cool air, country lanes and tall oak woods have drawn writers for generations. But the undisputed king of Kasauli is the grand old man of Indian letters—Khushwant Singh. Now approaching 90, Singh has sustained his career by two simple devices: writing prolifically and with humor. He can be even more garrulous, scurrilous and hilarious in person—and, to the delight of his visitors, is often eager to sit down for a chat and a whisky. You can catch his distinctive, white-bearded and turbaned figure around town, or in the Kasauli Club, which authors have haunted since 1880. Persistent fans bearing spectacular single malts might even consider dropping a note at his home to inquire if he's receiving visitors. "The best time to get me," Singh wrote in a letter to TIME from Kasauli last year, "is 12 noon when I get down from my lunch, or 7 p.m., when I have my sundowner."

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