India, Oct. 13 -- Every October, the sleepy town of Kasauli wakes up from its torpor and prepares for its social gala masquerading as a LitFest. Yes, the Khushwant Singh LitFest, held at the venerable Kasauli Club, where even the hedges seem to whisper memories of the sardonic Sardarji whose name adorns the festival headline. And as with all grand Himalayan theatre, it's never quite just about books. The organisers ensure the festival's guest list is "appropriately diverse". This means panels of serious intellectuals, obviously, but also a sprinkling of nubile ladies, serving as visual garnish to whet the appetite of the ever-hopeful Punjabi male demographic. After all, nothing says "literary festival" quite like someone wandering past in a pashmina and boots that cost more than your paperback. Women, of course, are not mere window dressing. They use the LitFest platform far more pragmatically - as a catwalk opportunity for their designer clothes and shoes, crunching elegantly on Himalayan pebbles. A panel discussion might be on climate change or the microhistory of Partition, but somewhere between Session 3 and Tea Break 1, the runway begins. One must be ready for the impromptu vogue show past the bookstalls. The men, for their part, revel in this spectacle. Some turn up for the ideas, others for the ambience, but all seem quietly delighted by the unspoken catwalk happening around them. They nod gravely at phrases like "civilizational shifts" and "narratives of memory", while keeping an appreciative eye on who's arriving, and in what ensemble. The "Lit" in the festival begins to feel like optional snacking. As days progress, one notices a curious phenomenon: The density of seminars on post-coloniality, geopolitics, and such gradually thins, while the density of photo ops, selfies with authors, and book-launch glamour thickens. One moment you're supposed to be discussing the works of Khushwant Singh; the next, you're watching a flash of sequins and thinking, "Was that a poet or a model with an endorsement deal?" The more intense the foot traffic near the refreshments tent, the less audible the readings in Hall A. It's a high point for Kasauli Club, which becomes a hub of culture and couture, intellect and indulgence. There are sessions where real thinkers convene, books are discussed, ideas debated. But those tend to be scheduled early in the morning or late in the afternoon when the pashmina-clad are off recharging their accessories or choosing new stilettos. And so, the Khushwant Singh LitFest becomes a grand theatre of contradictions: Serious panels plus fashion parade; earnest discourse plus flirtation; temple of letters plus social catwalk. Occasionally, a great idea slips through, a new voice is heard, or a poet surprises. But more often, one returns home with Instagram stories, a few new book covers, a memory of someone wearing the perfect cardigan with leather boots, and only a faint recollection of whether Panel 2 was about Kashmir or climate change. In sum, the LitFest is partly seduction, partly sublimation. For the true believers in letters, it's a fraught pilgrimage: You go hoping the "lit" outweighs the "fest". Despite all this, Kasauli glows during those days. The Club is full, the pine-scented air buzzes, and the Himalayas echo with laughter and argument. Perhaps that mixture of the gauche and the grand, the fashionista and the philosopher is the festival's secret charm....