Halfway House (Adhe Adhure)

Mohan Rakesh’s Adhe Adhure is the story of a family on a downward spiral to complete disintegration. It is an incisive take on man-woman relationship and a scathing portrayal of the disgruntled middle-class world. Written in the year 1968 and performed for the first time in 1969, the play enjoys a certain canonical status. 

The title of the translation - Halfway House refers to the incompleteness in the house, an inability to become ‘home’ that exudes warmth and predictability. The individuals in the house are also broken in different ways. There is neither scope for peace and restoration nor for complete dissolution of filial relations. The play ends in a situation similar to the start indicating a gridlock. 

Savitri, the breadwinner for a family of five, claims her married life of 22 years is a hell and her husband Mahendranath, a curse. Right from the play’s start, we see that Mahendranath has no place of respect in the household. He is projected as a lethargic, ‘good for nothing’ parasite sucking up his wife’s lifeblood, a useless lump of flesh. The treatment meted out to him elicits a little pity from us initially before we realize the part he played in ruining his marriage/home in act 2. 

Trapped in the vicious cycle of domestic dysfunctionality are the children of Mahendranath and Savitri - the eldest child, a son named Ashok, a college dropout with no inclination to find a job who spends time sleeping & cutting pictures from magazines, the older daughter Binni who runs away from home to marry her lover, Manoj but leads an unhappy married life and younger daughter Kinni, the ‘hard to discipline’ rebel in her early teens whose caustic tongue lashes like a whip. 

The play in 2 acts opens with a unique prelude where a man in a black suit, about 50 yrs old, stands in the middle of a disorderly living room and claims he is ‘amorphous’, lacks a well defined function in this play, a play which is just as undefined as him. This arrangement allows us to believe that though the play revolves around one family, its scope is universal given the pace at which post independent society (1960-70s) was transforming. Women were stepping out of home for work, striving for better education and financial independence which created an ego tussle between man and woman leading to clear, constant strain in their relationships. The middle class was clinging onto tradition and pining for freedom, witnessing genuine love and concern devoured by materialistic pleasures. 

That the author chooses Savitri as the wife’s name reflects sharp irony. The play’s Savitri yearns to get rid of her husband who she treats like a scumbag, sharply athwart the Savitri from Indian mythology who fought Yama, the God of death, valiantly and doggedly to bring her dead husband back to life. Despite this careful choice of name for the central protagonist, the author never resorts to using names of his characters through its length (possibly another attempt to enhance the scope of the play) - Mahendranath is referred to as The First Man, Savitri as The Woman, the daughters as The Older Girl and The Younger Girl and the son as The Boy. 

Other men too play a significant role in the play as Savitri and Mahendranath use them as options of ‘emotional refuge’ when the battle at home gets severely bitter. These men are Savitri’s boss, referred to as The Second Man known for empty boasting and ogling at women, The Third Man for whom Savitri has a soft corner and turns to when in utter distress and The Fourth Man, Juneja, who is Mahendranath’s close friend. It is noteworthy how the author insists that all men (barring the son Ashok who is a young boy), right from the man in the black suit in the prelude, should be played by the same person exhibiting only change in mannerisms and costume and the reason for this becomes clear as the play progresses. 

While the play’s act 1 only reveals deep fissures in the family, the children torn between their parents with the daughters reflecting their mother’s traits and the son mostly in tandem with the father, it is only in act 2 that the WHYs are answered, at least partly. Through conversations between Juneja (the Fourth Man) and Savitri (The Woman), we begin to grasp the role husband and wife played in ruining their marriage. The end leaves us with a stark realization that the author places most of the onus for the damage on Savitri. Even if inadvertently done, the end imparts a controversial status to the play. We swear to read more written by the author to take note of his style. The end leaves us with many questions, for instance, if it is okay to normalize a frustrated man’s violent behavior, if this play is anti-woman. 

Mohan Rakesh, one of the pioneers of the Nayi Kahani movement in Hindi literature, challenges our interpretation of the play at many places. The play’s critical analysis plus other detailed essays on the author & his written works at the end of the book published by Worldview Publications help in fine tuning our understanding. The translation by Bindu Batra offers a seamless reading experience and the introduction by Enact’s Rajinder Nath a befitting start to the play. Adhe Adhure succeeds in retaining our interest as it encourages debate and discussion, there's a lot in the lines said by the characters but so much more in the unsaid. 

Sorrow of the Snows

If one has to sum up the crux of Upendranath Ashk’s novella Sorrow of the Snows, translated from Hindi by Jai Ratan in a few words, I would choose ‘no land for the poor’. The opening chapter with the line - ‘Whether the boatman or peasant, shepherd or pandit , they were all steeped in poverty’ reaffirms my understanding. 

Hasandin, the protagonist, stays with his family consisting of his wife Yasman, son Idu and nephew Mamdoo in a three-roomed ramshackle house in the village of Parezpur, a little away from Gulmarg. A small-time peasant with a thin strip of land, he doubles up as a guide/syce and ferries tourists using his three horses from the Tangmarg pony stand. He spends more time in reverie than in prayers, always dreaming of making enough money to marry his only son to his elder brother’s daughter at Baba Pamdin shrine. It’s a tooth and nail fight to earn customers as both intense competition with fellow guides and ‘difficult to please’ police officers had to be tackled. 

The Britishers who always spent a month or more in Gulmarg, also known for being extremely benevolent in payments and offering bakshish, had left the country. Tourism remained the mainstay but Indians in this newly independent nation neither had the time/leisure to slowly soak up the beauty of Kashmir nor the intent to offer generous tips to the guides here. 

Hasandin’s morning prayers appear to favour him one day as the Khanna family from Delhi arrive at Tangmarg with an intent to visit Gulmarg. Hasandin works hard to impress his clients and even prepares an itinerary to other prominent tourist spots like Khilanmarg, Afrabat, the frozen lake and Alpatthar in the hope of earning a good sum of money. However, the fact that Khanna sahib is super stingy dawns upon him slowly before a final calamity strikes and Hasandin has more to lose, nothing to gain from this entire venture. 

Ashk ensures that the sympathy Hasandin earns is just as much as the despise earned by Khanna Sahib. We readers are gifted a virtual tour of Kashmir, thanks to his vivid imagery. Apart from the plight of the poor, their daily toil to make ends meet, we learn how tribesmen from across the border plundered places from Srinagar to Gulmarg, threatening the very livelihood of the locals. Religious prejudices are touched upon when Khanna sahib forces Hasandin to have tea with him at a Sikh’s stall instead of handing him an amount from his entitled pay and allowing him to have tea with other coolies and syces; it is noteworthy how this single episode works as a flashpoint in Hasandin’s head.

When asked what inspired Ashk to become a writer coming from a family that had no literary tradition, he replies ‘poor health, extreme sensitivity and the brutally maleficent atmosphere of the house’, the PS /insights section at the end (like in all Harper Perennial editions) offers a fine opportunity to know the author more, a delightful bonus to the readers.

Well translated, Sorrow of the Snows is a poignant portrayal of the systemic oppression the poor face in our society, set in post independent Kashmir still largely unmarred by religious terrorism and militancy. 

By Two Coffee and other stories

By Two Coffee and other stories brewed in Bangalore by Megha opens with the below dedication - ‘dedicated to the city of Bangalore that gave me everything’. And this itself made me fall in love with the book for the cities we live in play a vital role in our lives and in forming memories in my opinion. Bangalore is no Red Bull energy drink but I must admit that this city gave me wings, the first taste of financial independence, a certain emotional detachment from my family and enhanced my ability to handle personal life crises on my own. A city that does all of this literally gives you everything. 

Mala, our protagonist, through sweet stories of her childhood and growing up days (from the time she's 5 years old) takes us on a little trip down the memory lane. These stories perfectly capture the zeitgeist of 1980-90s and paint a beautiful picture of the carefree, simplistic joy of bygone times for which our craving has only become fervent, staying stuck in a global pandemic for over two years now. 

The stories with Kannada titles (their meanings in English appear alongside) set in a quaint colony called CR Nagar in Bangalore’s largest residential area - Jayanagar bear the stamp of simplicity and authenticity. The oil bath/head bath ritual, special breakfast of dosa, shallots sambar and chutney, hot bisibele bath with raita for lunch on Sundays and the Ganesha festival celebrations, Mala’s games with her friends, little squabbles with her cousin, every moment she spends with her family gives us bright smiles and quiet tears, the former in acknowledgement of and the latter in missing these little pleasures. Mala’s relationship with her ajja and ajji (her maternal grandparents) is absolutely heartwarming. 

With little nuggets of information on the Glass House in Lalbagh, naale baa mystery of the 90s, it is interesting to witness the Bangalore cityscape transform along with Mala’s growing up and becoming a dentist. The by two coffee which most of us order de facto in Darshinis (the affordable restaurants in Bangalore) at the end of a sumptuous meal has a strong emotional place in this little book. Soaked in nostalgia, rendered in simple language and brimming with love and gratitude, By Two Coffee and other stories is a delight to every reader, whether you hail from Bangalore or not. 

ADAM

 

“Ahha! How sad to think there is, in this world, nothing more wretched than human existence”.

Adam by S. Hareesh, translated from the Malayalam by Jayasree Kalathil, a collection of 9 stories explores human emotions like anger, envy, greed, vengeance and lust. 

 The title story ‘Adam’ toys with a simple truth - each one has a different destiny even if they are born to the same mother. Four pups born to a Belgian Malinois dog, separated right after their birth meet different fates in this story sparking off a little memory of the Tamil movie Michael Madana Kama Rajan but swerving away from everything predictable.

In ‘Death Notice’, characters do a cool jig with the macabre using death notices from old newspapers like WWE trump cards and battling for points. There is a brush with the supernatural in this story and the next 'Murder at the Culvert'. 

‘Kavyamela’ that draws its name and idea from an old Malayalam movie works around how the society spurns the blind and how sexual desire in men has no expiry date. A man who has always had the company of others since birth finds himself alone in the story ‘Alone’ and we wonder if this delusional tale is his bad dream or experience at death’s threshold. 

‘Maoist’, the longest and most layered story (on which the Malayalam movie Jallikattu is based), details the mayhem in a village when a bull and a she-buffalo to be butchered break free. As the entire village chips in to capture the animals, we get to know who’s who in the village and witness how this episode turns into an opportunity for many to fulfill their aspirations and settle personal scores.

In these stories, the author portrays animal characters like men and vice versa, leaving the boundaries between them nebulous. For instance, the bull in Maoist is headstrong, arrogant and extremely protective of the she-buffalo, its stance depicted much like a gallant man. Victor, one of the dogs in Adam who is as able and intelligent as the police officers for whom he works, is respected like a decorated army officer. And on the other hand, Maadan is the name given to both a man and an elephant who wreak havoc in a village in the story Murder at the Culvert; and one of the protagonists in the story Magic Tail is nicknamed Kapish (a monkey). 

Arrack, wild meat, lusting after shapely women, cruelty to animals and long standing hostility are a matter of pride for men here. The author never once tries to coat his words with veneer or make them egregious when dealing with the most primal, negative emotions. The plain honesty in his writing that makes us grimace is palpable, thanks to a wonderful translation.

If you, like me, haven't read Moustache by the author, Adam offers an ideal starting place helping us readers to form a fair idea of the author's writing style. And if you have already read Moustache, Adam would have already grabbed your interest/attention.

A collection that’s a gestalt, stories in Adam linger for long after they are over.