You

 

You by M Mukundan, translated from Malayalam by Nandakumar K can be approximated as an ordinary man’s life journey; something akin to Upamanyu Chatterjee’s Lorenzo Searches for the Meaning of Life, John William's Stoner or Robert Seethaler's A Whole Life you may think. But CV Unnikrishnan, son of a stamp paper vendor Goyindan and homemaker Lakshmikutty, the fourth born of their five children, the only graduate in the family for whom reading is everything, one wedded to his writing only to divorce it later bitterly, the author of just one novel that earned him both brickbats and bouquets, makes you think otherwise. 

The novel opens with 70 yr old Unnikrishnan announcing in a press conference arranged by him,  attended by only two reporters, that he would die on Dec 16, 2019. Upset at being dismissed as a lunatic, when Paru, a newbie journalist, knocks at his door to extract information on how he can predict his death so accurately, Unnikrishnan, who in his youth had an uncanny obsession for uncovering mysteries, is amused and irritated in equal measure at her curiosity to learn his past - a past he tries hard to shed that clings firmly to his skin. 

‘Listen,’ you say, ‘life is like a detective novel. If the end is revealed at the beginning, who will read it? Where’s the fun in reading it?’ 

And, we trace Unnikrishnan's life as it unfolds gradually, attempting to find answers to the many how s and why s that pop up along the way. 

True to the title, the second person narrative employed here is unique - it lends a certain emotional detachment yet facilitates ‘you’, the reader, to place yourself in Unnikrishnan’s shoes; this is strongest plus of the book. Though Unnikrishnan’s life journey occupies the centre stage, every character is well-written. After all, both the author and Unnikrishnan  believe -“There is no need for any story to have a protagonist, male or female, you thought. Every character is an adjunct”. From the ayurvedic doctor Choyi Vaidhyar who treats Unnikrishnan's scabies and diarrhea bouts to RamanKutty school master who likes to flog Unnikrishnan's bottoms for all reasons and seasons, each character gets ample room, thereby enlivening the storytelling.

‘Shouldn’t one have the right to choose when and how to die?’ , the principal question raised in the novel is not Unnikrishnan's line of thought but one strongly raised and advocated by his close friend Dr. Balan. The novel delves into the need for legalizing euthanasia drawing instances of people who writhe in pain/remain in a vegetative or bedridden state for years before death snuffs out the little life left in them. 

Like in the author's Delhi: A Soliloquy, personal history is intertwined with the country's politics here as well with the Moplah rebellion and Thalassery riots finding a mention. Through Unnikrishnan's burning ambition to become a writer, a writer’s fantasies, apprehensions and ordeals, writer’s block, writing as a process that demands one's solitude and is both rewarding and agonizing are portrayed so well. 

'You wanted to get home and start writing. It was like the urge to pee. When the bladder is full, the lower belly starts to ache. When the urge is to write, the chest aches. You could feel yourself filling up with scenarios, the words gushing forth.'

'You wanted to be a writer, but was writing an occupation?' 

The below lines that sum up the experience of writing a novel are funny and brilliant - 'Writing a novel was like catching a tiger by its tail. You held on to the tail and got dragged to wherever it went. If you let go, the tiger would turn on you and tear you to pieces. So, tail in hand, you stumbled behind as it prowled and dashed around. When it got into the water to drink, you followed. When it clambered up a tree, you were right behind, clutching its tail. When it leaped on its prey, you tumbled after it. When it mated, you did too. When it slept, so did you'.

Wry humour imbued with local flavour, well preserved in translation, makes Unnikrishnan’s life readable and interesting. It's a life filled with questions, one where all those who loved him earnestly were pushed into a pall of gloom. 

'How could it be that you, who ached to write a novel about those in pain, did not see the pain of your own parents? Were you so grossly selfish? Or was life only about writing and you simply failed to pay heed to the lives of others? You continued to struggle with these thoughts.' 

YOU - an ordinary man's earnest attempts to lead a simple and inconsequential life could have been a masterpiece, a perfect ten book if not for an implausible climax, its only letdown.

The Go-Between and Other Stories

 

The go-between and other stories by Ghanshyam Desai, translated from Gujarati by Aban Mukharji and Tulsi Vatsal is a collection of 21 stories taken from the author's collections - Tolu and Bandh Barna, spanning years 1964-2005. 

In most stories, the men lead frustrated lives, they are unable to take a firm stand and blame themselves for being cowardly. Some suspect their wives, their envy and suspicion gnaw at their insides and push them to either murderous thoughts or suicidal. Stories ‘Revenge’, ‘Yet Again’ , ‘Between Two Breaths’ and ‘God's Good Man’ are some stories based on this subject. The element of irony is pronounced in stories ‘Home of One's Own’ and ‘Our Beloved has Come ..’. Violence has a prominent place in many stories here, the first story ‘Plugging the Leak’ portrays domestic violence from which a woman has no escape. In ‘The Chameleon’ and ‘The Crow’, the writing unleashes violence potently, not directly but by using metaphor. 

Most stories end in a finite set of possibilities, popping a what-if question. Emotions of opposite kinds collide, a faint smile plays on lips even when the eyes are wet with tears, a man wishes to scream after losing his beloved wife but his young children stifle his screams and sobs and force him to laugh out loud. Somehow, this reminded me of how we are told to add a tiny pinch of salt to sweet dishes and a little sprinkle of sugar to any salty/spicy dish while cooking.

Most characters are trapped in their past, in memories/ dreaming about happy times, while their present is dreadful and the future bleak. The spectrum of emotions covered is largely dark and negative which intrigued me, made me to learn more about the author. But not much is known about him except that he was a modernist, experimental short story writer, the editor of Navneet Samarpan magazine and his children’s story collection received the Gujarati Sahitya Akademi Award. The translation allowed a smooth reading experience. Enjoyed reading this collection.

Chronicle of An Hour and A Half

 

A fictional village in Kerala, an illicit affair where the man (Burhan) is 15 years younger than the woman (Reyhana), salacious village gossip that stokes wild action and raw emotion on WhatsApp, a crowd that turns into a frenzied mob intent on punishing and setting the ‘wrong’ right - this roughly summarizes Saharu Nusaiba Kannanari’s Chronicle of an Hour and a Half; not just a chronicle of mass hysteria and mob lynching but a searing account of the world/times we live in - one that defies Newton's Third Law - where first the reaction is decided upon and readied and then the action is fabricated/blown out of proportion to match the reaction, a world that avenges something that never happened, a world where imagined hurt (more often than real hurt) rules emotions, seeks solace and demands action from/on the Internet, a world full of self-righteous sinners.

Before you dismiss this work as a bleak portrayal of our world in the name of glorifying reality, let me tell you that the author sheds light on many aspects of our life through his sizeable array of characters. Very few portray women and their problems with a clarity as sharp and fierce as the author. Reyhana terms her husband as an uxorious leech at the start, and the ‘why’ sinks in, in the final chapter. Nabeesumma, Burhan's mother can be hailed as a powerful woman for all she endures over years since her marriage but the author meekly points out that calling such women strong is only as farcical as hailing people stepping out to work a day after floods or terrorist attacks ravage a city as resilient, because do they even have a ‘choice’?

If the author openly shows what plagues women in our society, he shows the problems men face in a quiet, understated fashion. In a book that liberally gives space to Chinnan and Ashraf who ‘see’ problematic things, even to their wives and kids, the author doesn't leave a single chapter in Burhan’s name, the man who is mangled to death by the mob. This deliberate omission of voice spells clearly how gender stereotypes and social conventions not just affect women but men too. While Burhan faces an acute punishment, Reyhana suffers chronically, her honour besmirched for life for the same trouble they idly walked into. Now when both women and men suffer in different ways, the debate on whose suffering is ‘greater’ only seems pointless. Through Shahid and his conversations with his father, the author lends space to men who sacrificed a decent married life for toiling away in the Gulf countries and the widely accepted definition of ‘masculinity’. Through Najeeb Maash, the writer airs views, easily tagged as blasphemous in parts of the world. Through Funny, his son, he shows how mobile phones can aid, if not bowel movement, moral depravity. For all the love that North Kerala harbours for communism, Che Guevara and Argentinian & Brazilian soccer, a clear Latin American influence can be felt in the writing - it’s raw, graphic and reeks of violence.

I read this ‘much praised’ book a week back even though I got a copy of it right after its release. I loved discussing it with Bhavna with whom both planned and impromptu buddy reads have been special and fun. Taking time to pick the book, I thought, will rid me of a hyper critical eye. With a fair exposure to literature from Kerala, about 80 pages in, the vast array of characters, an illicit affair at the heart of the plot, men objectifying women, it all felt formulaic even though the writing and atmosphere build-up were top notch. But as I progressed, I quietly concluded that the book deserves all the praise and attention heaped on it, I was left with no other option.

The Keeper of Desolation : Stories

 

The Keeper of Desolation by Chandan Pandey, translated from Hindi by Sayari Debnath is a collection of 9 stories, stories that reveal a yawning gap between the rich and poor, those who wield power/authority and the common man, between dreams and reality, what's spoken and unspoken. And, it does this leaving a slim gap between fact and fiction, the surreal feels almost real.

For instance, in ‘Wound’, we are reminded of many instances where shoes have been hurled at politicians/eminent persons by frustrated commoners. In this story, an illustrator working for a magazine has his intentions and actions questioned by the top management for drawing pictures of shoes. ‘The Junction’ germinates from a mob lynching and a death in train when a man refuses to make space for another. For the intense farmer strikes that rocked the nation, farmers’ woes find a place in 'The Mathematics of Necessity’ where a farmer writes a letter to the PM of India requesting him to provide a more humane formula for calculating interest over loans. While this story feels light with wit and mild sarcasm, the staggeringly high interest rates that leave people in debt hanging from a precipice is dealt with in a deeply affecting fashion in ‘The Alphabet of Grass’. The starkly disproportionate power play (not the powerplay of cricket) unfolds in the titular story and this feels like a farce. Interrogation of some sort features in a couple of stories here - but a very menacing one in the story ‘The Land was Ours’ leaves a deep impact.

It is said that short stories are small windows to the outside world. What when these windows are shape-shifters, what when we readers have been pushing these windows for a view of the world only to realize that they should be pulled in to open. Chandan Pandey's stories present a knotty affair at many places that we readers learn to disentangle. The writing here is clever, convoluted. The translation by Sayari Debnath, so fine and erudite, makes the reading wholesome. In fact, there are many places where we wonder how the original lines in Hindi would have been. For instance, an entire paragraph in the story 'The Keeper of Desolation' that begins like this - "This town survived on a mountain of information. For example, B knew A well, and although B's relationship with C was tenuous, C was convinced for this reason ... E took D to F. F and D were on their way .."

In these stories, the socio-political issues are juxtaposed with personal strife, tender with brutal and stark with subtle. The corrupt who turn a lie into truth by repeating it a thousand times straight-faced and vice versa propel many stories here. The ideas of freedom and democracy are only a joke under despotic rulers, only silently buckling under the weight of very real 'oppressor -oppressed' existence. 

That the author portrays women as ethereally beautiful objects meant for man’s desire and lust irked me at times, but this isn’t unrealistic. A woman's waist chain pattern comes under close scrutiny in one story and in another, a man feels like kissing the pomegranate shaped, red mouth of a lady DM officer who's questioning him. 

The Harper Perennial editions usually have an 'insights' section at the book's end, I am a little disappointed that it’s absent here. These minor niggles aside, The Keeper of Desolation unravels truths we have lived with for years, some that we have even turned a blind eye to, thanks to our privilege.

A wonderful collection of very immersive and essential, thought-provoking stories!

Sharing some favorite lines from the stories below-

“The powerful want just this to happen, for shoes to be rained on them. And that is why we should not hit them with real shoes. The day the police and criminals bigger than them come over to your side, you may but anyone you want with shoes without any fear.”

“After all, one way of fighting life was to arrest the present in the neat cages of calendar dates"

(From the story Wound)

“What were the heights to which we could soar or the depths to which we could sink in our wonderful lives? We were not targeting the bullseye. We were so caught up in the pettiness of everyday existence that the real wonders of life were passing us by - and we were acutely aware of this loss.” (From the story The Junction)

"When I visited him (him referring to the editor of a newspaper), I found him writing two articles, one with each hand. With his left hand he was writing about the necessity of land grabbing, and with the other one, a condemnation of the act. Wah, I thought, what an intellectual!" (from the story - The Mathematics of Necessity)

Fool Bahadur

Fool Bahadur, a classic, a novella by Jayanath Pati, translated from Magahi by Abhay K was my last read for the month of April. Yes, this is the first book translated from the Magahi language. Spoken in about 9 districts of Bihar that lie to the south of Ganges & east of river Son, in Jharkhand and West Bengal too, Magahi revered as the sacred language of Buddhism, the official language of Maurya and Gupta empires, quietly slipped into an oblivion over time despite its 20 million speakers.

Fool Bahadur is a satirical take on the rampant corruption in every tier of bureaucracy/judiciary, on people in positions of power demanding favours of all kinds, people mollycoddling their superiors so that they can climb up the hierarchy or receive awards. Set during the British Raj in India, the book begins in 1911 at a railway station where Babu Samlal, a mukhtar (a legal practitioner in a lower court in India during the British Raj), is waiting to receive Maulavi Mojjafer Nawab, the new SDO of Bihar Sharif, the capital of Bihar then. Samlal yearns to get the title of ‘Rai Bahadur’. He knows he doesn't merit it, thus has a plan to coax the SDO into bestowing the honour upon him. The local courtesan Naseeban is a major instrument in his plans. But the circle officer, Haldar Singh who treats Naseeban as his mistress is an impediment. Does Samlal manage to get the coveted title of Rai Bahadur or does his plan go kaput?

In an unscrupulous world, one where corruption and exploitation is rife in corridors of power, Fool Bahadur is a timeless classic. But, in detailing the bureaucratic structure, sections of law, the officers/their roles during the British Raj, it feels restricted, like a period-piece.

The very insightful introductory note (40 pages long) on Magahi language and its literature, on Magadha region in Bihar and its rich history and cultural heritage, penned by the translator Abhay K amply reveals his zeal for his mother tongue. He reminded me of ‘The Man who Talked to Walls’ to preserve his mother tongue from dying in a story by Appadurai Muttulingam. 

Notes:

The first edition of the book Fool Bahadur, the second novel of the author Jayanath Pati, was published on April 1, 1928 , the April Fool's day. This day has significance in the story too. The cover of the first edition had an image of the joker dressed in a western suit with a bell in his right hand and a paper cut out in his left hand. The cut out had the book title in large font on it and below it was written - not meant for women and children, which only meant that women and children were not permitted to read novels at that time. Coincidentally, the calendar image for April at my home had an image of a joker on it and I found it fit to click a pic with the book. The cover of this book is designed by Ahlawat Gunjan.

(A copy of the book was obtained from the publisher in exchange for a review)

Eden Abandoned - The Story of Lilith

 

“I am Lilith. Made not with commonplace, pedestrian sperm and egg, but by God’s own hand. I am the very first woman, before even Eve’s time.” Eden Abandoned by Shinie Antony is the story of Lilith, the putative first wife of the first man on the Earth (Adam) who left Eden as curiosity was her biggest vice, her inability to nod ‘yes’, her biggest defect. 

Crafted by God himself, she asserted she came second but wasn’t secondary, she wasn’t going to take anything lying down. A fallen wife, an OG rebel, a seductress and stealer of sperms, a baby killer, if Lilith stood for unrestrained rage, desire and promiscuity, Eve who replaces her, crafted from Adam’s rib embodied prudery, piety. If Eve loved to walk in Adam’s shadow, Lilith loved to hold a mirror to Adam.

“In order to make one man unspecial, you must make many men special” and Lilith does everything egregious to rip Adam off her life, but does she manage to? She earns the tag of a historic villainess, she’s omitted from the Bible and Torah, neither the Aramaic nor the Tower of Babel mention her, can she be resurrected as a modern day heroine? Read this slim book, just about the size of a smartphone, and brainstorm!

In Eden Abandoned, the gravitas is in the words. Shinie Antony’s raw, unbridled power in writing fits Lilith well like a glove that you sit back and wonder who fuels who. For instance, Lilith's love for the colour red is beautifully conveyed in lines below - 

"Red was going to be my colour. The red of my times was different from yours. Our red came from stone sparking stone, from fireworks trapped in uncut rubies, from trees blossoming in menstrual hues, from the evening brocade the sun sews around Earth, from the last light of a dying star."

There are little nuggets of wisdom too - " A good partner I tell you is the yeast in your bread loaves". "Happiness is nowhere as melodramatic as dawning of sense, rebuilding yourself one sinew at a time. Happiness is so damn quiet that the happy often don’t know they are happy until they are unhappy." 

But this linguistic sleight of hand gets arduous at places, especially in the last few chapters where things slow down and we begin to ruminate if Lilith is weighed down by guilt, loneliness, repentance before it is proved we are entirely wrong in the last page of the book.

There is no denying that Eden Abandoned takes patriarchy head on but as with any ‘-ism’, it espouses rebelling just for the sake of rebelling, trashes contentment as a flaw and bashes those who don't align, as in this instance - “What a pathetic woman a wife is. Seeking shade in her husband’s shadow. Doomed to be in awe of him ..”

Women who have questioned/refused to bow to male agency have always had it tough. Their fiery independence is seen as heresy by many. Lilith’s journey is no different. From a person of flesh and blood to becoming a memory erased, as chapters countdown from 13 to 0, this mini firecracker of a book goes bang!, quite loud & clear.

Rating 3.75 stars - As a feminist mythological retelling of a character hitherto unknown to most of us, I liked reading this book. I would rate it 4 stars because I believe one needs to tread a middle path between supporting extremes -complete, unadulterated independence/anarchy and servility. The final rating falls shorter for the writing feels arduous at places to navigate despite being potent. 

(A copy of the book was obtained from the publisher in return for a honest review)

Maria, Just Maria

 

“It's not a question of belief, Appacha. It's a question of belonging. It's about being with people we know, in a place we are familiar with. A place where we belong because of who we are, no matter what we do in our lives”. For Maria who thinks real life is boring and madness might add a bit of interest to it, does such a place exist in real life or is it only in dreams?

Maria, Just Maria by Sandhya Mary, translated from Malayalam by Jayasree Kalathil begins at a psychiatric hospital where Maria is being treated. From a sensitive, precocious & innocent child to an adult in 30s, struggling to live, Maria's journey unfolds in a non-linear fashion for the scatterbrain she is.

The youngest of four children, Maria is cast aside as an avoidable extra. She grows up at Kottarathil Veedu, her ancestral house. Geevarghese, her maternal grandfather (Appachan) who equals her in craziness is her best buddy. 

“What is the point in living without knowing the history of your own family and your ancestors?” says Appachan and we are regaled with stories of a plethora of colorful characters who sprawl like a banyan. Of ancestors, uncles and aunts, of an ancestor who was an outstanding magician, of Appachan's grandmother who aced prophesying, of Appachan's father whose temptation of finding a place in heaven superseded all other temptations, Appachan's own life story about his friends, his wife, his children and even of a saint who inspired his name, the stories here are aplenty. Chandi, the dog and Ammini, the parrot add an interesting anthropomorphic element.

Largely from Maria and her Appachan’s POV, through foibles of characters here, the author holds a mirror to our world that cannot think beyond binaries - haves & have nots, First world & Third world, normal-abnormal; a digital world that runs only on 0s & 1s, one that kneads, stretches and snips people to fit them into readymade moulds. Even though this sounds heavy, the author writes in an unshowy, funny manner balancing tragedy and comedy. If Maria's conversations with Karthav (Christ) are hilarious, her situation when she eventually moves in with her parents & siblings tears our heart asunder. The vast array of characters may leave us readers complaining, but the author makes sure that she enables our understanding of Maria, our becoming more tolerant to those who are widely different from us.

In a discussion between the author and the translator shared in the insights section at the end of the novel, the translator quotes Edith Grossman - “A translation can be faithful to tone and intention, to meaning. It can rarely be faithful to words or syntax, for these are peculiar to specific languages and are not transferable.” Jayasree Kalathil’s translation does this for there’s a little something that shifts in us at the end of the novel. Maria’s declension, her simple options for a happily ever after which feel hard to attain in this world moves us to tears. An activist-researcher in the field of mental health and human rights, author of ‘The Sackcloth Man’, there’s no one more fitting than Jayasree Kalathil who can translate this work. Fighting standard definitions of who’s a success and who’s a wastrel, or even wondering who discovered time is a thing to be used, this pretty unique novel instills in us, if not empathy, a restraint in terming someone struggling to live as mad. The cover design by Aashim Raj and the cover illustration by Nupur Panemangalore do complete justice to the story. 

Can't this world be a little more inclusive? This is the question we are left with at the end of this moving novel, the story of Maria who misplaced a few years of her life, or should we just say, the story of Maria, Just Maria.

A Fine Thread and Other Stories

 

A collection of sixteen stories, A Fine Thread and other stories by Tamil author Jeyamohan, translated by Jegadeesh Kumar, stands as a testament to the author's opinion that a writer shouldn't have a single political/ideological stand, for many stories in this collection feature a fierce clash of opposing perspectives. Debating on what's real and what’s an illusion, what's reverent and blasphemous, packed with accessorial information that make the reader think beyond the plot and the characters, Jeyamohan's stories pulsate with energy.

Though the collection has a somber start with ‘Ocean’s Nearby’ , it hits a crescendo with ‘Bubbles’, where a wife intends to get a breast augmentation surgery done against her husband's wishes. What happens when Mahatma Gandhi meets the Pulayar leader, Ayyankali for the first time, their imagined conversation makes up the story ‘A Fine Thread’. Curse/sin and atonement are at the center of stories ‘Shadow Crow’ and ‘Brother's Shadow’. While the former is light in tone with a man atoning for his grandfather’s mistake, the latter holds you by the scruff of your neck, sends a chill down your spine where a man suffering from schizophrenia fails to atone for a grave sin he committed. ‘The Angel’ traces a story in pre-independence Nigeria and subtly superimposes it over India at the end. What happens at the foot of Mt Yasur volcano almost over a century after the artist Charles Frazer witnessed a cannibal feast here has our complete attention in the story ‘The Volcanic Torch’.

A machine that erases a select portion of history, an attar seller from Maraikayyar community whose fortunes rose and ebbed like tides, a young man who turns jubilant when the girl he silently adores for three years comes up and talks to him; from small towns and quaint villages near Kanyakumari and Nagercoil in India to Nigeria, then to Russia in 1917 and to the Tanna island in South Pacific Ocean in Vanuatu Republic; from portrayal of casual misogyny at workplace to how injustice and oppression foments violence, how scientific research is stifled by mediocre top level officials - in themes, in locales, in emotions evoked and thoughts left behind in the end, the range in these stories is spectacular and breathtaking. A whirlwind of a collection!

Endnotes on Author and Translator - 

The author's body of work includes more than 300 short stories, volumes of literary criticism, travelogues, landmark novels like Venmurasu, Kotravai, Vishnupuram, Pinthodarum Nizhalin Kural (from which three excerpts feature in this collection). The writer of dialogues in Tamil for Mani Ratnam's movies PS 1 and PS 2 is another  feather to his cap. I usually tend to think of probable lines in the original when I read works translated from Tamil (my mother tongue). When a translation allows me this, I am content. For many stories here, I was fully involved in absorbing the arguments presented by the author. The supplementary details packed in these stories also sent me on mini Google search assignments that I skipped this thinking back in Tamil exercise, Jegadeesh Kumar's translation never once impeded my reading process. Thanks to his translation effort, these stories are now available to readers across the world. 

Some Thoughts After Reading Kalki's Works

 

Kalki R Krishnamurthy wrote Parthiban Kanavu (Parthiban's Dream in translation), the sequel to Sivakamiyin Sabatham (Sivakami's Vow in English) first. Serialized in his magazine in 1941, Parthiban Kanavu was a stupendous success. Sivakamiyin Sabatham was serialized later between 1944-46. It is noteworthy that in Nandini Vijayaraghavan’s translation, Parthiban's Dream saw the light of the day first. And staying faithful to the chronological order, I read the sequel work first.

Sivakami's Vow published by Penguin India, the entire novel is split into four volumes

A page from Parthiban's Dream, the sequel to Sivakami's Vow.
Published by Ratna Books, this book boasts of beautiful, monochromatic illustrations by Gopulu Sir,
a popular cartoonist for many Tamil weekly. These illustrations clearly elevate the reading experience.

Both these novels amply highlight the adverse impact of war, the toll it takes on lives and environment for generations, a much needed reminder in today's world. That religion and politics make a highly inflammable combination is another area of focus. Kalki brought to life the reign of Pallavas, Cholas and Chalukyas, even Cheras and Pandyas, in his works at a time when the Internet didn't exist. His descriptions compelled people to visit or dream about Mamallapuram, Kanchi, Ajanta caves and Badami. Top notch characterization, portrayal of romance with an old world charm, a multitude of twists involving shrewd spies, able military commanders, masquerading kings, valorous common men, many promises to keep - these two works share many similarities between them. However, it one difference between them that stood out for me and will stay with me. Even when we adore our parents for the way they brought us up and mostly agree with their approach, there’s a part of us that refuses to be like them when we become a parent ourselves. We consciously steer away from how they would have thought or acted, vowing to make a change for our children.

At the end of Sivakami's Vow, it's the fate of two star-crossed lovers - Narasimha Pallavar and Sivakami, her unrequited love that leaves us teary eyed. When I finished reading the book last December, I grasped entirely why emperor Narasimha Pallavar did everything he did in Parthiban's Dream, quite unlike his father and predecessor Mahendra Pallavar, to aid the fruition of his dear daughter Kundavai's dream. In getting Kundavai married to her lover Vikraman, may be Narasimha Pallavar healed a little part of his broken self. First as a father who wants his daughter to be happy, and then a dutiful monarch, he won my heart many times over in Parthiban's Dream.

The Joy Luck Club

Amy Tan's debut novel, first published in 1989, The Joy Luck Club, a widely read and appreciated classic, needs no introduction. Still for the sake of completion, here is a line on what the book is about - four Chinese women (Ms.Woo, Ms.Hsu, Ms. Jong and Ms. St.Clair) who immigrate to the USA post WWII in search of hope, a better tomorrow leaving behind tragedies that scarred their lives in their homeland, China. It's about their daughters, born in the USA, who turn out to be more American than Chinese. 

Extensively on mother-daughter relationships fraught with tension and misunderstanding even when built on love and trust, on how one's past is inextricably linked to the present and future too, on the conundrum associated with hyphenated cultures, The Joy Luck Club can boast of -

1) clear structure 2) lucid writing 3) memorable characters (some, if not all).

Four sections, each with four chapters, the book's structure is inspired from the game mahjong played by the four mothers who form The Joy Luck Club in San Francisco. Two sections (the first and last one), from the POV of the mothers (except Suyuan Woo who is dead right at the start of the book and we know her from the POV of her daughter and other characters) focus on their lives - their past in China, life in America unto present day. The other two sections are from the POV of the daughters - their growing up years in America and life crises in their 30s. Every section begins with a parable that beautifully represents the essence of its contents. Though the book feels like a collection of disjoint 16 life vignettes/stories, how some stories here interlock is pretty interesting. As a novel comprising of loosely connected stories, I felt this book allows the reader the liberty to slowly soak it up even when hard pressed for contiguous reading time that a novel usually demands.  

The writing is simple, evocative and straightforward. For instance, the author describes Kweilin in China with the line below - "The peaks looked like giant fried fish heads trying to jump out of a vat of oil." and this description perfectly matches with the Google images of Kweilin. 

There are lines, paragraphs that I loved and jotted down in my diary but the below are really special - 

(POV of Waverly Jong, Lindo Jong's daughter)

"The three of us, leaving our differences behind, stepping on the plane together, sitting side by side, lifting off, moving West to reach the East.

Tin Jong, in America, asking Lindo if she will marry him in broken English - "Lindo, can you spouse me?" 

In providing a rich insight into Chinese culture - their festivals, beliefs, superstitions and traditions, this book scores extremely well. There is a little history in the background with details of the Japanese invasion of China during WWII. 

Of the four mother-daughter pairs, Suyuan Woo, her daughter Jing Mei Woo, Lindo Jong and her daughter Waverly Jong are my favourites. 

Despite the above positives, The Joy Luck Club fell flat in sections from the POV of the daughters as failed marriages and divorce was a recurrent subject here. Also, while the ordeals of the mother, what shaped their attitude, hopes and aspirations was pretty clear, the portraiture of the daughters remained fuzzy. Few situations felt logically improbable too. 

"American circumstances and Chinese character, how could I know these two things do not mix?"-  even as the first gen immigrants want more opportunities, freedom, everything they lacked for their children, their insecurity as they drift away from their culture is an oft-discussed subject in fiction that it has begun to feel as insipid as is real. Jhumpa Lahiri, Kimi Cunningham Grant and Julie Otsuka (to name a few) are authors who have reflected a lot on this subject. 

But even as I write this, I wish there is an Indian equivalent of The Joy Luck Club featuring four 

Indian women catching up on a game of Ludo, laughing and chatting over food and drink, their stories and that of their American-born daughters.

The Joy Luck Club wasn't a 5* read for me, but I enjoyed it despite its shortcomings; quite like how the mothers and daughters in this book accept each other, fully aware of their weaknesses.

Will I read more by Amy Tan? Yes, I will, for she writes in the preface to this book - "storytelling was my mother's purgative for her misery". I am sure she has several stories passed down to her by her mother to share with us readers. 

The Dalit Brahmin and other stories

 

The Dalit Brahmin and other stories (a collection of 28 stories) by Sharankumar Limbale, translated from Marathi by Priya Adarkar, grabbed my attention due to the introduction penned by Anand Teltumbde (no disrespect meant for the author & translator). This introduction is an extremely vital part of the book, a primer on the birth and evolution of Dalit writings, the author and his works and a guide on how to go about the stories (grouped into 6 categories). Also, every story is keenly analysed/reviewed here before ending in questions that provoke thought. 

Dwelling on Dalit experience in post independent India, Limbale's stories open up a brutal world that's driven and conditioned by caste system. One story after the other, in vitriolic writing, the author lays bare how exploitation, humiliation, oppression, pain and shame are deeply embedded in a Dalit's daily life. From feudal villages to cities, slum dwellers to middle class Dalits, servility to violent revolt as response the stories cover a broad spectrum, easily unattainable in a similar sized novel.

Even as one suspects 28 stories on one subject might allow repetition, fiery lines and little twists at the end make each story different & impressive 

Another reason that made me want to read this is the oxymoron term in the title - The Dalit Brahmin, used for the urban educated Dalit middle class who look down upon their own folk and cosy up to Brahmins and want to emulate their lives. Plagued by an inferiority complex, they want to distance themselves from everything that once pulled them down. That a few stories here focus on this mentality makes it different from most works that largely focus on the hegemony by Brahmins and zamindars. 

How the author portrays women didn't sit well with me - if they are upper caste, they are selfish, insensitive harbingers of doom for a Dalit man, his family, his whole village; if lower caste, they are mere objects of sex. 

Translation can never fully shoulder the cultural baggage but in Priya Adarkar's words, the power with which the author smacks us with truth stays unadulterated. 

A brilliant and powerful collection of stories! 

Who's Afraid of a Giant Wheel?

 

Noorie, the protagonist of Who's Afraid of a Giant Wheel by Zainab Sulaiman, replies 'I want to have a happy family when I grow up' when her classmate Seema questions her what she wants to become when she grows up. Seema, who's clear she wants to become a doctor, is puzzled at Noorie's answer but Noorie really doesn't have an alternate/better one.

Noorie bosses around in school, has happiest times with her best friend Amy, is unsure if Seema is a good friend even though she is really helpful. At home, Noorie is her maternal grandmother's pet and gets easily annoyed by her younger sister Nida (though she adores her too). She is a meek, 'forever at your service' playmate to her neighbor Tina.

In about 120 pages, the how and why behind Noorie's thoughts and actions unfolds slowly, gathering momentum and coming together well in the last four chapters.

From my experiences (own,observed  & borrowed), I feel a child's ability to make friends, at least in the early/school years, depends largely on the child's relationship with his/her parents and the equation parents share between themselves. Like all first lessons, that trust and mutual respect are essential in any relationship is also learnt at home.

When Noorie goes on a giant wheel for the first time, she feels nervous. Her stomach rushes up to her throat every time she goes down; a sudden gush of air hits her with a beautiful sight of the world below as she goes up. Noorie slowly gets used to the ride and feels only excitement. Zainab Sulaiman picks up the experience of this ubiquitous amusement park ride and depicts beautifully what 'life' is for all of us - one where change is inevitable, letting go is essential and sad/ bad days are interspersed with hopeful and happy days.

On the surface and for young readers, Who's Afraid of a Giant Wheel would work like a slice-of-life story of a young class 4 girl. But for grown-ups, the underlying messages are many and important. Enjoyed reading it!!

Dakshin - South Indian Myths and Fables Retold

 

Aren't folktales like rivers, crossing the barriers of borders and languages, flowing for years down generations? As a spring in the mountains, gushing down gorges, cascading down cliffs, flowing steadily and nurturing life, eventually draining into the wide sea; at times swelling in a blinding rage, and at others meekly vanishing into a thin stream, a river assumes many forms, quite like a folktale that comes in different versions. For instance, 'The Tale of the Singing Drum' from the Pattole Palame compilation (Kodava folklore) in this book loosely reminded me of the tale of Tejimola (from Assam).

The similarity between rivers & folktales struck me as I read the last story 'The Sage and the River'. It's not just a tale of Sage Agastya and the River Kaveri but a testimony to the valour of Kodava women (Kodava is the language spoken in Coorg & name of community too), also one that explains why Kodava women drape their saree in a unique way.

Why do Kodava men carry Piche Kaththi (an ornate sheathed knife with a crescent moon mark) during traditional ceremonies? 

What does their war cry 'Iggi Bokki' mean? 

Why is the Varaha (wild boar incarnation of Vishnu) revered in many places in Western ghats? Other than simple life lessons that folktales offer, it's interesting how they tell us the how, why and what kindling our imagination, in a way so unlike chunky encyclopedias.

Dakshin, a collection of 15 folktales, feels wholesome for the regions and languages it represents. Tales translated from Badaga (language & community in Nilgiris), Tamil (set in Kongunadu), Malayalam and one from Telugu (Tale of Bala Nagamma & Evil Sorcerer that has inspired movies) apart from many tales set in Karnataka feature here. Though the author clearly focuses on folklore from Coorg (from where he hails), he stretches the book's coverage by including a tale from Odisha (from Munda community). 

In storytelling that is lucid and engaging, Dakshin - South Indian Myths and Fables Retold is every bit enjoyable. One aspect that clearly stood out for me in the book is how the author has included a story (consisting of three stories - The Tale of the Jungle River) narrated by his primary school teacher. My love for reading and stories is largely due to me middle school English teacher, I cannot thank her enough. The stories are adequately supported by Pari Satarkar's lovely illustrations. The beautiful cover design is by Isha Nagar. 

For children and for 'hungry-for-stories child' alive in us grown ups, Dakshin by MP Nitin Kushalappa is a very beautiful treat.

Marquez, EMS, Gulam and others

 

This splendid collection of 15 stories let me travel to Doha, Jerusalem, Baghdad, Dublin, Djibouti, Ethiopia, America, Nainital, Solapur and of course, to a few towns in Kerala.

In the author’s note, Benyamin writes ‘stories cannot be pulled out of thin air like magicians and sanyasis pull out vibhuti. They are deeply rooted in life’. He explains how stories here are inspired by his experiences. Rather than report them in a matter of fact style, he wraps them intelligently with his opinions, beliefs, fears without pontificating even once. In every story, he highlights how we human beings view each other with spite and skepticism, through a myriad of filters - race, colour, religion, caste, class, nationality missing out the most rudimentary link - of humanity. The poor and marginalized, denotified nomadic tribes, immigrants from third world nations eking out a living in rich, developed countries find a place in these stories.

What happens when a young journalist in Kerala, Gregory George Mathews, wakes up one morning and believes he has transformed into the great writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez? The similarities between Mathews and Marquez that convince him the transformation is real, how Mathews’ wife ends his madness by deploying ‘a thorn to remove a thorn’ strategy tickle a funny bone. Missing animals from a zoo in Doha and princes fleeing Saudi, the Hmongs in America and EMS Namboodiripad are puzzle pieces the author connects with brilliant storytelling in ‘Gulam Hussain’ and ‘EMS and the Girl’. The shortest story ‘The Enemy’ packs a punch showing how for one standing in the path of extreme hatred & violence, the choice is to either be a victim or a perpetrator, never a mute spectator. While there is a man who cannot begin thieving, his scruples wouldn’t let him, there’s another who cannot quit thieving for his caste wouldn’t allow him.

Sharing a few favorite lines from the stories here - 

No matter which story I say is true, you will still believe only the version that you choose to. It applies not just to stories - life too, has this limitation. (from the story - Alice in Wonderland) 

Life has a way of settling into a routine, which, in no time, effortlessly sweeps away friends, edging you  into a personal pit, making you abandon everyone who anchored you and gave you a sense of rootedness until then. (from the story - Javed the Mujahideen) 

From sailing on ancient trade routes from Alexandria eastwards to Muziris to learning about ethnic clashes between Hadiyas, Amhara & Oromo in Ethiopia, there’s never a dull moment in this collection that dazzles with nested stories and stories with luscious open endings. The Harper Perennial editions are known for elaborate end-notes that mostly include an author's interview, notes from the author and translator. However, this book has only an introduction by the author, and the stories more than make up for the lack of insights section at the end. Though I enjoyed every story, those that left a deep imprint are - The Stones of Gazan, Addis Ababa, EMS and the Girl, Alice in Wonderland, Solapur, A Chapter from my Red Sea Book. 

Translated well by BR Swarup, Marquez, EMS, Gulam and others - selected short stories by Benyamin is a fulfilling smorgasbord!

The Buddha in the Attic

 

"One by one all the old words we had taught them began to disappear from their heads. They forgot the names of the flowers in Japanese. They forgot the name of the water goddess, Mizu Gami, who protected our rivers and streams and insisted that we keep our wells clean. But whenever we heard them talking out loud in their sleep the words that came out of their mouths came out—we were sure of it—in Japanese." 

"Our daughters took big long steps, in the American manner, and moved with undignified haste.Our sons grew enormous. They insisted on eating bacon and eggs every morning for breakfast instead of bean-paste soup.They refused to use chopsticks. They drank gallons of milk. They spoke perfect English just like on the radio and whenever they caught us bowing before the kitchen god in the kitchen and clapping our hands they rolled their eyes and said, “Mama, please.” "

-- above is an excerpt from the book The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka, a work of historical fiction on 'Picture Brides' who sailed from Japan (in early 20th century) to join their husbands in San Francisco, men they had seen only in photos until then, in hope of a better future or out of obligation to their parents. They were told their husbands are bankers but they were peasants. These women were crushed down to their bones doing odd jobs alongside their husbands all day long. They gave birth under horrific conditions, some of their children died and some survived. 

They told their children - "Study hard. Be patient. Whatever you do, don’t end up like me." And still, when their children  turned different, they felt they had become 'indifferent' too.

The chaos that's bundled with 'hyphenated heritage', the emotional experience of being 'an outsider' makes The Buddha in the Attic a layered read. This extra dimension reminded me of Asako Serizawa's depiction of life of a Japanese woman in America until the miscegenation law was repealed in 1948 in her book Inheritors and Cynthia Kadohata's portrayal of a modest Japanese family in 1950s America in her book Kira Kira. It is this dimension that makes me want to pick Kimi Cunningham Grant's book Silver Like Dust. 

There is no doubt that The Buddha in the Attic sheds light on a relatively lesser known dark chapter of history and it does so remarkably well, in a clearly structured fashion with thematic chapters. The book begins a chapter dedicated to the journey of these picture brides by boat. Chapters that detail their first impression as they land in America, the truths that unravel when they meet their husbands, consummation of their marriages, the menial jobs they do all day long while silently bearing the brunt of racism, ordeals related to child birth and health care, the culture shock that tears them apart as their children grow up etc follow on.  

The author's thorough research (we infer from the acknowledgements) lends a precision to the text and earns readers' trust. The writing is lucid and evocative too. Yet, the book fails to garner a perfect score on two accounts. 

Repetition is a common literary device used to assert or drive home a point. At Night all Blood is Black by David Diop and The Twilight Zone by Nona Fernandes are historical fiction works that come to my mind instantly as instances where this is employed and works pretty well. However, in this book, though repetition enhances the reader's emotional connect with the plight of the women initially, it lends a clear drag thereafter; pronouncedly in the last three chapters where the Japanese are branded as traitors, incarcerated, evicted from their homes and interned at camps following the Japanese attack of Pearl Harbour. Instead of letting this tragedy sink in us readers, the drag left a sense of urgency in me to complete the book.

Also, though the writer's usage of 'we', a first person plural in narration to amplify the collective experiences of the picture brides felt intelligent, in the absence of a distinct set of characters to connect with, my journey through the read felt directionless at places. 

Despite the above shortcomings, The Buddha in the Attic, a slim and highly important read, will stay with me for long for the way it dazzled in parts. 

Pankaja

 “This novel wrote itself. I only provided the ink”, writes the author Vasanth Kannabiran about her book ‘Pankaja’, one that paints a vivid picture of the lives of upper caste women of Tamil society in the early 20th century. Chaste and dutiful wives, child brides, women widowed even before they attained puberty or knew their husband’s touch are under focus here. Through the life story of the eponymous character, stories of women related to her by blood and through her marriage, the author keenly gazes at loneliness, ennui in marriage, sexuality, desire, vulnerabilities of men and women. Pankaja is at the center of this world whittled down to about 200 pages, a world we are familiar with, a world which has & hasn't changed much over decades.

The book opens with these lines - “Relaxing in her easy chair in the front yard, Pankaja gazed at the pattern that the morning sun filtering in through the neem leaves cast at her feet”. Pankaja’s life is a landscape of contrasting emotions - joy, grief, love, loss, trust, betrayal - quite like the neem tree that’s known for its bitter fruit, serrated leaves, thick bark and also for its delicate blossoms & healing power.

The above lines (in quotes) reminded me of T Janakiraman’s Wooden Cow, translated from Tamil by Lakshmi Kannan, where the sunlight scattered in luminous dots on the floor, sometimes appearing like the hide of a dappled deer, at other times like that of a leopard to the female protagonist, Ammani hints at how complex our lives are. Both the books - Pankaja and Wooden Cow, fuelled by atrocities faced by widows in the Tamil Brahmin community, have women characters of great strength and resilience who defy social conventions and brave resentment from family and social censure.

Rendered as a bunch of disconnected anecdotes & brimming with characters (which gets tad cumbersome at times), Pankaja throws ample light on a heavily patriarchal and caste-ist society, one where widows are heavily ostracized, where a woman outside the safe, sacrosanct institution of marriage is an easy prey, where bigamy isn’t illegal and men had a wife to manage home and married an educated widow to flaunt their magnanimity. An unflinchingly honest narrative, this feels like dots of a ‘kolam’ (seen on the book cover), waiting to be joined and discerned by us readers. 

I have read Vasanth Kannabiran's translation (from Telugu to English) - Softly Dies a Lake by Akkineni Kutumbarao, a fine instance of an eco-memoir. With this new release by Speaking Tiger publishers, I had a lovely chance to read a work of fiction by the author. Many thanks to the publishers for providing me with a copy of the book. 

Mansur

 

Mansur was an early 17th century Mughal nature painter who rose to limelight under the aegis of emperor Jahangir. Known for his realistic paintings of flora & fauna, his mastery earned him the moniker 'Ustad'. His painting of a turkey cock earned him the honor 'Nadir ul-Asr' (meaning Rarity of the Present). His painting of a dodo, made looking at a live specimen, was a sensation when showcased at the International Ornithological Congress at Helsinki in 1958. And it is on 27th Feb, 1627 as Mansur is working on the details of the dodo’s eye in his workroom that this book Mansur by Vikramajit Ram begins.

In the initial chapters, we are acquainted with who’s who as we take a tour of the imperial atelier, the library and women's quarters in Agra. We also learn a little of emperor Jahangir’s family, his equations with his father, children & grandchildren. As the story unfolds, a world of earnest ambition, immense talent & rich imagination is thrown open and we meet other Mughal artists like Abu’l Hasan (the Nadir uz-Zaman/Rarity of the Age), Bichitr (as peculiar as his name). It is a world where one’s creativity earns open reverence and secret spite & envy too. 

"From decades of studying furred and feathered beasts, Mansur has come to understand that, of the myriad emotions granted to sentient beings, discontent is the exclusive preserve of humankind." 

In prose that moves languorously, that’s as beautiful as nastaliq, we are privy to the closely guarded secrets, fierce competition, misconceptions and petty rivalries among the characters. Mansur’s impending trip with the emperor to Verinag, an important jewel-like verse book whose pages he has decorated with fine art work of butterflies that’s to be presented to the empress Nur Jahan on her 50th birthday are key props that sustain a sense of foreboding. 

From a stonecutter’s son to to an orphaned art apprentice to an artist who works on borders during Akbar’s reign to attaining resplendent fame under Jahangir, Mansur’s life journey unfolds delicately like a pencil tracing in this slim read. Bichitr's painting of emperor Jahangir preferring a Sufi shaykh to kings, Abu'l Hasan's portrait of Jahangir shooting the head of Malik Ambar are brought to life in the author's words in this book. An artist's supplies, the different hued pigments in mussel shells described vividly in great detail are a treat to read. 

Stories of Mughal kings, their wars & conquests, stories from the Zenena are plenty. But historical fiction that offers a beautiful peek into the lives of venerated painters in the Mughal court is pretty unique, quite like what Mansur’s epithet reflects. 

The Birth Lottery and Other Surprises

 

Shehan Karunatilaka begins The Birth Lottery and Other Surprises with a note ‘How to read the collection?’ and advises ‘never in sequence’. Still, he guides us through the broad categories his stories fall into showing he cares for the reader’s moods. Doing this, he has us impressed even before the collection of 30 stories (some very short and others long) has begun for we all know that a reader's mood is as unpredictable as vagaries of monsoon in the subcontinent.

It is exceptional how despite maintaining an amazingly funny tone in his stories, he is mighty serious about his craft and its import. He embeds facts, his country’s turbulent history and politics within fiction. For instance, No.One.Cares on the outset feels like a young, depressed man’s attempt to garner attention on social media but gradually reveals how the country’s autocratic regime has silenced many voices of dissent. Time Machine, Assassin’s Paradise, The Eyes Have It are other stories that brim with such intricately woven facts. Our heads teem with names when we are done with the above stories - JR Jayawardene, Sarojini Yogeswaran, Ranjan Wijeratne, Anagarika Dharmapala to name a few. 

Easy Tiger, Baby Monitor and Second Person impress us with twists, a delectably unique way of handling infidelity in marriage. Hugs, The 1969 Game, If You’re Sad and You Know It feel bizarre to start with before ending in beautiful & important messages. 

I would love to know Elon Musk’s reaction when he reads the opening piece - ‘A self-driving car’s thoughts as it crashes’. The titular story, in 42 vignettes, shows how one's birth over which one has no control is a tragedy/travesty of one's existence, an offbeat exploration of the question - 'How many births before attaining nibbana?' 

The Colonials and My Name is not Malini are interesting stories that depict how for the economically weaker sections of the society, freedom is an elusive concept even after the island nation is free from its foreign rulers. 

Shehan’s stories sparkle with wit, sardonic humor and imagination that can be described by adjectives only in superlative. His stories move beyond the moral and conventional norms. He’s brazen when he writes about the Sri Lankan civil war, human rights violation, adultery in marriages, messy college music-fest or nasty office politics. He is fiercely fearless as he washes his nation’s dirty linen in public and exposes the failures of his countrymen, people of his race and religion. This audacity truly deserves accolades, especially in today’s times when it's easier to label someone a traitor and the definition of patriotism is highly skewed. 

“Criticizing your country is not an act of treason. It is an act of love”, he writes in the story Assassin's Paradise and we can only pray that every country has a share of writers and readers who firmly believe in this. I must admit that though this audacity leaves us awestruck in some stories , it also leaves us cringing at few other places. 

Of the thirty entries that make this collection, the short ones are all winners, they're little surprises. Among the longer ones, The Ceylon Islands, Time Machine (though this one gets tedious), No.One.Cares, The Capital of Djibouti and Easy Tiger are favorites. 

If you (like me) love short stories, prefer them to a novel to sample an author’s writing style or if you wish to stay away from the much hyped award-winning novels by the author for the time being, The Birth Lottery and other Surprises published by Hachette India is a wonderful option. The stories here brace us for the author’s worldview and his way with words. Demanding the reader's  complete attention and patience, even re-read at places, The Birth Lottery and Other Surprises is a wonderful miscellany. Quirky, thought-provoking from start to end, it is packed with truth bombs and many surprises pop up all along.