Paulo Coelho’s The Winner Stands Alone

Glam - 'Sham'

Author: Paulo Coelho
Pages: 373
Price: 325
Publishers: Harper Collins


Personally, I’ve never been a fan of The Alchemist or its “life-altering profundity”
But yes, I do recogonise it as a hugely successful book, given that almost everyone out there who can read has read it (and much like with Chetan Bhagat’s bestsellers or Khalid Hosseini’s The Kite Runner, mass popularity of books in India is not something to be undermined given how precious little is read anyway).

The other Paulo book I've read is Eleven Minutes, which a friend gifted some years back. I don’t remember much of it except that I was riveted by the story initially. But quickly it spiralled downwards, and then just became a sorry excuse to peddle soft porn.
Unfortunately, Paulo’s latest, The Winner Stands Alone, turned out far worse than I expected. Given that his works are basically translated from Portuguese, one probably ought to give him a bit of a leeway but it’s still annoying how the story is narrated in present tense (but this is something you will probably get used to as the story progresses).

The bigger issue is that that the setting and story ring totally false. So what’s it about? A one line summary of the book would read as 'a gathering of the rich and famous at Cannes even as a multi millionaire serial killer is on the prowl to reclaim his wife'. And the glitzy backdrop of the festival offers Paulo an opportunity to ruminate on many of the superficialities that lurk beneath the surface glory and glamour. Sadly, Paulo’s narrative turns out just as synthetic as the world he wishes to critique.

The characters are predictable, namely, a small town girl - embittered by the experience back home is determined to become a model. Another one wants to be an actress and is anxious she might miss the bus, as she’s 25 already (judging from the two books I’ve read, one can’t be too pleased with the way Paulo portrays young women….in Eleven Minutes especially, I found a definite attempt on his part to titillate the reader). There's a filmmaker, who is trying to get her movie financed by a leading distributor.

These are some of the important characters but the major one is that of Igor, a rich businessmen who is at Cannes in search of his wife Ewa, who left him a couple of years back and is living with a hot shot fashion designer, Hamid Hussain. Each of the characters comes in contact with the other and their destinies collide in small and big ways. All this while, Igor is quietly going about his business of murdering at least four people in separate incidents.

As I mentioned, the story never really strikes you as authentic and the reason (among many) is because there is an awkward distance between the author and his subject. Paulo betrays a definite inadequacy in the understanding of his setting and characters, which is why a redundancy and tedium creeps in ever so often. Most of the players are stereotypes and the only character who could have probably held your interest is Igor but he’s portrayed as so cold, unidimensional and staid that you don’t look forward to any of his encounters with the other characters. In general too, there is not a single character you feel for. This is because they are just too typical, potrayed without any real nuance, depth or imagination.

The only way this quasi thriller could have been salvaged was if it was a quick fire read. But that’s not the case, as there’s a colossal amount of preaching that follows every character’s action. The language tends to be heavy and along with the rambling, it makes for an uneven, uneasy read.
The only positive perhaps is the structure of the narrative, which moves back and forth, tracking a character’s back story and so on – the sole mental exercise that the novel offers you.

With Paulo, you expect him to tell a story, pause and then throw up an existential quandary.
That’s exactly what he does here but sadly, this story cuts no ice so there’s not much pop spirituality to look forward to either.

The only one remotely interesting page I found was on Paulo’s assessment on what human beings consider ‘normal’. Most of what we do is governed by what is ‘acceptable’ rather than what we think is correct.
But barring that, not recommend at all. At least with Eleven Minutes, I felt I had entered a real world for some time but with this one, you get the feeling of being stranded with a clueless bystander.

Short interview with Paulo Coelho

Your latest book basically looks at the superfluous lives lead by the rich and famous….Is that the only overarching theme of the book that you were trying to explore and emphasize or are there other things that drew you towards this subject as well?

In this book I wanted to explore how dreams can be manipulated and how people get shattered in the process. I’m not condemning vanity – since all under the sun is vanity as Salomon said. What I am interested in is in how people allow themselves to be dispossessed of themselves. In our current society there are collective standards that are completely anonymous and yet many try to subscribe to them. Some people believe their happiness is conditioned by money, fame, beauty… How does that happen? This book arose from this central question.

Your central character, Igor ‘destroys worlds’ How exactly do you perceive this character?

When I started to write the book, I had no clue where it would lead me. Somehow the characters take their destiny from the hands of the creator. My main surprise with Igor is that he justifies his crimes in the name of love. This contradiction gradually unfolded page after page. In a way I was a spectator of my character: he had a will of his own and led me towards very dark places. I needed to follow him – in order to see how far we can go in our insanity. I’m a writer and it’s not because I write a novel that it means that I justify all the characters’ actions. There are no justifications for Igor’s murderous acts and I never pretended throughout the novel to “judge” any of the characters in their cravings, illusions, and achievements.

All your books have some philosophical insight to offer. Since you are looked upon as a ‘healer' of sorts by millions of readers, I'm curious to know if that is the role that you primarily assume while writing or choosing a theme - ie to send a message and influence.

With success, the dimensions change but the inner feeling of sharing my soul with others remains intact. I’m living the dream I had in my youth but I never look upon this dream as something that has an end. As long as I’m able to live, think and love, the spark will continue.

What’s coming up next? And what are the themes you would like to explore in the future?

I can’t say since I’m not currently writing. I don’t like to speculate about what I may or not write. It takes away the “momentum” when I actually sit down and start a story.

Some thoughts on 'A Thousand Splendid Suns'

The Veil of Disenchantment

Author: Khaled Hosseini
Pages: 420
Publishers: Bloomsbury
Genre: Epic- drama
Price: 495

His stories still resemble the good old Bollywood film with the 'oh-so-it-was-him!' kind of twists, but here, fortunately there isn't that much  contrivance and the few that are there take nothing away from the central premise - ie the wretched state of women in Afghanistan and the inhuman nature of their existence.

Where The Kite Runner' story appeared more and more corny by the end, here Hosseini keeps his narrative more natural - capturing well the vulnerable state of his two spirited women protagonists. For better or worse, their fates are intertwined with the erratic and ever fluctuating socio-political situation in the country. It's poignant to see Marium and Laila being stifled under regimes like Taliban (that won't even allow them to step out of their house without a man to take them!) because both of them grow up as smart girls in relatively happy conditions. The author draws your attention to an erstwhile Afghanistan in the 60s, 70s and 80s where you had educated women who were doctors and lawyers. Having seen a better life in their childhood, both Marium and Laila are but naturally shocked by the cruel blow of fate that falls upon them in adulthood.

Marium is the illegitimate child of a rich father, and following the death of her mother marries a much older man, Rasheed. The latter is a prototype of a male chauvinist - perfectly happy with the status quo of a woman being treated subservient to a man. Which is why, he never quite criticises the gorilla army of the Taliban when they take over the country much later. He views their rigid, inhuman laws with ' a sort of forgiving bemusement' as Hosseini so fittingly describes. And yet, to the author’s credit, Rasheed never slips into being a caricature. In the initial stages of the marriage, he displays some tender fibres - even if he expects complete submission from his wife.
It is when Marium fails to deliver him a child after a douzen miscarrages that he unleashes his cruel male side, stinging her with sarcasm and crushing her spirit at every turn.

The Soviet invasion in the 80s incites a freedom struggle. Late towards the 90s, the Muhajadeens take over from them but it doesn't last, as different factions (based on caste and ideology) emerge, leading to a civil war. Families are destroyed, many of them flee to neighbouring countries like Iran and Pakistan..some even to US and UK. But the crisis mounts as many borders are sealed and refugee camps come up.

It is in this crossfire that Laila, the novel's second protagonist finds herself in. With her family dead and lover declared dead, she agrees to marry Rasheed who gives her a home. Marium and Laila are now step-wives sharing the same roof, each one living in sorrowful silence. In The Kite Runner, the novel's heartbreaking moments involve Amir and Hasan's childhood. In this novel, things are more tempered but still there are moments of great intensity that the author manages to build up. For example. Laila and her relationship with the crippled yet serenely sensuous Tariq comes closest to being one of the most touching parts of the novel.

The union of their souls - Marium and Laila-- coincides with the disintegration of Afghanistan into an abyss of religious fanaticism, propagated by the regime of the Taliban. It is amidst this chaos that both women form a bond and ultimately find their redemption.
Laila and Tariq return to Kabul (they settle in Pakistan in the meantime) after the US take over Afghanistan after 9/11 and the place starts to appear safer. This is obviously an autobiographical element - as Hosseini and his family had come visiting their homeland in 2003 to see how it had changed and if they could offer any help to its people.

What is commendable about the author's writing here is that even though the theme allows him to probably go all out and be emotionally manipulative in his treatment, he shows restraint - never losing focus of the bigger picture. Given Hosseini's present work as a US envoy for a UN refugee agency, you know his concerns are heart-felt and that clearly comes forth in the novel.

A Thousand Splendid Suns - in its theme of displacement, human suffering on account of wars and human rights violation ----is much like another favourite book of mine, Half Of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I like how both these books weave in a fictionalised dramatic story mirroring the real life human crisis around them.

The novel has an expansive, textured setting that he achieves once again and his skill as a writer - finding the exact words to describe something (great dialogues) or never letting his leads slip out of character- it all works well for the story. Importantly, he opens up an interesting window into a country and its people, telling stories with much passion and yes, readability.

Hindi Cinema - An Insider's View

Author: Anil Saari
Published In: 2009
Publishers: Oxford
Price: 495
Genre: Essays


Method In Madness

Along with the fact that Hindi cinema seems to fall in a rut of its own ever so often, the other major disappointment comes from the fact that unlike in the West, film journalism in India languishes in a kind of ignominious state.
The electronic media today thrives on minute-to-minute film gossip, displaying a sort of obnoxious aggression that has never been seen before. The paparazzi culture exists all over the world but in India, it seems to be blurring lines, leaving precious little space to any sort of analysis or thought.

It is in this context that I would like to introduce film journalist Anil Saari and his posthumously published book, Hindi Cinema - An Insider’s View - that is a compilation of his essays right from the 70s to as late as 2005 - the year he died. Most of these writings have appeared as columns in various newspapers and magazines.

The book has an comprehensive introduction from filmmaker and critic Partha Chatterjee, enumerating Saari's vast and in depth knowledge of cinema and most importantly, his ability in recogonising the Hindi film idiom as an important indicator of socio-cultural trends.

In an important pointer to why popular Hindi cinema mirrors life as it is and does not deptart from it dramatically (thereby never really being progressive), the author argues, “Mass media cannot introduce a greater rationality than that which already exists within society. Indeed, in many ways, the media must place itself on the lowest level at which certain mores and values are commonly accepted.”

He also has something interesting to share about the relevance of songs in films. “Given the episodic, fragmentary structure of our films, the sprawling patchwork of plots and sub plots are ultimately anchored and united thematically through songs which provide the philosophical world view that the film subscribes to and expostulates,” he says in the essay. For this reason, Saari believes songs have a definite and important role to play in Indian films.

The other noteworthy essay he writes is about 'Hindi cinema and its compelling world'. Even though films never tampered with the established social fibre, it still fired the imagination of the common man taking him through sensations he had never felt before. So Shree 420 became one of the biggest money spinners of the times, "blending traditional Buddhist ideal of renunciation with sensuality” Also, “in its own inelegant way, it taught a million young Indians how to accept their natural attraction for the other sex.” “Shammi Kapoor may well have been the terror of the middle class mothers. But his brashness in Dil Deke Dekho prompted youngsters to discard the Devdas concept of the suffering lover”
So he concludes that even with its conservatism, Hindi cinema became the standard bearers of fashion and modernity.

One of the most important sections in my view is his take on art cinema vis a vis popular cinema. Saari believes that mainstream commercial directors did a more sincere job of assimilating some of the strengths of art cinema into the commercial mould than what parallel filmmakers achieved in terms of reaching out to a wider audience. According to him mainstream cinema - taking a cue from art cinema- curbed its tendency to be too verbal and switched course and became more visual in its approach. The camera came alive and even the crassest of stereotypes was given some semblance of social relevance and reality. This naturally helped popular cinema to revive and rejuvenate itself.

Saari, while appreciative of the efforts of parallel filmmakers, is vocal in his criticism of them too. The New Wave movement - that relied on state sponsorship in the 80s - did not throw up even one name who tried to bride the gap between art and commercial, he says. And this remains his biggest grouse against the art film movement. “They could not reach out to a wider audience because many of these makers alienated themselves from the very people for whom they were supposed to be making the films for....they forgot that a genuine movement in film could come only through a strong relationship with the people.”
While he's extremely appreciative of the earliest art film movement brought about by masters like Satyajit Ray, Ritwick Ghatak, Mrinal Sen and Adoor Gopalakrishnan, he remains disappointed that though their works found acceptance internationally, within their own country, the masses at large couldn't really be drawn in to see their films.
His emphasis through his essays in this section is that art need not stand in opposition to popular cinema and in fact, parallel films can offer mainstream films with an array of styles and ideas that can enrich it.

Another insightful essay is on ‘violence in cinema’ and how for the longest time there were no action sequences in Hindi films. But this he says was only a temporary ‘repression’ - the influence of Gandhi and emphasis on non-violence. “Violence has been an obvious, but unfortunately ignored characteristic of the actual history of the subcontinent.” Action came to films towards 1968-70 and this curiously coincided with the political atmosphere in the country. It was the time of the Naxalite upsurge, then there was the Bangladesh liberation. “The new consciousness responded to new motifs and new visual patterns on the screen,” he notes.

There are also interesting observations he makes about screen idols, right from the troika of Raj Kapoor, Dilip Kumar and Dev Anand to screen goddess, Nargis, Madhubala and Waheeda Rahman. He also shares his deep appreciation for filmmaker Guru Dutt, who served his art above all other considerations.

To give an example of how he offers valid criticism on a film, his essay on Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas is useful. According to him Bhansali's (undeniably gifted, he says) interpretation of Sarat Chandra’s novel tries to be closer to poetry than to storytelling. “What almost invariably happens when an Indian filmmaker wants to create ‘poetry on celluloid’ is that he wishes to make every single moment in his film a great moment. - of high emotion, grand gestures, extraordinary feelings.” According to Saari, such intensity creates its own one dimensionality, a monotony that in a short time destroys the dramatic rhythm that is so essential to any work of art.
In T S Eliot's words, poetry happens when ‘a work transcends from the ridiculous to the sublime’ And our cinema follows Eliot's recommendation. ...wherein amidst the ordinariness of living, a great film sets its dramatic surprises, narrative twists and heart wrenching moment. This juxtaposition is important and Devdas sadly ignores that aspect, he feels.

There’s a great deal of insight in Anil Saari’s book. Though academic in nature, it’s a valuable read for anyone looking for comprehensive analysis on Hindi cinema. The essays that have been compiled are all mostly written at least a decade ago, which means some of its contents, concerns and the book’s overall tone could appear a bit dated. For example, while the art verses popular cinema is an interesting part of this book, that distinction has all but vanished in today’s multiplex era and Saari would be the one to be most delighted by it.
Also, there are chapters like ‘the Southern locale for Hindi films’ ‘Rags to riches made Real’ ‘Black money as mainstay of Hindi cinema’ - which don’t really say much other than the obvious.
Another gaffe is the title of the book. Hindi Cinema – The Insider’s View – which gives a grossly unfair picture. If anything, Saari’s observations are so fair and well thought-out precisely because he is no ‘insider’ beyond his great love for cinema.
Ultimately, this kind of writing is refreshing to revisit at a time when there is near bankruptcy of ideas relating to film criticism in popular Indian cinema.

Mythology and cinema

(In the photo) Kamal Haasan with filmmaker Mani Kaul

The session on ‘Mythology and Cinema’ at the recently concluded FTII seminar was replete with quotable quotes, anecdotes and useful insights

FTII’s recent seminar on Literature And Cinema; a question of adaptation also touched upon the subject of mythology, a genre that has had tremendous influence over popular Indian cinema - especially in creating familiar templates. What also made it special was the panel of invited speakers. There was Kamal Haasan, fresh from last year’s Dasavatharam, along with his close colleague, actor-writer Gollapadi Maruti Rao. There was also mythologist and writer (The Pregnant King) Devdatta Patnaik and film professor Suresh Chabria who shed light on how mythology has been depicted on screen and its social and cultural impact.

Since the evolution of cinema, for the longest time, mythology has provided a treasure trove of themes for our films. Today, mythology as subject matter may be looked upon as archaic or 'uncool' but the panelists agreed that not only did it succeed in bringing in the early audiences - given its narrative familiarity and appeal--- it created templates that find resonance till date. For example, ‘the wronged son’ is Karna, ‘a woman’s test of fire’ is Sita. These are culturally imbedded images now and all are modern mythological imports. When India’s first talkie was made, it was no surpirse that it was the mythological Raja Harishchandra.
Describing mythology as the golden metaphor of a society - that tells you the ‘subjective truth’ of its people, Gollapadi Maruti Rao said, “The aphorism, ‘Tell me who your friends are and I will tell who you are’ fits perfectly with mythology, where one could say, “Tell me your mythology and I’ll tell you what your society is” So mythology is the mirror to a civilization.”

Kamal Hasaan, who chaired the session, did not give a speech but he did introduce each of the panelists in his own inimitable style - peppering the session with a few one-liners. “Mythology is nothing but a spiritual cosmetic surgery on history,” he said smiling. A self-confessed atheist in real life, even in his last film, Dasavatharam, the actor’s attempt was to question blind faith in God.

One of the most interesting panelists proved to be writer Devdatta Patnaik, who kept the audience in splits with his anecdotes on mythological films. “What is mythology? It is the subjective truth of a people revealed through stories. It is how they see ‘their’ world,” he began. He pointed at how unlike Biblical Mythology, Indian mythology is more relaxed in it various manifestations. “Look at our mythology. It is tacky, loud, our gods even gossip about each other. We treat our gods like friends. We are lovers of the shringar ras and enjoy our stories with all the colour and drama possible. Hum raseele log hain (We're colourful people),” he said, adding, “Compared to Biblical mythology, which frowns upon any humour directed towards it, Indian mythology takes on forms like nautanki and others and no questions are asked. This is also because, our mythology is seen more as fantasy, while in the West, it is viewed as a historical and is never promoted through folk and classical theatre.”

A very vital point came up in Suresh Chabria’s speech, where he spoke of mythology being the most political of all film genres. According to him, it brought a certain visual culture that ultimately creates and feeds our thinking about culture and politics. “The spectacle and narrative familiarity is the reason why mythological films were being made for more than 20 years. But there was a political agenda to it as well. Our Painters like Raja Ravi Verma and other - who depicted our mythology and gave it a form --- promoted ‘magic realism’ of a kind through it, as opposed to Western realism -enlightenment. So in a way that itself was an escape from the prison house of colonialism, one that was contesting western ideas. So mythology, both in its formal aesthetics and appeal was a political project,” he said.
The anti-colonial discourse promoted by mythology saw a change after independence. “Cinema in the South took to mythology and here the agenda was ‘regional identity’. Today, in its televisual avatar, the genre is used to mobilise Hindu ideology,” he said about the uses and abuses of mythology.

All, in all, the session saw some interesting commentary and insights.
-Sandhya Iyer

Literature and Cinema - the question of adaptation

FTII’s seminar on literature and cinema drew a fantastic response, with Javed Akhtar speech clearly standing out.

“Literature in cinema can only survive when its audience understands and respects it,” was scriptwriter and lyricist Javed Akhtar's strong-worded argument when he spoke to an enthralled audience at the just concluded seminar on literature and cinema at the Film And Television Institute Of India

(FTII). The event saw some of the most erudite and well-known names from Indian cinema, expounding on various aspects of literature (plays, short-stories, mythology, novel) and the question of adaptation. The impressive list included Kamal Haasan, Anurag Kashyap, Vinay Shukla, Kamlesh Pandey, Mani Kaul, Vishal Bharadwaj and many other notable names in the field of writing.

So why is it that literature that thrived in cinema in the early decades fade away so easily? Akhtar explained, “The profile of the middle-class in the 50s and 60s was very different. This was a class that was rooted and educated. Cinema, literature and audiences form a trilateral relationship and they all touch each other. Only audiences who appreciate and respect literature will like to see it in cinema. The middle class of the 40s, 50s and 60s had that respect, which is why good literature through cinema thrived.”

But somewhere as India itself started to get pulled in a thousand different directions, the complexion of the country slowly started to change and that was reflected in cinema (being a mass-medium) more than any other art. “I think the triangle broke somewhere around the 70s and especially 80s, when a whole new middle class emerged. Industrialisation produced a 15 crore strong middle class and this was a section that had not come up by way of education. They had no connection to literature. And hence, by sheer brute power of numbers, they changed the course of cinema and what it should mean. A different aesthetics came into showbiz, the language changed and cinema’s relationship with literature was totally broken. 80s saw some of the worst films ever made, it saw the worst songs, worst lyrics, worst dialogue,” he observed.

And have things improved? Not quite, said Akhtar. “The worst is surely behind us, but we haven’t reached where we should. One can only hope that literature and cinema will have a healthy relationship.”

Akhtar also had a very interesting take on the emergence of new-age films and filmmakers, where he spoke about his own son Farhan Akthar.
“Yes, we have filmmakers making the so called ‘cool’ films but I feel this sophistication is only skin deep. When I speak to Karan Johar or Farhan and ask them if their cinema is ‘representative’ enough, they say they can only make films about the world they know about. They tell me, ‘How can we make films on villages when we’ve never been to one?’
I understand their dilemma but also find it quite tragic. It is sad that when 70 per cent of our population lives in villages, we have filmmakers who have never been to a village! I think our present society is giving rise to two demographics – one, is the educated class from the vernacular medium and the other studies in convents and public schools. So while the former is the more rooted class – with the gift of the language (after all language is the ultimate vehicle of culture) — they unfortunately also tend to be parochial, narrow-minded and with no world view.
The problems are different from – for those who study in elite English medium schools. They probably are more liberal, have a world-view but they are not aware of many of the ground-realities, they are not rooted to their culture. So ultimately, we are left with trees that either have branches or only have roots. Only a complete tree can give us the fruit of cinema and this is something we must ponder over,” he said.

One of the reasons Akhtar gives for the erasure of literature in cinema is that unlike in literature, films don’t have their protagonists belonging to the middle-class anymore. “We had great writers like Manto, Ismat Chugtai, Kaifi Azmi, Sahir in the past. They all had a certain social and political consciousness, which they brought into their film writing as well. In the 40s and 50s, the protagonist was the personification of contemporary morality and contemporary aspirations. For example, Devdas came in the time of decadence where feudalism was taking its last breath. Dilip Kumar was the rebel star, Amitabh –the angry young man. Today, that middle-class does not exist, the working class does not exist. We have directors and producers who refuse to the spoil their party in their newly acquired affluence, so then, where is the door for literature? Good literature is the record of a common man’s hurts and humiliations, love and dreams. But call it compulsions of commercial cinema or whatever but there just isn’t enough scope for these kind of subjects yet.”

Finally, Akhtar made a point on how he finds it strange that while a short story or a novel or a play is called literature, a good screenplay isn’t. “Why isn’t the script of Mughal-e-Azam considered literature? Why is Anand’s script not literature? Is it that only material that comes out of a publishing house can be called literature? In my opinion, a lot of writing is pure junk, waste of paper. I really feel that good screenplays must be considered as literature,” he emphasised.
With such pertinent and profound observations, it wasn’t a surprise that the seminar kicked off on an outstanding note, setting the tone for the rest of the two days.

“I couldn't spoil the texture to enhance the structure”

Revered novelist and poet Dr U R Ananthmurthy spoke about how the challenge to cinema doesn't come from cinema itself but from rich writing. According to him, there is a whole ‘backyard’ - comprising underclasses, women etc - that is waiting to be heard. “They are waiting to speak and it will be challenge to integrate this backyard and bring it to the foreground,” he said.
He also observed how both literature and cinema have a role to play and the adapted work must be viewed through that perspective. Citing Satyajit Ray’s acclaimed film, Pather Panchali, he explained, “When Pather Panchali was screened in America, most people were of the view that the novel was much superior and richer to the film. But does that diminish the glory of the film? No. Because ultimately, what Ray does is to bring you a great literary work and make it accessible to the larger audience. This is both the strength and inadequacy of cinema,” he noted.
He also recounted the experience where his novel, Samskara was being adapted by Girish Karnad into a film and some major differences he had with the filmmaker. "I remember being very unhappy with the film. Many of the ideas were lost. Girish wanted to delay the death of one of the characters , thereby keeping the suspense alive but I thought that was taking away the essence of my story - I didn’t my ideas to be tampered with. I understood his compulsions but I remember telling Karnad how ‘I could not spoil the texture to enhance the structure'," he said, on the perennial ego tussle between the writer and the filmmaker.

Another point he raised was regarding many of the current filmmakers being hesitant to make a story about a village or a small place, thinking it will restrict the film’s appeal. “The smaller the place, the greater the universe. Filmmakers must overcome their fears, only then will great films emerge,” he said.

Finally using a reference from Javed Akhtar’s earlier speech about how only a tree with roots and branches can give us the complete fruit of cinema, Ananthmurthy concluded his speech by adding, “Watering the roots of a tree is most essential and the water is nothing but imagination,”

Past Perfect: A Passage To India

From Darkness to Light

Author: E M Forster
Published In: 1924



Many critics believe that without A Passage To India, E M Forster wouldn't have perhaps been the author of eminence he is today. This novel, based in India during the British rule, is easily one of the most definitive works that documents the period and offers more than a glympse into the prevailing colonial attitudes.
Not that Howards End and A Room With A View do not contain merits but A Passage To India - by having a dark. impenetrable core (the caves) - right in the middle of the book --- breaks away from Forster's otherwise Edwardian conventionality and takes on modernist hues. It's a mature breakaway for the author and what we have here is a mytho poetic novel that unravels a wealth of meaning.

My first interest in E M Forster's works came while watching A Room With A View,  Ismail Merchant's  brilliant literary adaptation of Forster's novel. Later when I read the book, I found it quite disengaging. I felt the film was far more entertaining.  Being always interested in Raj literature, I took up The Passage To India, considered by most as the definitive book on British India . I savoured the book - loving how Forster creates the mood and setting. A certain mysticism pervades the novel, as each character battles with their two worlds - internal and external. The incident of the Caves is the culmination point where things come to a head.

When Adela Quested and her would-be-mother-in-law Mrs Moore arrive to India, they express their wish to see 'the real India'. Compared to the snobbery around - among the British class about the natives (Indians) - Adela and Mrs Moore seem much more open and courteous towards their Indian acquaintances. Dr Aziz, one of the major characters in the novel appears in many ways an embodiment of Forster's impression of India --- a kind of 'muddle' yet affectionate and emotional. His judgments are not always based on facts, as he tends to follow his heart too much. He overreacts and his feelings swing in extremes - from childlike joy to undiluted anger and hate.

The other character, Mr Feilding is portrayed as the rationalist - a friend to both Aziz and the two women. All four of them are happy with each others acquaintance and it's one of these days that Aziz proposes a trip to the Marabar caves. When they agree, Aziz makes a lot of preparations for the journey. But things turn disastrous. When Mrs Moore comes out of the Cave, she feels dizzy and disturbed. But Adela's reaction is extreme. She comes out shouting and later accuses Dr Aziz of sexually molesting her. The Britishers stand by Adela, using the opportunity to tighten the screw on the natives.

However, as days progress, Adela isn't sure anymore whether she was really molested or whether she just imagined it. Mrs Moore is convinced that it was all in Adela’s mind. Dr Aziz is let off by the court to loud cheers by fellow Indians. The British community feels humiliated and targets Adela for 'changing her mind'
The third act, mostly constitutes the central characters drifting away and then crossing each other's paths after many years. This part does not flow seamlessly with the rest of the story but if seen like an epilogue, it works in portraying how the British-Indian equation was writ with misunderstanding, mistrust and miscommunication.

So, what exactly happened in the caves? Forster never tells you and even when he was asked about it in interviews, he only said, "I don't know!"
But the author's rich setting and characters do reveal a lot, in terms of what could have possibly happened. One of the central clues is Mrs Moore's character, who is going through a period of disenchantment with humanity itself. She has intuitive powers and feels a certain spiritual decay that disturbs her. She possibly expected to find peace in the caves but instead is horrified at the feeling of 'nothingness' it suggests. Adela, on the other hand, only has a certain superficial rationality to her and her sexual feelings are also repressed (in Jungian terms, her animus is more pronounced), which is why the caves probably brought her at the end of her conscious state -ie towards the unconscious (mind you, the cave can also be viewed as a primal womb - a darkness before existence as much as nothingness after existence) and that makes her unstable.
In general, two of these characters, in particular move in an out of their consciousness and unconsciousness.
Adela's fear could have also emerged out her distrust for Aziz and all Indians, a feeling which may not seem obvious on the surface.
So essentially, Forster starts off by creating a rich period drama about British India and the relationships that crumble under the weight of their cultural phobia.

For this and more reasons, A Passage To India is an illuminating read and opens up a treasure of meanings.

The Summer Of Cool

Colony capers

Author: Suchitra Krishnamoorthy
Pages: 205
Publishers: Puffin
Published in : 2009
Genre: Teen fiction

After proving herself as a decent actress (Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa, My Wife's Murder) a pop singer, and even a painter, Suchitra Krishnamoorthi gives us a glimpse of her talent as a writer with her just released debut book, The Summer Of Cool. And she does well!

It's a breezy 200 odd pager about teenagers and their eventful summer in the upper middle class neighbourhood of Swapnalok Society. The book wastes no time in introducing the denizins of this nestled housing complex, each character and home delineated with their own peculiar traits and quirks. So there are the exiting Malhotras, also teased by the kids as 'Underwear aunty and uncle' because they have a habit of hanging their undergarments in full view in their balcony. Then there's the hyper Sita Maami - whose cola water recipe is a hit at all the colony get-togethers. The excitement grows a little more with the entry of a charming, bachlor in their midst Varun Vadola.

The place has its share of one-upmanship, jibes and politics and their earnest Secretary, Mrs Subramanium always seems to have her hands full with demands of getting leaking bathroom repaired, not allowing dogs in the lift...and so on.

Suchitra is very successful in creating this setting - and all those who have lived in co-operative societies at any point of time will appreciate the author's skill at evoking many a familiar image. Most importantly, Suchitra knows how to keep the proceedings interesting, introducing new characters and plot points.

Swapnalok Society has many families who would make for an entertaining story by themselves but the author chooses the troubled Varma family, with its two lovely daughters - Chitangana, the doe-eyed, and feisty eight-year-old and her more compliant elder sis, Smita. Both are extremely smart and imaginative kids, except that their lives haven't been the same ever since their father, Siddharth left them. Their mother has been a wreck, shutting herself from the world and venting her anger at her daughters. Chitrangana finds herself constantly at the firing end, given her curiosity about her dad’s disappearance from their life. Her agile, innocent mind is baffled at how her mom “treats their father as a ghost who doesn’t exist”

Things become more interesting with the entry of their Amamma (mother’s mom), with a morbid fear of strangers. The slinging matches get worse, until Chitrangana decides to find her father and set their crumbling house in order. Feeling suppressed at home, she starts to talk to the cloth doll, named Seema that her sister gifted her on her birthday. And in Chitrangana’s inventive head, she hears the doll replying to all her queries. Heeding her doll’s advice (which is really her heart dictating), she goes on a brief search for her father. The episode is painful but it proves necessary for many of the central characters and their lives.

Suchitra does a nice desi Enid Blyton here, sketching the lives of unban Indian kids quite accurately (this could be largely aided by the fact that she is mother to a teenage daughter in real life)

However, for a setting that is so nuanced and characters so well-developed, the central plot and resolution are quite basic and even simplistic. From a very rooted and realistic setting, Suchitra broadens the scope of her story, with Chitrangana going in search of her father. This is where the author loses some of the grip over the story and is forced to introduce elements like coincidences and so on.

There is fair share of suspense that the author manages to create, but the ending is probably not befitting a story that starts off so well.

All the same, the book won't insult your intellegence either. Don't look for a very complex plot, and The Summer Of Cool works out to be a crisp, page-turner that keeps you quite hooked.

Interview The Write Move

Suchitra Krishnamoorthy gives us an insight into her new book, The Summer Of Cool, telling us, among other things, why she keeps her writing so racy. Also, she’s all set to turn her latest book into a series.

1) It looks like the theme for the book was drawn from your own childhood experiences...

Yup. I grew up in a very interactive multicultural co-operative housing society in Mumbai and the ambience of the Swapnalok Society Series is drawn from there. Even many of the characters...

2. Was The Summer of Cool always supposed to be your first book or were you looking at some other subjects too?

I toyed with a couple of ideas and then went with this one. It had been playing in my head for a while and I needed to do something about it. Once I had the first draft I sent it to a friend of a friend, who happened to be Commissioning editor at Penguin. She loved it and that’s how the whole thing fell into place.

3. You have a teenage daughter, Kaveri. Are some of the episodes in the book drawn from what you see of her and her peers?
My daughter has just turned eight. She is way too young but a lot of the language I have used is from observing her and her friends and also my nieces.

4. Did you use anyone as your sounding-board while writing the book?
Yes, Mahesh Dattani. He is a kind of creative mentor to me and gave me able guidance.

5. One of your central characters, that of Chitrangana and Smita's mother, is an extremely troubled yet poignant character. Was there any particular reason for portraying her as a wreck?

Nobody is bad. There are circumstances that cause people to behave in a particular way. It’s what I wanted to explore.

6. I read somewhere that you finished writing the book in six weeks flat?

The first draft was written in six weeks yes. I had the basic plot ready and the rest emerged as I wrote. Even the end was something that emerged as I was writing.

7. Was there any point in the book where you couldn't decide which way your story should move or how a particular character needs to be approached. For example, the character of Sandy Khan is left quite ambiguous? Was that deliberate?

Sandy Khan is ambiguous because he is seen in this story from the point of view of Chitrangana. He is a hazy figure in her life and she lives in his shadow in spite of his absence. Wait till you read the next book in the series-things will become clearer.

8. You've kept the book extremely racy, introducing fresh characters and situations all the while. Is that how you wanted your book to be and are you conscious of not rambling when you are writing?
I am a very restless person, and it rare for something to hold my attention unless its riveting and I am emotionally hooked. My writing therefore emerges out of a need to keep myself engaged as well.

9.What are the books you enjoy reading and is there any book that has impressed you lately?
I read a lot. Am currently reading The Selfish Gene by Richard Dawkins.

10. What more can we expect from you as a writer in the time to come?
The Summer Of Cool will be a series. I guess you can expect a substantial body of work from me as a writer. But don’t ask me what I’ll write about next because I really don’t know. I will wait for inspiration to strike and Ganesha to guide my pen.

-Sandhya Iyer

A House for Mr Biswas

Heartbreak House

Author: V S Naipaul
Pages: 563
Year of Publishing: 1961

Having read V S Naipaul’s A Million Mutinies Now (a epic travelogue for its sheer scope and detailing) and An Area of Darkness (a scathing description of post-Independence India), one knows that whether one chooses to agree or not with his provocative, highly opinionated views, one knows Naipaul is anything but  dull, and that keeps you hooked.

For a long time now one has been hearing about A House for Mr Biswas being undoubtedly his best work. Also, since I had only read his non-fictional works, there was a certain curiosity to read his fiction work.  Yet, A House For Mr Biswas is not wholly fiction and borrows a lot from Naipaul’s own life.

The central character of Mr Biswas is based on the life of Naipaul's father, and the novel tracks his life from birth to death. Right since he is born he is considered a bad omen for the family. By a quirk of fate the prediction does come true with Biswas’ father getting drowned while trying to save him. The family goes through very trying times, even as his mother Bipti appears totally detached and keeps whining all the time. Biswas is often sent to his wealthy aunt’s place, where he does odd jobs for the family. Biswas loves the ambiance there and dreams of being able to afford the same lifestyle someday.  His mother tries to keep finding schemes to get him 'settled' – one as an apprentice to a mean-minded Pundit (this whole episode is hilarious as much as it is ironic) – ends up frustrating Mr Biswas even further.
That's when Biswas' life takes another dramatic turn. A harmless bit of flirting with his employer's daughter plunges him straight into marriage. Biswas is not prepared, but his in-laws, the affectionate yet firm Mrs Tulsi and her commanding son-in-law, insist on the match. This, even though Biswas is penniless.

He moves in with the Tulsis – a queer, noisy extended family where the Tulsi daughters are welcomed to stay with their husbands and children. Since most of the son-in-laws are not very well-to-do, they are employed either in one of the family’s shops or fields.

Mr Biswas is enraged seeing that he has to follow the rules set by his wife’s family. He abhors the tasteless food they serve. He helplessly cribs that it ruins his stomach, and in general leaves no opportunity to deride them or pick up fights with the elders. The family is more often than not patient with him, trying to buy peace by giving him a fresh opportunity. Many a times, Mr Biswas gets so outraged by the family that he moves out, only to face hardships outside and return back defeated. He finds scant support from his wife who is practical about their financial condition and stays put at her mothers’ place with her kids.

The only time Mr Biswas’ life looks up is when he lands a job as a journo at the Sentinel. Tired of the Tulsis, he attempts to build a house of his own at least on two occasions. But always short of cash and saddled with a million troubles always, he ends up making a mish-mash of it each time and lands right back with the Tulsis.

However, Mr Biswas does manage a house of his own towards the end and nothing gives him more happiness than to live in a place where he doesn’t have to be indebted to the Tulsis. Strangely, Biswas finds more peace and cheer in the last few years of his life (with his son Anand and Savi) than he ever gets in his lifetime.

The novel is a marvel in character creation and Naipaul’s ability to penetrate through human psyche and proclivity with such searing candor makes A House For Mr Biswas an immensely rich work. The description of the Tusli family with its varied and colourful characters is especially ingenious.

Also, the novel can be read on a number of levels. Even without any special emphasis on its historical context, it still holds true as a novel about frustration and tragic vulnerability that lies at the core of all human existence.

The subtext is never overt, but it’s possible to read the Tulsi House as a symbol of colonialism. Trinidad was under British rule and Naipaul could possibly be driving home the point about how restrictive and controlled such living could be. Mr Biswas’ constant failure with every new endeavour hints towards the ill-preparedness of the Trinidadian populace when left on their own. Without adequate training or experience, Biswas is always clueless.

Yet, reading A House For Mr Biswas can be exhausting, for the tedium it brings at several points. The novel is too long, too repetitive. The same things keep happening to Mr Biswas all through the novel. In addition to that, the overly descriptive style of the book tends to tire you out.
But then again, there's another way of looking at the novel. The book moves at snail's pace , but so does Mr Biswas' own life that refuses to take off. Somewhere in the tedium felt by the reader lies Mr Biswas' own frustration at seeing his life languishing.
Naipaul's subject matter is grim but the author's trademark dark humour and ironic wit ensures that A House for Mr Biswas remains as entertaining, as it is enriching.

-Sandhya Iyer

Gouri Dange's 3 Zakia Mansion

Home truths


Gouri Dange’s books draw as much from her skills as a talented writer, as much from her profession as a family counselor

Gouri Dange’s views as a city-based counselor and a columnist writing on a variety of social and other issues have always been a much-valued one. Hence, one welcomed her foray into fiction writing with her debut novel, 3 Zakia Mansion earlier this year with her close friends Shabana Azmi and Tanvi Azmi releasing the book in Mumbai and Pune respectively.

By her own admission, 3 Zakia Mansion evoked drastic yet interesting responses.
The book recounts the journey of a young Muslim woman, Shaheen, leading a somewhat repressed life with her parents and hoping for a better future by way of marriage. But this is nothing short of a disaster, as Shaheen’s life takes a turn for the worse with a cowardly husband and an offensively dominating mother-in-law. There’s no real respite for Shaheen as her young daughter too briefly turns against her. But towards the end, life looks up, as Shaheen not only discovers new relationships, but herself too.

The middle portion of the book reads like a soap opera but Gouri says none of it is exaggerated. “There are people who are irredeemably horrible, so I presented them as black. I know people saw that portion as a saas-bahu drama but believe me, I was drawing from people I have met in real life. Almost 70 per cent of these are vexed relationships and the mother-in-law here is a symbol of someone who cannot see beyond her son.
But didn’t she fear reinforcing the ‘saas’ stereotype? “Not really, because I counter- balance it with Mrs Kher – Shaheen’s second encounter with a potential mother-in-law – who is initially appalled at the 12 year old age gap between her son, Manav and Shaheen but quickly comes around. Many people look at their families and wonder why they are so abnormal, but that's how most families are. Abnormal is the new normal,” she says.

With 3 Zakia Mansion and her next book, ABC of Parenting, Gouri draws aspects from her experience as a counselor. “My daughter (her neice whom she adopted) is 23 year old and married – so there weren’t many elements I could take from there. Of course there is a certain home-grown wisdom that you gather while parenting but most of it of course came from meeting real people and problems,” she says.

And fascinatingly, Gouri has infused several of her ideas in her first fictional work. “There were a couple of things that I absolutely wanted to include in the novel – one was the childhood element. As a child and a teenager, Shaheen is in shallow waters but with marriage, she’s thrown into the deep end. Overnight, her life takes a 180 degree turn. That was a construct I wanted in 3 Zakia Mansion. Anybody who gets into a new situation – whether marriage or migration-- only to run away from his/her present life is taking a huge risk. A lot of young women go into marriage as an escape from their reality and that’s nothing but jumping from the fire pan into the fire. Which is why I have always been an advocate of pre-martial counseling, only to be met with resistant parents who think ‘why let the couple think so much?’ That doesn't mean I was punishing my character (Shaheen) for using marriage as an escape route. In fact, I was literally throwing nice people in her way towards the end because she is defiant in her own way,” she says.

The other thing Gouri was sure she would be doing in her novel is of having Shaheen date a man much younger than her. “I see so many great relationships where there is a definite age difference. Two unlikely people can be so right for one another sometimes. In the West of course, this is a prevalent phenomena but I think we too in India must ‘loosen’ up to aspect like these. Why reject a good relationship over something like age?”

Gouri says she’s undecided about her next book but in all likelihood, it will either be a book of short stories or another fictional work.

Review: Breathless In Bombay

Author: Murzban F Shroff
Pages: 306
Publishers: Picador India
Price: 295
Genre: Short stories (fiction)

Of magic and mayhem

Of late, one is getting more and more sensitized about how Mumbai – by far India’s most multicultural and economically vibrant cities—is slowly slipping into the abyss of bad governance, terror scare, crammed spaces, and heavy concretization…all of it which is steadily eating into the essence of this dream city. People living here rue the fact that many of the city’s authentic places are being sold off to builders who are constructing residential skyscrapers and shopping centers for the ever-bourgeoning class of the brand-flashing, mall hoppers.

Nishikanth Kamat made a poignant portrayal of it in his wonderful, Mumbai Meri Jaan and here again, writer Murzban draws to attention this utter hopelessness, a tragically increasing class-divide that is threatening to deconstruct everything that the city stands for – peaceful co-existence and the spirit of brotherhood. All of Murzban’s 14 stories draw to attention various aspects of the city. Dhobi Ghat and The House Of Mine refer to the problem of displacement where in old structures ---emblems of the city's sparkling authenticity --- are being sold off. There is a strain of regret and sadness in Murzban's narration, as he sees his city being stripped off its uniqueness and warmth and replaced by cold affluence and almost sickening homogeneity.

Class divide seems to be one of Murzban's overarching concern, as he highlights them in his chapters, Breathless in Bombay, The Great Divide, Busy Sunday, The Queen Guards Her Own. This disparity of income -wherein one sizeable class indulges in all kinds of obscene accesses while another grovels in squalor (the author takes the readers through some extremely poverty-ridden, crime-infested, morally depraved streets and lives). Busy Sunday is especially interesting because it brings to light the repercussions of this unsavory class divide and an all round atmosphere of distrust and fraudulence it promotes.

Not all stories deal with problems that are necessarily about Mumbai. For example, there's a highly charged story, Traffic about a live-in couple and the bitterness that seeps in after the scent of idealistic togetherness. Now, this is a story that could have happened anywhere but it nevertheless finds a resonance with the city's fast-paced life, where survival and self-advancement is the only mantra and human emotions are daily crushed under the weight of clinical practicality and opportunism.

The biggest reason to recommend this book is because it draws you in within no time. Murzban - with his ability for detailing -- manages to create a setting that grips you from the word go. It’s obvious the writer feels a great amount of sadness and angst at the city’s dismal state on various fronts but Murzban tackles it with a great compassion and understanding of human frailties. Also, he makes sure to create extremely well fleshed out characters, studying their motives with care and empathy.
Yes, not all stories end well. There could be a feeling that some of them have ended abruptly after starting off so well. But Murzban succeeds in acquainting readers with the colours, flavours and temperament of the city.
A well-mixed Bombay Bhel and some food for thought as well!
-Sandhya Iyer

Salaam Memsaab

Author: Marjorie McCallum
Pages: 125
Genre: Autobiographical

English essence

Having greatly loved E M Forster’s A Passage To India, I was a bit curious to read about the Raj and the social scape that had emerged around that time. This was before the independence struggle had begun and a certain smugness had crept in the attitude of the British who believed the Indian soil was theirs –as long as they wished. The English community in India was growing, with families coming down to join the commanding officers. And between them, they constituted an affluent world far removed from the people and land they ruled--- almost a miniature England.

That’s the universe Marjorie McCallum, an English officer’s wife, inhabits in her breezy 100 odd page book where she offers readers a close look at their general lifestyle. She rarely goes beyond descriptions of her domestic life and like others of her club, is unquestionably happy to accept the political status quo.

She talks of how while their officer-husbands were at work, the ‘memsahibs’(as they were called) ran their sprawling houses with a large entourage of servants. Once it would be summer, the officers would start hunting for cozy yet affordable hotels in the hills for their wives. It would mostly be Masoori for her where she would stay for five-six months---hanging around with co-officers' wives at the markets or go for pleasure walks.

Unlike what one would imagine, the salaries paid to British officers (especially junior level ones) in India appears not to be exactly lucrative, considering young Marjorie and her husband are forced to make a few compromises while choosing her place of stay in the hills. But Marjorie comes across as a pleasant, optimistic woman who wants to make the best of her time in India and enjoy whatever privileges that are thrown her way. She is obviously delighted to have so much help around her house and describes their duties in great detail. She talks about the daily 'Chotta hazri' (early morning tea with biscuits) which she and her husband relish together, before the well-laid out breakfast that comes later.
Her only real distress arises when she falls sick with a stomach infection and her new born contracts it too. Also, the time when the Second World War breaks off seems like a distressing time for English families in India, with many being hastily packed off to England or South Africa by ships. Marjorie too is faced with the same predicament and prays to God when she survives the sea journey -which itself had turned into a war-zone around the time.

Barring that, her narration seems like a reiteration of the rosy lifestyle the British led in India.
She describes a special tour she and her husband bagged to the Kashmiri King’s palace and the scenic beauty they enjoyed. Later, when her husband gets transferred to Mumbai, she gets used to the hustle-bustle of a city in a prosperous locality, comprising Parsees and effluent Indians. She says she was tempted to befriend her Indian neighbours but resisted as ‘socialising with Indians was frowned upon by the English community’
Marjorie remembers her stay in India with great fondness and produces several pictures during her decade long stay. Some of the friendships she struck with the wives of officers continues till date, she says.
One only wishes the author had opted for an alternative title (this one sounds awfully snobbish) but one guesses she was particularly pleased about the regal lifestyle that India afforded her.

Book Review: A Girl and A River

Author: Usha K R
Pages: 324
Published by: Penguin
Price: Rs 295

This River runs deep

It's been a while since I've read a book where the author displays such fine sway over her content and craft. Usha K R has been writing for more than a decade now (her last novel was The Chosen) and while she has always received rave reviews for her works, it is her latest book, A Girl And A River that has come in for some much-deserved critical attention. The author was the recipient of the Crossword Award recently, where she won in the Fiction category for the same book --- while William Darlymple received the award in the Non-fiction section.

On the surface (and as the book cover demonstrates), it is a straightforward story --- that of Setu and Kaveri's life -- a brother and sister duo brought up in pre independence Mysore and the unexpected turns their lives take. Nothing prepares you for the complex, ironic web of human relationships, emotions and the play of fate ---- influenced by circumstance as much as by character--- that the author so elegantly unravels.

Usha draws up an exhaustive social scape of the 1930 and '40s with meticulous detailing on every level, studding it with keenly fleshed out characters- their actions closely linked with the moral and social fibre of the time. So you have the patriarch, Mylaraiah -- running his prosperous household-- happy to be a beneficiary under the Britishers and hoping things will run as smoothly as they are. He’s surrounding by charismatic men like Narayana Rao and CG K Sir (the history teacher at school who writes anonymous letters in newspaper columns in support of the freedom struggle), who play a proactive role in getting rid of the British. Mylaraiah, if he feels a sense of inadequacy and guilt about supporting the English, quells these emotions by making donations to welfare projects (soft issues like Khadi and so on) undertaken by Narayana Rao. Mylaraiah’s teenage son, Setu is too overwhelmed by his father's aura to defy him and join any of the prevailing freedom struggle groups. He watches them from a distance - with a glint of envy.

Not surprisingly, the two women of the house –Mylaraiah’s wife Rukmani and their free-spirited daughter Kaveri grow up (since Rukmani too came to the house as a child-bride) finding the outside world with men like Narayana Rao and C G K’s son Shyam respectively irresistibly attractive. To their imaginative, idealistic minds, these were the men of real action, men who could change the course of history with their fiery speeches and ideals. These were local heroes who thought nothing of sacrificing their personal lives and comforts in the wake of the freedoms struggle.
The men of the house dismiss the rising nationalistic fervour in their women as something stemming from 'a vague notion of patriotism' and think it appropriate to nip such feelings in the bid.

Rukmani’s disillusionment comes when Narayana Rao marries off his 12 year old daughter, inspite of preaching against the practice of child marriage. To her mind, this is a breach of trust from the man she loved and respected. It causes her ill-health and she loses her vitality forever. However, the fate that befalls her daughter, Kaveri -- fed on stories of valour in novels-- is the more poignant one. Having lived in her own world of dashing heroes (and nearly found and lost one in Shyam), she is unable to bear the emptiness and drudgery of a loveless marriage - in some measure brought on by her own family.

The author explores all these threads using one common story - that of Setu's grown-up daughter (in the 1980s) trying to unravel the tragic mystery behind the woman who was not just her 'aunt' but something more too.
Usha K R - while recounting the story - gives a vivid picture of pre-independence South India -introducing characters like Dr King (an Englishwoman who treats patients in the town, riding from place to place on a bicycle) and her snobbish niece Ella. Then there other interesting ones like Rukmani’s flame-throwing, quick-witted cousin Shivaswami or Setu’s childhood friend Chapdi Kal.

It’s truly remarkable how Usha crafts this story, never hitting a wrong note once. Yet, for all its wonderful strengths, this is not the easiest of reads. Its language is impeccable but tends to get too wordy at various points. Also, the detailing can be a bit tiresome and heavy for those who want to get on with the story. This book could have easily been 25-30 pages short.
Also, the story keeps moving between two different time span and that can be confusing for the first time reader.

The book's true worth really unfolds with a second reading, if you ask me. The first time I found myself grappling to keep pace with the numerous characters and time-shifts. That's another thing--- this book seems to run at a stretch and it doesn't help that the words keep tumbling on each other. So while it's awe-inspiring to see the writer's command of her subject and language, I wished she’d allowed her narrative to breath easy at some points.
But again, to her credit, Usha constructs the story in a manner wherein some amount of tension pervades the entire story and the suspense is intact till the very end.
Finally, this is a riveting book, one that is dexterous and rich. More importantly, it respects its reader's intelligence by saying a lot and leaving a lot more unsaid.
-Sandhya Iyer

Interview Usha K R

You recently won the Vodafone Crossword Award 2007 for Best Work in English Fiction? Was the honour expected? The reviews to the book of course were very encouraging…

UKR: The book was shortlisted earlier this year for the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize 2008. So I had a faint hope. But the short list for the Vodafone Crossword Award was very strong – it showed the sweep of the judges’ expectations. So the honour was unexpected.

You've been a writer for a while now. Would you say it's the first time that your work has won such an honour /visibility?

UKR: Whatever critical attention my novels have received so far – Sojourn in 1998. The Chosen in 2003 and now A Girl and a River has been positive, but the award has brought my work visibility that it did not have before.

You've written two books and other short stories prior to A Girl And A River. Can you tell us a little about your journey as a writer so far?

UKR: If I have to ‘read’ my work, I’d say the broad theme is the contradiction and the constant friction between character and circumstance. I seem to be exploring aspects of this theme almost without realizing it. My preference is for grounded storytelling with an intriguing but organic structure.

A Girl And A River is a complex, rich work of fiction on all counts and functions on various levels at the same time. Was there a single point on which you started the story, after which you weaved in other elements?

UKR: What first came to me with this book were the two children Setu and Kaveri in a 1930s setting – and I knew that I had to work their story along the lines of cocooned lives being torn apart by the tides of history and their own bewilderment in the face of change. This had to run parallel to the larger story of the nation, the country coping with independence.

The book's narrative style, going back and forth, and divided into two different time spans shifting from first person to third, is interesting. How did that choice come about? While it adds more depth to the story, it can be a little confusing to a first-timer….

UKR: You may find it strange but writers often conceive of the story and the structure simultaneously – one growing out of and feeding on the other. I knew that I had to have two distinct voices, not just to separate the chronology of the book but also to signal the different sensibilities and moods of the characters and the times. I also wanted to carry the reader along, inviting her to unravel the mystery along with me, and I feel it has worked.

The book has the backdrop of pre-independence South India…what kind of research went into the book and how much have you drawn from your own life-experiences?

UKR: I had to read quite a bit of local history but the spirit of the book comes from the experiences of many who had lived through those times – I have to thank them for the authentic feel of the book.

7)From the past few years, Indian lit in English has been dominated by diasporic authors. Do you see a problem of 'authenticity' when they write on India? Also, when too much of Indian writing is done by authors based abroad, it can create a skewed vision of things. Do you see it essential that Indian fiction in English must have more books written by authors based in the country itself?

UKR: The question of ‘authenticity’ arises when we are talking of straightforward, realistic accounts. Writers like Rushdie circumvent it with the mode they choose to write in. So long as the end product is convincing and has literary merit, it should not matter whether you live in India or abroad, whether you write in English or any other Indian language. The problem is that of visibility. Books by ‘Indian’ writers do not get noticed and reviewed as much. Which is why I was surprised when ‘Girl … ‘ won the Crossword award. We still look for some form of endorsement from the west.

How 'Indian' is Indian Writing In English

How 'Indian' is Indian writing in English?
Are diasporic writers still its commanding masters or are desi counterparts finally finding a voice? Sandhya Iyer strikes a debate, only to discover that the literary scene is ridden in complexities

For a while now the 'outside', 'insider' debate has been raging across literary circles. For more than three decades now, diaspora writers --- born in India but settled abroad --- have dominated the literary firmament. They have undeniably been the 'face' of Indian Writing in English (IWE) and its most visible representatives. Clearly, we ought to celebrate the immense prestige that writers like Salman Rushdie, Vikram Seth, Rohinton Mistry, Kiran Desai, Jhumpa Lahiri, Amitav Ghosh, Chitra Divakaruni, Amartya Sen have brought to IWE. In some measure - inspite of the fact that writer Shashi Tharoor resides abraod, he ought to be included here. He has been an Indian 'official' after all.

It would be fair to say that the entire 'A' list of commercially successful writers function from the West. However, this has brought in its share of criticism on issues like authenticity and the idea of NRI authors selling Indian exotica to the West. "How can a writer sitting in the first world write about the third world?" native writers ask.

Back home, we've had commendable authors like Ramachandra Guha, Kiran Nagarkar, Shashi Deshpande, Usha K R, Ira Deshpande, Esther David, Upamanyu Chatterjee and so on. But, the success ratio remains tilted towards prize-winning NRI novelists --- with greater brand appeal and possibly snob value even. Save for a Arundhati Roy (The God Of Small Things), Khushwant Singh, to an extent Shobhaa De and now, Chetan Bhagat (Five Point Someone, One Night @ A Call Centre, The 3 Mistakes of My Life), no writer in India has really entered the collective consciousness where English writing in India goes.

However, writers and others in the know here believe that things are changing for the better and publishing houses are looking at tapping into the all-strong English-educated base in the country. So have 'midnight's children' finally come of age or is there still a long way to go?

The question of 'representation'
The common refrain is, why don't we see more writers like R K Narayan, Arun Kolatkar, Ruskin Bond, Mulk Raj Anand etc? All their writings being deeply rooted in their own culture instantly connected with readers. Post '70s, there came a new wave in IWE by way of Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children that caught the world's attention. Rushdie revitalised and rejuvenated IWE.
Unfortunately, the publishing industry in India was hardly as robust as it is today (we've never been a serious market for English language books), which meant not too many desi writers could get noticed globally.
This naturally presented an unusual situation where it was left to our NRI writers to explain 'us' to the world. Doesn't that create a stilted vision?
"It is obvious that Indian writing in English is not 'representative'--- but this raises the question of whether it is even the function of writing to be 'representative'; one might say it is not --- there is a difference between writing and representative democracy. Perhaps the problem arises because of our insistence on using the term "Indian", and then complaining when various writers (be it Jhumpa Lahiri or Amit Chaudhuri or Rushdie) are insufficiently Indian. But "Indian" means many things, and it shouldn't surprise us that reality does not conform to our abstractions. An authenticity litmus test would be intolerable -- by that yardstick, Chekhov and Joyce might have failed Russian and Irish literature, respectively." says literary enthusiast and avid blogger Umair Ahmed Muhajir.
He believes that lack of English translations (except for small tokens) for regional literature is certainly distorting. "It's a world missed," he says.

Aspiring filmmaker and literature student Abhishek Bandekar believes writers -whether diasporic or India come with their own strengths and that needs to be recogonised. "Indian Writing in English(IWE) or Indian English Literature(IEL) is a troubled breed of literature. It has to grapple with concerns of authenticity and identity. But it’s an ironic struggle. The classification of IWE as post-colonial literature limits its scope; restricting authors(native or NRI) to recount merely that which is nostalgic or ‘imagined’(in as much as ‘imagined’ is that which is not ‘exoticised’). Even if one were to leave aside the whole native IWE vs NRI IWE argument for a moment, one is still confronted with the problem of ‘different’ truths. A Salman Rushdie is radically different from an RK Narayan. The former’s works while championing the hybrid of pidgin English nevertheless falls prey to cultural imperialism, in that it interprets the ‘past’, without ‘imagining’ the future. The latter’s works on the other hand, may employ 'standard english' but stays true to its cultural roots, in that the works require and expect cultural familiarity," he views.

Does location matter for 'authentic' literature?

Devyani Satzman, writer of the book Shooting Water and daughter of filmmaker Deepa Mehta, lives in Canada. She says, "Fundamentally, I think all perspectives and voices are valid. Ultimately, stories should introduce us to new worlds, and I'm not as concerned about where the writer resides as long as they do a good job taking us into that world."

Renowned poet Dilip Chitre says, "First of all, non-resident Indian describes two kinds of people: 1. Those who have migrated to other countries; and 2.Those whose parents were immigrants. Salman Rushdie belongs to the first category (but so do many physicians, surgeons, space scientists, managers, software engineers, teachers etc); and V S Naipaul to the second. He adds, "Just by living in India, nobody becomes a representative of Indian writing. If you are a good novelist, poet, playwright, or a poet the language you write in is secondary to your talent. Artistic authenticity is primary; nationality and/or mother-tongue culture are incidental."

However, Murzban Shroff, whose book Breathless In Bombay got rave reviews believes location is an important criteria for authenticity. Shroff stays in Mumbai and feels that enabled him to come up with a 'solidly researched book' "I wish people like Rushdie and others could base themselves in India and recount stories from here. That way, we'll have Indian content and Western craft and in my view that's the perfect balance," he says.

Are desi writers in India close to bringing about a change?

Many authors believe much has changed for the better where IWE is concerned for desi writers. Chetan Bhagat, who seldom gives up an opportunity to criticise the elitist club of NRI writers makes it clear that his target readers are only Indians. And the fact that he's one of the highest selling authors the country has led to several people from all walks of life picking up the pen.
Says Gouri Dange, who recently published her book 3 Zakia Mansion, "Honestly, I was daunted at the prospect of writing. Since I was simultaneously reading Rushdie's Shalimar, The Clown, I kept feeling my language was too seedha-saadha but then I soon got over it, thinking 'that exists but this can exist too."
Publishing opportunities have vastly grown in the last five-six years, says Janaki Vaswanath, owner of the bookstore twistntales and she believes it is a natural outcome of the country getting dominant on the world stage.

Sampurna Chattarji, a poet, fiction-writer and translator, adds another dimension to the discussion. This proliferation can have a flip side as well, she believes. "In the rush to compete for genre-slots especially, a lot of sub-standard work is getting published and that can only be detrimental to the growth of IWE in the truest sense of the writing going from strength to strength. What we need is perceptive editors and agents who will be able to identify and promote the best writing being done in India today. Unfortunately, IWE is still seen as a territory largely ruled by fiction, when the truth is that exciting new work is also being done by poets writing in English."

But not all are equally optimistic about the flowering of IWE here.
Murzban Shroff says the draft for his book met with a cold reaction when he submitted it to Indian publishers. On the other hand, international publishers were more than forthcoming.
He adds, "Even if Indian publishers were to give you an opportunity to write, they expect you to do your own marketing --- getting a star to launch your book and so on."
He also rules out writing predominantly for an Indian audience, observing that the market here is still to evolve.

Binoo K John, who recently wrote the witty Entry From The Backside Only, categorically believes that diaspora writers are still ruling the roost. "All of this year's major releases have all been from NRIs: Jhumpa Lahiri (who got a big award last month for Unaccustomed Earth), Chitra Divakarunni, Amitav Ghosh, Salman Rushdie. Diasporic writings have their own place in literature and in IWE. One genre does not grow by stymieing the others. The two genres have parallel lives and why not? In fact diasporic writing has consistently scored over Indian writing (due to advantages of being in the first world)," he says.
Ultimately, one would have to submit to Dilip Chitre's view that only the future can take this story forward.
"The fact that English is a global language, with more speakers between Mumbai and Shanghai than in the entire United States, will sooner or later affect publishers' marketing strategies. The fate of writers may still be decided in London or New York; but the franchisees of publishing corporates operating in vast potential markets such as India will start betting on local talent," he believes.

Past Perspective: An Area Of Darkness

An Area of Darkness

Author: V S Naipaul
Published in: 1964
Genre: Travelogue

Nai-appalled

V. S Naipaul has always been a controversial figure. Whether it is for his rude behaviour towards fellow writers at conferences or his show of support for India's Hindutva ring, Bharatiya Janata Party or his admission in his autobiography that his callousness killed his wife, this Trinidadian author has always been some sort of an enfant terrible of English literature. For all his genius, he also remains a vilified figure in India and not without reason. The Area of Darkness, when it was published in 1964, created an uproar among Indians and was intensely criticised for its unkind, deriding and supercilious view of India.

Naipaul's literature, much like his personality demonstrates a certain extremism -where there are few or no grey areas. And that is most evident in The Area of Darkness. (His subsequent work, India; A Million Mutinies Now was a far more objective and detailed read -in many ways, this is his best book, apart from A House For Mr Biswas). The book is about how Naipaul built a 'mythical' image about India staying in Trinidad (Naipaul's grandfather was from India and they re-located to West Indies - in a small British colony called Trinidad) and how his one-year visit to India shattered his childhood image of the country. The entire experience is a deeply personal one -- and Naipaul himself behaves like a rather fussy, ungenerous foreign-returned guy(he was just about 30 years old) who criticises the loss of his 'imagined world' without bothering to delve into the reasons for it. This was a plundered country that was struggling to fight its colonial past and tackle some enormous problems at hand.

From the moment he arrives in the country, he applies his own litmus test on it and decides it's a failed nation on every count. So to Naipaul, the weather is oppressive, the poverty is horrifying, people squat defecating all over the place, they serve food with unclean hands, they overcharge customers and what more, even their films don't offer a respite! Naipual has not one good thing to say about the country but doesn't show the slightest hesitation to indulge in gross overstatements and ridiculous generalisations with comments like 'Indians lack in courage...they have been known to go on picknicking on a bank while a stranger drowned' or that 'Indians defecate everywhere'
And this is a bit strange considering half the book is dedicated to his three-month long stay in a cozy, pampered House Boat in the picturesque Kashmir valley. Yet, Naipaul sees no beauty in the land!

Naipaul makes some very sound points when he talks of India being a country of symbolic, speech-making gestures. Whether it was the '60s or today, action is by way of symbols rather than concrete measures. He's also right to be irritated about Indians and their stubborn unwillingness to see what is obvious. They turn a blind eye to what is painful or disgusting and go about their business like nothing happened. This is important because not much has changed for in India in this respect. They continue to be escapists. Economically of course, the country has progressed by leaps and though I don't share all of Shobhaa De's exuberance on this, India is surging forward more confidently than it ever did.
It's difficult to take Naipaul's criticism seriously because most of it seems like an effort to deconstruct the notion of India. There's perverse cynicism at work and the author -while criticising the country's present-- makes no effort to understand its tumultuous recent past or look into its prospects. Hence, even as a piece of work, it remains a highly personal account which unjustly creates and reinforces colonial prejudices.

Two of his observations in particular are condescending and unjustifiable. Naipaul talks of how incongruous India's premier buildings appear in the face of its squalor and poverty. "It is building for the sake of building, creation for the sake of creation....In the North, the ruins (forts etc) speak of waste and failure and the very grandeur of the Mughal buildings is oppressive. Europe has its monuments of Sun-Kings, its Louvres and Versailles. But they are part of the development of a country's spirits."
In a display of unimaginable bad faith, he even suggests that the Taj Mahal could be transported slab by slab to United States and re-erected and it would seem wholly admirable. There, he implies that the edifice would serve a meaning. Here, he says, it is only a despot's monument with poverty around it.

Again, he talks of how the English language is the 'greatest incongruity of British rule' and has caused 'psychological damage' to the country through its continued official use. English, Naipaul should know was never thrust upon Indians. Other countries resisted it, Indians were attracted to it. Today, India constitutes one of the largest English speaking nations and this has had tremendous impact on its global appeal and economic progress. It's unfortunate that Naipaul chose not to see at all the fascinating side of India- its splendid diversity, it colour and cuisines, its incredible warmth and festivity - which today has made it one of the top most tourist destinations in the world.
The only aspect about India Naipaul seems to have really liked is its Railway system which he describes as 'too fine and complex' for a country like India. Phew!