Moisture Trapped in a Stone, Book Review

MOISTURE TRAPPED IN A STONE: An Anthology of Modern Telugu Short Stories

Translated from the Telugu by K.N.Rao      Thornbird/Niyogi Books         Rs..595/- 

This is a richly varied collection of 29 stories translated from Telugu. Social issues predominate in many of these stories. There are some twist-in the-tale stories, tales of expatriates chasing the American dream, and a couple of love stories, too. It's like a box of assorted chocolates. Each story has a different tone and flavour, and you don't know what will come next. All the stories will not appeal to every reader, but there's something in this collection for everyone.

The Citadel in Disrepair by Kethu Viswanatha Reddy struck me with its effective treatment of the themes of grief, loss of a son, and the senseless destruction resulting from the Naxalite movement. Jasmine on a Lattice by Kolipaka Ramamani is a beautiful story with heart-rending emotions skilfully portrayed through an exchange of letters.

Some of the stories are on contemporary themes in the urban Indian context, bringing out the intricacies of human relationships. D Kameswari's Bumblebee is a strong and nuanced story about the contemporary reality of adultery. Vasundhara's Yet Another Love Story is an interesting take on the relationship of an elderly couple who seem to endlessly bicker and complain on the surface. Yet when their son decides to take his mother along with him to the big city to give her some peace and rest, the mother begins to miss her husband. The husband too longs for her companionship and comes to the city to take her home. J Ramalakshmi's Outsourcing is a witty take on today's commercial reality. Mohammed Khadeer Babu's The Cover effectively portrays the communal tensions flowing as an undercurrent beneath the apparently placid social fabric of city life.

The impact of foreign culture on home-grown visitors from the hinterland is the theme of several stories. Madhurantakam Rajaram's Galiveedu to New York depicts an elderly landlord used to a culture of feuds, rivalries and murderous attacks on opponents. On a visit to his son in America, he sees how "these boys had no use for terrorism and stories of vengeance… Bomb bursts, murders in broad daylight, rivers of blood, setting fire to homes and such other acts do not seem to drive them to action. Then what do they want to know from him?"

Madhurantakam Rajaram's The Homing Pigeon is a beautiful and nuanced story. Young Ravi comes from America to search for grandparents he has never met, who live in an obscure village too insignificant to merit even a bus stop. The hinterland, with its beauty as well as festering social injustices, is portrayed effectively in many of these stories.

Madhurantakam Rajaram's Moisture Trapped in a Stone is a deliciously complex story with lovely stylistic flourishes. "Time wrought other changes too, bringing to the town a character of diversity. Men, dark-skinned, looking like the trunk of a babul tree which grown unmindful of the hot sun, the inconvenience of dust storms and the sewage waters that lash them and having lashed, flow past them as if they made a mistake initially; men who do not have memories of days gone by…"

B Geetika's Misappropriated Moonlight is about a government official whose work involves the welfare of backward tribes. She arrives from the big city wondering: "These men in the forest, how do we wake them up? They seem totally ignorant of the world… How can we let them grow wise to issues like nutritious food, family planning etc.?" As she befriends Girija, a young tribal girl, the official gets emotionally involved and her attitude changes. She experiences firsthand the tragic plight of innocent forest people. "Girija is my friend, I'll use every resource at my command to save her. But what about the tribe as a whole? These fellows who pass for civilised men, are they any better than those animals in the forest?"

The variances in style and treatment differ from story to story. Several stories deal with social issues with a heavy hand. Her Very Own Rubicon by Vasundhara has the point/moral of the story spelled out a little too bluntly at the end.

"Now to questions that stare at me: here is a lady who lives a cocooned life, straitjacketed by the age old caste system. But she is also tender hearted, kind and considerate… She is a slave of the tradition into which she is born… but kind, loving, generous… One needs to understand such personalities properly."

Vasireddy Seetadevi's Darkness to Light ­ ­- A Journey to Nowhere is mainly a tedious and lengthy Q&A session on spiritual questions. The patient reader is rewarded at the end of this tedium with a heart-rending ending. Rentala Nageswara Rao's A Gift of Gingelly Seeds also has a lengthy Q&A section from page 29 to page 40. The topic is socialist revolution, the Naxalite movement etc.

The Case by Olga is yet another example of a story relying heavily on Q&A sessions on the theme of women's rights.

Overall, this collection is an interesting read which brings out the many facets of contemporary Telugu short stories.

This was published in Sunday Herald

Harilal & Sons Books Review

Harilal & Sons  by Sujit Saraf     Speaking Tiger Books 

This skilfully crafted novel revolves around Harilal Tibrewal, a Marwari boy who leaves the deserts of his native Rajasthan to seek his fortune in ‘Kalkatta’, the city of dreams in 19th-century colonial India. While India’s freedom movement, the Partition of Bengal and World War II unfold in the backdrop, Harilal and his descendants spread, start businesses, suffer losses and gains, marry, produce children, and die. Based upon the author’s own family history, Harilal’s story imaginatively fills in the gaps in the dry accounts of history. We learn why and how clusters of people from Rajasthan settled in every part of the country, retained their unique culture and customs while capably managing shops and businesses all over India for generations. A strong and fascinating story with convincing characters, set against an expansive historical and geographic backdrop, this is the perfect read.

The book throws light upon the indomitable Marwari spirit of enterprise. “Everything made by Raamji can be bought and sold if a bania knows how to price it,” says the street-smart teenager and Harilal’s saala, Janardhan. “Like rain, urine was made by Raamji, so it can be sold.” A quintessential Marwari, Janardhan adapts as he works at various ways to make money, transforming into English-spouting Johnny when he strikes deals for sahib Andrew Yule. The Marwari is adept at making the best use of money. Even religious sanction can be bought for a price. “A rupee would do the trick — the Shastras had a way of bending to one’s will at the glimpse of silver.”

Bargaining is a vital skill, and thrift is valued. “Even a paisa saved in this manner was a paisa that could be better spent elsewhere.” When teenaged Hari receives news from home of the birth of his first son, prudence overcomes his sense of love and excitement. “They should not have wasted a full rupee on a telegram.” 

“Words meant different things to different people, while numbers were truthful. One bowed to context, the other only to the truth.” Hari values this lesson taught by his master in early childhood. “The name does not matter, the commissions do.”

Ultimately, a Marwari man with many sons must find shops to settle them with. It is this urge to set up a business of one’s own, to be one’s own master that makes young Marwari boys like Harilal to leave the parched deserts of their native Rajasthan to seek their fortunes in the fertile, prosperous distant lands of ‘Disavar.’ Harilal, and later his son Tribhuban, leave home alone at the tender ages of 12 and 11 respectively, to seek their fortunes in distant lands. This amazing spirit seems even more impressive when compared with today’s Indian children, who usually study and grow up under the care of their parents until well into their 20s.

The characters are well delineated and convincing. Hari’s father, his successive wives, and his many children sport unique traits and mindsets. Harilal himself is multifaceted. Stoic discipline rules Harilal as he copes with emotional upheavals. As his wife Parameshwari’s funeral takes place, he wonders about her soul, which nothing can destroy. In his sorrow at her untimely death, he wonders: “What use did a bania have for a soul at all? Buy cheap and sell dear, Master Bholaram had said. What else was there to existence, aside from stock that could be touched and felt and smelt and bought and sold, and what remained when it had been taken away?” With ingrained stoicism, Harilal knows that a man does not grieve like a child. Life must go on. As he watches his 21-year-old wife’s funeral pyre, he gets the idea of setting up a jute press. 

Yet, Harilal is capable of tender and intimate moments with his first wife Parameshwari, and his affection for each of his children adapts to their individual personalities. He can stand by a friend and love him, just as he can be strict in self-control. In difficult times, he gifts a sack of rice to a needy stranger, the Nawab of Bogra’s driver, while taking care to hide the tears in his eyes. His love for Parameshwari transcends her death. When his father manages to place Hari into a second marriage against his wishes, Hari accepts his father’s will with stoicism. He does his duty while retaining Parameshwari’s memory in his heart. In ripe old age, Harilal orders scenes from his happiest moments with Parameshwari to be painted on his bedroom walls in his new haveli. 

Life is precarious, with famines and riots in the wake of Partition. Yet the story is livened by occasional touches of gentle humour. Harilal’s perspective on World War II will make you smile. “If it was a dispute over rates, surely the sahibs were sufficiently good banias to resolve it themselves. What turn of events had caused Raamji to trap a poor bania underground so he could be burnt to cinders in a quarrel between sahibs?”

The narrative flows smoothly, and awkward passages are rare. The older and wiser Hemraj’s conversations with Hari seem stilted, as they board overcrowded trains from Rajasthan to ‘Kalkatta’. The artificial dialogues here obviously serve to inform readers of the facts and the backdrop of the story. Overall, this is a thoroughly satisfying read on multiple levels.

This review is published in Sunday herald

Manjiri Prabhu Author interview

Let’s get down to brass tacks. Why do you write?

I write because I imagine, dream, feel, love and reciprocate.

And because I have a story to extract from my interactions, from my emotions, whether in imagination or reality and turn it into a fictitious reality.

I want to create a world of my own and enjoy the trials and tribulations of the journey and finally when it is done, sit back and let the world see my creation.

I write because I want to create memories, because I want to learn, explore and live many lives and travel with many characters to lands known and unknown. To feel fulfilled, to remind myself how blessed I am. . . .

I write because that’s what I can do . . . …and love to do!

What advice would you give your younger writing self?

First and foremost, I would tell my younger self that she was right. That feeling that she had all along as a child that she was born to be a writer was completely justified. I would like to congratulate her on her success and persistence. As advice I would tell her to be ready for challenges, be patient and learn to take rejections as opportunities to do better. I would tell her to be more competitive in today’s world and go all out and shout out her achievements. I would tell her to go wild, travel more, love more, absorb more and create more. I would tell her to be more in touch with reality as well as fantasy, experiment more and get out of her comfort zone of writing. I would just want her to live every moment to the fullest so that writing would come inspired, faster and better.

How did publishing your first book change your process of writing?

As a child I wrote for myself, content in the art of creation and heedless to public consumption.  As I grew older, I realized that it wouldn’t matter if someone read my work. In fact it would be great if others did. That’s when I published my first novel ‘A Symphony of Hearts’ in 1994.

Over the years, I’ve written and published books, and the need to reach out to more and more readers has increased. Mostly because publishing a book takes it out of your inner, controlled circle and exhibits it to a world of readers with varied views, opinions and backgrounds. Great feedback from readers is one of the biggest rewards of writing!

The equation of writing for ‘self’has now changed to writing for ‘us’ – for my readers and I. I still create plots that excite me and characters that speak to me but they carry a vision that I want readers to grasp and understand and emulate.

So publishing my book hasn’t changed so much the process of writing, as the need for visibility and exposure to it. Now marketing and promotion also take a big chunk of my time and attention.

What was your greatest writing challenge?

Actually, each of my books has posed a challenge. The Cosmic Clues and The Astral Alibi or Stellar Signs were about a lady detective who solves cases with the help of Astrology. So a lot of research went into choosing the right plots and solving them using Astrology in a systematic scientific manner, and not as a superstitious, magic wand. Similarly, The Cavansite Conspiracy takes place in 48 hours and the protagonist travels from Pune, to Hamburg, to the Isle of Sylt and to London in a matter of so many hours. Matching the time-differences and flight timings was a huge challenge. Finally, my latest thriller The Trail of Four takes place entirely in Salzburg and is about non-Indian characters, taking Re, the investigative journalist on a trail set 75 years ago. The biggest challenge was writing the novel like an insider, and combining history with a contemporary plotline. Having said that, I have enjoyed writing each of these novels.

What’s your idea of literary success?

I write so that people will read, enjoy the product of my imagination and take away something from it. When books sell, the monetary gain enables you to be at peace to write some more. So it helps. It is practical. But I would like to go beyond this materialistic gain . . . to grasp and capture something that is more ephemeral and transient. Memories. For me literary success would be when readers carry me in their memories forever, in the form of my books, characters, stories or messages. When I freeze into their memories, I would feel that I have touched that peak of success as an author and have attained virtual immortality.

What’s your idea of bliss?

My idea of bliss is complex. I want a world where every dog has a home – which means the world is compassionate enough to understand that ‘lives’ matter. It spells peace and love.

I also want a world where each being is treated with respect and love and given the freedom and choice to live his/her own life.

And finally, on a more personal note, my idea of bliss is to travel with my loved ones including my dogs, from country to country, absorbing new cultures, making new friends, writing and filming about it and more, and in the process collecting  answers from the Universe and unravelling the mystery called ‘life’.

Your latest novel, The Trail of Four, is set in Salzburg, Austria. As an Indian author, what inspired you to set your story here? Did you feel compelled to make Re, the protagonist, a person of Indian origin?

I have often wondered what the lure of the foreign books is for the Indian reader. Even today, I believe that books by foreign authors are read more than by Indian authors. And I think it is mostly to do with habit. I grew up reading books by British/American authors and I knew that I was totally fascinated by the milieu and culture and language. Now, after having written 8 books that are based in India but which pop in and out of some parts of the world, I felt this need to explore foreign horizons and move out of my comfort zone. And that is why The Trail of Four is based entirely in Salzburg with Non-Indian characters. However, the Indian in me needed to be satisfied too, so I made Re half-Indian, but alienated from his Indian roots.

But what really inspired me was a visit to the Palace Leopoldskron and Salzburg. I fell in love with them both. I knew way back, when I first set eyes on the Schloss that one day I would set a novel here. I think I was destined to write this novel. Incidents unfolded in such a manner, rather mysteriously and everything aligned perfectly for me to write The Trail of Four. I think the novel ‘happened’ to me. It got itself written. I simply followed a pre-destined path to accomplish this feat.

When did you first realize the power of the written word?

Speaking from an author’s point of view – My childhood was complete and content as I grew up reading Enid Blyton books and lost myself in the world of mystery, adventure and fun. I believe that those books laid the foundation for my career because I knew at a very young age that I wanted to be a writer and create such worlds which offered hope and joy to every reader.  Personally for me, that was the first impact of the power of the word.

Later, as I matured and my reading habits encompassed more serious work, my belief in the written word was only strengthened. A good piece of writing, whether fiction or non-fiction is like a living, breathing entity. It can hook on to your brain and either mess up your thinking or create patterns of thought that can change the world. Either way, the effect can be stunning.

What makes you angry, and I mean all-out-smash-the-china raving mad?

I get furious when I see dogs or other animals being abused or see nature getting destroyed.  I feel that taking care of street dogs is the answer to world peace. I have a philosophy called my ‘Dogtrine of Peace’. Destroying nature is like destroying ourselves. When you cut down trees, encroach into hills and the sea, all you are doing is cutting into the lifetime of your generations. Sooner or later, the consequences will rise like a Tsunami, sweeping off races.

Other than that I get furious when people lie, and are manipulative, are ungrateful, take advantage of the weak and tons of other things. I am basically an angry woman 

Describe your life philosophy. In a sentence. 

Kindness and love make a difference. Do your bit. . . .

About the Author:

Dr. Manjiri Prabhu is an independent film-maker for Television, a Writer/ Novelist in English and also the Founder/ Director of Pune International Literary Festival. Having authored 9 books published by Penguin, Bloomsbury, Random House USA and Jaico Books, Prabhu has been acknowledged as a pioneer in India among women writers of mystery fiction. She is also the first female mystery Author to be published outside India and has been labelled as the ‘Desi Agatha Christie’. She has been invited to reputed International Literature Festivals like The Agatha Christie Festival, UK and International Women’s Fiction Festival, Matera, Italy.

Her novel The Cosmic Clues was selected as a Killer Book, by Independent Mystery Booksellers of America and The Astral Alibi was honoured as a ‘Notable Book’ in the Kiriyama Prize. Her unpublished psychological thriller novel was adapted into a Hindi feature film by NFDC, titled

“Kuchh Dil Ne Kaha”. Her thesis-cum-book, titled Roles: Reel and Real, has become a rare reference book for students of Hindi cinema.

Recently chosen as one of 50 Inspiring Women of Maharashtra, she was awarded for “Excellence in Writing” by ERTC Global Herald, in Mumbai. She has also been awarded the Rex Karmaveer Gold Medal Award.

This review is published in Kitaab

The TRail of Four by Manjiri Prabhu: book review

This intriguing mystery by an Indian author is set entirely in Europe, in the historic city of Salzburg, Austria. The novel brings to life the beauty and rich heritage of an old European city, which serves as a striking backdrop for an exciting intrigue. The three-century-old heart of a princely archbishop is mysteriously stolen from its place of rest. Who would do such a thing, and why? An insane criminal is out to destroy the pillars of the city’s heritage and culture. Re, a photo journalist and psychic, Isabel the beautiful local historian, police chief Stefan and hotelier Dan, who is managing the prestigious high profile Salzburg Global Seminar in the Schloss, are compelled to work together to stop impending disaster. As the threats materialise and mayhem unfolds, they must figure out which of the city’s many historic landmarks will be the next target, and prevent further chaos.

It’s a well-crafted, exciting story that will keep you turning the pages all night long. The mystery and fast-paced action are cleverly plotted. There are deliciously interwoven mysteries within mysteries, leaving readers with never a dull moment. There’s even a mystery from the historic past, coming alive in the present. Renowned theatre director Max Reinhardt once owned the majestic Schloss, a luxurious palace by the lake. Forced to flee the Nazi advance during World War II, he left behind a series of complex clues to an unsolved mystery, a hidden secret. As the hours until the next attacks tick away, our heroes must solve the clues and hand over the hidden treasure to the shadowy perpetrator of the attacks on the city’s landmarks. This is the only hope to halt further destruction.

Isabel’s American husband Justin has vanished, and is suspected to be dead. He has left cryptic messages which connect to the attacks on the city. Is Isabel really an innocent, grieving wife, or does she have a hand in Justin’s murder? Is she truly working to solve the clues and save the city, or is she in league with the enemy?

This novel is great material for a film adaptation, with spectacular settings and nail-biting, edge-of the-seat action. With drones spraying toxic gas, floods from the city’s underground water supply system threatening to engulf the city, an explosion in a famous cathedral filled with praying devotees and tourists, shock waves are threatening the very foundations of a city famed for art, culture and fine living.

The plot and the mystery take readers on a virtual tour of Salzburg, and its history and heritage. It is a delightful bonus to the reading experience. Salzburg in all its beauty, is brought to vivid life. The shimmering lake with its undulating blue-green waves, the surrounding mountains, the magnificent Schloss, a historic palace turned hotel that dazzles “like an eternal bride in glitter and gold”; the vivid descriptions are deftly woven into the action. The Schloss, a focal point of the novel’s action, has its own fascinating history. “Concerts, theatre performances, serenades by the lake; the Schloss had created so many careers, ignited so many affairs – it was the perfect baroque dream.”

The novel at times rises beyond complex mysteries to present a blend of beautiful settings juxtaposed against many facets of subjective realities. “Laughter trickled in from the street, carefree and happy. As if just some hours ago the cathedral had not been almost blown apart, as if the threat to the fourth Pillar was only a frightening dream, as if every ticking minute they were not getting closer to a horrendous conclusion. That was why truth was subjective, reality had such different dimensions and memory was sweet and short.”

The characters are convincingly drawn, with light but firm touches which do not distract from the compelling action. Re, the photographer, journalist and psychic sleuth, has an Indian father and a French mother. As such, there are passing Asian cultural references in the story. Whenever faced with a difficult situation, Re clutches his ‘Om’ pendant, that powerful Hindu symbol, to regain spiritual equilibrium and focus. Since the author is Indian, one may have expected a stronger Indian and Asian connection. However, this does not dilute the overall reading pleasure. Readers can expect the unexpected, and turn the last page with a satisfied smile.

this review is published in Kitaab

The narrative of Literary Festivals

As the rains abate and cool breezes begin blowing, people all over the country gear up for celebrations. In recent years, literary festivals have joined this exuberant bandwagon, with almost 100 such galas planned in India this year. Litfests, as they are fondly termed, add glamour and crowd pulling appeal to reading and writing, which are essentially quiet and solitary activities. Publishers, publicists and ‘Famous Authors’ of every feather flock to literature festivals all over the country. With new literary festivals sprouting up every year to add to the already rich variety,  lifestyle coaches, gawkers, culture vultures, fast food vendors, aspiring writers, fitness gurus, film personalities, film stars of every sparkle level, and everyone who is anything else, all join the festivities. With so much fanfare and drumrolls, are these litfests becoming commercial circuses? Or do they really serve the cause of literature by focusing on good books, offering a platform to a variety of voices and artistic perspectives, and drawing in new readers to books they would otherwise never have known?

First, let’s take a look at the not-so-literary but equally vital practical part of litfests. Organising any literary festival is a huge exercise in management. The Jaipur Literary Festival, that mother of all Indian litfests, draws stupendous crowds that can fill up an entire town. Other litfests are also catching up. This is enough to prompt borderline introverts like me to hide inside the nearest cupboard at the very thought. Such litfests are organisational wonders, with promoters juggling finances, public relations, logistics and heaven alone knows what else. Star guests have to invited and hosted, air tickets and tour itineraries have to be synchronised, sponsors have to be tapped, venues have to be booked, security has to be in place, volunteers have to be organised and trained, and I faint to think of what else organisers have to go through to present these grand events to the world.  What happens in Jaipur on a mammoth scale, is repeated in varying degrees in all the other litfests. Hotels are fully booked months in advance, and a galaxy of literary greats descend from all over the globe. Many star studded sessions are organised simultaneously, and the audience are spoilt for choice. Food stalls, book stalls, souvenir stalls, contests, workshops and many other activities are also presented to keep the crowds entertained and well fed as they pursue the literary muses.

Litfests are definitely big business. The many visitors also look for accommodation and visit places of interest, giving a shot in the arm to tourism and the local economy. Hotels, restaurants, tour operators and other business establishments profit from this influx of migratory literati. Many visitors consider Famous Authors themselves as major tourist attractions, jostling to click selfies and grab their autographs. No wonder many literary festivals are co-sponsored by government tourism departments and major corporates.

Book sales are only a small part of the commercial extravaganza. From what I’ve seen, malls and junk food stalls steal a march over books. Fine dining in fancy restaurants, grand cars and designer clothes may cost the earth. People still feel their money is well spent on such luxuries for making a lifestyle statement. Books are cheaper than pizzas and burgers which we gobble to attain blissful obesity. But books are considered a waste of time and money by many, who have never read anything but textbooks or advertisements in their lives.  

Meanwhile, brick and mortar bookstores are downing shutters. Authors like me whom nobody has heard of, are delighted to get occasional four-figure cheques for what some bright comedian has termed ‘royalties’. If more people bought, read, and learnt to love books, they would realise that books are not only cheaper than junk food, they are healthier for our brains and bodies too. The hoopla of litfests will be well worth it if it draws such doubting Thimmaiahs to reading books.

Publisher Dipankar Mukherjee of Readomania perfectly sums up the symbiotic connection between literature and commerce. “There is a distinction between a literary platform and a literary jamboree. A platform that promotes literary voices, celebrates good writing and showcases different perspectives is a cultural and societal need, but a jamboree to make noise, earn money and create a saleable property is a commercial need. Both must co-exist.”  Which, in my ‘author whom nobody has heard of’ speak, also means that well written books for the edification and entertainment of humanity cannot be produced with empty coffers.

Accepting an invitation to the recently held Pune International Literary Festival (PILF) I experienced this happy combination of a literary platform in a lively carnival atmosphere. While three literary sessions were conducted simultaneously in various halls, street plays, book readings and signings by authors, and just plain fun happened outdoors. There was a colourful exhibition on Enid Blyton, and book stalls, souvenir stalls and food stalls to keep everyone busy between sessions. Bestselling author of mystery novels and PILF founder Manjiri Prabhu seemed all hands, eyes and ears as she coordinated the three-day event, while playing gracious hostess to the many literary guests. I observed author Shinie Antony speaking at sessions and interacting with fans. All the while she was mentally planning for her own responsibilities as the lady behind the Bangalore Literary Festival. As I prepared to speak at my own session and braced to don the mantle of moderator for a panel discussion, I realized that planning and smoothly executing such massive events was a challenge requiring much blood sweat and tears to flow behind the scenes.

PILF 2016 showcased multiple genres of books. Mysteries, thrillers, crime fiction, yoga, comics, mythology based fiction, romances, self-help books, food writers, health, beauty and nutrition all had a space here. There were also fascinating movements across various art forms. A ballet was performed based upon Pervin Saket’s novel about a modern day Urmila, the neglected wife. The ballet incorporated several classical dance forms such as Kathak, Odisi and Bharat Natyam. There was even the screening of a film on Lahore, a travel documentary about filmmaker Rahul Chandawarkar’s visit to Pakistan to perform a play. And of course, there were the lively street play performances. The exuberant fairground atmosphere helped in the free flow of ideas as people moved from one session to another, soaking in whatever suited them.

From Pune, I travelled to Bhubaneswar, where I was invited to speak at two sessions of the Utkal Literature Festival (ULF). I saw how each litfest has its unique character and flavor, offering fresh perspectives and insights. ULF 2016 was a more formal event conducted inside a spacious auditorium. While there were poetry readings in the lawns and a bookstall, there were no food courts or other fairground trappings. Acknowledging that intellectual activities cannot be digested on empty stomachs, visitors were generously offered lunch by the hosts. The focus was upon novels, short stories and poetry, giving equal importance to both English and Odiya writing. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I could understand the gist of what was being read and discussed in Odiya. This offered another wonderful perspective on the great work happening in our neglected languages. There were lively panel discussions on relevant topics such as the crisis in translation in Odiya literature, the art and craft of fiction writing, independent publishing, book promotions, blogging and the role of literary festivals.

Literary festivals are coming up to cater to every angle of the complex world of literature. Bookaroo, the children’s litfest, is going strong with editions all over the country. As a speaker in Bookaroo in Delhi a few years ago, I saw how the playful open air atmosphere drew excited kids to books. Another theme based festival Comic Con, focuses upon comic books and graphic novels. Poetry festivals attract many enthusiasts.

Do we need more litfests? Yes, says author and publisher Zafar Anjum, who is launching the Seemanchal International Literary Festival in November. Set in Kishanganj in the picturesque foothills of the eastern Himalayas, this litfest will draw attention to a beautiful but neglected region of India. Anjum’s literary venture Kitaab focuses on building a platform for Asian writing in English. In keeping with this spirit, speakers will be coming from countries such as the US, UK, Singapore and elsewhere. Among other attractions, the India release of noted Singapore author Isa Kamari’s latest book Tweet is planned here.

As ‘an author whom nobody has heard of’, I am all for litfests. Through them, an eccentric reader or two may have come to know of my books. Perhaps someone may actually buy, read, enjoy my books and tell others. We live on hope. I have a soft corner for literary fiction, with its stress on the inner life and struggles of fictional characters, and style and artistic expression. It was enlightening to learn of new work in other areas. I reconnected with old writer friends, and met some interesting new ones. I’m still ‘an author whom nobody has heard of’, and my books are languishing on Flipkart. But thanks to generous sponsors and hosts, I briefly emerged from under my bed, travelled to new places in comfort and had literary adventures.

This is published in Sunday Herald

Eka Kurniawan: Man Tiger.

This striking novel set in the lush hinterlands of Indonesia was longlisted for the Man Booker International Prize 2016. Kurniawan draws readers into a richly complex tale with the very first sentence. “On the evening Margio killed Anwar Sadat...” The killer and the victim are identified beyond doubt, yet a riveting mystery is deftly built up.


 Why would a good-natured and popular young man kill his harmless middle-aged neighbour, that too in an unimaginably gruesome manner, by biting through his neck?

Yet there are eye-witnesses, and the victim’s mauled body stands testimony to the brutal attack. When the story begins, Margio has already admitted to the killing and surrendered.

The killer, Margio, is a popular 20-year-old who drank, smoked weed and made out in shacks in the cocoa planation along with other village boys. Like a helpful son to his neighbour Anwar Sadat, Margio was much in demand for his prowess during wild boar hunts. “While some of his friends got into fights, he wouldn’t lay a finger on anyone.”

Just before killing Anwar Sadat, Margio gave clear, ominous signals of his intentions. “Right now, I’m afraid I’m really going to kill someone,” he told a friend over drinks, shortly before attacking his victim. “But of course nobody who hadn’t been there would believe these words came from Margio. He was the sweetest and most polite of his peers.” When Margio went to Anwar Sadat’s house on that fateful day, he didn’t even carry a knife or a cleaver or a rope with which to commit the murder.

“Who could predict he might end a man’s life with a bite?” Colourful and bustling rural Indonesia is brought to vivid life by the author. Cacao plantations are criss-crossed by paddy fields, ponds, and peanut gardens. Clouds of mosquitoes take charge over the swamps and ponds, and Major Sadra’s ancient motorcycle loudly traverses the mud roads of the villages. An old Panasonic radio is the greatest asset in Agus Sofyan’s tea shack, where the villagers enjoy listening to soccer commentary or dangdut or other types of pop music. This half-dead machine with its insides hanging out in a messy tangle from an open top “could make enough noise to be heard booming at half the soccer field’s distance.”

Soon, darker and mysterious facets of this cheerfully chaotic world emerge. Margio’s abused mother Nuraeni expresses her stifled sorrows and desires through her lush garden, which soon overwhelms the house itself with brilliant flowers of every hue.

Margio’s Grandpa “would take the boy to a rivulet he called the Kingdom of Genies” and talk of spirits, and of tigresses, whom many men in the hamlet called their own.

“Some married one, while others inherited a tigress, passed down through the generations.” Little Margio wonders when their family tigress, which has belonged to them from the times of distant ancestors, will choose to belong to him.

Deftly sketched minor characters with their own quirks further enliven the setting. Occasionally they lighten the mood as the mystery builds up. They also add to the mounting tension by casually dropping significant clues. The worst these easy-going and peaceful villagers do is gamble on pigeon races and cock fights, or hunt down wild boar. Margio’s harsh private world is a stark contrast. As the story inexorably flows in a flashback towards Anwar Sadat’s killing, we learn that Margio did, after all, have this latent murderous streak. He ran away from home because, as he confessed to his sister Mameh, he was afraid that he might really kill his father someday. The news of his father’s death brought him back home at last. Everyone noticed how happy Margio was, but they thought it natural, for his father was well known to have been very harsh with Margio and his gentle mother, Nuraeni.

From their conversations we learn early on that Margio took Anwar Sadat’s daughter Maharani to a film show the night before he killed her father. Maharani cut short her vacation and suddenly left next morning for her college in the city without giving any reason, refusing to talk to her father.

The mystery revolves around the strange and terrible, yet protective tigress ruling Margio’s inner world. “It was bigger than a clouded leopard, bigger than the ones people saw at the zoo or circus or in schoolbooks. If a man couldn’t control his beast, it could turn so violent that nothing could restrain it once enraged... The tigress was there, a part of him, the two of them inseparable until death.”

A heady and memorable blend of magic realism, murder mystery and a deeply sensitive and sympathetic exploration of what drives a gentle soul to kill, this is a beautifully crafted and memorable read.
This review is published in Deccan Herald

Viet Thanh Nguyen: The Sympathizer

The Sympathizer  
Viet Thanh Nguyen  
Hachette
2016, pp 371, Rs. 499

 

When tinged with humour, the gravest of subjects like war acquires an interesting and profound colour, writes Monideepa Sahu about ‘The Sympathizer’

This engrossing tragi-comic novel set in the final days of the Vietnam War richly deserves the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction 2016. The story and its style and rendering are striking, to say the least. The novel startles with the vastness of its scope; the clash of civilisations, cultures and ideologies; war where no party is right, and its futile aftermath; art as insight or propaganda; the many faces of racism in America and in Vietnam; the flaws in the dazzling American Dream, and in the egalitarian Communist dream. The narrative negotiates complex ideas with a flawless touch, showing how everything has multiple contradictory facets.

 Momentous concepts do not weigh down the narrative, but are turned inside out to expose their inherent absurdities. Even torture need not necessarily be gloomy, but can ironically be laughable. Even American military muscle flexing can be incongruously self-contradictory. “After all, nothing was more American than wielding a gun and committing oneself to die for freedom and independence, unless it was wielding that gun to take away someone else’s freedom and independence.” All this is deftly woven into an exciting, action-packed plot, with espionage, bombings, executions, military evacuations, movie shootings and musical extravaganzas, and romantic interludes.

The novel opens with the nameless narrator writing his confession in a prison interrogation cell. He is addressed as ‘Captain’ by his commanding officer, while others never think of referring to him by any name at all. After all, he is “a spy, a sleeper, a spook, a man of two faces. Perhaps not surprisingly, (he is) also a man of two minds.” This spy hides “where everyone can see him and where he can see everything. “We cannot help but admire his intelligence and talent for seeing every issue from both sides, unveiling the comic and ironic aspects of the dangerous situations he negotiates. He is a rare man capable of laughing at himself.

As he writes and rewrites lengthy confessions as a prisoner of the same communists for whom he had been spying, the narrator reveals many conflicting identities. He is a socially ostracised racial-hybrid illegitimate son of a French priest and a Vietnamese girl; too tall and fair to blend in with the native Vietnamese, and too oriental in appearance and upbringing to be accepted as a Westerner. As a Captain in the vanquished army of South Vietnam, he is a mole passing information to the Communist ‘enemy’ northerners. He is a communist sympathiser who studied in a US university to understand Americans through their perception of the Vietnamese. This education and exposure to a decadent culture makes the narrator see too clearly how a war “that meant everything to all the people in our small part of the world” could mean “nothing to most people in the rest of the world.” It also makes him a reactionary sullied by American ideas to the hard-core communists into whose fold he wishes to return.

His political choices and his secret police service eventually force the narrator to cultivate his violent side. But his saving grace is his sense of humour and irony. He is “not just any mole” or spy, as his friend Man tells him. He is “the mole that is the beauty spot on the nose of power itself.” He is “more lover than fighter.” With quirky insights, he can turn traditional morality upside down, sometimes with hilarious effects. “Torture is obscene. Three million dead is obscene. Masturbation, even with an admittedly non-consensual squid? Not so much.”

We feel for the narrator’s inner struggles when he is commanded to plot the killing of the probably innocent Crapulent Major. He even shares with the Crapulent Major’s widow his compensation money for a grievous accident or murder attempt (depending on your perspective) he suffered on the sets of a Hollywood movie. Memories of his execution victim Sonny the journalist, the Crapulent Major, and the tortured Communist woman agent, whom he failed to protect, haunt him throughout the narrative. This reluctant killer is capable of deep lifelong loyalties and love, towards his mother, and his childhood friends Man and Bon. We grow to love him for his intelligence and insightfulness, his sense of self-criticism and his ability to see the absurdity of it all. We feel his pain as he undergoes torture to become what he cannot; transformation from an American into not just an anti-American, but one hundred percent Vietnamese.

We share his inner struggle as he powerlessly watched and did nothing, while a beautiful young female communist agent was tortured and gang raped. She defiantly says to her tormentors that her surname is Viet and given name, Nam. Her torture symbolises the ravaging of Vietnam itself, not just by foreigners but also by her own people. If only “we forgot our resentment, if we forgot revenge, if we acknowledged that we are all puppets in someone else’s play...” The narrator’s ironic insightfulness turns upon revolution itself as revolutionaries metamorphose into reactionary imperialists. “How our revolution had gone from being the vanguard of political change to the rearguard hoarding power... Hadn’t the French and Americans done exactly the same?” He urges us to question along with him, “Why do those who call for independence and freedom take away the independence and freedom of others?”
Packed with exciting action and undercurrents of deep ideas, this is a brilliantly executed and deliciously memorable read. 

 

This review is published in Deccan Herald

Chitra Banerjee Divakurni: Before We Visit the Goddess

Before We Visit the Goddess
Chitra Banerjee
Divakaruni
Simon & Schuster
2016, pp 208, Rs 499

This is a sensitive and delicately rendered tale of love and longing, of pain, misunderstandings, exile, self-inflicted isolation and of reaching out for affection.


The novel spans 3 generations of women protagonists. Grandmother Sabitri flounders in search of love, blaming her daughter Bela for driving a wedge between her and her husband. Finally, she finds her true calling as the creator of delicious sweets, just like her own mother before her. Bela, the truant daughter, elopes to the US with a man who ultimately fails her. Bela’s daughter Tara turns out to be another rebel without a cause.

Flawed, rebellious and often inconsistent, they make mistakes and suffer, and irreparably wound the ones who love them most. They “appear so ordinary”. Yet their lives are “filled with violence and mystery”. Proud and stubborn, these women are so like each other. If they had had anyone else to turn to, they would never have called their mothers for help. Yet they are also eminently capable of giving and receiving love.

The characters are memorable, and finely etched. “Why, you could be acquainted with a person for years, thinking you knew them. Then suddenly they’d do something that showed you there were layers to them you hadn’t ever suspected.” Minor characters like Mrs Mehta, whom Tara helps to transform from a frumpy, lonely old woman to a lively person, who happily fits herself into the American way of life, add interesting touches to the story. However, Bela’s gay friend Kenneth crops up as more of a detour from the main path of the story.

Sabitri grows up in poverty in a village in Bengal, helping her mother Durga make delectable sweets in order to eke out a living. Her dream of going to college appears to be coming true. A wealthy client is impressed with the sweets and the girl who delivers them. She offers to support Sabitri if she does well in her exams and gets admission in a college in Kolkata. Sabitri succeeds. But once in Kolkata, she becomes infatuated with the wrong man, and cannot wholeheartedly reciprocate the right man’s love. From being the good daughter and fortunate lamp brightening her family’s name, Sabitri strays into becoming the firebrand, who blackens the family’s fame.

The novel opens with the ageing Sabitri receiving a desperate phone call from her wayward and estranged daughter Bela, from the distant US. Bela pleads with Sabitri to persuade her granddaughter Tara against dropping out of college and ruining her life. “What can she write in her rusty English to change Tara’s mind? She cannot even imagine her granddaughter’s life, the whirlwind foreign world she lives in.” The only link Sabitri has to a granddaughter she has never seen, is a handful of photos. They remind her of the pang she felt when she received them, “because she had so wanted to be present at Tara’s birth. But she hadn’t been invited.” The author deftly uses clear, simple yet powerful images to bring home the character’s deepest and most aching emotions. Everyday things like photographs and photo albums capture life’s turning points, and show new facets to those we think we knew and understood.

Elsewhere, the author uses beautiful, poetic descriptions to evoke deep feelings. When little Bela goes to Assam with her parents, she misses her friend Leena, and realises early on how physical distance can pull the dearest friends apart. “Bela tried to write back, but she was struck by a strange paralysis. How to describe the riot around her: the night-blooming flowers with their intoxicating odor, the safeda tree with its hairy brown fruit, the oleanders with their poisonous red hearts? She wanted Leena to be here, to run hand in hand with her across a lawn so large it was like a green ocean. But what was the point of wanting the impossible? She never answered the letters... But inside loss, there can be gain too. Like the small silver spider Bela had discovered one dewy morning, curled asleep in the centre of a rose.”

The plot is aesthetically structured around Tara’s life-changing visit to the temple of an accepting Hindu goddess. “The goddess doesn’t care how many minutes you spend in front of her... Only how much you want to be here... The goddess does not care about what we are wearing, only what is in our hearts.” Throughout the novel, small and apparently ordinary incidents change lives. “How she got back at her one-time hosts but learned that revenge extracts its price. How the problems between (Sabitri) and (Bela) began, with words of deadly innocence spoken in a car, and a slap that echoed through the years.”

The persistent and frequent shifts to and fro in time can distract and confuse the reader, however.Overall, this is a thoroughly enjoyable, memorable read rife with insights.

This review is published in Deccan Herald

Usha K R: 10 questions

It's always a pleasure to meet author Usha K R. Warm and welcoming, a lively conversationalist and an empathetic listener, this lady is as modest as she is outstanding in her achievements. I took this photo at her home, during a chat over home made cake and snacks. Her warmth added the perfect touch to the evening.
This interview is published in Kitaab

Let’s get down to brass tacks. Why do you write?
To make sense of the world; to explore and order to my thoughts and feelings and understanding of it. Or to quote Flannery O’ Connor who said fiction is concerned ‘with that is lived; ultimate mystery as we find it embodied in the concrete world of sense experience’.

Tell us about your most recent book or writing project. What were you trying to say or achieve with it?
It’s still gestating

Describe your writing aesthetic.
Lots of idle thinking time to allow thoughts to gather and connections to form. Then, when I am ready, a disciplined writing schedule.

Who are your favorite authors?
All of Jane Austen, some of Edith Wharton, Henry James, E M Forster …

What’s the most challenging piece of writing you’ve attempted? Tell us why.
That which is to come

What’s your idea of bliss?
A morning that begins with a cup of filter coffee, a good spell of writing where the words on paper are a close approximation of my thoughts – an exact match would make me wonder, and no calls or visits for the rest of the day.

What book/s would you take with you on a three-month retreat in the boondocks?
Lots of crime fiction — literary fiction is meaningless if you aren’t in the thick of things.

Describe your life philosophy. In a sentence.
The longer I live the more I realise how little I know.

Biography
Usha K R writes fiction in English. Her novels are ‘Monkey-man’ (2010/ Penguin India), ‘A Girl and a River’ (2007/Penguin India), ‘The Chosen’ (2003/Penguin India) and ‘Sojourn’ (1998/EastWest Books). Her novels have been listed for several awards including the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize, the Crossword Award, the Man Asia and the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature. ‘A Girl and a River’ won the Vodafone Crossword Award, 2007. ‘Monkey-man’ was shortlisted for the DSC Prize for South Asian Literature 2012.
http://ushakr.wordpress.com

Payal Dhar: Interview

Payal is an old friend, and I took this photo some years ago on a picnic. This interview is published in Kitaab

Let’s get down to brass tacks. Why do you write?
This is a deceptively difficult question. I’ve thought about it for days, wondering how to answer it without sounding hackneyed. (And does the fact that I don’t have a deep, clever answer mean I have no good reason to be writing?!) The main reason is I write, I suppose, is because I like it. There are the beginnings of all these stories inside my head and the only to find out what happens next is to write them down and see where they go. This process of a story unfolding and then coming together is very exciting. It’s almost as much fun as reading a book.
Tell us about your most recent book or writing project. What were you trying to say or achieve with it?
I have a few works in progress at the moment. One of them is a fantasy novel I’ve been stuck on for more than half a decade. Some people say I should abandon it, but I feel it has a life still. Another falls somewhere between a school story and mystery story, and also between MG and YA. The third is a standalone YA fantasy where we find out that a deja vu is actually a time jump (!); and the fourth is a secret!
Describe your writing aesthetic.
I like to keep it simple. The best writing advice I got was from a journalism teacher who told us that the kind of writing we should be aiming for was “Famous Five” (of Enid Blyton fame). At that time I thought that was ridiculous — why should you write like you’re writing for ten-year-olds? Only later I realized the wisdom behind that thought. That rather than showing off how many big words you know, write so that even a child could understand it. And it is harder than it looks, even when you *are* writing for children.

Who are your favorite authors?
Jonathan Stroud, Neil Gaiman, Sarah Waters, Astrid Lindgren (for Pippi Longstocking), Ian Rankin… for now. They keep changing depending on what I’m reading or have recently read.
What’s the most challenging piece of writing you’ve attempted? Tell us why.
My last novel, Slightly Burnt. Not just because I was writing about sexuality for a teenage audience, but also because it was the first time I was moving out of my comfort zone: fantasy. In fantasy, since you have the luxury of world-building, the realities of what you’re setting your story in are manipulatable. But in this book, for the first time, I was dealing with, for want of a better word, “real” reality.
What’s your idea of bliss?
Anything that involves cool weather, chocolate, books, games and a computer with an internet connection — preferably altogether.
What makes you angry, and I mean all-out-smash-the-china raving mad?
Patriarchy.
What book/s would you take with you on a three-month retreat in the boondocks?
Wow. I’d fill my e-reader with as many books I could cram into it! It would have to be a mix — of crime/mystery, fantasy, YA and MG, and anything that catches the eye — so that I have options.
Your house is burning down. What’s the most important thing you’d want to take with you?
There was a time when I’d have said my laptop without hesitation, but that’s no longer the case because of the wonderful technology called cloud back-up.
Describe your life philosophy. In a sentence.
Bill Watterson, a cartoonist’s advice.

Biography 
Payal Dhar writes fiction for children and young adults, and has several books under her belt. For almost two decades, Payal has been an academic copy-editor and a freelance writer on technology, games, sport, books, writing and travel. She has been published in a variety of print and online publications, and also done live online coverage of cricket and football. Payal has written six young adult novels and co-edited a unique Indo-Australian collaborative anthology of feminist speculative fiction for young adults. Payal was on the jury of the 2014 Crossword Award for Children’s Writing. Her interests include reading, writing, gaming, web development, tinkering with her gadgets, photography and crochet. She lives in Delhi, but often mysteriously pops up in Bangalore.
Payal Dhar’s website | http://writeside.net/

William Dalrymple, an interview

William Dalrymple is a writer, traveller and historian, and one of the co-directors and founders of the annual Jaipur Literature Festival. He is the author of several bestselling books, including Return of a King, White Mughals and Nine Lives. His latest book, The Writer’s Eye, revolves around a collection of photographs.
Curated by bestselling writer and Sensorium Festival co-founder Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi, The Writer’s Eye photograph exhibition opened at Sunaparanta, Goa Centre for the Arts, on March 18; and will be followed by shows at Vadehra Art Gallery in Delhi on March 29; and at the Grosvenor Gallery, London, in June.

How did you start writing?

My writing happened in college, and my first book came about when I was 21. I saw an announcement about a fund for research travel for the college’s medieval historians. I looked up in the library for the longest and most ambitious medieval journey I could think of following. So I applied for following the outward journey of Marco Polo, from Jerusalem to Kubla Khan’s Xanadu in Mongolia. The place names were the stuff of fantasy, and so, I felt sure, was the application.
A month later, I received a letter and a cheque for the princely sum of £700. The expedition remains the most exhilarating I have ever undertaken: nothing I have done since, in half a lifetime of intense travel, has equalled the thrill of that 16,000-mile, three-month journey — walking, hitchhiking and bussing across Asia. It was also a journey that, in a very real sense, changed my life forever. My first book, In Xanadu: A Quest, was the result.

You’ve written on the history of art in India and in other Asian countries; on religions, and on travel and history. Which topic fascinates you most? Among your own books, which is your personal favourite?
I’m a man of many talents (laughs) and interests. Archaeology, history, various art forms, travel and many other subjects fascinate me. What I enjoy most is testing my artistic talents. Artists have the freedom to move and play around; to try and test things.

My most recent book, Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan, is my favourite. It is about the First Anglo-Afghan War, which ended in Britain’s greatest military humiliation of the 19th century.

Which has been your most challenging project?My biggest challenge has been raising funds for the Jaipur Literary festival.
No doubt the festival has grown, and writers are ready to support and participate. But getting adequate sponsors is an ongoing challenge.

The Writer’s Eye is your first book of photographs. You’ve taken photographs since a young age, and your photographs have accompanied the text in several of your books.

Apart from the convenience of your new Samsung Note, what made you return to photography in a major way?

My wife is an artist, and has been an encouraging influence. The idea for this book began from a casual conversation with my friend Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi, who suggested an exhibition of my photographs. I posted some of these photos on Facebook and
Instagram, and the response was great. The project took on a life of its own.

I’m a micro-manager for my books. But this book was not pre-planned. I was between books. These photographs are a record of my travels during that time. My camera phone freed me to just concentrate on the images. With it I could do things that were difficult with a big camera. With its complicated attachments, a big camera is too cumbersome and obtrusive. It makes you and your subjects self-conscious. The cell camera has this sneaky quality, letting it catch your subjects unawares. I captured whatever struck me, like the wild landscapes of Scotland; my home which I visit every year.
These are random images from my travels, from Leh to Lindisafarne, from the Hindu Kush to the Lammermuirs across the rolling hills south of Sienna; some of the world’s most remote places, especially in Central Asia. I’ll never forget the astonishing flight last year over the rib-cage of the Hindu Kush to Bamiyan, the dark slopes all etched in ice, each river valley white against the black granite of range after range of folding mountains. In the centre of the Pamirs, on the roof of the world mid-way from Kabul to Bamiyan, there are no signs of any habitation — it is a clear, empty, silent landscape lined with frozen crevice-skeletons of unmelted snow.
Certainly they have been inspired by the same travels and there are common themes — Mughal architecture, the ruins of Afghanistan, the domes of Golconda — but the photographs show, I think, a taste for the dark and remote, the moody and the atmospheric. My writing isn’t bleak or dark at all. I’m quite proud of the finished product.

Do you have any advice for budding art photographers?

Simply do it, go ahead and shoot what you like. Camera phones give you so much freedom. Photography should always be about the eye, not the equipment. It is the vision that counts, not the camera. The Internet is a democratic forum where you can post your photos and get spontaneous feedback.

Have you considered writing fiction?

No. I’m clear about my choice to continue with non-fiction. My talents are not of a novelist, and I’m happy with what I do. I’m interested in the real word, in giving order to chaos in photographic images; of discovering and artistically conveying the threads that bind facts together.
This is published in Deccan Herald

Shashi Deshpande's Strangers to Ourselves; Book Review

Shashi Deshpande weaves a memorable story about human relationships, the ties that bind people, sometimes stifling or tearing them apart, and occasionally uniting kindred souls. The novel revolves around the ongoing jugalbandi between Aparna and Shree Hari Pandit; two people, quite different, yet having more in common than they could have ever imagined. Through their relationship they explore themselves and the eternal enigma; what really is love?
That Shree Hari Pandit “is a singer, is the main thing about him. That’s his life. He was born with music in his genes, he grew up with music in his ears.” Aparna is captivated by his music, and by him, after witnessing a performance. That mutual instant attraction grows into a deeper relationship, as Shree Hari pursues Aparna with boyish spontaneity. Aparna soon learns that he idolises his grandparents. His grandfather was his first guru, he learnt Tukaram’s bhajans and the Geet Ramayan from him.

She is charmed by his old-fashioned ways, of addressing her with the quaintly courteous tumhi. “I could listen to him all day,” Aparna confides to her cousin Madhu. “Both the language and the voice are so wonderful. And he speaks English with a Marathi accent.” She realises that she’s smitten, because far from judging him from the standpoint of her superior education and command of English, she admits she loves even the way he speaks.

US-trained cancer surgeon Dr Aparna Dandekar comes from a world far from Shree Hari Pandit’s. The only child of a once-renowned Marathi playwright, she has carved a place for herself in a demanding profession. Yet she finds herself seeking common ground with Shree Hari. “Hari’s singing reminds her of a surgeon at work, a precise meticulous search for the place he has to get to, finally getting there with marvellous skill and finesse.” Aparna is also haunted by the tragedy of her late parents, of “their togetherness which had so abruptly ceased. Ended without dignity...”
How can she believe in love, when even her own marriage to a colleague ended because she had mistaken the counterfeit for the true thing? Yet Aparna feels an emptiness in her life, living as she does “in homes that belong to others, among the possessions of strangers.” It’s “so easy to say yes... so easy to submit, to stop thinking,” and go along with the man she loves. Yet she can’t wholeheartedly. Perhaps “it is not marriage, but love itself that Aparna distrusts.” Aparna’s inner struggles are portrayed with delicate nuances, endearing her to the reader and lending dramatic tension to the story. Will she? Won’t she? And will he continue to wait for her?

Shree Hari has also suffered, coming up the hard way, and refusing help from his father. Yet his passionate love for Aparna is almost boundless. “I was singing Tuka’s words, I was addressing Vithala, but I could only think of you. Bhakti, Ajoba said, is another face of love... I’ve sung these songs all my life, but I understand what they mean only now... You are my light, my world, my music.” He would be in his late 30s or older, yet he follows Aparna like a lost puppy, and won’t take her rebuffs for an answer until that last straw cools his ardour. He cooks for her, and is solicitous about dropping her home. He seems to have all the time in the world for her, and he’s exquisitely delicate and hesitant about getting into a physical relationship with her.

Adorable as Shree Hari is, one wonders. More than a flesh-and-blood man, he seems a projection of what a woman like Aparna would want her man to be. This is, after all, a woman-centric story. Shree Hari’s role is clearly secondary to Aparna’s. Other men do make brief appearances. Aparna’s father and her first husband, or rather her memories and impressions of them, surface occasionally. But the women dominate, and their relationships with Aparna throw light on the many aspects of affection and emotional connections.
Jyoti plays a major role in the story. Her relationship with Aparna evolves from patient and doctor, to friendly neighbours, into soul sisters. Ahalya appears as a mystery woman from the past, whose memoirs are found among Aparna’s father’s manuscripts. Jyoti begins translating it to distract herself from her own terminal illness. Soon, Jyoti is drawn into Ahalya’s account of her unusual life, struggles and loves. Jyoti comes across as a positive woman who supports Aparna with her fading strength. Ahalya’s story throws fascinating light on the trials women faced in days gone by, and how they too dared to love, despite all social constraints. She also unveils fresh truths before Aparna. “Jyoti, in getting back Ahalya, has reclaimed the Baba of my childhood... I no longer see him as the suffering, bitter man he became in his last years.” Ahalya’s memoirs in the archaic style of her times, slows down the narrative though. And the revelation that she is a common ancestor to both Aparna and Jyoti seems like a convenient plot device.

Overall, this is beautifully crafted story, a slow and melodious symphony with memorable characters, who stay with you long after the last page is turned.

Strangers to Ourselves
Shashi Deshpande
Fourth Estate
2016, pp 322, Rs 450
This review is puiblished in Sunday Herald