My friend's new novel paints a picture of the coming Indian dystopia. My review of this fine book asks, if in reality India is headed towards dystopia (a la Orwell's 1984 or even better 'Brave New India') or towards an era of unprecedented growth ( such as 1994 under President Clinton in the US, under Indian reforms of Manmohan Singh and the Chinese move towards markets).
I confess to a few apprehensions that I had as I eyed the novel over the past few days; first, the cover picture with the guys in a mask caused me to wonder if I was going to be treated to some Mission Kashmir type plot and second, whether I was going to be regaled with a polemic about societies' changing mores. While the book does tackle the later subject, it is no polemic - and I have more to say on this whole topic as we proceed. So within the first two chapters, both my apprehensions subsided and I thoroughly enjoyed the novel.
The story in short:
Eighty-four year old Subbu's world has gone topsy-turvy. The normal is now the abnormal, and the abnormal, the normal. With distant amusement and mischief, he watches the con-flict between the Old India that is struggling to retain its essence, and the New India of stock options, freshly minted millionaires, prenuptial agreements and layoffs. His only interest in life is his eight year old great-granddaughter, Maya. Overwhelming doubt characterizes the life of Bharat, Subbu's grandson-a successful in-vestment manager, who becomes a millionaire, then watches his wealth catastrophically vanish. Indu, Bharat's wife, is young, attractive, and filled with a certitude that contrasts her hus-band's uncertainty. Maya, Bharat's daughter, does not understand why she has to chat online, play games on the Internet, and attend a multitude of classes from karate to dancing. A nature lover, she loves to play hopscotch with the children from the nearby fishermen settlement. A tiny voice keeps urging Subbu to flee from the dystopian world of eerie loneliness, fear and disconnectedness.
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The length of the novel is just right, and so are the chapter lengths. Also, the novel has a modern (or even-post modern) sensibility in that he eschewed the usual 'what-happens-next' approach to story writing. The worst example of the latter is Dan Brown, who is an insult to the entire writing profession!
Anomie is a very complex topic to take on, much less work into a novel. The challenge I imagine is not to make the topic weigh down the story. The treatment of the topic and the story is first and foremost gently funny. And that is in of itself a remarkable achievement. I am very much reminded of his father's treatment of characters and situations in this novel. Go easy, observe and gently prod. i.e, not a polemic. The best example of this is the entire 'have a nice day' set of episodes throughout the novel. That almost crashed out of gentle fun to rip roaring laughter. I imagine, that if he were in the clutches of a book marketer, he might have been persuaded to market the book more Chetan Bhagat style and title it 'Have a nice day', as opposed to the more sober 'eimona.'
As I got familiar with the main character in the novel, Subbu, I personally visualized him as the R.K. Lakshman common man. I sympathize with his situation, but don't agree with him. My father jokes that since the time of Plato, every generation complains about the next. Subbu comes dangerously close to falling into this trap, but is saved by three things. The change in India is tumultuous indeed. And instead of a Shantranj Ke Khiladi type blissful ignorance, Subbu actually notices and cares. Also, he has invested in his grandson's upbringing and thus has full rights to his views on the world's impact on Maya. Finally, he does tell his grandson to make his own choices.
Here are my thoughts on why I don't agree with the main character, Subbu. He shouldn't contradict himself by on the one hand asking his grandson to make a choice (which I would impute is the novelist's way of saying that is his stance to the world at large) and then lament the change that is a consequence of those choices. Second, his berating lowly clerks was largely off putting. The minimum wage guys are doing a job. For them, 'have a nice day' is what gets them their wage. And Subbu with his years of wisdom should see that and thus empathize with them. He should have chosen to take on folks of his size. And he does at the end of the novel - with the psychiatrist, Dr. Rakesh and does not come the better off for it. But he is who he is, and the writing keeps its fidelity to the character throughout. Subbu is not what I want him to be; but rather is true to his construct in the work.
I imagine the author was this close from a novelists perspective to having the character of Maya diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome. And I am rather glad he did not. That would have made this a lesser novel (i.e. yet another disease story - we used to have all those cancer stories - and now Asperger stories).
His description of the brave new world, is well very 'Brave New World.' Phenomenal observations everywhere and about everything. If anything, this is the signature achievement of the novel.
However, two peculiarities. A sense of time and place was a bit lost. There were the occasional references to stray dogs that nipped at heels and fishermen and their shanty towns. But the energy went into describing this brave new world and not into the absurd discord between the two. To say it differently, the story might have well be set in Manhattan. To say it even differently, perhaps it is a universal theme. The second was this whole pre-nup agreement bit. Here in the US, I do not know anyone who has these (that I know of). Billionaires and others do it (this I know because of the business I am in). So, on this point I just did not know if this is a real affair in India or not - or more of a fable as the reviewer Ms Mukherjee states.
I found it interesting that a 2006 novel would still refer to Chennai as Madras, when the name was changed in 1996?
I fully credit the character descriptions of Indu, Bharat et al. But they had a Subbu vantage. I imagine, the challenge was how to tell the story in so many pages, and maintain Subbu's voice throughout. But the reader's need is to access the internal world of the characters that populate the story. What motivates them?
In this regard, the best example is the runaway broadway hit 'Wicked' which take the opposite view of the traditional the witch in the Wizard of Oz. The success of this is that the author got to the 'internal world view' of the wicked witch.
In the Hindi movie Amar Prem, the Rajesh Khanna character takes to drinking because his wife parties. The movie was a wonderful hit with classic songs like Chingari and heart string pulling plot-techniques like falling in love with a prostitute. But I always had a problem with this character not understanding his wife's point of view. My own attitude is, people are different and it take a miracle for a husband-wife relationship to really work. In this regard, while I see the superficial nature of the counselor's speech at the party that Indu goes to, and Subbu's own personal life of never having said 'I love you' to his wife; I think, that perspective gives lie to the many many women who were not treated as equals by men throughout antiquity. I am just saying that there is another perspective to be had there.
A way out of this dilemma for carrying only Subbu's perspective for the writer, would have been to take Elliot Pearlman's approach that he took in 'Seven Types of Ambiguity' and write the story from each person's perspective in different chapters. Under this scheme, he could have started with Subbu, then went to Bharath, then Indu, then Maya (!! - oh..... that would have been FANTASTIC!), Indu's dad, Joshi, Aaya and then ended with Subbu or even a narrator's view point (or the TV host, Madan).
But then this is a desire as a reader as opposed to the narrative design the author has chosen. That is, as a reader, I was yearning for it - wanting to climb inside these characters' heads.
Overall on the topic of the coming Indian Dystopia - I do not accept the next generation is 'crass' and has lost values compared to the previous generation. I subscribe to the thesis that each individual cares for his or her family and to their material betterment. And there is a proportion of the population that cares about the betterment of the community. And a smaller proportion of that population that cares about the betterment of 'the spirit'. And that this is regardless of whether the world is commercialized by the internet or not.
I live in the world that Bharat does and have plenty of colleagues, team members, and mentees who are mini Bharats and mini Indus (maybe not as stunningly pretty). I have always taken care to have one on one conversations with them to go below the surface. And shock-of-shocks, they are just like everybody else I know. They worry about their parents. They worry about their children. They worry about being ready for retirement. Keeping up with the Jones' is something that I believe the Media provokes as a topic.
A final point and perhaps a germane one. Fun and happiness - these are two different things. He captures the difference between the two nicely in the novel. But I personally underestimate neither. Each has it place. The problem is when one confuses the two. Or confuses another's version of fun or happiness for one's own. I am a big fan of the the Enlightenment and the genius of Thomas Jefferson in seeing how it could be practically implemented in the frame work of a polity. He certainly did not know what a 'roller coaster' or a 'theme park' was. But were he to visit one today, he certainly would see a 11 year old in it yelling gleefully and go, attaboy!
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Reviews in The Hindu and The Deccan Chronicle and Amazon
1 comment:
Because I’ve not read the book and have only a rather general, understanding of India – I’m only going to offer thoughts about the non-book-related aspects of your review.
First, I must say I was really intrigued when I read the subject ‘headline’ referencing Orwell’s novel “Nineteen Eighty-Four” and dystopia – in India – in the same context. I thought, wow, an author sees the possibility of a cacophonous culture like India’s turning into a homogenized, totalitarian one! This I don’t even have to imagination to conjure! I’ve just got see how this could possibly be….
Then I realize it’s actually not that sort of dystopia at all. I think you get closer to it when you compare it to Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World”:
"Community, Identity, Stability" is the motto of Aldous Huxley's utopian World State. Here everyone consumes daily grams of soma, to fight depression, babies are born in laboratories, and the most popular form of entertainment is a "Feelie," a movie that stimulates the senses of sight, hearing, and touch. Though there is no violence and everyone is provided for, Bernard Marx feels something is missing and senses his relationship with a young women has the potential to be much more than the confines of their existence allow. Huxley foreshadowed many of the practices and gadgets we take for granted today--let's hope the sterility and absence of individuality he predicted aren't yet to come. (Amazon Review)
Especially when you take into account Maya’s preference for nature and, I’ll go out on a limb and hypothesize, Huxley’s use of Shakespeare as a touchstone not only to human life with all its suffering, but also to a culture with a historically-rooted wisdom tradition, instead of living in the eternal now of pleasurable distractions.
On the one hand I note that you didn’t want to commit the worst sin of criticism – complaining that the artist didn’t create the art work the critic wishes he had – when you write “Subbu is not what I want him to be; but rather is true to his construct in the work.” But on the other, you then committed this sin in the most egregious manner when you criticized the author for his foundational decision of narrative mode.
If the first task of a military or business strategist is to pick his battlefield, picking the novel’s narrative mode is that same foundational strategic decision. And it is doubly misguided when you consider what the author was trying to do here – if I read your and the others’ reviews correctly. While the Rashomon (film) narrative mode is quite pomo trendy today (Rashomon effect, a psychological effect named after the film), it is the exact opposite of the author’s intent. He’s not looking to glorify the relativistic, ‘all is a matter of perspective’ viewpoint; one which, btw, one might find in Maya’s various virtual worlds via technological gadgets like game consoles, but rather the authoritative perspective of tradition – the analog perhaps of how one reviewer puts it re Huxley’s BNW:
Into this seemingly advanced civilization is introduced John, a "savage" from a reservation where old human culture still survives. Thus, BNW is also a tale of "culture shock" and conflict.
You might say, Subbu is a ‘savage’ Shakespeare.
But all-in-all, I’m with your dad, this sort of thing is age old. And, yet, it is to image anytime in history where it has been as radically dramatic as in India today.
Which, btw, is not to say that such analysis is without worth. It most certainly is of great consequence. The issue for the writer, and the reader, however is to not get caught up in romanticism for what was, but rather to focus on the hardest discernment of all – distinguishing the baby from the bathwater.
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