Maps for a mortal moon

Book Review: Fiction/Maps for a Mortal Moon: Selected prose by Adil Jussawalla—Edited& introduced by Jerry Pinto, Aleph, 340pp; Rs495 (Paperback)

Maps for a Mortal Moon should be in the essential reading list.

The worst thing about being a human being is being a human being. ‘I wish I was bird’, as the railway clerk in Nissim Ezekiel’s poem says. But if I were, the worst thing about being a bird would be being a bird.

Adil Jussawalla supremely talented literary world is uniquely diverse and unwaveringly at peace with others’ writing—so you read many such good pointers while turning the pages of this beautiful book. Jussawalla, a prolific poet, columnist, critic—and all together is a person in existence, for moving with the carefully chosen letters.

And no one could have a better choice as an editor like Jerry Pinto to compile the selected prose of Adil Jussawalla—he is another gem from Mumbai, who kept distance from limelight to succeed on humane grounds—in writings and at personal front.

The book is uniquely rich through the essays and entertainments, mostly published earlier as well—but here in collection, those appear giving better sense of collectiveness. And on another count, this book seems getting good success in offering Adil Jussawala’s specific and less known works to the new genre of readers—and while doing this, the coverages go in great deal on language, poetry, ethics, aeroplanes, death, addiction, travel alienation etc.

The protagonists of Jussawall could be anyone and from locale—conventional or exceptional.The book remarkably comes on Bombay of pre 1990—hence we see a greater coverage of Jussawalla’s own perspective on the city. That part charms most, especially when Jussawalla’s appearances surface in different form—from a journalist, book critic to a writer with less noise and all sensibilities.

Earlier, Jussawalla has written four anthologies of poems: Land’s End (1962), Missing Person (1976), Trying to Say Goodbye (2012) and The Right Kind of Dog (2013)—and put together a great book, New Writing in India (1974).

Recalling these five books is meant to see, how elusive and infrequent this writer has been for his untargeted readers, who yet stayed incorrigible and waiting for his books. As Jussawalla’s writing and his own self is inseparable from the unusual urbane construction of Bombay—so a greater degree of attention on this city makes him a near-legendary chronicler of a certain timeframe, in which this city had seen transformative changes.

Unvaryingly, Jussawalla’s writings maintain intelligent poignancy, wit, melancholy—Maps for a Mortal Moon easily gets breakthrough in following his own standard, set effortlessly.

The readers would find like winning an strategy, if they would read this book for the purpose to know the cultural shifts and political changes over the past forty years—that strongly inserted ‘change’ as virtue to be not missed. That has been fairly damaging and we see eruption of unheard complications at individual and at mass level.

Both Adil and Jerry has known their city closely and in daily struggle—can same accuracy one can have on the city from living in a house cruelly priced $2billion or looking on Arabian sea from the thick glasses of Taj Hotel?

The point is not in subverting the ‘grandness’ but bringing back the issues at fore and with fair reasons. The much celebrated tag ‘maximum city’ is certainly a caricature on Bombay, which helps keeping it in a sort of euphoria, an escaping route from its ugly underbelly.

Sometime directly and on occasions with smoke signals, Jussawala puts forward the complex realities, not so obvious to the species lost in efforts of saving their fragile existence. Certainly, Jussawalla is an existentialist but a maverick at same time—that reasonably keep his writings at distance from the fashioned existential philosophy.

Not to gain or lose, Jussawall is a writer with consine—who has seen the suffering and not stopped delving with the harsh realities. This is an extraordinary accomplishment of him— and something, with which, many writers don’t go far ahead. A great gift to the serious prose readers, Maps for a Mortal Moon should be in their essential reading list.

This book is one of the major non-fiction entries in 2014— Adil, Jerry and Aleph publications deserve praise for coming out with this standard project.
-Atul K Thakur
Email: summertickets@gmail.com
(Published in The Kashmir Walla on March26,2014)

Yeh hai Mumbai meri jaan

Book Review: Non-fiction/City Adrift: A Short Biography of Bombay by Naresh Fernandes, Aleph, 168p; Rs 295(Hardback)
It’s a moving commentary on the city which is at ease with its state of chaos
A city like Mumbai cannot be described in a few words; so to attempt to etch a ‘short’ biography of this historic, vibrant city is in itself a daring act. However, Naresh Fernandes’s City Adrift attempts to override such realities, with a moving commentary on the city, which is at ease with its state of chaos.

In an excellent narrative, this book reveals the prominent temperament of Mumbai — its unusually configurative set of urban islands, its tryst with commercial history, and its mixed sociological set-up. The book represents the city neither as a ‘maxim’ nor as a unit ‘toying with minimum spirits’. It engages itself with the changes that made Mumbai a mismanaged locale.

It would be wrong to say that the city inspiringly transcends beyond political rhetoric, nevertheless; and in patches, the author pragmatically delves into the political paradigm shift in the city from progressivism to ‘identity-assertiveness’.
Since Mumbai is India’s first cosmopolitan city, the entrepreneurial tradition developed here with Europe’s growing interest in sea trade during the late medieval times. The primarily business communities such as Gujaratis and Parsis were some of the first beneficiaries of this rising global trade alliances. Even today they are the formidable players in commerce.

However, business operations have renewed methodology now and have segregated many of them from social affiliations. Fernandes, as a writer and resident of Mumbai, ponders over the same through his book and locates significant results. He narrates the history of Mumbai and portrays its existing state, with a deep sense of attachment and concern. His personal sentiments are also evocative in his depiction of the 2008 Mumbai terror attacks.

The security lapses happened, the most inhuman killings took place, but sadly Mumbai’s security structure has not improved as it should have had. A single downpour can turn the city into a living hell. The dwindling housing facilities don’t constrict one to live decently unless one is facilitated by an obscene amount of earning!

The book reflects upon how the new ‘demonic structures’ in the city has made it more corrupt-looking and indifferent to the shortage of basic civic facilities all around. Today, Mumbai needs a complete geographic reconfiguration, emancipation from ‘chauvinistic politics’, and its citizens’ active participation. Only that would justify the city that has the best corporate services in social domain. The Parsis and other businessmen of the gone era were different from India’s neo-rich, who are ‘absurd’ beyond the limit.

The book could have been lengthened, so that it could detail the painful transition of the city, but it still carries a pertinent research on India’s “most cosmopolitan” city.
-Atul K Thakur
Mail: summertickets@gmail.com
(Published in The Pioneer,on December29,2013)

Train to partition

Book Review: Non-fiction/ Punjab: A History from Aurangzeb to Mountbatten by Rajmohan Gandhi, Aleph, 432; Rs695 (Hardback)
From Aurangzeb to Mountbatten, the history of Punjab is replete with uncomfortable events, but Rajmohan Gandhi provides a compassionate account.
Normally, we hear of Punjab and think about the partition that horribly divided it into East and West. The scare is permanent, as one of the world’s bloodiest human exodus took place in its terrains in 1947.The leadership was incompetent then, and sadly things have hardly changed even after close to seven decades.

Rajmohan Gandhi, a gentleman and scholar has his argument well placed. He believes in the potential of ‘course correction’, which could happen with different groups making honourable compromises and settlements. Though his genteel wishes never ignore the realities of historical setbacks, which turned the region into the centre of bloodbath during Partition, Gandhi keeps his chin up when he speculates on alternatives.

An unprecedented wave of killings and suffering was the byproduct of virulent political-religious agenda. Gandhi’s Punjab: A History from Aurangzeb to Mountbatten has a message, however. ‘Partition could have arrived with proper settlement and talk, though it arrived with a bit of uncertainty and terrible violence that uprooted millions’, he says. So, during those uncertain times, even the promise of democracy could hardly deter the ‘wildness of few!’

From Aurangzeb to Mountbatten, the history of India is replete with uncomfortable events—Rajmohan Gandhi has chosen to dwell on them and elucidate the bygone times with his own findings through years of years of tireless research. Gandhi’s love for history and research is exemplary—his last two works being A Tale of Two Revolts: India 1857 and The American Civil War, outcomes of his erudite devotion to the past.

This book, too, heavily relies on the facts—and not all are in circulation as far as mainstream ideas and ideologies are concerned. At places, facts do justice with the plots but the thin appearance of perspectives tilt the balance of the book closer to academic studies. In that, it reads well. The book etches in detail throwing light on the history of undivided Punjab and the life and times of the ruling classes. Apart from that, it also brings out the untold story of the Punjabi Muslims.

So far, stories of Punjabi Muslims have been mostly neglected by historians. Surprisingly, there isn’t much historical records even from Pakistan in this regard. Contrary to the trend, Rajmohan Gandhi covers almost 250 years of undivided Punjab, from Mughal, to Sikh to British rules, with a sound back up of research into what can be called the ‘subaltern egoes.’ His findings on the diversity amongst the Muslims of undivided Punjab and their cordial living with Hindus and Sikhs are both refreshing and substantial.

The need, however, is to ponder more on that phase of history in order to defy the lateral ‘hate base’ created before Partition, which has not halted yet. The Punjab has seen an endless wave of invasion and experiments with dangerous politics, which have turned this otherwise mild land into a zone of ceaseless tragedy.

Today, the two divided Punjabs on both sides of the border are weaker on all counts. But the book is hopeful of a better time ahead, and indeed it is possible—even if only few leaders in India and Pakistan would realise the follies of staying perpetually at loggerheads with each other.

Rajmohan Gandhi recalls a very turbulent past of Punjab, to pave way for a humane discourse on this land. Instead of pursuing obsessively high-decibel diplomacy inevitably mixed with ugly battles—the Indo-Pak relations would only improve through such softer sides of exchange.

The Partition story and preceding times need a thorough reassessment from historians and public intellectuals alike. Gandhi’s truthful interpretation of history will open a new chapter of understanding—both India and Pakistan need it urgently.
-Atul K Thakur
Email:summertickets@gmail.com
(Published in Millennium Post on October13,2013)

Aboard the Madras Express

Book Review: Non-fiction/ Degree Coffee by the YARD by Nirmala Lakshman, Aleph, 158p; Rs295 (Hardback)Nirmala Lakshman thinks Chennai of olden days can be better understood through its culture, language and heritage rather than politics and history...
The memory of a political class could have its own distinctive merits as well as flaws, but they do immeasurable harm when they start tampering with historical facts. For example, the city of Madras was founded by the Brits, almost four centuries back in 1644 when the Fort St George was built by the British East India company—but in a sudden stroke, its name was indigenised, to Chennai. Nevertheless, the city retained its basic characteristics flowing with the time.

Nirmala Lakshman can say much about her city, which fortunately in her descriptions is still Madras, but in Degree Coffee By The Yard, she has chosen to present a short biography instead. Her sense of history is immaculate and undisputable, as it is hindered by no barrier of ideologies and shows no alignment with specific camps within historical debates.

She gives the readers an outline, and in patches descriptions too, about how the city, established by the British, rose to become a site of powerful nationalistic movements. Lakshman also charts the later phases, describing the glory of this city in independent India, despite its formidable distance from the seat of power, Delhi.

This was not a mean feat, because identity politics of any kind, too, had to thrive on the Centre’s ‘assistance’ — and on different occasions it became evident, especially in post-reform eras, when the politics had been in the grip of sinister business interests than issues on ground. Although it was and still persists as a universal phenomenon, Madras, as a hub of shadowy politics, is neither unique, nor too typical.

The city has a quaint vigour, charming characteristics and the people live with them, as Lakshman reminds us about the little intricacies that make Madras different from other Indian metros. Lakshman, a senior journalist herself, has, over the years, strengthened The Hindu Group of Publications—so, directly or indirectly, she has made the city’s biggest and strongest brand more popular and inclusive.

Lakshman’s accounts of her family and their standard publication interests — spanning RK Narayan, literature, authors and books, over dosa and coffee — give a sublime quality to her narration of the city. While looking back on bygone Madras days, she appears more a preserver of heartwarming, conventional practices rather a conservative harping on tradition at all costs.

Of course, she admits the essentiality of change and sees the partial Western cultural invasion into modern day Chennai, with ease. With the world fast turning, old things are making peace with the fact that now their existence would probably be confined to being items in a curio shop or the museums of memory, stacked neatly, although, often falling out of people’s minds.

Still, some incorrigible inheritors will not cease to intertwine old symbols with life style. As a brief history (but of course not as semi-history) of the city, the book chooses to not dwell at length with the state’s parochial politics, where the culture of succession is an accepted reality now. Cinema, too, has not given extensive coverage, probably to not enter the usual discussion on its unhygienic nexus with Tamil politics.

The book, consciously, has a leaning for music and public life. That places it closer to ‘people’s history’ rather than resembling with an official charter on Madras. The readers would be delight in reading Lakshman’s personal views on her city, who helps them recall a Madras minus the clear and present fears of political vandalism or the atrocious dictates of Shiv Sena’s Tamil counterparts.

Probably, this reflects the differing temperament of the two mega Indian cities. Whereas, recalling Bomaby is taboo, Madras can be still used synonymously with its present name, Chennai. Lakshman believes, Madras can be known better through its culture, language and heritage rather than with politics and history.

Thus, she dwells on the caste and language movements in the state with the prism of the city’s softer attributes, rather than any rigid polemic. Understanding any part of India requires flexibility and informed inquiry to decipher some of its qualities or lacunas. Lakshman, a visionary and veteran journalist at The Hindu, has distilled that gist with perfection for this book. It reads well, both as a precise work of history and a short memoir of a city, about which most of us need to know more.
Atul K Thakur
Email:summertickets2gmail.com
(Published in Millennium Post on September15,2013)

Incorrigible Patna

Book Review: Non-fiction/ A Matter of Rats by Amitava Kumar, Aleph, 144p; Rs295 (Hardback)
The city part of Patna is eternally incorrigible—because most of those, who make this city complete, have no permanent rapacious leaning. This is unusual trend, seeing the kind of progress India has made over the years, with its semi-reformed economy and very active ‘cronyism’. These two together make ‘billionaires’ at filthy high pace—we all know them, as they don’t do petty acts like fodder scam.

Their modus operandi are accomplished, so they do speak on ‘innovative practices’ in packed halls of India’s glittering metros unlike Bihar’s clueless political frauds, bound to make more ‘defame than fame’ through their visible mean acts. The whole country has rats, though people of Bihar believe in co-existence, so they let allow rats to do wishful. But, can believing on animals, with sharp teeth, is a fair idea?

Amatava Kumar inquires it through his new book-A Matter of Rats, which is slim, sharp and appealing for readers, with faceless distinction. Personally, I read his previous books too—and those were belonging to the different genres. I grew up in Madhubani and lived in Patna for a year during the height of state’s political misrule (2001-02)—have also read for first time the writings of Phanishwar Nath Renu and Baba Nagarjun in school days and had stroll on the roads of this state capital.

So, I could understood the genuine nostalgia, which makes Amitava Kumar recalling places, events and people of Bihar, with remarkable or shocking characteristics. The merit of the book lies in Amitava Kumar’s frank observation about his own elite background, the smoke of feudalism and the official lacunas, which for long have gripped the whole state. Still, the claimed changes are not on the ground in Bihar—the author is right in saying, through his firsthand account on this city.

On the positive side—Bihar has been a land of knowledge-seekers. This is not less, because common Bihari people were more competent with their knowledge than other resources to survive in the big bad world. So the book has detailed attention on the achievers from Bihar, who have travelled long path and their success in different field are indeed worth of admiration.

Amitava Kumar doesn’t ignore the positive changes, which took place in the state in last few years. However, categorically he proves why still Patna is a place to be visited by its young absentee population, but not for living permanently. We all think on this, while being on walk in morning or evening or talking to our ageing parents—the sense of void is pervasive everywhere. Biharis’ are doing well outside —but back at home things wear the same non-changing look.

Lack of enterprise and hiatus in cultural exchanges are the two reasons, which make Patna less happening than it deserves actually. So, people should have urge to live in their city and to love it as much they wish. Among the earlier journalistic works on Bihar —Arvind N Das’s Republic of Bihar and Vijay Nambisan’s Bihar Is in the Eye of the Beholder had captured the ground realities. Both these books were written with great insight and meticulous efforts.

After a long break, Amitava Kumar’s A Matter of Rats is a valuable edition in those literatures on Bihar. This book breaks the monotony in different way—it sensitizes the readers towards the state, which for long had seen losses of perceptions and fortunes. Now it is rebounding—whose marked sign is this book.

A well-established writer, Amitava Kumar has looked with utmost care on his home state—and has searched the odds, which are recognizable and addressable. His account of Patna is though much more deep than ‘home-matters’. This is about an incorrigible city, and shaped by the memories and perspectives of Amitava Kumar. The book has come out naturally meaningful, and deserves wide readership.
Atul K Thakur
Email: summertickets@gmail.com
(Published in Rising Kashmir on 7September2013)

Bhutan: The kingdom of hope

Book Review: Non-fiction/ The Kingdom at the Centre of the World by Omair Ahmad, Aleph, 231p; R 495(Hardback)
I have been aware about Omair’s project on Bhutan since it was in ideation state but once I read it, I am better suitable to say he has written the political history of a tiny and insignificant nation with a pathbreaking articulation.

When the mad rush of the mainstream world is increasingly lured by misnomer like—‘things should be constructed too big to fall’,

Bhutan —the subject of this book opposes it with its indifference with popular notions of development and attached essential degradation. So, it’s not growing in general terms—and that is for good sake. With mastership over narration and facts —Omair is probably the best enthusiast on this small, sparsely populated kingdom at the eastern end of the Himalayas.

The book comes out in good spirit under the influence of same strong fundamentals and his incorrigible optimism directed in efforts. It justifies, in light vein too — the sense for history can flow very easily.

Omair’s The Kingdom at the Centre of the World speaks much with its name —even if not set asiding the subtle variation. It refers Bhutan has been a part of epoch-making transformations in Asia. Nevertheless it was never shown with degree of temptations to get aligned with the political-cultural conviction of the power mongers.

The book begins in a sort of travel writing format, and later goes deep inside the events of modern history without biases or contempt about the historical truths. It begins with an informed commentary over Padmasmbhava’s epic work, written to establish Buddhism in this unusual hilly kingdom.

Later, the book travels long to recall how Bhutan has emerged as an independent Buddhist nation in the 17th century under Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal. The coverage of Jigme Namgyal makes this book a perfect guide to know difficult tussle was between Bhutan and British empire —and the nasty motives of empire were crushed by a very humble nation.

The Wangchuk monarchs and their accomplishments are placed safely inside the pages by the author. These kings, with different royal outlook have ruled Bhutan for close to a century. In separate contexts, the book in great deal looks back on the past events, mattered heavily for this undersized but sovereign nation.

The prominent among them are —the ups and down of Tibet-Mongol and British Empire—the complicated spread of Nepali-origin people across South Asia—Sikkim’s dramatic loss of sovereignty and its convergence with India, and the highly conflicting territorial ambitions of India and China.

With the sufficient background of details, the book ventures out to inform—Bhutan alone promises high for an alternative way of inclusive governance and moderate progress. In a terrible uniform world—Bhutan opts Gross National Happiness (GNH) over Gross National Product (GNP). This gives hope for a world away from frantic compulsions.

Bhutan faces the challenge of unsettled issues of refuges on its land —also it is coping to track a mean path while retaining its cultural distinctiveness along with the ideals of ceremonial democracy. But the good thing is—with or without money, Bhutanese are the happiest human species in the world.

It inspires to see the beauty of small but sustainable happiness, which cannot be marginalised with sudden influx or downward spiral of global economic order. The happiness matters, this book tells it and with it, offers the suffice food for thought for freethinkers and also to the official polemics.

With few books to recall on Bhutan—this one deserves to be called remarkable and its author should be known for it, by the reference. It’s a terrific entry in this years’ non-fiction category and exudes the elegance, for that Aleph is much appreciated and known.
-Atul K Thakur
Email: summertickets2gmail.com
(Published in Rising Kashmir on June16,2013)

India through unmeasured Strides!

Book Review: Non-fiction/ Accidental India by Shankar Aiyar, Aleph, 352 pp; Rs695 (Hardback)
“Accidental India” analyses major turning points in India’s history after attaining its freedom at midnight in 1947. Shankar Aiyar, a journalist known for expressing fresh views on the interface of politics and economics, brings alive here a relevant debate through his refreshingly original book. Why unmeasured action and programme catalysed major impacts on the political economy of nation, thoroughly have been planned but under the mismanaged political aims and antics?

The truth appears as-politics has always given ‘at large’ status to enjoy wining over the logical craving from the economic side, which disturbed the macro vision to usher the economy to a desired optimum scale! But still there are many success stories have surfaced though accidentally in India’s recent past, which mattered for the dynamics and size of the national economy. It’s astonishing, the inadvertently shaped enterprises done remarkably well in India than the hyped and planned programmes under the patronage of government and heavy industrial capital.

Among those, Aiyar looks on India’s walking on the rope through seven game changing events- the economic liberalization of 1991, the Green Revolution of the sixties, the nationalization of banks in 1969, Operation Flood in the seventies, the mid-day meal scheme of 1982, the software revolution of the nineties, and the passing of the Right to Information Act is 2005. The book examines the genesis of each of these changes with the position that the key decisions made in the country since independence have not arisen from planed moves but came like the accidental results of crises.

The seven gamechangers made the “idea of India”, more a living story than the past notion, usually born out of idealism and dies midway with incompetence. However, the timing of these seven epochmaking events have not configured on the ideal ground of time, so they came with advantages but not in entirety. Not denying, the nation benefitted from the new success in the blocks of ‘selected enterprise and policy’ but had not they came hesitatingly or those all would have not entered latterly, we could have an India, not made in accidental ways and much more firm for developmental aims.

Aiyar puts forth his views in good taste over the missed capacities-“It’s not as if India has not been blessed with iconic political leadership. Whatever their failings, it is indisputable that our leaders were forces for lasting and beneficial change. Yet, India falters. It often teeters on the brink of catastrophe. Why do Indian leaders not anticipate adversity and act before being engulfed by catastrophe? What prevents them from operating with foresight — the exigencies of their term; the mind-set of their peers or perhaps even their subjects; the compromises of politics?”

As a Journalist, author of this book had scooped the news of India pledging its gold reserves to the Bank of England during its worst managed economic crisis since Independence in early nineties. His exposé of the dangerously silent operation unraveled to Indians, and the world, the magnitude of India’s slapped adversities. Two decades after that vicious phase, India continues its overtures with the different kinds of crisis that makes the liberalisation programme ambiguous and short on promises, once made at grim moments of 1991.

Governance is being superseded to conflicting populist compulsions. Despite knowing this crude fact that in long run, such temptation will lead India to a strange territory, where the modernist elements of Indian democracy will be permanently appear in confrontation with the popular political dimensions. Such reckoning is not new, and those who handle the government’s portfolios also have sense for the oddities lying ahead but in their core belief, they appear adamant to not approach an issue till it becomes a crisis. As Aiyar’s points out lucidly with this case-“the list is long. Yet recurring failure on many fronts has not changed the way governments think and act. Just one example: every hour 200 children die of malnutrition. Governments have been pretending to address this national shame for a quarter of a century.”

Unlike the late and wrongly implemented policies of the government, Shankar Aiyar has written this prolific book on right time of his career (after thirty years of extensive journalism)-he knows inner India through close angels and his previous book is based on the experiences he compiled on the hundred districts. Not to forget, he also knows the functioning patterns of Lytyens’ Zone-so for knowing India, in terms of ‘what it is’, this book opens wide opportunities. Beautifully written, meticulously researched (barring few surpassable exceptions and one noticeable- the name of Bihar’s chief-minister, which should have Binodanand Jha in place of M.B Jha-on page-97), this book will make India, more than accidentally successful, if slumbering politicians will get time to read it!
Atul K Thakur
Email: summertickets@gmail.com
(Published in The Kashmir Monitor on January6,2012)

Clay and dust from history!

Book Review: Fiction/Between clay and dust by Musharraf Ali Farooqi , Aleph, 213 pp; Rs450 (Hardback)
Musharraf Ali Farooqi’s Between Clay and Dust does not receive the attention that it deserves, not least because his novel departs from the west influenced literary trend in Pakistan that has been in vogue in recent years. The book sets on the early post Partition years, in the old part of a town somewhere in the northern side of the subcontinent. The exact location of geography is blurred under the prominence of main plank which tries to recall the passing of the composite,

Urdu-speaking urban culture that Partition tolled as relative loss.
Between Clay and Dust notes the changes in a confined plot, which too affected in the wake of bloody partition. Basically it investigates the change that made mostly disastrous impact on the precious possessions and beliefs of the people. Change antagonizes the value and existence of long living tradition, with escaping the truths that these things conventions hold prominence in personal and collective life. Between Clay and Dust establishes the rational in broadly defining, how to cope the changes to save the valuable tributes of tradition. But the change is not infact bad, only some of the endgames it leads appear like adversity.

The current literary genre of Pakistan is receiving high accolades in India and western countries, though most of the writings from that block lack the broader purpose in defining the trends and currents of change. The two prime characters of this novel appear like the successor of culturally rich civilisation, now on the wane under the wave of continental hate politics. Both are ageing and theirs nostalgia are for the patronage for creative works, which was actively prevailing before the partition in Indian subcontinent. Now the ‘patronage’ was a past practice and that was being substituted by the sense of high insecurity for ones art and life!

One among the characters is a champion wrestler, who runs an akhara with having high sense for ritual and tradition; the other is an accomplished courtesan performs riyaaz to the rising sun every day. Both the artists struggle with the passage of time and the extinction of their art; however the approaches are different-where one accepts it quite decently, and the other agitate against it. The most forceful revelation, these two characters feeds that the tradition dies not by itself or the changes but by the bearers of tradition, who forgets to act how it keep floating.

Between Clay and Dust resembles a fall-from-grace story, although that decline is more related with the characters than the overall phase of late fifties, on which the book is centered. The central argument of Farooqi states beyond the obvious and goes deeper to the unpredictable zone of human behaviour. Primarily, the author says that one’s weakness is part of being the controller of own action, in external sphere, the same person appears much dynamic and confident. Albeit here, the inner debate hardly defunct the existing social norms, neither it allows even a tint of room for pontification.

Between Clay and Dust is written in Farooqi’s favourite ‘restrained way’. Here he has followed the natural style of his earlier works-especially the translation of Lucknowi epic Dastan-e-Amir Hamza, and Sholay, based on iconic Punjabi film Maula Jatt. Farooqi goes the simple but elegant way with his prose, which addresses the concern related with the themes and the standard style of narration. Besides that, Farooqi’s keen eye for detail meticulously brings lively colours to the two main protagonists and their respective artistic and worldly existence.

Farooqi’s book is different from many others that have emerged not only from Pakistan but of south Asia, because of his natural urge to be in writing devoid the odds in his unusual career that began as dropout of an engineering college to turning later as petty restaurant worker to a sensible reader and translator of the rich Urdu literature. That sort of life is not so easy to lead; as Farooqi has did it before gaining credit of elite writer. His fiction is not solely imaginative, instead it’s culmination of long experiences that finally came out through this book, few writers going this way these days.

May be or not, this book will win the big prizes or popularity, but Farooqi has succeeded enough as a writer of sensible choice, hence even in conservative estimation, he will secure some fan among avid readers. Also, he should be happy being the first writer of Aleph, a literary enterprise run by the genius publishing brains. On the scale of design and editing as well, aesthetic presentation is superseding the optimum functionality. This work of fiction is worth of reading by the serious tribe of literary world, who may lately also think to add much needed constructive evaluation on such hard labored creative project. Most often, it lacks, so is this gentle reminder for greater common good!
Atul Kumar Thakur
November29,2012
Email: summertickets@gmail.com

Teething troubles of a linchpin and beyond!

Book Review: Fiction/Chronicle of a Corpse Bearer by Cyrus Mistry, Aleph, 247 pp; Rs495 (Hardback)
Under the socio-cultural practices in vogue, a corpse bearer seldom is known for a heroic claim-alone going beyond the corporeal construct to look on them too will be not considered less than ‘altruistic’. But against the limiting factors, Cyrus Mistry’s “Chronicle of a Corpse Bearer” makes thing malleable with bringing a reneged as catalyst and his lively overtures as the frame of reference for this beautiful literary fiction. Hitherto, very few novels have written in English on the enterprising Parsi community of Mumbai and certainly the life of a Parsi “corpse bearer” never drawn any workable attention from the writers, who dwelt extensively to work on this city surrounded with hypes and its collapses.

Zoroastrian faith was a beginning with an inter-community marriage of a girl, which later shaped through the normal growth of her family and turning into a social group in the course of time. Zoroastrian theology considers all dead matter bruising and unhygienic. Cyrus derives the idea of the novel from a Parsi dock worker who married Khandhia’s daughter. The timeframe of novel is set in the pre-independence era, with having a corpse bearer (Phiroze Elchidana) as narrator. Phiroze, the son of a revered priest who fall in love with Seppy (Sepideh), the daughter of Khandia-Elchi agrees to become a Khandia (on his father-in-law Temoorus’s condition for marrying his daughter), but unfortunately loses his beloved Seppy to snakebite soon after the birth of their daughter, Farida. Mistry presents lucidly, and with amazing clarity, dark humour, the social and occupational details of a Khandia and his continuing low position in Parsi community.

Khandias are sort of ‘untouchable’ because they deal with the corpses, which are symptomatic of frenzied biases in favour of standard or sub-standard socio-economic existence, never such heavy dose of emotion allow to accept something like ‘exhuming’ as an important work done by the corpse bearer. Availing the mass-market senses, here too rituals downgrade the potential of rational thinking. Though the Parsis do not officially have castes or sub-castes, barring an overt categorisation of Athornan and Behdin but Mistry’s analysis of Parsis seems dominating those old narrow and misleading systemic beliefs. His verbalization of clear occupational biases are supported by the impressive odysseys, so it would be hard for anyone to let down this well conceived commentary on intrinsically closed Parsi society.

The good thing is, neither this book carries the amount of controversial puts to draw any ban or high sounding resistance of non-reading crowds (which are quite rampant these days) nor the author is acting in haste of dethroning the old set of beliefs, which are outdated and not so venial deserving simple pass off. Parsis have seen high time in India through theirs enterprising quest and the success came along with those merits. However, trade is much open now and drawing the interest of all sections-hence making things competitive in ideas and cronyism as the real plank of action. It’s not the Parsi’s business position has dwindled only because of liberalisation of India’s economic outlook but prominently through theirs persisting reliance on ‘closeness’ still as the order of the day.

Although, this novel is set in the time of greater orthodoxy but it’s hard enough even today to see Khandias lower positional claim caused with the poverty or any other factors-still the ‘rituals’ are the excuse for theirs segregation. Cyrus Mistry, a writer of high senses for those all who follow his works have a sound basis in putting forth his community’s inner life picture-while all this, the absorption of intricate social accounts confirms the high degree of authenticity coming through the author’s long solitary life and his overtures within and outside of the Parsi’s usually acclaimed close circle. Distinct from Mistry’s own earlier novel, The Radiance of Ashes; his present work deals more straightly with the Parsi community through having sharper focus on an unusual and telling subject.

Arvind Krishna Mehrotra’s blurb aptly defines the qualities of the novel in these scintillating words -“There’s more magic in Mistry’s realism than in magic realism”. His remarks are convincing for the readers and critics who have read this book that totally moves to tell on the margins of history with an amazing level of originality. Tells of tragic love and degradation seldom could be so charming and horrific at the same time, as it appears in the Mistry’s Chronicle of a Corpse Bearer. Beyond recognition, he was being taken for long as one of the leading literary merits of his generation; now this book will also give him the limelight as much he will desire. Still if left with the choices, Cyrus Mistry will be prefer to rove in the world of ideas rather with the noisy acclaims.

It would not be an exaggeration, if said “Indian writing is English is now more diversified and matured with this novel”. This is a kind of literary work repeats not frequently but in sporadic arrival, the level of such high standard works imbue new spirits, essential for the functionalities and excellence alike. The floods of writing can’t do good except making irrelevant interfaces as popular habit-the well shaped and targeted writing like this, certainly has better reach to the readers (even though not very high in numbers). A pure literary fiction on Mumbai celebrated Parsi’s community life is a new phenomenon, here the underlyings are not bollywood, Shiv Sena or the filthy capital-so giving time for a special overview on forgotten Khandias and his personal life. Personally, I will rate this book as the best literary work of the year, written so far…readers seeking insightful reading must spend time with Cyrus Mistry’s Chronicle of a Corpse Bearer..!
Atul Kumar Thakur
August31st2012,Friday, New Delhi
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