Part 1/4: Short book reviews of the 20 odd books I read in the last three months.

The Fatal RumourThe Fatal Rumour: A Nineteenth-century Indian Novel

Author: B.R. Rajam Aiyar. Translated from the Tamil by Stuart H. Blackburn
Written between 1893 and 1895
Published in English by OUP in 1998
Fiction

I found this at United Books in Thamel (one of the better bookstores in Thamel). Two things that drew me to this book: first, that it was written originally in Tamil, which is my mother tongue; and second, that it was written more than 100 years ago (first published in English in 1998). This is said to be one of the earliest Tamil novels; sadly B R Rajam Aiyar, the author, died at a young age of 26 in 1898. As one can guess from the title; it is a rumour that smashes to smithereens the life of Muttuswami Aiyar and his wife Kamalambal. The friendly banter of Muttuswami and the young Kamalambal is endearing, and something I have rarely seen in modern novels. I have seen similar depictions in some old Tamil movies, though.
The novel is lauded as one of the finest examples of modern Tamil fiction for its keen observation of the folk culture, speech and a portrait of late nineteenth-century India, and rightly so.

In the AftermathIn the Aftermath

Author: Meena Arora Nayak
First published in 1992
Fiction

Mythology, especially Hindu mythology is one of my favourite reading subjects. Narrated by the eighth Angiras, a minor godling, this is a story about his journey with his companion Shrivatsa, a bewitching beauty. A story of their exile on earth, where as a pair their journey lasts upwards of 420 million years, through the civilization of Mohenjodaro, the Mughal era, the reign of Chandragupta. In today’s era, they cannot live in one place for too long as they never show any signs of aging; and need to keep moving from one place to the next. Shrivatsa has liaisons with several men – a wanton woman – she jokingly calls herself. Angiras accepts this as an irrefutable law of nature but starts feeling jealous and when he asks her to go back to being in purdah as she used to in the Mughal era, she says, ‘I’m not just a wife. Besides, haven’t you heard that women today have a liberation movement?’ Angiras’ meetings with people in today’s era, often bring forth the memories and visions of those very people from the past eras.
This book is a very clever mix of immortality, mortality, morality and immorality.

Admiring SilenceAdmiring Silence

Author: Abdulrazak Gurnah
First published in 1996
Fiction

The map of Africa in my head is one big blur. So when the protagonist, (an unnamed narrator, a native of Zanzibar) says to himself, ‘ … I did not have the heart to tell him that I was not Afro-Caribbean or any kind of Caribbean, not even anything to do with the Atlantic – strictly an Indian Ocean lad, Muslim, orthodox Sunni by upbringing …’, I had to ask google uncle where Zanzibar was and who an Afro-Caribbean was.  It tells three stories: one of the narrator, his wife, Emma and life in UK as it is; two, of the imaginary family he created for Emma; and three, his real family, who Emma doesn’t know anything about. His conversations with Emma’s father, Mr. Willoughby, are amusing as Mr. Willoughby’s eyes always light up at the mention of an Empire story and our hero gives him exactly that.
It is not a fun or light read, but creates inroads into the life of a dark lad who escapes from Zanzibar to UK; has a daughter with Emma, who is of white middle-class roots; the stories he spins for Emma, Mr. Willoughby; and the reality of what is when he returns to Zanzibar after twenty years.

MirageMirage

Author: Bandula Chandraratna
First published in 1998
Fiction

This is one of the disappointing books I’ve read in recent times. When I bought this book, I was really excited and looking forward to it. Set in the closed desert kingdom, it tells the story of Sayeed, and his acceptance of a widow and her daughter as his wife, and child. Sayeed works in city hospital and after marriage, his wife, Latifa and the child move in with him from the village home. They live in a shanty in an area of the desert away from the city. At first, Latifa hates the shanty, finding it not even big enough for animals. She slowly gets used to it. One day, when she goes deep into the desert looking for her goats, a chance encounter with Hussain, a young lad from the neighbourhood, leads to a tragic end. It is a very slow read but I kept my hopes up until this chance encounter led to crumbling tragic end that is too rushed and leaves several things unanswered. Like who lets the goats out of the cage, why is she happy when Hussain dresses her wounds (she seems out of character), and why Hussain suddenly gets up as she tries to grab him (he was obviously very interested in her). Two other friends, who also read this book, share the same doubts and disappointments.

The Good Women of ChinaThe Good Women of China: Hidden Voices

Author: Xue Xinran. Translated into English by Esther Tyldesley
First published in 2002
Non-fiction

This book is touted to be one of the most powerful, intimate accounts of women in modern China. Xinran, a radio broadcaster in the 1980s, presented a radio-programme (for eight years) where she invited women to call in and talk about themselves. This programme became very famous throughout the country for its portrayal of what it meant to be a woman in modern China. This book includes interviews she conducted in those years and some of her own experiences as a woman in China. One of the most poignant stories is of Jingyi and Gu Da, her father’s former classmates. Jingyi and Gu Da had been in love as students but were posted to different parts of China to ‘fulfil the needs of the Revolution’ and eventually lost touch during the nightmarish ‘Cultural Revolution’. Life in the forty-five years that Jingyi and Gu Da spend apart – duty to the Party, outbreak of the Korean War, the rise of anti-Soviet campaign – is almost surreal. At the university reunion 45 years later, Jingyi meets Gu Da again for the first time, and before she could call out to him, he introduces his wife to her, leaving her visibly shaken. Gu Da’s wife tells Jingyi that Gu Da had only married when he heard that Jingyi was dead. In short, it is a long story but symbolic of how innumerable lives were upturned during the revolution.
I was born in the 80s and know very little of what China was like in 80s or how life was for women in modern China, so this book has a lot for someone like me. But, all the same, it feels like the book has suffered some losses due to translation as parts of it are dry.

Coming up next week: Sam’s Story; Taxi; The Godfather of Kathmandu; The hour past midnight; and Empire of the Moghul: Raiders from the North

Contemporary writings in English from Bangladesh

LIFELINES
New writing from Bangladesh

Edited by Farah Ghuznavi and published by Zubaan Books

New Delhi: 2012
208 pp Paperback
INR 325

Lifelines is an anthology of writings from a newer generation of Bangladeshi women writers, in their forties or younger. The UK launch was on 03 November, 2012 at the South Asian Literature Festival in London.

Let me start by admitting that I am an absolute sucker for short stories. It may have something to do with my ‘short-span of attention’ or ADHD as some may like to call it. Reading short stories can be both, exciting and challenging. With a 300 page novel, at the end of a few 50 pages, one is likely to establish whether or not it is worth reading to the last word. And with short stories, even if the odd story turns out worse than the previous, there is always a tiny hope that the next one may more than make up. I have read and reread several collections of short stories and coincidentally, one of my favourite collections ‘The Intrusion and Other Stories’ is also by a woman writer: Shashi Deshpande.  To the uninitiated, Shashi Deshpande is an award-winning Indian writer. (Yes – I know that a ‘collection’ is not quite the same as an ‘anthology’. Alan Ryker puts it well when he says: like all squares are parallelograms but not all parallelograms are squares, all anthologies are collections, but not all collections are anthologies.)

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I do not necessarily read everything that is out on the shelves, but have not seen popular writings in English from Bangladesh on Indian bookshelves (had not heard of Tahmima Anam, until a friend mentioned). I assume it tricky to edit an anthology, especially one that promises to bring forth the contemporary (and presumably the recent best) from a nation to the rest of the world. With Lifelines, the editor provides the reader with a considerable range of stories from women writers of Bangladesh, and delivers a few charming hits and some misses. ‘Gothna (tattoo) on Venus’, 2007, a woman (thankfully, not a size-zero) covered in beautiful tattoos, by Tayeba Begum Lipi, makes for the eye-catching cover image.  The fifteen stories (including one from the editor) include a mix of characters: some enchanting and amusing, a few standard and generic. Three of the fifteen, have significant male protagonists while the others revolve around women of all ages, their girlfriends and sisters; mothers and mother-in-law; husband and lovers. Starting with the familiar throes of domestic violence, the stories take you to modern Dhaka; the far Kenya and Ethiopia; and sometimes to the proverbial village belle.

Obvious winners:
Of the fifteen, five stood out for me. Ten-year old Zara, in Pepsi (the longest ‘short’ story in this anthology) is both, sensitive and funny.It made me guffaw as I imagined a bunch of seven-to-fourteen year olds wrapping, not a sock, but instead the enticing lingerie (read black and lacy) around an old ball to keep it from ripping apart.  In Getting There, I had to stifle a tear or two when fourteen-year old Yasmin decides that she may even want to be an architect like her aunt Laila; despite Laila having had so little to do with Yasmin in the past (also had me revisiting the architect in me).
Although the theme of sexual abuse in Over and Over Again is familiar, I had to read the story twice, to make sure I got the end (twisted) right. Table for Three, could have well been the standard tussle between a dutiful daughter-in-law and her seemingly monstrous mother-in-law, but is not.
Be, the shortest story, echoes what every woman wants: to just BE!

In-betweens and the losers:
Something feels amiss in Something Fishy, Rida, and The Wax Doll sets a rather confusing tone as Ila, who in the beginning, seems to across as a young adult is actually of marriageable age (between 22 – 25 may be). These and the others: Yellow Cab; Teacher Shortage; Touch Me Not and Gandaria, with the familiar post 9/11, domestic violence, rape and puberty, fall in between.
Mehendi Dreams; Bookends; and Daydreams offer nothing fresh: stereotypical characters in the ‘same old story’, I thought. By virtue of being just a little over two pages, one could read Mehendi Dreams and move on to the next. Bookends was predictable as was Daydreams, but the latter (ambitiously dreamt over 22 pages) was particularly tedious.

The verdict:
Delightful for most part, the stories in the first half of this anthology raise the bar too high for the ones in the second. I definitely look forward to and will watch out for more in angrezi (English) from Bangladeshi writers.

BA(a)P of street art

(first published at http://blog.hrisouthasian.org/2012/05/15/baap-of-street-art/

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When a friend asked me why was I traversing half-way across the city only to look at a wall-painting, I had to admit that it was because (in no specific order) a) there is only much I can stand in Mumbai these days, so I need to move around and find things that can make me like the city again and b) my boss asked me to.

Bollywood Art Project (BAP), a public art project celebrating hundred years of Bollywood,  has reiterated for me that Bollywood is indeed larger than life. Conceptualised and executed by young professionals and artists, Ranjit Dahiya,  Mallika Chabra and Swati Rao from Chandigarh Art School, together with Tony Peters and  Sruti Viswesaran,the BAP aims to create several works of street art across various Indian cities. Their first venture is a mural created on a wall on Chapel Road. When Ranjit said we could meet at the mural, I was hoping I didn’t miss finding it on Chapel Road, the narrow street connecting Mount Carmel Church with Hill Road in Bandra, Mumbai. It was, of course, impossible to miss this enormous hand-painted poster screaming ‘Anarkali’.  The pretty Bina Rai and the handsome Pradeep Kumar with a thin moustache lost in her gaze (yes, I think moustaches are handsome) epitomise ‘love’ – the single most popular emotion in Bollywood ruling the viewers’ hearts and minds. Keeping in line with the spirit of Bollywood it should really have been called the ‘BA(a)P’ (with “baap” meaning father), and not just B A P.

The setting for the poster itself is absolutely marvellous: the wall of a two story building across the Lala Lane compound that serves as a fantastic viewing gallery. I could totally imagine myself spending hours staring at the lovely poster and dreaming. In Mumbai, where millions eat and breathe only ‘Bollywood’, this poster is their chance of owning Bollywood. I could almost hear myself say, ‘This is my/our Bollywood’. After all what is Bollywood without its billions of fans, and what are stars without the stardom bestowed upon them?  The poster offers every viewer a sense of ownership – of the city and its cinema.

The Anarkali poster, in its glory!

Based on a still of the film Anarkali, the poster made passersby wonder aloud, ‘Hmmmm, Looks like from Mughal – e – Azam …’ Anarkali, starring Bina Rai and Pradeep Kumar, was released in 1953 and based on the legendary love between Salim (Akbar’s son) and Anarkali, the beautiful court-dancer. Mughal –e – Azam was a film made in 1960 based on the same theme. Both the films were commercially and critically acclaimed and remain popular to date. It was not until the letters A N A R K A L I were painted that people realised this poster was not from Mughal-e-Azam but from Anarkali. One gentleman did insist that Bina Rai’s smile was similar to that of Madhubala, says Sruti.

Dahiya (as Ranjit is affectionately known), with his 18 years of experience in hand painting posters in varied sizes and scales, finished this mural in just 14 days.  Tony recollects that it was not easy for Dahiya to be perched on this high ladder on a busy street; credit goes to the city and the local residents for their undying support and enthusiasm: the affectionate chai-wala who was ready with the chai all the time; the panipuri wala who was so overwhelmed with the poster that he offered the B A P team, a life-long supply of free pani-puri at his stall; the passerby who stood smoking a beedi and comparing the still image to the painting only to point out that a particular spot needed more light and many such others.

B A P also held a screening of Anarkali at the venue. The response to it was outstanding. Kids from the neighbourhood landed with big bottles of water and a packet of chips, an old woman stood for more than an hour watching the film from a shy corner despite being offered a seat and told that the screening was for free, another gentleman travelled from a distant suburb only to look at how things were being set up. The team had a blast organising the screening despite running around frantically to put it together. The kudos pouring in from all corners has given B A P the much needed momentum to realise their dream of completing many such murals until next year and in many cities.

A fully-self funded initiative, the B A P is now pitching in for funding and hopes to receive maximum financial support. Also, the team is slowly expanding and soon there will be more hands holding up the ladder and setting up the screens. B A P is open to receiving exciting ideas and collaborating with more artists. While the B A P is about celebrating Bollywood cinema’s hundred years, it is important to note that it takes art to the streets and into the public domain. Sruti recounted an experience of working with an artist at the Guggenheim Museum in New York, where patrons paid 20 dollars each to watch art. Any art becomes ‘high-art’ when patrons have to pay or when they are screened in closed spaces, she says. And it is this idea that they want to challenge in letting every viewer on the street enjoy art.

Coming up soon: an even bigger mural of Bollywood’s eternal dancing queen, Helen.

Oinam’s silver non jubilee & a book (Book review by Aheli Moitra)

In my numerous exchanges with Aheli, I have mostly only hounded her for more information on the issues and challenges in North East India. On my part, this has been a selfish drive to try rid my own ignorance; limited knowledge; and zero-involvement with the issues at hand. An average Joe in Mumbai (that includes me), may seldom think about or even want to know more about the conflict and insurgencies in North East. The local media on its part, has not been very helpful either. My sharing of this (and hopefully there will be more to come) is an attempt to keep abreast.

Republished from: http://www.morungexpress.com/Perspective/79529.html

Oinam’s silver non jubilee & a book

Review by Aheli Moitra

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Nandita Haksar, Sebastian Hongray
The Judgment That Never Came
Army Rule in North East India
New Delhi: Chicken Neck (an imprint of Bibliophile South Asia), 2011
380pp. Rs.495

Come 2010, the world had tweaked for some. Mohamed Bouazizi, a street vendor in Tunisia, set himself on fire to protest harassment, corruption and ill treatment of citizens by the police. This tipped off the dominoes of the ‘Arab Spring’ that spread through Tunisia, Algeria, Jordan, Egypt, Yemen, Libya and other ‘undemocratic’ nations that had waited too long.

In this part of the world, however, nothing changed. In 1987, a witness had seen (then Brig.) BN Singh and (then Commanding Officer, Lt. Col.) CP Singh of the (then) 21 Assam Rifles burn to death a Poumai Naga man, hung upside down over fire in Oinam village in the Senapati district of Manipur. This is normal in India—the concerned officers went on with their careers. In 1997, the constitutional bench of the Supreme Court of the “largest democracy in the world” upheld the constitutional validity of the Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFSPA!); in 2010, State violence went on as it was, oblivious to the Spring.

Nandita Haksar and Sebastian Hongray’s book, “The Judgment That Never Came: Army Rule in North East India”, published by Chicken Neck (which seems to have published books only by Haksar since its inception in 2011) presents a detailed judicial cross section of the Oinam case. Under the command of (then General Officer in Command, Manipur Sector, Maj. Gen.) PL Kukrety, the “friends of the hill people” had torn apart the people of Oinam, and 30 of its surrounding villages, with 1987’s three months long Operation Bluebird, sponsored by the “constitutionally valid” AFSPA. The book is a brave narrative of the lawyers for the Naga Peoples Movement for Human Rights (NPMHR)’s petition, filed in Gauhati High Court, to bring justice to the people of Oinam. Making itself out to be an important resource for justice work, it details court and civil proceedings with ample annexures and communication dossiers that implicate the military, polity and judiciary of India in, what could possibly be classified as, crimes against humanity. The authors name required names, and appropriately bell the cat, despite the judiciary’s failure to deliver a judgment on the case that was heard by the High Court till 1992.

That is the book’s success. It tells you how the army does not work “in aid” of civil authority, rather undermining the latter, in addition to superseding them when possible. It tells you how the Indian paramilitary tortures, amounting to burying and roasting alive, people it calls citizens and the degradation of morality to the extent that former Governor of Manipur at the time of Bluebird, Lt. Gen. K V Krishna Rao defends the abusive Operation in a book published in 1991, 3 years after L Khola testified, in court, how she was forced to deliver her baby in an open ground where the whole village was detained during the Operation—one of many foul examples in a well-documented case of human rights abuse. These are the kinds that govern us. It narrates the arrogance of the Assam Rifles officers who laugh and lounge in court, in full uniform, full of impunity provided by the Indian state. It tells you what makes sexual violence and manslaughter in the Security State of India possible and non-punishable.

Oinam is exemplary of the larger policy adopted by the Indian state towards people living in “disturbed areas” of the North East region, over many decades. The attitude flows into Dantewada today. The authors have presented a useful case study showing how the contemporary nation state is inherently unjust, with marginal difference between martial law and democratic rule. Since the core of the book’s focus is on judicial process, Haksar and Hongray walk the reader through the evidence, and manner of collection, at times accidental even. They highlight the genesis of petitions, and their subsequent failure, challenging the constitutional validity of AFSPA, traversing through other instances (like Operation Bajrang) that debase the entire discourse on rights.

They bring out the difficulty of dealing with cases of human rights abuse, especially when reparations (referred to as compensation) are to be “calculated”. Schools, houses, hostels, churches and granaries were dismantled and looted, in and around Oinam, for three months by the Assam Rifles men, including officers. Today they call themselves “friends of the hill people”. 300 people were tortured (severely beaten, chillies and electric shocks applied to sensitive parts of the body, raped) and forced to labour while 27 died. Medical expenses are unknown.

The Assam Rifles forced many of them to refute these allegations through affidavits, and filed criminal cases against Naga leaders and activists who intervened. Surely under pressure from the centre, both the state government, privy to the entire incident through their civil administration, and the Gauhati High Court pretended to remain confused on which version denoted the truth.

Further, the authors make an important contribution by establishing a link between the Assam Rifles and the People’s Militia of Nagaland, an illegal private militia of “surrendered militants”. Was the Assam Rifles storing an excess of arms for the Militia at their post in Oinam, which the NSCN raided on July 9, 1987, to which the Assam Rifles responded with Operation Bluebird? Such militia have been set up by the Indian army in Kashmir, Assam and Chhattisgarh too. Being outside law and any mechanism of accountability, they are known to (be made to) gather intelligence more by crook than hook, and to pit the people against their movement. Many work for such militia under the threat of sure death through fake encounters, engineered by the troopers that hire them, if they don’t join. But, as Haksar and Hongray make you wonder, what is the point of accountability mechanisms when an illegal and legal militia work much the same way? The book grapples with this and finds answers in such instances as the Government of Manipur’s admission in court that “not to be raped” and “not to be killed by torture” are not available fundamental rights!

The book is not just about legal procedures though. It is a tale of the bravery of those men and women (NPMHR enlisted 435 witnesses in all but could produce 22) who showed up to get their testimonies recorded at the Sessions Court in Imphal from August 1988 to February 1989 in the face of intimidation by the Assam Rifles. These narratives are the most disturbing part of the book and raise genuine concerns about the judiciary’s vision. The book is also about the activists, journalists, politicians and bureaucrats who wanted to tell, or investigate, but were barred by the Assam Rifles or worse, detained and tortured. It brings into question the national media’s ethics in the face of such crimes, when patriotism is a Kalashnikov, the de-politicisation of AFSPA, the Mizo experience of counter-insurgency, rise of the INGO monster, empty celebration of non-violence to delegitimize armed resistance and the State’s irresponsible political reasoning allowing the abuse of rights. Insights into the working of the Human Rights Committee, and how issues are raised and responded to at the international forum, are valuable.

The writing style and numerous edit mistakes, however, leave a dent. Haksar and Hongray neither specialize at humour nor story telling. They are in control of writing about court proceedings but the text retains a nagging feel throughout. It is clear that Haksar and Hongray worked hard on the case but not without the hands and minds of many more, whose efforts will never appear on paperback. The tone of the language used reads autobiographical even though intent does not suggest so.

The latter half of the book contains categorical allegations, which do not stand substantiated, against NPMHR, and those within it severely affected by State persecution. Albeit slightly distracted, the book finally pulls itself back to the pertinent question of the future of the Oinam case, and justice. If the judges who heard it, transferred before delivering a judgment, have retired and the lawyers have either moved on or up in their careers, what happens to the more than 10,000 pages of legal papers that exist of the Oinam hearings?

Since the Indian state will not answer, perhaps an account from the league of former JusticesW. Shishak and Phukan, Hrishikesh Roy, Songboi Serto, Samuel Risom, N. Koteshwar, C. Upendra Singh and NPMHR will produce stardust justice 25 years after Oinam.

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