Right To Impress--Magic Of Technique

The magic of technique
Form and Style in Indian English Fiction
By Jagdish Batra.
Prestige Books.
Pages 190. Rs 600.
Reviewed by Rajbir Deswal
STYLE studies in English fiction, besides the theme, do exist in the contemporary fiction analysis scenario, but only so far as the West is concerned. In case of Indian English novels, there is acute dearth of such content on the library racks and catalogues. Jagdish Batra’s initiative in bringing out the present critique, which comprises write-ups by a score of specialists, should set the pace for appreciation and exploration of the postmodern scenario in style and narratology.

Socrates’ oft-quoted remark, almost having graduated into a truism with time, "As a man is, so is his speech", seems to be a byword for Batra who appears to be subscribing to this style as a concept immensely. His book focuses on myriad aspects in elaborating and examining the works of different Indian authors from R. K. Narayan and Mulk Raj Anand to Kiran Desai and Arvind Adiga. And the process is still on, if you address the macro-level, but largely individual pursuits in this direction are underway.

The question remains as to what impresses the reader of fiction most — theme or style? Plot or flow? Indulgence or suspense? Virtual, not-so-factual or factual fiction? Or, is it purely the subject matter for academics or the academia? Well, the present is bleak but future portends well, with the attempts being made by the likes of Alessandro Monti, Z. N. Patil, S. L. Paul, Vipasha Agarwal, Rekha Beniwal, Jyoti Singh, Monika Balyan Dahiya, Meenakshi, Geeta Goyal, Umed Singh, Priyanka Lamba, Urvashi Prabhat, Sumita Ashri, Jyoti Sheoran, Anita Dalal, Urmil Hooda and Narinder Kumar Saini. The present compilation has them all.

Batra throws light on the historical developments which turned simple concepts like style and plot structure into scientifically marked complex constructs of stylistics and narratology. Some leading novelists exhibit their typical characteristics in his judgement as: G.V. Desani being known for his verbal pyrotechnics; Anita Desai for her poetic prose; Arundhati Roy for her neo-nativisation of English; Salman Rushdie for his "chutnification" of language; Vikram Seth for his use of verse in fiction; and Kiran Desai for her stylistic flourishes.

Besides, some other equally capable novelists, who Batra mentions, include: Shashi Deshpande for her reflective style; Amitav Ghosh for the skilful focalisation of the narrator’s point of view; Rohinton Mistry for richness of language and imagery; Amit Chowdhuri for dispensing with the narrative in a novel without depending on the stream of consciousness either;`A0I. Allen Sealy for producing linguistic period piece in an avowedly indigenous "nama" (as in Baburnama) style; and Upmanyu Chatterjee for his use of pompous diction and Latinised construction.

International scenario in narratological studies is well represented by Italian scholar Alessandro Monti who very skillfully applies to the language used by Salman Rushdie in his novel Midnight’s Children, the Bakhtinian concept of a levelled and more democratic style, giving equal respect to the man at the helm and the man in the street; or Homi Bhabha’s postcolonial concern about the marginalised. Indeed, Rushdie’s "chutnification" of language as of history involves not only adding up spice but presenting a kind of potpourri in a more exotic form, transcending boundaries, which is the essence of the postmodern era.

Jyoti Sheoran finds Mulk Raj Anand’s use of slang, swear words, jargon of abuse, epithets of low life and verbal coinages taking him nearer his avowed purpose of evolving a language as rich and powerful as Irish English. Sumita Ashri describes narratives being of two types, namely Homodiegetic (narrator being present in the plot) Heterodiegetic (narrator being out of the plot). Studying Jhumpa Lahiri’s style, Shilpi Ahuja finds her "simple yet smart; sparing in words yet eloquent". Priyanka Lamba’s take on Chetan Bhagat firms up his position as the pioneer of those who understand and write essentially for the youth.

Arvind Adiga’s The White Tiger has an artful technique blending narration and description, reflection and revelation, if you believe Geeta Goyal. Monika Balayan-Dhaiya, while commenting on Anita Desai, lays more emphasis on vocabulary, syntax, morphology, grammar etc. However, this reviewer believes that quality and quantity of words used determines overall the aesthetic value of any piece of writing.

The book also dwells on a feature of narratology called "Narrative Thematics". Whereas Rekha Beniwal applies the spatial reading method to the south Indian woman writer Ambai’s fiction and charts the feminist streak, the author locates "home" as the structural principle in the story of Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss. Interestingly, theme and style combine in this category.

The compilation at hand traverses the road from style and plot, the main concerns of an uninitiated reader, to the technical aspects of stylistics and narratology — the area of study of a student of literature — with equal aplomb and should be useful to all those who wish to acquire insights into these enchanting domains, or wish to rely on clues to stylised writing.

KASHMIR BLUES: Deserted-Stolen Child's Search for her Birth Parents

Pleasurable read (In The Tribune today)
Kashmir Blues
By Urmilla Deshpande.
Tranquebar.
Pages 355. Rs 325.
Reviewed by Rajbir Deswal

YOU step out of your house with a purpose in mind, start encountering adventure and thrill with quite an indulgence or sorts, bump into myriad characters who start sharing their concerns with you by default or design; and you return home with a craving to re-live the experiences with a nostalgic pinch felt within, sums up the broad storyline of Urmila Deshpande’s Kashmir Blues.

If you are looking for finding a solution to the Kashmir problem, or if you are seeking information on insurgency, or even if you are vicariously and by way of fiction, attempting to "feel" the pain of Kashmir, then this book is definitely not meant for you. What the California-based writer has woven in her inimitable style is a personal quest that takes its shape in the most interesting scenarios obtaining largely in India. Kashmir does offer enough, but only in symbolic terms and allusions.

The fact of richness of Kashmir is manifest all over the book, taking into account its beauty and landscapes, people and their customs, trade and occupation, etc. But equally important is the lament looming large in the depiction of "Earth Paradise’s" lately "disturbed and distorted" predicament of which the author does not suggest a cure, and rightly so, for the fiction writer should not be found fiddling with facts that stare starkly enough.

Not that Urmila does not give out many facts about Kashmir but she does it only up to the extent they suit her plot. "Kashmir was once the jewel in the crown of India ... it could be that way again ... but only if all the issues were resolved ... though it is too late to reverse the damage done ...too late to re-educate the lost youth-mutilated by fanaticism, Islamic fundamentalism, economic devastation and a feeling of isolation..."

There is no central character in the novel around whom the plot revolves, rather nearly all of them make their appearance and look to be normal and not purpose-made. Naia living in Los Angles sets foot for India to find her "birth parents" with a photographer friend, Leon, after stumbling onto the fact of her being a "deserted-stolen" child.

The duo travels to Bombay and Delhi and finally to a village in North (Kashmir), where the War Lord in the making, Samaad, is as if waiting for them to guide their destiny while striving to save "from both the countries" his own inherited treasure of mines that produce Blue Sapphire.

Samaad, in fact, is the character in the novel who inspires mostly the positives, although he is placed in a situation where the likes of him are given to either insurgency or fundamentalist overtures. He is not only well educated but brainy too, and for whose blue eyes and mannerisms Maia is ready to fall in his arms. Being a Muslims himself, his clairvoyance in talking about Hindu scriptures and Lord Shiva and His "Third Eye", floors the likes of Leon and Maia.

Maia is just there with almost no action attributable to her own initiatives. She is addicted to drugs, and she loves Leon "just the way he was: manic, depressive, riddled with complexes and borderline OCD, and the most seeing photographer she had ever known".

Urmila has an interesting take on Bombay’s streets which have been "slept on, spat on, shat on, lived on, loved on, the stage of millions of little dramas, tragedies, comedies and romances". The writer is not charitable to Delhi either, when she describes, "shit lays about the streets, and then it dries up, and then it floats up into the air-that-we breathe".

Kashmir Blues involves a style not of keeping suspense and is thus a pleasurable read, although the fiction lovers always like the thrill. The writer is easy and comfortable with herself in weaving encounters of different tones and tenor at her given and subjective choice and selection.

The novel has its share of some flaws, too, when it comes to the technique. There are long pauses from one sequence to the other and a smooth transition is lacking which only the reader has to maneuver. Urmila’s very verbose style does good to her description and her recognition of observation, but it takes its toll on the readers interest which starts plummeting and dwindling. Also the novel does not relate to a specific time or period to which the reader can associate. This becomes all the more important while talking about Kashmir, because all the world has its eyes fixed on happenings on this Paradise on Earth!

When I looted in United Kingdom

Avenging theft
By: Rajbir Deswal
(In The Tribune today)
While setting foot for the UK, a senior member in our group cautioned, “Don’t go to wrong places for you will be in trouble!” The second piece of advice was in the form of a comment, but in a killing and chilling tone: “Some people have a compulsive habit of putting things in their pockets!”

For us this was not only too much, but too demeaning too. Yet, we pocketed the advice. I hadn’t then realised that I myself would become the victim of a near-robbery in an alien land.

I had a pouch ‘stolen’ from my not-so-inviting bag in Strathpeffer, Scotland. I noticed its loss when I needed to transfer the days’ photos, from the camera to the pen-drive, kept in the pouch which I couldn’t locate. I promptly announced a heist.

“What else was there in the pouch?” asked my curious wife. To this very natural query of hers (though I was expecting a quick reprimand too for my being ‘carefully callous’!) I ‘reported’ as if before the police: “Some tie pins, coat lapels, two pen drives, a Seattle-Needle souvenir and some coins worth eight or ten pounds!” Post haste I blamed the theft on the house-keeper.

With initial “tch-tchs’ of rubbishing my apprehensions of the involvement of the house-keeper, the investigation ensued: “But what would she need your cosmetic stuff for? Least the pen-drives!” I justified, “it had some change too!”

“O, come on, they’re professional people. The hotel management trusts them. And do you think they are going to question the house-keeper for your silly stuff; and fire her?” Wife suggested I didn’t make a report. I decided to eat the proverbial humble pie.

Next evening when we returned from Inverness, we found the house-keeper’s trolley in the corridor. I could not resist the temptation of ‘teaching her a lesson’ and straightaway rendered her haul of milk sachets poorer by a dozen, by a quick sleight of hand.

Reaching the room, the wife said she needed some tea bags. While trying to arrange them, I encountered the house-keeper in the corridor who greeted me in her typically Scottish accent, similar to us Haryanvis’ style of speaking the Queen’s English.

I asked her if she had some tea bags. “Yes, here we go!” She put some half-a-dozen on my palm and asked, “Do you need some milk too?” Well, I didn’t really, but something inside me made me forget all reasoning and honest intentions. “Yes!” I said and got almost a palmful.

While returning to my room, I tried to recall with sadistic pleasure, the expression on the lassie’s face, on finding a shrunken pile of milk-sachets. Having wound up the Scotland trip, when we reached London from where we had initially started, I found my ‘missing’ pouch. I narrated to our host the story and my sick mentality to take revenge on the ‘stealer’.

The host came up with a similar anecdote. He recalled the time when before migrating to the UK, he was cheated by a taxi-driver in New Delhi. He asked the latter for a match-box. Having lighted his cigarette, he removed half a dozen match-sticks, pocketed them, and returned the match-box.

The senior member in our group was right. Some people have a tendency to put things in their pockets. And some other meeker ones can be a tad revengeful too.