The various themes which are examined in Atharva Pandit’s debut novel, Hurda

 [First published in BeStorified by BlogChatter]

Valentine’s Day 2013
Murwani, a village in Maharashtra
Three sisters-Anisha, Sanchita and Priyanka disappear from school that afternoon. No one knows where they went or why, but everyone remembers they were up to no good. Six years later, a journalist from Mumbai returns to the scene of the crime and tries to piece together what exactly happened that fateful day. Hurda is that story told through the voices of the many whose lives intersected with those of the three sisters.

Author, Atharva Pandit was in high school when he first heard about this incident, and many years later kept wondering whether the case was ever solved, and whether the people involved at least knew for sure if it as an accident, a murder or a case of suicide. In Hurda, his debut novel, a Mumbai based journalist who had been set to the village to cover the crime returns after six years to solve the mystery, because the believes that the three sisters deserve closure. While the story itself is built around the muder, there book explores several themes that dominate the socio-economic landscape particularly in rural India.

The central theme of the book is patriarchy and the gendered expectations that emerge as a result of patriarchy. While there were many theories about what might have transpired on that fateful day, in every version it was essentially a gendered crime. In every speculation, it is the three girls, especially the eldest, who are on trial. There is the subtle condemnation that the girls brought it on themselves by daring to exercise their agency to dress and act in the manner they want. The book looks at the many ways in which sexual harassment and sexual abuse is perpetrated and normalised, not just in the village but also in the urban workplaces. It also examines how patriarchy affects men who do not conform to social expectations, and of how they in turn perpetrate gendered violence on women.

The other major theme in the book is the formal and informal power structures that exist particularly in rural India, and the intersectionality of these structures. The scene where the local “leader” clashes with the police brings this to the fore. The policemen have, in the past, asserted their power over common people, yet when the same people come back to them with the backing of the local leader, the dynamics are very different. Within the police hierarchy, too, it is the ones who have the least power who assert themselves over others the most. Caste, and other formal social distinctions, form the basis of most interactions, and when caste and gender intersect, the interactions take on very complex forms. At the bottom of the heap is the woman who is also from an oppressed caste-
everyone takes advantage of her, but in the book, the author gives her the clarity to see her position and the voice with which to call out her oppressors.

The book is also examines hypocrisy- the hypocrisy of urban folk who somehow believe they are superior to rural folk, the hypocrisy of people who sit on moral judgements on others while ignoring the injustices they themselves are perpetrating on others, the hypocrisy of families that will go to any length to protect their secrets, the hypocrisy of people who deny caste and gender inequity while benefiting from it themselves. Very few books expose the many layers of hypocrisy that exists in society as powerfully as this one does.

Hurda examines the dynamics of rural India with an unflinching eye, and I would recommend the book for the clarity with which the various themes are presented.

‘A Fatal Distraction’ Is A Classic Whodunnit Set In The Publishing Industry!

 [First published in YouthKiAwaaz]

The 1920s and 1930s were considered the Golden Age of Detective Fiction, and the murder mysteries written during that period followed certain conventions that are used in “classic whodunits” even today. These were murder mysteries where there was a limited pool of suspects, and the detective had to establish motive, means and opportunity.

The murderer(s) had to be introduced early in the story, and while the writer was expected to misdirect the reader, the golden rule for crime fiction required that there should be enough clues to enable the reader to deduce the villains. The book almost always ended with the (often amateur) detective confronting all the suspects in an intimate setting, where s/he described the steps that led to finding the killer(s).

Samyukta Bhowmick’s debut novel, A Fatal Distraction, is a classic murder mystery set in the publishing industry of Delhi. The much loved editor of a popular Delhi tabloid drops dead at a glittering after party following a book launch. The media circus begins, and after a second dead body is discovered, a pair of slightly mismatched journalists join up and decide to solve the mystery. The people are representative of a certain circle in Delhi.

There are people with inherited property residing in large, crumbling mansions, and there are people who new money who probably renovate their sparkling houses every couple of years. Some are residents of swanky apartments in Gurgaon, and others live amidst potted plants in a barsati which would provide a stunning view of historical monuments if the AQI is favorable. This is an aspirational Delhi, which most people do not inhabit, but almost all people would like to be a part of in some way or the other.

The book is littered with one liners that are so true that they make you smile. Though parts of the book are cynical in tone, there affection behind the cynicism which takes the edge off. The cast of characters is relatable- almost all of us know people who look, speak and behave similar to the protagonists. At times some of them seem almost cliched, but cliches exist only because they are based on real people. The book, like most classical murder mysteries is divided into three parts- The Tangling, The Untangling and The Reckoning, the two amateur detectives team up, conduct interviews together, and then the main detective puts it all together.

The middle aged journalist, Mridula Mukherjee is neither a Miss Marple nor a Hercule Poirot, but she is able to connect dots and arrive at the complete picture before anyone else. Her sidekick, Monami, is addicted to crime fiction, and plays the role of Hastings to perfection. It is hard to get a handle on the policemen assigned to the case- they are neither bumbling detectives who are happy to leave the detection to the amateurs as long as they get to take the credit in the end, nor are they unhelpful to the point of being jeopardising the case- perhaps they will be developed further in subsequent books.

As in all murder mysteries, in the end you are left with a sense of sadness at the futility and brevity of life. At the same time, you are satisfied that the guilty have been caught and that they will not go unpunished. I love reading the book because it made me think, it made me smile, and I had the satisfaction of not overlooking the critical clues and being able to solve the case well before the end. I look forward to the subsequent books in the series.

[I received a review copy from Juggernaut, and this is my unbiased review.]

‘The Fearless Judge’ Is A Treasure Trove For People In The Legal Profession

 [First published in YouthKiAwaaz]

One that sticks out is a particular phone call that was received one evening when the family was in the middle of dinner. Answering the intercom, Justice Ahmadi asked for the call to be transferred to his bedroom — a clear indication that the contents of the call were expected to be confidential. Leaving his mound of khichdi and mutton curry half eaten on the plate, he left the room to attend to the phone call.

Continuing with our meal, we thought nothing of this somewhat common occurrence, until a few minutes later we heard the booming voice of Aziz Ahmadi thunder from all the way down the bottom of the corridor, ‘I don’t care about becoming Chief Justice, I won’t do it!’ Like a sharp slap, the room fell into stillness as we exchanged uneasy glances and waited for him to return to the dining table. That night he did not.

Justice Ahmadi was next in line to become the Chief Justice of India, a post that he had dreamt of occupying for much of his adult life. A five member bench had been constituted to examine the constitutional validity of the Ayodhya Act through which the Central Government sought to gain control of administration and maintenance of the Ram Janmabhoomi-Babri Masjid structure along with its premises.

Though the majority of the bench had already decided to rule in favour of the Centre, Justice Ahmadi and Justice Bharucha were determined to put out a minority judgement which explained why they considered the Act unconstitutional. There was tremendous pressure put on Justice Ahmedi to endorse the majority opinion, but as his biographer (and granddaughter), Insiyah Vahanvaty, notes “But, in the depths of his being, (Justice Ahmadi) realized the truth. This wasn’t a choice; it was a litmus test. In a test of integrity and ideals, there really was no option.” Justice Ahmadi passed that test, but one is left, wondering how many others will perform as well in a similar test.

Justice Amati served as the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of India between 1994 and 1997. This was the pinnacle of a legal career that spanned well over four decades. He joined the bar in 1954, becoming one of the youngest judges ever appointed to the Sessions Court, and after a brief stint as the Law Secretary, was appointed to the Gujarat High Court. From there, he moved to the Supreme Court, where he authored several landmark judgements before becoming the Chief Justice. The period when he was in the Supreme Court was a time where a lot of constitutional provisions were tested, and many of the judgements he authored continue to be quoted even today.

Many of the cases that came up before his bench were of an intensely political nature, and he was often under a lot of pressure to give particular judgements. However, in his entire legal career, the only thing that influenced his judgements was whether something was constitutionally valid or not. Often, this required him to interpret the spirit behind a particular provision, and he always remained true to the secular principles on which the nation was founded. He was also a firm believer in ensuring that power was never concentrated in a few hands, and even when he was called upon to pass a judgement which would eventually have resulted in he himself having more power, he chose not to do so.

Justice Ahmadi was also known for the efficiency with which he cleared up the backlog of cases. The judicial system in India is so complex that a every single court has a huge backlog of cases, and right from his early days as the Law Secretary of Gujarat, he created a system, by which the pending cases could be categorised so they could be disposed off in an efficient and speedy manner.

He was a great believer in social justice, and often sumo moto took up cases which would give rights to people too poor to even think of approaching the legal system. The efficiency with which Justice Ahmadi was able to clear the backlog of cases attracted not just national, but also international attention. He was well regarded by the international legal community as somebody who was impartial, believed in the principles of justice and ensured that the needs of the common man were paramount.

When he passed away, Justice Ahmadi left behind private writings that he had one day hoped to include in a future book he, unfortunately, was unable to write — which he lovingly called his atma katha. Those writings form the basis of this biography by his grand daughter. The book, therefore, goes into great detail on the reason behind certain landmark judgements which would go on to continue to shape the legal discourse in future years.

This makes the book a virtual treasure trove for people who are from the legal profession. However, it is also tremendously interesting even to people who do not have a background in law, because it explains the rationale and the implications of certain judgement in very accessible language. It is to the credit of the biographer that she is able to sustain the interest of the lay person even while describing legal deliberations.

What also emerges in this biography is a intimate portrait of Justice Ahmadi, by his grand daughter who lived with him most of her life and saw a side of him that the public was not aware of. The man who loved sitting at his baithak and drinking unlimited cups of tea while pouring over legal documents. The husband who stood by his wife when he found that she was not really getting along with the rest of his family.

The father who allowed his daughter to marry the man she chose, when she chose, with the only condition being that she would never give up her studies or her professional ambitions. The grandfather who many years after his retirement became the close confident of his granddaughter, so much that it was to him that she first broke the news of wanting to marry a man from a different religion- his response shows more than anything else the person he was-

‘You know I don’t care about that. All that matters is the boy’s character. Not his religion.Ask him to come home on the weekend to meet me.’ Leaning forward, his expression open and reassuring, he continued, ‘I make no promises right now, but if I find the boy to be all right, you will have no objection.’ After all, ‘. . . it is not enough to show tolerance and respect for each other’s culture, more is required — they should be able to enjoy each other’s culture.’

This book will appeal to anybody who is either interested in the legal profession or who cares to understand the principles on which the country was founded and the many challenges that the nation has faced. This book is an intimate portrait of Justice Ahmadi and will interest people who would like to read about, a man who began life without much backing yet was able to make it to the pinnacle of his career based on strong values, hard work and the courage of conviction.

‘Shattered’ Is Hanif Kureishi’s Powerful Dispatches From A Hospital Bed

 [First published in YouthKiAwaaz]

On Boxing Day in Rome, after taking a comfortable walk to the Piazza del Popolo, followed by a stroll through the Villa Borghese, and then back to the apartment, I had a fall.

I believed I was dying, that I had three breaths left. It seems like a miserable and ignoble way to go.

People say when you’re about to die, your life passes before your eyes, but for me, it wasn’t the past but the future that I thought about- everything I was being robbed of, all the things I wanted to do.

Within weeks of this accident, Hanif Kureishi, though he did not have the use of his hands, started doing the one thing he does best- write. He started dictating a series of dispatches from his hospital bed in Italy. His family took down his words and posted them on social media. For a few weeks. His readers waited for anxiously for these dispatches, and we all hoped that someday when he was better, they would be collated into a book. He must have heard our collective desire, because those writings were revised, expanded and edited and put together into a memoir, Shattered.

The early dispatches were practical and dealt with his immediate surroundings- the room he was in, the people he met, the medical procedures conducted on his, his everyday triumphs and setbacks. Reading the book, you get the feeling that thought he wanted to be anywhere but on the hospital bed, he took pleasure in getting to know people and hearing their stories. But over the next few months, the writing took on a different tone- they became more philosophical and meaningful.

It is clear that as he lay awake at night after the effect of the medication wore off, he thought deeply about things that he might otherwise not have found time to think about. There are some fine passages on what it means to be a writer, especially in today’s context. He speaks about the level of policing that goes on today in the name of political correctness, and he worries about how people can write if they are constantly worried about whether their writing might upset the sensibilities of someone else.

There are long passages on dependence and interdependence- on the helplessness a person feels when they cannot do anything on their own and on whether they have the right to demand that things be done for them. He also makes some interesting observations on how you women disproportionately take on the burden of care- while his male friends come and meet him, it is the female friends who offer sustained care.

There are some interesting passages on sex and pornography, and he speaks of how some stories he read in his youth showed him how literature and extreme sexuality could be powerful and effective. “They draw you into a world of filth and depravity reminding you how close sexuality and disgust have to be for sex to retain its edge.” As a person who started off writing stories for a pornographic magazine, he talks about the difficulty of writing porn- how can you describe the same thing in a way that is not cliched?

While reading this memoir, comparisons with the other famous British writer of South Asian decent, Salman Rushdie, are inevitable. Both, for different reasons, landed up in hospital at almost the same time and both eventually published their memoirs based on the experiences. But these comparisons are not entirely fair because the reason why they landed up in hospital were very different, and the nature of recovery is also different. In one case it was random, crazy luck (or lack of it) and in the other it was a deliberate act by a person.

In one case, the author had a specific person to blame, forgive and move on, while it was much more complicated in the other since there was nothing to pin the blame on. What is also different between the level of recovery and the dependence on other people, which ensures that the books trace very different journeys. But what is common to both the books is the utter honesty with which the author describe their reactions to being contained in a prison of their own body.

Hanif Kureishi talks about his writing process, which will certainly be of interest to aspiring writers. Many famous authors say that you should just turn up and write every day no matter whether you have anything to say or not. But Hanif Kureishi argues differently. He asserts that words will only come when they want to come, and you cannot force them out.

He also talks about how he benefited from writing in different formats- novels, screenplays, scripts. Whether this is the “right way” or not is debatable, but by describing his writing process, he does give aspiring writers a different perspective towards writing.

For me, personally, what was most interesting was the way he went about collecting stories. All writers collect stories, but they maintain a distance between the story and the person telling the story. As a patient who was immobile, he could not longer move away when he wanted to, so he was forced to listen to all the details which the person wanted to share. I could sense his discomfort over having to hold onto the secrets that had been entrusted to him, and he certainly wondered if getting the story was worth the responsibility of guarding the confidences.

I read Shattered in a few very short sittings- the prose flows, and the chapters are so small that everytime you come to the end of one, you decide to read just one more before taking a break. However, I found myself thinking about the book even after finishing it. I felt the need to keep coming back to the book, and re-reading certain passages to get more out of them.

Salman Rushdie describes the book as “In this beautiful, moving memori he deals with personal calamity with wit, unflinching honesty and literary grace. It is an extraordinary achievement.” Whether you are a fan of Hanif Kureishi or not, if you like books and reading, this is one that will certainly appeal to you.

[I received a review copy from Penguin India, and the review reflects my personal and unbiased opinions.]

“How Ahoo Daryaei Used Her Unclothed Body As A Symbol Of Protest In Iran”

 [First published in YouthKiAwaaz]

Ahoo Daryaei, a student at Islamic Azad University in Tehran was pulled up by the moral police for “improper hijab”. She took off her clothes in protest and calmly walked around the campus till she was picked up by the authorities and taken away. The video of her protest went viral, and in a bid to avoid negative publicity the authorities were quick to declare that she suffered from a mental illness.

Many condemned the act without understanding the nature of protest

While many supported her act of protest and hailed her bravery in standing up against an oppressive law, despite being aware of the consequences of doing so, there were many who opposed her act. Many questioned her mental stability and whether they realise it or not, by doing so they ended up tacitly endorsing a fundamentalist regime which sought to discredit her protest in the same manner.

However, the majority of people opposing her are doing so in the name of modesty and societal norms. “If you were asked to cover your head in a Gurdwara or temple, would you take off your clothes”, they ask. “Every country has laws against ‘indecent exposure’”, they say, “nowhere does society permit you to roam around naked.” “Would you roam around naked in a public place and then expect not to get raped”, others ask. “Isn’t it hypocritical of you to call xyz ‘attention seeking’ when she takes off her clothes for a reel, but to support this woman because her politics matches yours”.

While each of these people can be countered individually, what is clear from all of them is that none of them understands either the nature of defiance shown by Ahoo Daryaei, or even what constitutes a protest.

What actually constitutes a protest?

India is the nation of Mahatma Gandhi. Civil disobedience is not unknown to us. We have grown up being taught that when injustice becomes a law, resistance becomes our duty. This resistance can take many forms, and while what Ahoo Daryaei did may seem extreme, it is fundamentally no different from Mahatma Gandhi leading the Dandi March to manufacture salt on the beach to protest against the unjust Salt Law.

In 2004, the Mothers of Manipur were shattered when the bullet ridden body of Manorama Thangjam, allegedly killed by the Indian Army was found in a paddy field. They wanted to protest against the brutal killing, but knew that they had to do something radically different to make themselves heard. “What is the point of wearing clothes when we aren’t treated with any dignity”, they said, and came up with what seemed like the most logical means of protest.

On 15 July 2004, 12 women disrobed at the protest site in the heart of Imphal, and stood there carrying banners with their slogans painted in red. This historic protest was widely reported, and even though most people did not understand what the protest was against, it brought the Manipur Crisis to the forefront.

The use of the unclothed body as a weapon

What Ahoo Daryaei did was no different from what the Mothers of Manipur did twenty years ago. For years, women in Iran have not only been forced to cover their head, they have been at the mercy of the moral police who harass them if even a part of their hair is visible. Pulled up for wearing the hijab “improperly”, in a moment of defiance, she threw off her clothes and used her undressed body as a weapon to protest against the oppressive law. By this act, she reminded the global media about the restrictive laws that the fundamentalist regime in Iran uses to keep its women in check.

In this act of defiance, she displayed the same kind of bravery as the man who stood in front of the advancing tanks at Tiananmen Square. We never heard of him after that, and we do not know what will happen to Ahoo Daryaei. But we do know that both displayed supreme bravery, and both employed a very legitimate means of protest. Mahatma Gandhi is credited with popularising non-violent civil disobedience, and as Indians, we should applaud the bravery of Ahoo Daryaei.

Lab Girl: A Memoir About Plants, Science And Life

 No risk is more terrifying than that taken by the first root. A lucky root will eventually find water, but its first job is to anchor- to anchor an embryo and forever end it’s mobile phase, however, passive that mobility was.

Lab Girl is the memoir of Hope Jahren, a scientist who works at the intersection of botany and paleontology. The book traces her life from a childhood spent playing in the college lab her father supervised to setting up three laboratories that each carried her name. She was born into a family of Scandinavian descent in a town in Minnesota known for its harsh winters and the meat processing factory, where her college professor father taught her to maintain lab equipment and her mother developed in her a love for English literature. University, to her, was just a way to escape the town famous for its meat processing factory, but once she got there, she took up a job in a blood bank attached to a hospital and shifted majors from Literature to Science. She talks of the challenges she faced as a woman in science, and of how she employed every trick she could to set up and maintain her own laboratory. The book gives you deep insights into how scientists literally live from one grant to another, and of how there is never enough money to fund all the scientific research that needs to be done and can be done. She is candid about the additional challenges that a woman in science faces- of how much she needs to push herself forward, and of how the system constantly pushes her back (you are almost tempted to shake up the system when she gets banned from entering her own laboratory while pregnant).

Each beginning is the end of a waiting. We are each given exactly one chance to be. Each of us is both impossible and inevitable. Every replete tree was first a seat that waited.

The most powerful part of the memoir is her friendship with Bill who she met when he was an undergrad and she was completing her PhD- without him by her side, it is unlikely she would have achieved as much as she did. Theirs was a friendship between two misfits, a friendship built on deep respect, affection, a similar disregard for conventions and a common quest for pushing the boundaries of science in very similar ways. While her friendship with Bill forms the soul of the book, what is missing is the other relationships in her life. She talks of her father and her mother, both of whom in their own way did a lot for her, but they simply drop out of her life once she moves out of Minnesota. She doesn’t talk much about her husband either- she tells us that it was a quick courtship and marriage, but the descriptions are almost transactional. While she does talk a little more about herself as a mother (than she does of herself as a wife or daughter) it is nowhere as much as one would want or expect. At times it almost seems like all the relationships in her life are told from the perspective of how it impacts her friendship with Bill!

Every oak leaf on earth is a unique embellishment of a single, rough and incomplete blueprint.

One chapter in the book is devoted to her illness (she is bipolar) something she had not referred to at all till that point, but which in retrospect was evident, because many of the incidents she described were clearly from when she was at the manic phase. The level of vulnerability she is willing to display while talking about her pregnancy is one that will give hope to many others who are in her place.

It takes a tree only a week to discard its entire life’s work, cast off like a dress barely worn but too unfashionable for further use. Can you imagine throwing away all of your possessions once a year because you are secure in your expectation that you will be able to replace them in a matter of weeks?

Where the book absolutely shines is in its descriptions of plants and the plant world. While we are aware of the functions performed by plants, she adds a fresh dimension to it by humanising the actions. She also draws parallels between what happens in the plant world with what was happening in her own life. After reading this book, it will be impossible to look at a plant in exactly the same way ever again.

It is apparently from her work that she is deeply committed to understanding the climate crisis. When she describes how you can recreate the climate conditions by looking at the rings of old trees, or the way the soil is laid out, you start to better appreciate the delicate balance in nature, and of how even the smallest actions can affect it.

This is what it must feel like to visit your sons room after he leaves for college: the beginnings of his life left haphazardly behind, irrelevant to him but still precious to you

That she started out as a literature major is evident from the beauty of her prose. She coaxes music out of words, and you want to bookmark many of her passages so you can keep savouring them. In a lesser writer, the use of appropriate quotations could become tedious, but in her case they come out so spontaneously that you do not think they are forced.

Anyone who loves the plant world would love this book, as would anyone who is interested in reading memoirs of women in science. I certainly look forward to reading the other books written by the author.

I have accepted that. I don’t know all the things that I ought to know, but I do know the things that I need to know. I don’t know how to say I love you, but I do know how to show it. The people who love me know the same.

[I bought this book, and the opinions are entirely mine. I also published the review in YouthKiAwaaaz]

Banned and Burned: The Books That We Are Forbidden To Read

 [This was written for the USAWA Newsletter.]

What connects *To Kill a Mockingbird*, *The Wizard of Oz*, *The Little Prince*, *Charlotte’s Web*, and *The Diary of a Young Girl*? Aside from being beloved reads from our childhood that taught us about empathy, friendship, courage, and staying true to ourselves, they all share a spot on the list of “Banned Books.”

Books can get banned for the most bizarre reasons. Take *The Wizard of Oz*, for example — it was criticized for its “benevolent witches” and for suggesting that human qualities are “individually developed.” Then there’s *Charlotte’s Web*, which faced backlash for featuring talking animals, deemed blasphemous by some. Ironically, it’s these very aspects that make these stories so memorable. *Charlotte’s Web* uses animals to teach kids about kindness and sacrifice, while *The Wizard of Oz* reassures misfits that their differences are what make them unique.

When you look at the list of banned books and the reasons behind the bans, a common thread emerges: each of these stories challenges the status quo. They push readers to reflect on the inequities, injustices, and prejudices that often go unnoticed until someone points them out.

At the heart of every book ban is fear — fear of losing power or status because someone might start asking tough questions. For instance, when Delhi University removed Mahasweta Devi’s short story *Draupadi* from its syllabus, they claimed it was due to “gruesome sexual content.” But in a country where a rape occurs every 16 minutes, shouldn’t we be discussing these issues? Instead of pulling the story from the curriculum, shouldn’t students be encouraged to explore the power dynamics behind sexual violence, especially custodial rape? The intent behind removing *Draupadi* was to protect the image of the Army, but shouldn’t we focus on holding those in power accountable?

One of the most extreme cases of book banning was the fatwa issued against Salman Rushdie after he published *The Satanic Verses*. It’s unlikely that many calling for the ban had even read the book (the man who tried to assassinate him certainly hadn’t), and it’s almost certain that those whose feelings might be hurt never picked it up either. Yet they wanted it banned simply because someone else decided their sentiments could be offended!

Someone recently joked that parents should only propose removing a book from the school library after reading it in full and delivering a report evaluated by the English department. While that might cut down on bans, a better strategy for readers would be to seek out banned books. If someone wants a book banned, there is something in the book that has challenged the current order, and it is worth reading the book to find out what that might be.

‘Fertile Earth’: A Stunning Debut Novel Set In An Ignored Part Of History

 [First published in YouthKiAwaaz. I received a review copy from Penguin]

“On a cold winter morning in 1970, …. a row of severed human heads were discovered hanging on pikes in a paddy field in Irumi. There were five of them, fat, clay-like, swollen. The mounting curiosity amongst them was not about the identity of the victims; they all knew who the dead ones were, nor about the identity of the perpetrators; they all knew whose work it was. The only question that remained, therefore, was who had seen it happen. Usually, there was an audience for this kind of thing-they had heard tell — an audience and a hearing supposedly came before the execution. A “people’s court,” it was called. Judgments passed, wrongdoers punished. As they surveyed one another’s faces, they paid no attention to a boy standing mutely just beyond the edge of the field, watching them.”

Ruthvika Rao’s “The Fertile Earth” draws you in from the very first page. A traumatic opening scene, followed by another where we see the 11 year old tanner calmly selecting a cow, slaughtering it, and removing the hide, before stumbling upon the trial and execution of the landlords and their family.

After the initial scene, which takes place in 1971, the story jumps back in time to 1955, when the Communist Uprising in Telangana had been put down, and the landlords/ doras had reverted to their old ways of treating the peasants as bonded labourers/ vetti. The story then jumps forward to the late 1960s, and the growth of the Naxalite Movement in Telangana where people took to violence ot rebel against the oppressive system.

The main story is set against this historical backdrop, and it deals with the unlikely friendship between Vijaya, the older daughter of the landlord, and Krishna, the son of a washerwoman. Both are acutely aware of the societal difference that separates them, yet, they continue with the friendship because it means so much to them. Vijaya maybe the older daughter, but knows her mother loves her younger sister, Sree more. Krishna is the younger son, but he is the intelligent one, and both his mother and Ranga, his older brother, are willing to go to any length to ensure that he gets an education and moves out of the societal status that he can otherwise aspire towards.

One dramatic incident alters the fate of all the four protagonists. Everything changes for them in ways they could never have imagined. Over the next ten years, some attempt to make peace with the cards that life has dealt them, others grab the unexpected opportunities that came their way, and yet others merely bid their time before they can get away. When the protagonists meet under very different circumstances, they find that a lot has changed, yet many things including their feeling for each other haven’t.

The charm of the book is in the fact that it goes way beyond an unlikely love story, and examines the relationship between the many characters. Each of them is a fairly complex character, and their there are unexpected nuances in most of their interactions. The book also examines broad themes like gender imbalance and caste hierarchy. In one memorable scene, you can feel the ruthlessness of the dora as he administers extremely violent punishment on his vetti- but he does it with chilling lack of emotion, almost as if he is merely doing what he is expected to do, and that it is for the good of the recipient of the lashing.

It is also fascinating to see how Krishan’s brother, as a child, pushes the limits of what he can do to a point where he experiences the emotional satisfaction of breaking the rules, yet not so much that the transgression gets punished. When he is later severely punished for something he was not even guilty of, he accepts the punishment because he knows there is no other way, and the only thing he wants from his brother in return for his supreme sacrifice is that his brother make a different life for himself.

The book talks about the many ways in which the vetti were oppressed- the physical punishment that was meted out to the men, and the sexual exploitation that the women were subject to. People, especially women, were bought and sold for paltry sums and remained indentured forever. The book also examines the journey of two people who joined the Naxalite movement, and tries to understand whether their lives were better after they did so.

The author excels in the description of the places where the story takes place. Though the village where most of the story takes place is clearly fictional, it is set in a part of the country which is instantly recognizable. The descriptions of the orchards and the gardens, and of the building at the peak of its glory and after decay set in bring the entire scene to life. When she describes places in Madras and Hyderabad, you see them come alive before your eyes, and you can almost juxtapose the sepia tinted photographs she describes against the places that are familiar to you today.

While the book is written in English, the author has used Telugu and Marathi words to set the scene, without providing translations. While I completely understand why certain authors choose not to include a glossary of words in other languages, I felt that some bits of dialogue were extremely contextual and providing a translation would have added to the experience of a reader who doesn’t speak the language.

The author has clearly done a tremendous amount of research prior to writing the book, and since she grew up in the area, she has been able to capture a lot of the local flavour in the descriptions. The book is similar in scope to the Covenant of Water, though a comparison with the book might not be fair to either of the books. The Fertile Earth is the debut novel of the author, and I certainly look forward to seeing whether her subsequent works match upto this magnum opus.

‘Iru’ Is A Remarkable Biography Of A Remarkable Scholar Iravati Karve!

 [First published in YouthKiAwaaz]

Most people know Irawati Karve as the author of Yuganta, which was perhaps the first set of critical essays on the Mahabharata, and which is studied even today by students of topics as diverse as gender and leadership. Her name often pops up while discussing the now controversial work of her PhD guide, Eugene Fisher, who tried to prove the superiority of certain races by examining the skulls. She is also known in certain circles as the daughter-in-law of the renowned social reformer, Maharishi Karve and for her relationship with many prominent Chitpavan Brahmins who were working on gender upliftment and social change. However, not much is known about Irawati Karve, the person, which makes this biography such an engrossing read.

The book is authored by two people who approached the subject from very different perspectives. Urmilla Deshpande is the granddaughter of Irawati Karve and grew up hearing her mother (and other members of the family) speak about Irawati Karve. She started out wanting to write a novel about an Indian woman who went to Berlin in the 1920s to study and ended up doing a lot of research on Irawati Karve. Thiago Pinto Barbosa went to Germany from Brazil and while researching the racial and eugenics research in Berlin in the 1920s and 30s learnt that the only person who challenged the racist theory was an Indian woman called Irawati Karve. Their collaboration is seamless, and the resulting book clearly incorporates each of their different strengths.

Sadly, as in the case of similar biographies, there are not many written sources (apart from their professional output of the subject) that the authors can go on. This book relies deeply on the memories of people who knew Irawati Karve and on stories that have been passed down within the family. Such stories always get distorted by the years and by the prejudices of the people recounting them, and therefore are not always strictly reliable. In addition to these sources, the authors spent a lot of time in the places where Irawati Karve spent her formative years, and have used the technique of ‘critical fabulation’ to recreate what might have been her experiences there. What emerges, especially in the section on her stay in Berlin, is not just the picture of an Indian woman in a Germany which was moving towards a policy of racial superiority but a story of post-War Germany struggling to get back on its feet.

The most tender passages of the book are the ones that describe the relationship between Irawati Karve and her husband Dinkar. Theirs was a gender equitable relationship of the kind that rarely exists even today, and goes way beyond them calling each other ‘Iru’ and ‘Dinu’ and insisting that their children do so too. Very early in the book while describing the scene where Irawati boards the ship that will take her to Berlin for her doctoral studies, the authors say:

“He was letting her go, not in the sense of giving her permission- he was letter her go because he adored and admired her.”

Years later, when they had started a family, Dinu would run the house when Iru was away on the research expeditions that took her away for weeks at a time. Iru, however, quaffed at the fact that men were glorified for doing the basic minimum which every woman was expected to do. Iru particularly noticed this in her own highly emancipated family, where women were still expected to run the household in addition to performing other roles.

The irony, as the author points out is that when it came to her own daughter, Iru’s standards on what was expected of a husband were very low. According to Iru, there was no reason for her daughter to leave her husband because he was an

“ideal man- he didn’t beat his wife, or womanise or drink! This underlines the fact that: “the perceptions on women’s issues continue to change over generations, the younger generations always pushing towards new frontiers.”

This is a struggle that has been going on for over a century and might take another century before it is resolved.

The book also talks of the biases that existed in academic circles in those days. Despite Iru being a trained anthropologist working in India, white men often questioned her inferences when it contradicted their own. Iru was often accused of having an inherent bias on account of being an Indian- apparently only someone not from India could put sufficient distance between themselves and the subject of the study to draw impartial conclusions!

The long shadow of Yuganta falls over the entire book. As someone who has read Yuganta many times, it was fascinating to see how the essays reflected the evolution of many of Iru’s own ideas. Any reader who has not read Yuganta will almost certainly want to do so after reading this book!

This book is not just the story of “The Remarkable Life of Irawati Karve”. It paints an authentic portrait of Berlin between the two World Wars, and of Pune during a time of social reform. It also examines the changing role of women within and outside the home, and of the evolving field of anthropology. There are also discussions on some of the problems she worked on which would be of interest to people. There are also delightful descriptions of the local flora and fauna which will appeal to nature lovers. Definitely a book I would recommend.

[I received a review copy from Speaking Tiger. The views are my own.]