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Literary Review
Small-town saga
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There is a beautiful rhythm and an unhurried pace to Badami's prose and one looks forward to her next book, says IRA PANDE.
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THE hero in this book is actually no hero at all in the conventional sense. A tired, defeated and frustrated copywriter, Sripathi Rao is being nudged out of his insignificant position by the new management of their small advertising agency. He lives in a house that has seen better days and his neighbour, the much-despised Munnuswamy, was a cowherd who sold milk to the people in the Big House (as his ancestral home is called in Totupuram). Today, not only has Munnuswamy, like Rabri Devi, spun a fortune out of his humble life but he also enjoys considerable political clout and runs, it is whispered, an army of goons who "fix" things in Totupuram. Munnuswamy's son, Gopala, makes sheep's eyes at Sripathi Rao's sister Putti and, what is worse, his spinster sister, quite unmindful of her superior Brahmin ancestry, simpers back.
There is more: his wife Nirmala teaches Bharatnatyam to young girls to supplement their meagre income and has her hands full trying to keep the wretched house from falling on their heads. She performs a complex water ritual on the days when the municipality releases water to their area and to top it all, she has a mother-in-law, Amayya, who could try the patience of a saint. But Nirmala at least retains her sanity and her habitual good cheer. Not so Amayya. While every other character has at least one saving grace, Amayya is proud to have none. She is mean, selfish, parasitical and a thief. Her tongue is foul and her mind ever engaged with evil intentions. She bullies all the good people around her and whines about her fate.
In short, Sripathi's life is miserable. He relieves some of his frustration by writing letters to the editor of the local rag and lovingly tends his collection of fountain pens. This is his secret life — this world of Pro Bono Publico letters — and a world he keeps hidden from everyone. Here he is the hero, the superman who watches over all, and one whose observations on international and local affairs reflect a gravity in direct contrast to his ability to impact them in any way.
Sripath has two children — a son, Arun, and a daughter, Maya. The son has strayed into social activism and, to his father's deep disappointment, is uninterested at working in an office. His daughter, the apple of his eye as a child, is a brilliant student who goes abroad to study. Then, to Sripathi's utter horror, she marries an American. He cuts her off from his life and will not even utter her name. At the opening of the book, all this and much more, has already happened. It is a testimony to Badami's story-telling skills that she does not load the book with melancholy despite the prehistory of the protagonist's life. Instead, she chooses the way of gentle irony and humour to guide the reader's attention to the lack of drama of life in Totupuram — your average dusty speck in peninsular India.
This is a wise decision for it helps her to introduce the rather melodramatic incident that is going to redefine Sripathi's life. His daughter Maya and her husband are tragically killed in a car accident in Canada and it is left to him to go there and fetch their orphaned child, Nandana, to India. Maya's death comes to Sripathi with all the finality of paternal grief. It adds to his guilt for having exiled his most beloved child from ever coming back to India. To make his misery complete, he goes to Canada only to discover that not only does Nandana reject him completely, she is unable to speak any more, having been struck literally dumb after her parents' accidental death.
His return to Totupuram from Canada is roughly where the book begins and it ends with his slouching gait transformed forever. How Badami handles the complex threads of this family saga, her attention to the neat ending of each small story is what makes this book a compelling read. Amayya, Putti, Nirmala, Arun and Nandana — all receive the attention that they deserve. Even the despised Munnuswamy gets a chance to redeem himself and the luckless Putti finally finds a match. There is a beautiful rhythm to Badami's prose, an unhurried pace that keeps the town of Totupuram throbbing with life. Here, unlike her first novel, Tamarind Mem, there are no personal ghosts to be laid to rest. It is the clear, direct gaze of a great storyteller. One looks forward to her next book.
The Hero's Walk, Anita Rau Badami, Bloomsbury, 2001, price not stated.
Ira Pande is an editor at Dorling Kindersley Publishers, Delhi.
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