To think this novel might never have been written. Nor the author’s critically acclaimed debut anthology, Savithri’s Special Room and Other Stories . It took a miracle, in fact, to make them a reality. For back in 2009, Manu Bhattathiri, a 34-year-old advertising professional, was battling for survival in the ICU of a multispeciality hospital, felled by “the pressure and the politics” of his career as a corporate slave. His doctors had given him a mere six hours to live.
Bhattathiri overturned their verdict. Back home from his lengthy stay in hospital, he discovered that his tryst with death had transformed him in significant ways. Leaving his job to set up his own advertising firm, he returned to his first love — writing. He was also kinder, more loving; and his awareness of the world around him had heightened infinitesimally. “Everyone and every simple thing interested me greatly,” he would observe.
It is, in fact, this newfound spirit of enquiry, enhanced by the author’s insight into people, his wicked sense of humour, and a wisdom beyond his years, that enriches Bhattathiri’s second literary work and makes it a truly compelling read.
Save Joby
Set in Karuthupuzha, a small town inspired by Cherupoika, the village in Kerala that was home to the author’s grandparents, the novel opens with the omniscient narrator’s wry observations about the “changes” that have taken place in these southern backwaters, including weather forecasts heard on the radio, with the gadget facing west to ensure accuracy. Inevitably, there is also resistance to change.
Among the “holdouts” is one of the story’s main protagonists — Joby, “a man who was drunk all day long, all week long, all month long”, following “a lifetime of trying and failing to find anything at all that deserved his sobriety.”
Unofficially crowned the town buffoon, he feels impelled to live up to his reputation by drinking himself to death, his antics amusing the townsfolk who have no qualms about egging him on to self-destruct, “for everyone liked to begin the day with some sort of entertainment”. This “collective, mindless vindictiveness” targeting the individual is a theme running through the novel.
Standing apart from the crowd is Sureshan, the barber, a Good Samaritan keen on finding Joby an occupation capable of restoring his self-esteem and his will to live. To achieve that goal, Sureshan must conspire with the gentle and wise Sharada, wife of ex-Inspector of Police, Paachu, a man who had once been the most feared in town, but is suffering from post-retirement blues, intensified by the efforts of many to turn him into an object of ridicule.
The undercurrents
Aiding them is Varky, the local photographer whose fame depends on his cruelly voyeuristic snapshots. Central to Sureshan and Sharada’s “save Joby” mission is little Priya, Paachu’s orphaned niece. While apparently consenting to their plan, the former policeman plots to subvert it by engaging Constable Bubru from the local police station to spy on the alcoholic and come up with incriminating evidence against him.
As we read on, what had initially seemed like a feel-good tale with many laugh-out-loud moments begins to reveal hidden depths. The plot thickens, laying bare the disquieting undercurrents of life in an insular town humming with malicious gossip and mischievous intent.
It is clear that Karuthupuzha is no Malgudi, despite the “broad climate of inherited culture” that Bhattathiri shares with R.K. Narayan. Yet, if the former accepts sadness as an inevitable part of the human condition, despair is never its top note; optimism, underscored by humour, is.
Every cameo lives
Where the author truly excels, however, is in his characterisation. Every cameo in this bittersweet novel is memorable, every portrait thoughtfully layered and supported by a credible back story. Even nature is delightfully personified. Bhattathiri’s special affinity for children shines forth in his endearing depiction of the innocent yet precocious Priya. Even his least appealing characters, like the brutish Bubru, have reasons for being the way they are.
In fact, the main narrative works because Paachu’s evolution from the terror of the town to a doting uncle, who learns to surrender his ambitions for his beloved niece and recognise her as an individual with her own desires, is traced with conviction and empathy, revealing the author’s intrinsic faith in human nature.
If reviewers of Bhattathiri’s short stories have commented on the docility of his women characters, that impression is offset here by the insights we gain into their potential. Consider Sharada’s revolutionary act that ends Varky’s mischief forever and the subtle subversion of Rosykutty, Joby’s wife.
As for Priya, this engagingly spunky kid is so full of promise that we find ourselves hoping she’ll be back in a sequel, and counting on Bhattathiri to ensure, as Paachu declares in another context, that for all life’s sombre moments, “there is laughter in the end”.
The writer is a Kolkata-based freelance editor.
The Town That Laughed; Manu Bhattathiri, Aleph, ₹599
