I am a fussy reader. A lazy one at that. I cannot claim to have finished any book cover to cover in a couple of days, not even those so called quick reads. I am, in fact, pretty quick at putting them away. I consider them literature’s T-20 which as the knowledgeable will tell you, is not a patch on Test cricket. For me a good book is one which initially arouses curiosity, then nudges me to go from one page to another, and maybe yet another, before finally leaving me spellbound.
Having finished Anees Salim’s “Vanity Bagh” across a few sittings, and then re-read it a few times in lesser sittings, I picked up “The Blind Lady’s Descendants”. The expectations were naturally aroused, the interest too was not just fleeting.
Anees ticks all the boxes: the story develops slowly, but it never crawls. The stillness of the times which he reproduces is never allowed to degenerate to stagnation. The prose is exquisite, the charm often indefinable but almost certainly present. Anees, for those who came in late – I count myself among them as I picked up a copy towards the end of last year though the book had been around longer – has based his novel around his native Varkala, “a small and sleepy town”, as he so cheerily tells us. But as he confesses at the beginning, he has played with the landscape. It is a polite way of saying that things may not be as he presents them! Never mind. Give Anees that licence due to a storyteller – and what is a story without a dash of hyperbole, a little twitching of facts – and settle down to read the book that draws its title from the author’s grandmother, who too was visually challenged. Varkala, grandma, the rambling trains, the Bungalow, everything is well detailed, so meticulous that for a few minutes you are like a tourist visiting a medieval tomb; you want to be there some more.
But like the tour escort there, here the author takes us forward. He is actually paving the way to the Muslim world in the India of the ’80s and ’90s; not just the world where Babri Masjid – not called ‘Ram Janambhoomi-Babri Masjid’ here, as a section of the media started calling the dispute in Ayodhya around 1990 after initially starting with the simple expression ‘Babri Masjid controversy’, then embracing the more accommodating ‘Babri Masjid-Ram Janambhoomi controversy’ before finally getting the masjid out of the system – is discussed with passion, anger and fear but a world where a youngster is able to mock at religion.
In fact, Anees describes rather vividly how Amar’s mind does a hundred somersaults during Friday prayers, how he imagines the imam with a goatee, how he prays without his mind being in prayer.
Much like we are told in Surah Maun of the holy book. And all this is related by a kid who, like in most middle Muslim families, had finished reading the Quran before he embraced teenage. Yet soon after, he goes away from religion, organised or otherwise.
If one man in the Bungalow – again loosely an autobiographical reference – follows a pure form of Islam, another follows a more Indianised version while the likes of Amar take liberties all the time, even veering towards atheism.
Of course, there is plenty of space for an Akmal to progress from religion to faith to fundamentalism too. Anees puts it rather symbolically as he describes Akmal’s journey, “He shaved off his developing moustache and let his beard grow which graduated into a chin curtain variety in five weeks flat.”
In between this story of an atheist in a theist family, Anees show impeccable detailing even when it comes to matters of faith. He talks of the Quran teacher called Ustaad here as a man who ate hastily, noisily but always left his plate absolutely clean – just the way it is in most parts of the country with men of similar disposition. He talks of women hastily covering their heads when the azaan starts – once again a common practice in Muslim households.
He talks of the procedure of prayers, the things that broke your prayer, and the items the faithful brought back from Hajj like a tasbih and Zam-zam water, etc.
That is not all. Here we have a story of ideals and ideas being repeated across generations. Amar is like his maternal uncle. Maybe a little more coarse. That is all.
Quietly, Anees tells us that what we are seeing now in our times is the same as our forefathers experienced. Just the names of protagonists change. Therein lies the timelessness of his work.
For instance, when he talks of the Muslim family’s reaction post the demolition of the Babri Masjid, Anees expresses the plight of the families who in a fit of anger swear that they will not have anything to do with Hindu landlords, or strike deals with Hindu businessmen. Anees, through Akmal, even draws a parallel with the Battle of Badr!
Really, leaf by leaf, branch by branch, Anees completes the Bungalow, indeed the average Muslim family tree. The book grows on you gradually. Not a quick read. Thank God for that.
Anees Salim gives voice to inner failings and fears of the community, now once again searching for fresh answers, yet again, drawing parallels with Badr.
As for me, well, grateful to the Lord for making me a fussy reader.
