Every family is a novel in the making: a ready cast of characters, tales of heroism and farce, an easy organic structure. But though in the beginning there may have been the Word, the end will always be elusive.
It is dark, and I am sitting on the floor. My eyes are closed, but I am writing furiously. The pen is flying—I have never written quicker or more copiously—but it is unclear that it’s making contact with the surface beneath it. I open my eyes and see myself in an infinite line of people, each doing what I am doing. Each book bears the same title: The Book of Family. I realise that I cannot read what I have written, and wake up.
So many people seem to collate that book with such ease, as an anthology of stories. The cast of characters is defined and listed, the well-loved anecdotes polished and strung together. But in my hands the book falls apart. The characters blur or vanish; the funny yarn dissolves before its punch line.
Other people’s families seem to have anecdotes and identities, when they say things like “We (Mehrotra/Habsburg) men are always henpecked” or “Have I ever told you about—?” (yes, you have). At a pinch, which is to say when it’s necessary to fill a silence, I could probably repeat a story I’ve heard many times. But in terms of its relation to actual life, it could just as well have been lifted from the pages of Reader’s Digest.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der January - March 2017-Ausgabe von The Indian Quarterly.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der January - March 2017-Ausgabe von The Indian Quarterly.
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The Image-Maker
Sukumar Ray’s most vivid images were saved for his classics of nonsense verse, but his singular eye, writes Nabarupa Bhattacharjee, found its earliest expression in photography
The Nawab's Last Sigh
Rudely awakened by the fact of independent India, an aristocrat in Meerut clung to his past. Now, he tells Sunaina Kumar, all he has left are his memories of a glorious age.
The Guest
Vaiyavan is the nom de plume of MSP Murugesan. Born in 1936, he did sundry jobs before obtaining postgraduate degrees by correspondence and then served as an English and Tamil teacher till his retirement in 1996. His writing career began in 1956. Multifaceted and prolific, he has to his credit a long list of short story collections, novels, plays, literary essays, poems and children’s stories. He has won several awards including Tamil Nadu government awards for best book on culture (1982) and best science book (1992) and the Malcolm Adiseshiah award for active participation in neo-literacy activities (1996). In his short stories and novels, Vaiyavan revels in a zest for life. Humaneness is the hallmark of his work, as the pain and pleasure, trials and tribulations of people in different rungs of society are described in minute detail. —CGR
The Birth of an Anthem
From right-wing slogan to moving patriotic song and now back to Hindu nationalistic war cry. Rimli Sengupta on the evolution of Vande Mataram
The Birth of a Parent
The beginning of a new life can create other strange new lives, reflects Manidipa Mandal
The Unknown Soldier
One man wondered and worried about his disappeared brother all his life.His granddaughter continued the search. Preksha Sharma resurrects a man and his story
The Art Scene
For the new kid on the block, it certainly has pedigree. The Centre for Con-temporary Art, housed within Delhi’s Bikaner House complex, finally opened its portals to welcome art aficionados during this year’s edition of the India Art Fair. Nature Morte was invited to stage the centre’s much-awaited inaugural show, an opportunity the gallery found too irresistible to pass up. The ambitious exhibition it mounted, The Idea of the Acrobat, occupied both floors of the recently renovated building and brought together the works of a dozen well known artists in a multitude of media. The line-up included Bharti Kher, Atul Dodiya, Dayanita Singh, Shilpa Gupta, Ayesha Singh, Khyentse Norbu and LN Tallur to name but a few.
Long, Long Ago
Arundhuti Dasgupta and Utkarsh Patel recount obscure creation myths from around the world, many echoing each other
Family Business
AT THE DINDUKKAL BUS DEPOT, the abortionist pushed her way through the crowd thronging the bus and finally managed to board it. She placed her travel bag beside her on the seat, calling out to her niece to hurry up. The young woman renewed her efforts to break free of the tangle of limbs and claim the seat reserved for her.
A Goan Childhood
Fragments of memory of a time long gone, from a life lived far away. By Selma Carvalho