Alienation in the post-modern world
AJIT DUARA
EIMONA: G. B. Prabhat; Frog Books, an imprint of ZZEBRA, 4 A, Diamond House, Linking Road, Bandra West, Mumbai-400050.
Rs. 250.
The central character in Eimona is an elderly gentleman called `Pantu-thatha'. His grandson gives him this nickname. His real name is Subbu and he religiously wears a south Indian `veshti'. The novelist clarifies that a `veshti' is not the north Indian condescension called a `dhoti', but an elegant garment that Subbu buys from a particular store in Nungambakkam, Chennai. One day, just to please his grandson who has never seen him in anything but a `veshti', Subbu wears trousers. The delighted boy shouts `Pantu-thatha' (Grandpa of the pants) and the name sticks.
Many Indias
These are some of the more charming stories in Eimona, a novel about the nightmarish aspects of 21st century urban India — the India of malls, multiplexes, million dollar stock options, pre-nuptial agreements, rampant capitalism, bad roads and peripheral poverty outside a yuppie's peripheral vision. Novelist G.B. Prabhat writes about the social angles of a world that he is perhaps familiar with — a brief resume of the author at the end of the book says that he co-founded Satyam Renaissance Consulting Limited which went on to become the consulting unit of the Indian IT services giant, Satyam Computer Services Limited. Unusual credentials for a man of letters, wouldn't you say?
There are many Indias of course and what Prabhat does in the book is to contrast the old world view of `Pantu-thatha' — a graceful universe where human relationships remain human — and the new age bubble of his grandson, Bharat, now an investment manager married to Indu, a dynamic vice president of a computer programming company. `Pantu-thatha' lives with this couple and their angelic little daughter, Maya. He is particularly amazed that Bharat and Indu sleep in separate rooms; she needs her own space and he his. There is a connecting door to the bedrooms, of course, for purpose of lust, procreation and sundry matters.
Before their marriage Indu had insisted on a prenuptial contract, carefully worded by her lawyer, with a catalogue of her assets and Bharat's assets in Schedule B of the agreement. It spoke of the consequences of terminating the marriage.
Alienation
"Till death do us part," ruminates `Panthu-thatha', "a lifetime of sharing begins with an agreement on dividing. Property and cash settlement if the marriage falls apart. Who owns what." Now in his Eighties, he is completely alienated by this post-modern world and finds it difficult to communicate with his grandson. Instead, he takes his angst out on a helper in `Foodmania', the local supermarket, who says to him everyday, like a mechanical toy, "Have a nice day, Sir." Furious, he wants to know why the helper wants him to have a nice day when he doesn't know him from Adam. "Lets assume that you are laid off at `Foodmania'," he says to the horror of the young man, "you and I meet at the bus stop. Would you wish me `have a nice day'?"
As for models, particularly male models, `Panthu-thatha' cannot reconcile himself to the idea of walking, smiling, stopping and giving the audience a lecherous look being a profession worthy of payment. The brave new world horrifies him. When his adorable great granddaughter, Maya, is born he lives in mortal fear that she might be named one of the tongue twisters of the new economy — Vrimnolika, Karnishta, Avnita. Why are boys not called Rama and Krishna anymore, why are girls not called Uma or Geetha?
All this is quite amusing, but at a certain stage in the novel you feel Prabhat has said it all and we've got the point and more. Shouldn't he be shifting gears? But the bee is in his bonnet and it's buzzing. GDP is growing at 9 per cent and all the characters are on high octane. They look for emancipation from the great Satan of stock prices. Corny lines creep in: "Before global capitalism, when there were many safety nets, we didn't have much of this problem." You don't say, brother?
You half expect an event manager to turn up and announce that the show is over. The CEO is dead. Long live the slum lord.
Which is how the novel ends anyway. With a `grieving party' thrown by Indu. Not everyone shows up. Some just send electronic condolence messages sent from free grieving sites you could find on Google. The damn cheapskates!
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