A distillation of life in solitude
MURALI N. KRISHNASWAMY
The book is a metaphysical debate that mixes the wisdom of Pillai’s favourite poets and philosophers and his own experiences
WHERE NOTHING HAPPENS: Padmanabh Vijai Pillai; Seagull Books Pvt. Ltd., 26 Circus Avenue, Kolkata-700017. Rs. 495.
“At last, quiet, content, we would walk back past the lights, into our silent street, our footsteps hushed by the deep, fine dust of the sidewalk, my hand in yours which, then and even forty years later, when it was swollen by the lymphatic fluid triggered by cancer, remained my anchor to solace, reassurance and release from pain.”
We are told, at the very beginning, that “Where Nothing Happens” is a work meant for the eyes of its author Padmanabh Vijai Pillai (1941-2007) and his friends. Its publication too has been posthumous, after Pillai was felled by cancer. This is a work that took shape between November 1998 and September 1999, and where the manuscript was handed over to Manjulika Dubey (referred to by Pillai as “Manj, the source of all”). Even this was a battle, as Pillai’s spirit was far removed from the world of commerce and publicity. But it eventually happened.
Letters
The book isn’t genre slottable, being part memoir and part philosophy, and is aptly called a “distillation of life in the alembic of solitude.” It is in the form of letters to Pillai’s late mother and it is important here to outline the biographical details of the author in order to grasp the thread that runs through the text. Pillai’s family roots were in Kerala, and his father’s career as an economist and international civil servant ensured that Pillai and his brother Gopinath were well travelled. An education at Doon and St. Stephen’s eventually led to Pillai joining the IFS. What followed were a chequered existence, some ups and downs in life, the termination of his career and living out the last years of his life in near solitude — cooking, gardening, yoga and meditation, immersion in a world of books, music and a cluster of friends.
At the heart of the book is a metaphysical debate that mixes the wisdom of Pillai’s favourite poets and philosophers and his own experiences and thoughts. The disappointing note though is that the reader is led across a variety of subjects without getting deep into the matter. There are vivid memories of childhood, emotional fissures, intellectual concerns and “a letting-speak.” Given the background to the book, there is hardly an undercurrent of gloom (“Death, what a fuss. You are alive; do what you like or can.”); on the contrary, there’s a refreshingly quiet touch to a celebration of life.
Life in Kerala
It is clear that Pillai ruminated over life a great deal. Thus, the reader experiences an author who can be described as a poet, a philosopher, and even a mystic. The prose is a delightful exercise in perceptive descriptions as we are introduced to insights into the self. Pillai’s taut and, most often, deep writing infuses life into a variety of emotions.
Some of the outstanding descriptions emanate from scenes of his life across the globe, especially in Kerala. Conside these: “In the early years, during our annual visits to Kerala by train, the rivers that we crossed. Sitting at the open door of the carriage, my legs over the side. The roaring of the girders as we began the bridge and the confining embankments gave way to the openness of riverine space and the fall to the bed below. The wind blew differently, and the light off the sand and streams flooded the compartment … It was offered, through the wheel and swirl of wind and light and metallic thunder, under the aspect of eternity.” And “I love bare floors, the black floors of old Kerala, agleam with the stooped labours of those who have wiped them clean of marks of passage and seen therein their own reflections. To erase, to scour, to clear the detritus of our thoughts and deeds, and see for the first time the ground they littered.”
Finally, what marks Where Nothing Happens is the equally good editing across its 17 chapters.
Printer friendly
page
Send this article to Friends by
E-Mail
Book Review
