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Literary Review
Silent spaces
PRIYA KRISHNAN
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Sensitive stories reprise the immigrant experience but don’t hit the right notes.
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Karma and Other Stories; Rishi Reddi, Harper Collins Publishers India, Rs. 250.
It isn’t easy to locate your stories in Boston and write about the angst of the outsider when Jhumpa Lahiri precedes you with a hugely successful collection of the same. There’s the danger of resembling the earlier work, comparisons…
Reddi’s stories lack the deft use of irony and the layered depth of those in The Interpreter of Maladies but she plumbs the emotional lives of ordinary people coping with Boston winters and cultural divides, with elegant simplicity and a sensitive hand. Rooting them in the circumscribed world of the Telugu-American community allows Reddi closeness to their emotional lives. Being Indian-American gives a balance to her perspective. In “Justice Shiva Ram Murthy and Lord Krishna”, she explores the insensitivity of society towards the immigrant and the misplaced arrogance of the ‘victim’ as well, who thinks of his own culture as superior. As she fathoms the domain of relationships, the quirks of the characters and the irascibility and intolerance that cause hurt are etched with a keen perception.
Interesting device
Intimate glimpses into the thoughts of Lakshmi and Mr. Filian are possible in “Lakshmi and the Librarian”, as the narration shifts between their voices. This interesting device apart, the story is neither original in theme nor treatment. The manner is reminiscent of Lahiri’s handling of the Shukumar-Shoba marriage in “A Temporary Matter”. But Reddi’s silently reflective story has none of its troubling ambiguity. Barring “Karma and Lord Krishna”, the other stories also end without the shades of grey.
Karma is a gem. Reddi minutely observes vexing situations that disrupt family ties and uses images adeptly. The one of a wounded bird confused by Boston’s sky scrapers evokes the theme with a gratifying stillness. Elsewhere, whether it is the bean and cheese burrito or the Bonsai tree, they carry with them subtle echoes of the isolation and patience of her characters.
She gets a few people to weave in and out of the stories. Though contrived, this manages to create the stifling small town ambience in “The Validity of Love”. Here, the dictates of social norms survive — thousands of miles away from their origin. Guilt, love, longing and jealousy play out, as the young, portrayed with empathy, straddle two worlds and grapple with the frustrations that come with it.
However, when it comes to explaining India, the author’s language is mired in clichés. As a ‘foreign’ visitor to Hyderabad, Uma encounters the unflattering realities of everyday life in “Devadasi”. The weakest link in the collection, it features beaten-to-death images of an India that has outgrown certain stereotypical descriptions, some of them faulty.
Oversight?
The editors seem to have split hairs over “chalwar or schalwar kameez”? The dress appears in both forms in “The Validity of Love” in a case of proofing oversight. A simple salwar or shalwar would have worked.
Authors and editors also need to rethink italicising and oversimplifying culture-specific vocabulary. Phrases such as “Bharatanatyam music” grate. There is no such thing! When the world can savour Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Vikram Seth without being spoon-fed, the diaspora/foreign audience, for whom this book might resonate better, is perfectly capable of entering a new world and exploring it without crutches. Staying clear of ‘exotic’ renderings of India from which Ms Reddi is distanced, will let her stories speak with a louder universal voice.
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