This was one of the books that I have had
few starts and stops before actually getting down to talking about it. Anyway, here is it.
First- the narrative- gripping. I couldn’t
put the book down; I read it between moving houses between cities. That should tell you.
What stands out- the language. It is so
bright it shimmers off the page. I have yet to find another Indian writer who has managed to use the language so
effortlessly, so elegantly, so effectively. I savoured the words and the
phrases.
Then there is Em- who is ‘mad’ and a ‘mudd-dha’.
Her words. But thorough the words of her son, the narrator, we find a woman who
is sharp, clever and witty . That Pinto shows us the woman behind the illness
is this novel’s strength.
Hoom is the kind of man every woman is
looking for . Solid, dependable, in love with his wife long after her mind is
lost to her illness. Unlike Rochester.
Of the kids, we hear a little from the girl
and everything from the boy. He is angry with his mother for denying him a normal
family, fearful that he would fail when it will become his lot to care of her, fearing
that his genes may betray him, sorrowful that he cannot protect her from the
cruel mocking eyes of the world, suspicious that she might perhaps be using her
illness, helpless that he cannot take away her pain and always loving her
This is a brilliantly written book about a hardly
talked about illness; the story of the afflicted, of the family dealing with
the afflicted and the toll it takes on their lives.
Icing of the top- In spite of the nature of the issue dealt in the book, a sudden startling bit of humour appears in a dark comedy kind of way.
But- yes, there is a but. This book reads
like a memoir. So , in the end it is
just a telling of lives- and I want to ask- where’s the story you promised me?
Why has nothing changed for the boy? The family? Where’s the ah-ha moment? What’s
my take away?
Am I the only person asking this?
