Who, among the contemporary Indian authors, even comes close to Mistry?s sensory acuteness, his ability to handpick choicest moments from the tombs of impressions that perpetually crowds the life of every Indian. Nobody. Plainly putting it, it is exactly these very earthly moments captured so brilliantly in his books that make him so very special.
A compendium of eleven intersecting tales of residents, Mistry?s first full-fledged fiction commences with Auspicious Occasion where Rustomji, an old lawyer whose frustration with the non-existent management, and intolerance towards his neighbours have earned him the title of curmudgeon.
Mistry?s expert handicraft has accentuated the protagonist?s choler and dander through his constant profanity-laden reprimands to every living being around and the way this stoic comportment is contrasted with Rustomji?s realisation about fragility in old age towards the finale sinks one deeper into his character. For an absolute relief, Mistry?s punched in a religious satire giving that touch of wholesomeness.
You visit the book?s prime character?Kersi, a young boy in One Sunday where we witness the spurt of manhood in him and the genetic programming of males to be physically adept. All through the Mistry, a disturbing metaphor of the protagonist?s phallus and cricket bat run through which sends one?s thoughts into a maddening frenzy as Kersi cracks his bat with his foot?such is his disappointment after a brawl with a servant is cancelled eventually.
Even in a somewhat shallow The Ghost of Firozsha Baag, Mistry?s still able to convey the blind-faiths, the conservativeness and even the derogatory status of Indian servants in a fluffy and a humorous narration through the Goan catholic Jaqueline?i.e. the servant?s eyes.
The story alternates between past and present, and Jakaylee?s view of the slaughtering outside world, as she ruminates over her quotidian lifestyle, is entertaining, though even a unique climax doesn?t bestow the repeat-value to the story.
A trilogy of masterpieces follow up next?each of them so absolved in its message, so superior in its expression and so distinct in its feel, that it is here you realise the actual power of a short-story. First up is Condolence Visit where the very thought of the pretentious relatives spilling all over her and the inevitable subsequent narration that she?d have to give to them sends shivers in the spine of the grieving widow, Daulat.
Questioning the ever desultory customs which makes the very phase of bereavement torturous for the dead?s household, the finale sees the protagonist taking her stand and coming to terms with life. And this is exactly where Mistry scores. His characters are survivors. Yes, they come with their own share of vulnerabilities, disappointments, pangs, but that doesn?t deter them from being instinctive, from being themselves?they don?t shy from accepting that life for them is a never-ending lesson.
Just one look at Jehangir, the brooding observer of Firozsha Baag in Collectors and you realise that however much unaccommodating and unforgiving circumstances might get, life never halts. In less than twenty pages, there?s an almost epic flavour to it and Mistry still conquers in sending these vibes across alternating between erotic flutters of youth, pangs from public ridicule and the ensuant loss of control that Jehangir experiences as he stands mute even as he?s blamed by his mentor for stealth of a prized stamp.
Special mention should be made to the two exquisite metaphors laced through these two stories (a lamp and stamps) which have been made to so comfortably mirror the actual event that a surreal and exotic third-dimension is added to the already-accomplished tales. Absolutely brilliant!
Through Kersi again, one catches up with how the pace and the adrenaline rush of the teenage years secretly breeds an inflated ego dying to burst out in Of White Hairs and Cricket. How a single scene of suffering changes his entire viewpoint of his family (particularly his father with whom his annoyance is paramount since plucking out the latter?s white hairs have destroyed his weekends continuously) is absolutely rhythmic in its very feel and very overpowering as a moral.
Probably Squatter and The Paying Guests won?t be as emotionally consuming as the just gone threesome, yet the very tales circling around an Indian inadaptability to the Western toilet manners and a strangling tenant who refuses to let go off a flat have their own freaky moments that make for a breezy read.
The best thing about the book is that even in one of those remote moments that the stories fail, there?s always Mistry?s enliveningly honest narration to fall back upon which maintains the mood and the right cadence throughout. Plus the continuous interjection of the characters mean that you keep absorbing, refreshing and even refurnishing the images of dwellers of Firozsha Baag, however mediocre the fable might be.
The transformative final triplet concentrates itself squarely on Kersi?s and Jehangir?s adulthood and while the former struggles to come in terms with his inner conflicts for his motherland in Lend Me Your Light, the generation and the resultant communication gap is more than obvious in latter?s life as he struggles to balance his titillating affair and rigid parenthood in Exercisers. How exactly drawing inspiration from the muscular fellows the realisation for taking charge of his life finds its way to his cowering heart is heart-rending.
The astute metaphors, the prudent symbols continue to beguile as they parallel with Kersi?s experience as an immigrant in the concluding story Swimming Lessons. A metamorphosis of sorts where the protagonist learns to get over his fear of water and starts accepting the eccentricity of the foreign land is catalogued together with the reactions of his nurturers back home as they receive his very own first book about his experiences in Firozsha Baag?all this in terrific irony and self-awareness (there?s so much of Mistry as himself in this one!).
Parsees, a faction of sect that I knew so little about, but as I finish my third Mistry book, I feel like having known about The fire temple, Behraam Roje, ?Ashem Vahoo?, tohroon, dugli, pheytoe, sudra, dhandar-patayo, sali-boti, sigri, dustoor as well as the back of my tongue, and even as I now just glance over the cover of the book, I still get nostalgic about Rustomji, Mehroo, Jaakylee, Viraf, Najamai, Tehmina, Nariman, Jehangir, Khorshedbai, Kersi, Persy, the Boyces, the Hansotias, the Kanaris, the Modys. What more elaboration does anybody want it proof of the flesh and bone Mistry?s characters possess?
This flavour of tenderness towards seemingly insignificant lives has imparted a smug and self-aware palpate to all the fables which should have you grinning at how significant, subtle yet soulful stories can be; his characters may not be outright winners but nevertheless, thrive as petulant survivors.
And this is the charm of this book - being amplified at an individualistic level it is honest, and being honest it is often selfish and self-regarding (just like we all can be).
CONTINUED IN THE COMMENTS...
