To Be The Land Of A Thousand Classics
Originally published in Triveni, July-Sep 1999
The universal success of The
God of Small Things and the exuberant
outburst of Salman Rushdie on ‘regional’ Indian writing call for a
dispassionate approach to the genesis of Indo-English writing, nay, all Indian
writing. Let us first propitiate the ‘God
of Small Things’ before we turn our attention to the ‘Satan of Verses’
As Arundhati Roy’s success
is of historical magnitude, it would be in order to follow the Gibbonian track
to seek its causes. To this enquiry an obvious but satisfactory answer may be
returned|: that it was owing to the newness of ‘The God o Small things’, exemplifies by the peculiar and
pixilated use of the language to weave a sensuous story in a sinusoidal
fashion, and the magical power of the narration, repetitions notwithstanding,
that enthralls the reader throughout. But as truth and reason seldom find so
favorable a reception in the world, and as the wisdom of Providence frequently
condescends to use passion of the human heart, and the general circumstances of
mankind, as instruments to execute its purpose. We may still be permitted,
though with becoming submission to ask, not indeed what were the first, but
what were the secondary causes, to borrow from Gibbon, of the unprecedented
success of The God o Small Things, it will, perhaps, appear that it was
most effectually favored by the three following causes. 1. The Indo-Christian
ambience of the subject 2. The extraordinary hype bestowed upon it in a
sustained manner, 3. The glamour and intelligence of its author.
As the second is widely
felt, and the third truly perceived, it is the first of the secondary causes
that needs to be delved into at some length for a general understanding. While
‘The God of Small Things’ is selling in six figures in The States, the other two most publicized
faces of |Indo-Anglican writing, Salman Rushdie and Vikram Seth, reportedly,
have come a cropper there. The reason, perhaps, is all too apparent on
appraisal, notwithstanding the relative merits of their works. Rushdie’s
writings are about Indo-Muslim ethos, while Seth’s ‘Suitable Boy’ is in essence
Indo-Hindu, and both of which are alien to the American cultural mindset. On
the other hand, the Christian experience conveyed in Roy’s book, abetted in the
exotic Indian setting, could vibe well with the American cultural consciousness
that helped it to position itself, for months on, on The New York Times Best
Seller List. For the very same reason, perhaps, the book got patronized, in
translations, in many European countries as well.
However, the
culture-literary scene in England, where Rushdie and Seth too sell well, not to
speak of Roy, is altogether different. Owing to historical causes, the British
and privy to the Indo-Hindu as well as Indo-Muslim socio-cultural nuances, and
for nostalgic reasons tend to condescend to patronize Indo literary products
packaged with the right kind of market mix.
This inherent anomaly of
Indo-English writing seems to have been grasped by many an aspiring writer to
stay afloat in the treacherous literary waters. One feels constrained, so it
appears, to pave hi literary way to the Western markets over the
trans-continental route by transplanting assorted alien characters, for no
rhyme save for a reason, in the Indian social sub-soil. But in spite of this
promising recipe, or perhaps, because of it, most of the fare turns out to be
stale literary kichdi. Most of this effort
seems to lack conviction as superficial alien pegs are sought to be placed I
soulless holes of the shallow native soil. Paradoxically, this compulsion
occasioned the wastage of much Indian literary talent. Besides; the formula in
most cases, failed to click in the West leaving many a hopeful stuck.
This is where Arundhati
Roy scores. Being a Syrian Christian herself, she instinctively captured the
ambience of her community ethos, and artfully crafted the East-West equations,
albeit Christian, to make The God of Small Things refreshingly appealing, and eminently readable, to one and all
in India, and the world over.
What about the compulsions
and quality of the Indian regional writing?” the prose writing –both fiction
and non-fiction-created I this period (post-independence) by Indian writers
working in English is proving to be a stronger and more important body of work
that most of what has been produced in the 16 ‘official languages’ of India,
the so-called ‘vernacular languages’, during the same time. Thus spake Salman
Rushdie, ruffling many a vernacular feather, and occasioning much regional
breast beating. And the decibel levels of the retaliatory counter-trumpeting
that followed could have made Rushdie more sleepless than the fear of the fatwa
ever did earlier. To be fair to Rushdie, he did concede that he came to this
conclusion based on his reading of the available body of translations, which
obviously failed to inspire.
Why single our Rushdie
when Naipaul is not flattering either. In ‘An Area of Darkness’, he wrote-
|”the feeling is widespread that, whatever English might have done for Tolstoy,
it can never do justice to India ‘language’ writers. This is possible: what I
read of them in translation did not encourage me to read more. Premchand turned
out to be minor fabulist. Other writers quickly fatigued me with their
assertions that poverty was sad, that death was sad. Many of the modern short
stories were only refurnished folk tales…’ can there be smoke without fire, or
are these two highly successful and decorated writers jealous of their poor
vernacular cousins to insinuate in like manner? But before we go into that, we
should have a look at the other side of the coin as well. |U>R.
Ananthamurthy, President, Sahitya Academy, sounds eminently reasonable when he
states: “that no Indian writer in any of the languages can assume to know what
is happening in the Indian languages. Rushdie does not even live in India. How
can he make such an enormous assumption?”
But would human curiosity
leave the issue at that so stoically? Doubtful, given the human propensity for
comparison. Why, for that matter, don’t we come across people who claim their
language is the best evolved, ad that their literature is better? It does not
stop at that either: endless arguments ensure among the literati of the same
like about the perceived merit of some writers over the others of their own
language. Can one deny such debates ensuring literary introspection besides
improving human understanding? By being privy to the varied experiences of the
people of our vast lad, all Indians should stand to gain intellectually. And
the only way out for effecting inter-linguistic cultural interaction is to
bring all the noteworthy works in Indian regional languages into the English
mainstream through translations. This enables the worth of the composite Indian
writing to be judged on a single platform, by us as well as by others. But in
the solution seems to lie the problem itself.
It has been, more or less,
accepted, even by the protagonists of the regional language pre-eminence, that
the available quality of the translations is woefully inadequate, for most
part, robbing the Preston beauty of the originals. There is another school of
thought that the real taste o the regional works cannot be captured in English
translations owing to their unique linguistic flavor. First, let us turn to the
alleged poor quality of the translations. Assuming the translators at work are
novices, who are unable to capture the nuances of the original regional
masterpieces, why should the professionals be shying away from the calling? For
sure, there would be sufficient number of well read professionals capable of
experiencing the nuances of the regional masterpieces, why should the
professionals be shying away from the calling? For sure, there would be
sufficient number of well-read professionals capable of experiencing the
nuances of the regional works, who could also have been exposed to the
intricacies of English, in all regions, to run out competent translations. What
could be preventing these learned bi-linguists from bring the masterpieces of
their mother tongues to the international like light? Besides attending to the
patriotic calling, there would be chance too to make a name for themselves, if
not money, in the process. But this, as alleged by many, is not happening. But
why? Could it be possible that those who savored the best of world literature
while acquiring mastery over English find the native stuff unsavour? It would
serve well the regionalists to open channels with their bi-linguists, who hold
the international literary barometers, to exchange notes, and then to update
their efforts if necessary. Till then Rushdie will get away by default.
About the
untranslatability of some of the vernacular works. The exponents of this
theory, without their realizing it, may be admitting to the queer nature of
such works in regional languages. If some works appeal solely for their unique
vernacular glitter, which obviously does not lend itself for translation, then
they deserve to remain where they are, for the greatness of world literature
owes itself to substance in the main.
But where will all this
lead Indian literature to? Shall it rest on the laurels of small things
for all time to come. Going by the potential of our diverse cultural backdrop,
to inspire varied literary expressions. India should, one day, be the land of a
thousand classics. But to realize the dream there seems to be a need for the
change of attitudes- of the writers, of the publishers and, of course, of the
reading public. Firstly, our writers should weave ‘modern’ stories around our
varied cultural canvas, than seeking worn-out western crutches as props, to
explore true |Indian fallibilities and possibilities. When asked to buy, as of
now, the Indian readers may say there is nothing inspiring, barring an odd ‘God
of Small Things’ for them to venture into the arena of Indian creative
writing. The vital links in the chain are the publishers who should consciously
look for, and promote rue Indian experiences sans Western trespassing. It is
only thus, in time, we may have our own Tolstoys and Zolas, who one day could
trod the world literary scene as colossuses, and make India the land of a
thousand classics.
