Kishwar Ahluwalia rediscovers the quiet life in Manoj Das’s varied short stories.

Selected Fiction
By Manoj Das
Penguin India
Price: Rs 250

It is a strange, yet significant coincidence, so soon after R.K. Narayan’s death to review a book about life in the slow lanes of small towns. Especially because though this book is written by someone else, he has also done a great job. This collection is unpretentious and simple, enshrining a healthy dose of straightforward storytelling. Frankly, this is welcome relief because helpless readers are sick of being injured and assaulted by Magical Realism on the one hand, and Meaningful Symbolism on the other. Not to speak of the endless hit-parade of so-called self-help books, spiritual tomes and — ho hum! — socio-political satires.

The funny thing is, you don’t know how much you have missed down-to-earth fiction which gently focuses on human foibles, almost with an anthropological zeal. Manoj Das not only creates a rural, semi-urban environment effortlessly, he also provides an authentic voice which deeply reflects the vernacular.

Perhaps a reason why we find such little expression of small town life (amongst Indian writers in the English language) could be the natural torpor of this setting. The author has to whip up a curious menagerie of characters who more than make up for the missing action. (Again, the Malgudi chronicles are a case in point.) This requires unusual ingenuity — especially when, as it is for Das, the main medium is the short story.

However, it is reassuring that Manoj Das has won just about every award in the country which already means that (apart from me) there are many other people who have read and enjoyed his genius.

Selected Fiction combines 28 short stories and a novella which move us from the physical to the metaphysical with sinuous ease. So while Das entertains you with all sorts of otherworldly beings, including ghosts and fairies, he also assembles with depth, substance and humour very, very ordinary, but very unforgettable people. The best descriptions are of the aged — who demonstrate a zest for life and a masterful determination in dealing with their pasts. For instance, the elderly Miss Roopwati in ‘‘The Misty Hair’’ opts for political survival by revealing a youthful indiscretion, and Bhanu Singh in ‘‘The Naked’’ manages successfully his internal turmoil over a nudist delegation encounter.

The short stories are very skillful, indeed — for instance, ‘‘Prithviraj’s Horse’’ or (my favourite) ‘‘Bhola Grandpa and the Tiger’’. Here, the central characters are so finely etched that they leap out of the pages and take up permanent residence in your mind, even though you may never find Parvatipuri where the schoolteacher, Mukund (‘‘Prithviraj’s Horse’’), lives.

Unfortunately, the novella falls short of expectations. In this you wait with dread for something to happen, as it meanders on, but nothing ever does. The Tiger at Twilight promises more than it delivers. Another weak spot in the book is that while names and places are different, some of the characters invented by Das do overlap. For instance, Miss Moberly, Miss Roopwati and Gauri appear to be extensions of the same persona. Similarly many of the male characters give you an overwhelming sense of deja vu. But this may be due to the choice of stories, as perhaps a wider variety of Das’s writing needed to have been showcased.

However, we can only suggest this for the next collection. For the time being, this luminous re-discovery of the quiet life will do quite nicely, thank you.