TO BE THE LAND OF A THOUSAND CLASSICS
B. S. Murthy
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, ney, 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 of Small Things’,
exemplified by the peculiar and pixillated 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 favourable 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 of Small Things’. It will,
perhaps, appear that it was most effectually favoured by the three following
causes. I. 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 culturo-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 are 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 his
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 inspite 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 in 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 in this period (post-independence) by Indian writers working in English
is proving to be a stronger and more important body of work than 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 out 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 Indian ‘language’ writers. This is possible
what I read of them in translation did not encourage me to read more. Premchand
turned out to be a 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, and 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 land, 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 of the regional works cannot be captured in English translations
owing to their unique linguistic flavour. 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 professional capable of experiencing the nuances of the regional
works, who could also have been exposed to the intricacies of English, in all
regions, to turn out competent translations. What could be preventing these
learned bi-linguists from bringing the masterpieces of their mother tongues to
the international lime light? Besides attending to the patriotic calling, there
would be a 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 savoured the best of world literature while acquiring
mastery over English find the native stuff unsavoury? It would serve well the
regionalists to open channels with their bilinguists, 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 realising 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 times 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 true 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.