God of Small Things; by Arundhati Roy

First and foremost it is a good read and a racy one, and a good piece of writing too. That much is obvious (- it won the Booker prize, after all!). It was a sensation when it arrived, not the least because it was already portrayed as a sensation on distant shores, slated to go win much - and it did win the booker, giving generally many people, those of people of India that are (to some extent or more or less) English reading (- and, too, much of others that are aware of outside world sort) people of India - an elation. One from amongst us won their prize over their people, was the general euphoria in the country and amongst countrymen (or women) living abroad too.

In Roy's own country, India, though, there were opinions as diverse as could be, with the praise abroad contributing to much awe in the country in those that either always look to west for approval or even what to think what to wear what to feel et al, or on a more normal level due to an impression of a world appreciation with prizes much prized making average people proud. On the other hand most innocent detractors were truthfully pointing out that writers in India had written much greater stuff, and while this one was good it was hardly the best of Indian writing, or even representative of India either in social terms or in quality of India's best.

At one small gathering of friends at our place it was suggested that we should do something, make efforts at social and national levels, to bring out best of our literature to the notice of those that were holding up this as our best. While I don't think there is anything to be said against such an effort I thought it was not a "should" - it could be done but was rather of questionable relevance.

It was only those of India that gave importance out of all proportion to bookers and oscars and other "foreign" fame and notice and acknowledgement forms of recognition of worth, that were disturbed by the phenomena that this book had become, I thought (and said) - if "they" like rock, and India has great music of Bhimsen Joshi and Jasraj and Amir Khan and Hirabai Badodekar, "them" not noticing India's best does not change the fact of Indian classical being superior, unless India has a psychological need of approval from "them" to certify her rich heritage in its superiority.

Now remembering the distant memory - it was a storm in a teacup really, so ten years or so is a lot - one can see another side of it, too.

Pather Panchali was a much heralded film, with awards galore, and fame that went on and on. Part of it was due to its being more accessible to a sensibility that was linear and strictly of mind level, while more complex sensibilities are perhaps of Indian preference, with inputs from the worlds of heart and music and earth's or world's visual spectacular bounty, and dance. For a while there was a distinct divide - with those that preferred Ray considering themselves superior and those that preferred average Indian cinema apologetic or uncaring. Now, India has come to terms with her own rich tradition. And meanwhile there has been in India all along every kind of cinema in between, too.

So why was Ray the heralded one in west, while India ignored the phenomenal and much - very much - deserved popularity of Awara in Russian, east European and much of other parts of the world? The latter film had to do with India's colonial past still shadowing the psyche of most of Indians looking west in their need of approval, now a past. The former film (based on a far superior book by Bibhutibhushan Bandopaadhyaay) is another story and connects to the booker prize of Roy in a distant link.

Awara was a beautiful film with a story and appeal that were universal in nature, applicable to any society with injustice against women in suspecting them of fall from virtue and discarding them while innocent, and the consequent social ills. It touched hearts and won them - Russians could sing the theme en masse, and did when they gave a thundering ovation to the star director - and even today Russia knows India by his name more than anything, as casual visitors testify time and again, with their being given friendly smiles and help with the name of India to which they respond with "Raj Kapoor, Awara".

Pather Panchali in all its truths on the other hand could be applied to the poor of any country, anywhere, but is visually very much identifiable with India, and so is a story of only India identified solely and conveniently, even glibly, as a poor nation in the western psyche, a story of poverty that is usually India identified with. That there is such poverty in their own backyards in west (East End of London, Harlem of New York that Germans were always photographing more than anything, rural poverty of depression era, Scottish and Irish poor sent to colonies with prison being the only option, British poor and unemployed sent with free passage after wwII to Australia that was a penal colony until then) is swept under the rug, and this stark film is comfortable in their view for applauding. It is only India, and does not remind them of anything nearby, after all the people in this film are not wearing tailored clothes but are in thin cloth wrapped around, so it is only India that needs to look like this and have a problem of poverty, goes the subconscious of the viewer making them feel comforted, safe, kind and superior in charitable mood. And it is easier to deal with, being much more if not exclusively on level of a subconscious level of mind rather than of a more integral perception.

The parallels are hardly anywhere near exact. Roy's work is on more levels than merely mind, and both the virtue of this work as well as the truth of there being better works even then in Indian (and therefore inaccessible to west) languages (- I have met Europeans, with all their colonial past of ruling half the world, that did not know India had languages, much less literature, and some thought people of India all speak English! -); fact is this one in its value of literary virtue as well as sensational stuff that could be a silent pointing finger at India was more comfortable for rewarding with a much valued prize.

There is no denying this is good work. Only, readers from elsewhere are likely to take it as representative of not only a specific story of a place and people or even some of society, but of all India. Which is not the writer's fault really. Roy wrote what came with a flow to write itself as a story and one cannot, should not, always be writing with an effort towards making the ignorant or prejudiced understand all aspects of the background. If someone did that (and many do, at that), that way of approach to writing would definitely make for a work with a "them" in mind as readers, stilted and catering.

Roy is brilliant and fearless and has gone on to do superior work, which has gone unnoticed comparatively. Dams are still being built, never mind Algebra of Infinite Justice.

I am afraid (the last phrase and the last word can be taken literally only by disassociating it from the subject of the verb, in that everyone should be afraid of such a possibility) that major disasters of far more than environmental and ecological nature are likely.

This is all the more so when sensitive parts of Earth such as Himaalaya and other tectonic dynamic are being played with - without thought of anything other than power and profits. So volatile an ecology as Himaalaya being played with for economic gain or political power by an occupying power, Amazon forests being cleared with no likelihood of profiteers replacing Earth's forests any time soon, and trawlers scraping off ocean floors and killing all life and ecology only to have much of the fish so brought in rot - none of this is good for any of us, any more than the plastic garbage island the size of Texas floating in Pacific since US garbage has to go somewhere.