I was surprised by how much the others in my book group didn’t like Manil Suri’s The Age of Shiva. The biggest complaint was from the mothers in the group (including my better half), who didn’t like Suri’s use of a first/second person narrative method (the novel is written in the voice of a woman named Meera, addressed to her son, Ashvin). Several people said they didn’t think Suri really pulled off the trick of writing about the intimate space of family life from a woman’s point of view.
Reading as a man, I didn’t notice anything implausible or false, though obviously I can’t be the judge. Certainly, some of the intimate passages regarding things like Meera’s breastfeeding of her son are quite risky (starting with the opening paragraphs of the novel; you can hear Suri read them aloud here). I find the opening a bit stylistically overwrought (the novel quickly shifts to a more conventional style), but it’s still, I think, plausible.
(Chandrahas Chowdhury, reviewing the novel in the Guardian, wasn’t bothered by this aspect, but by the novel’s use of Indian history. Jabberwock, whose opinion I respect greatly, loved the novel, and found Suri’s attempt at a woman’s point of view convincing. Then again, both reviewers are men. The only review of the novel by a woman I’ve come across is by Caryn James, in the New York Times — and she doesn’t take issue with Suri along these lines. Still, I wonder what readers thought?)
Though I suspect some other readers may share my book group’s distaste, I did think The Age of Shiva had some real strengths. My friend “SN,” for instance, liked the psychological complexity of the bond between mother and son in the novel, something I also appreciated. The Age of Shiva is, more than anything else, a novel about the overwhelming, consuming love a parent can feel for a child, especially in a situation where the parent feels she has little else to live for. With this as its central theme, the novel is actually somewhat unique (most contemporary Indian writers tend to balk at this much psychology — where ‘nothing really happens’).
A second theme will be more familiar: the changing circumstances and possibilities for Indian women in the years after independence. On the one hand, some major cultural transformations seemed to be underway, symbolically represented by Indira Gandhi’s rise to power. In the novel, the main agent for “progressivism” is actually Meera’s father, who champions what the Congress party says (it takes time for him to learn that there is a big gap between what Congress says, and what it does). But for ordinary women, even in cities like Delhi, not much had really changed through the 1960s, and even “progressive” ideologies can come across as coercive — especially since the ideals don’t always have space to work (it is one thing to espouse women’s independence, but it’s quite another to imagine living happily as a divorced mother in Delhi in the 1960s — a time when, among other things, men almost always got exclusive custody of children in divorce cases). To illustrate what Suri is after regarding gender relations, here is a representative passage from shortly after Meera’s marriage into the Arora family, as she’s observing the customs practiced by her much more conservative in-laws:
Each morning after her bath, I would see Sandhya [Meera’s sister-in-law] in the courtyard, performing her pooja of Arya [Sandhya’s husband]. She would swirl an earthenware lamp resting on a round metal thali in a circle before Arya’s face, as one might in front of a picture of a shrine. She would mark his forehead with ash from the platter, and sometimes dab on some vermilion and a moistened grain of rice. She would bend her head and wait for him to color the parting in her hair with a line of the vermilion. Then she would bend even lower to touch his feet–first the right, then the left. She would run the same hand over her head to bless herself as she began to rise.
The first time I saw this pooja, I stood in the kitchen transfixed. The touching of feet was a ritual strictly forbidden by Paji [Meera’s father] in our house. ‘All this scraping, all this servility–hasn’t anyone in this country heard of human dignity? Aren’t there enough gods in the temples already to satisfy this national hunger for groveling? We spent two centuries licking the boots of the British–did you ever see them prostrating themselves at anyone’s feet?’
Meera’s father, referred to in the novel as Paji, is a “reformer” who sharply limits the role of religion, specifically these kinds of religious rituals, in his house. Clearly, part of his distaste at the type of pooja Meera witnesses in her in-laws’ house derives from a kind of colonial hangover — the British didn’t do this, so why do we? On the other hand, quite separate from the British, isn’t he right about the insidious effects of “servility” and “scraping”?
Interestingly, Paji’s character turns out to be coercive and sometimes flat-out cruel. By contrast, the kind of deep devotionalism embodied by Sandhya in the passage above is linked to being utterly disempowered, but it is at least honest. The tension between the two ways of thinking — the two ways of being — is really the central tension in Meera’s mind, as she attempts to survive her unhappy marriage and limited prospects.
There are other things to appreciate in The Age of Shiva. Meera’s husband Dev, for instance, is a singer who tries to make a go of it as a playback singer in Bombay in the 1960s. His idol is the great 1940s icon, K.L. Saigal, who is perhaps best known today for singing the hopeful, mid-tempo classic “Mere Sapno ki Rani,” though back in the day he was best-known as a singer of mournful romantic ballads like this one (“Jab Dil Hi Toot Gaya”). The tragic image of K.L. Saigal is a kind of running leitmotif in The Age of Shiva, and adds somewhat to what is a somewhat elegiac tone overall.
What did readers think of this novel?
Interesting that you say that. I always associated Saigal with mournful numbers actually and the first song I think of when thinking of Mr Kundan Lal is indeed Jab Dil Hi Toot Gaya. Unless of course by back in the day you mean the 80s and the 90s when I was growing up and we kids used to think of mournful music as Saigalesque. This reminds me of one of my friends whose last name was Sehgal and we used to tease him as being eternally sad.
Maybe I phrased that badly — perhaps it would be more correct to say that his best-known song is “Mere sapno ki rani,” but his overall image is still that of the mournful balladeer…?
Overall, I don’t hear people talking about K.L. Saigal much anymore.
I would agree on that. We knew a little about Saigal since on and off one would see Doordarshan showing one of his movies or playing his songs which I doubt the cable networks do anymore. Plus, it also is generational. I was introduced to Saigal by my grandfather but I don’t think my parents have heard much of Saigal either and I even less. Thus the next generation hears about RD Burman through the TV and from their grandparents and so on.
I am still one crazy dude, and adore K.L. Saigal, and have most of his rare songs – filmy and gaire filmy. Late C. H. atma tried to imitate and sang most of his songs with equal ease but did not have quite “Dard” like Kundanlal. Legend is that he would consume a bottle of hard liquor just prior to his recording. like thay say ” Hai sub se madhur geet wahi jise hum dard ke sur mein gaatein hai, jub haad se guzar jaati hein khushi, aasoon hi chalak te aate hein”! In English it was penned by the famous poet Shelly (I think)who said, “Our sweetest songs are those that tell us of our saddest thoughts”. Great singer – K. L. Saigal that is.!
The ‘Sapnon Ki Rani’ is by the inimitable, exuberant, and awesome Kishore Kumar 🙂 I think Saigal is best-known for ‘Jab Dil Hi Toot Gaya,’ — the song countless desi classmates have used to tease their mates when the latter’s crush affections are directed elsewhere. Really liked Manil Suri’s style in the ‘The Death…’ and also his non-romantic appraisal of life as a mathematics prof and novelist.
Oops — I knew something wasn’t quite right regarding Mere Sapno ki rani (the dates, for one thing, don’t match at all). In my defense, I was thrown off by this YouTube video — of a different version of Mere Sapno ki Rani, which is K.L. Saigal. If I had bothered to watch the video, I would have noticed that it’s not the “regular” Mere Sapno Ki Rani (i.e., from Aradhana), but an entirely different — and less catchy — song.
Am making a correction now…
I also read the reviews of Jabberwock and MiddleStage. I also respect both their opinions and wholeheartedly agreed w/ the former and was puzzled by the latter. I didn’t think the novel was overly dependent in its use of Indian history or Hindu mythology at all. In fact I thought these themes worked itself very nicely into the central story. I loved the scene when Meera and Dev along w/ those snotty college girls visit the Elephanta caves. Parvati’s mythology is weaved into the text both playfully (and overtly), but also suggestive of a richer reading. Elegant writing, I thought.
I loved this book. I am female, and not a mother. But I say “pah” to anyone (and eye-roll), to anyone who’d say I am therefore “not a good judge” of this novel about motherhood. A good book is a good book. Age of Shiva never claims to represent all mothers the world over, in fact there are clear distinctions in Meera that does make her atypical. One of the most fascinating aspects of the story was her constant struggle to walk the fine line between “what is healthy” and “unhealthy” in terms of how she interacts w/ her son. The conflict is wonderfully realized and I am not sure many mothers think about over-stepping physical/sexual boundaries w/ their sons…but I am sure it does happen too. And I think Suri does a great job of fleshing this out. I also really concur with Jabberwock on his point with “acts of defiance” that weren’t the most obvious. For example, the scene when she defies her father and touches her husband’s feet. It is such a great moment and doesn’t give you any easy answers on “liberated, modern women” verses “tradition” or whatever. I also loved the interplay between Sandhaya’s character and Meera. Anyway, I could go on and on. Many things to love about this book (much of it already nicely articulated by Jabberwock).
Really liked Age of Shiva which I thought was far better than Death of Vishnu.I thought he approached the relationship between Meera and her son very delicately and you could sense very clearly the struggles Meera goes through as her son is growing up. To me it seemed there was a lot of sexual tension throughout the book, even between Meera and Sandhya (don’t they have an almost lesbian moment. At least that is how I read it….or maybe I am just a horny toad).
And that Arya guy, what a total creep. We all know uncles like that, don’t we.
I really didn’t like the book. I think Meera wasn’t done justice as a character. She seemed insipid, dull, unable to take a strong decision in her life. Every one of her decisions were based upon what others imposed on her. All the male characters in the book dictated her life. I really liked the Death of Vishnu, but felt this took such a strange angle, I couldn’t appreciate it at all.
Fish out of Water: I did also sense the sexual tension (and the lesbian moment as well). But the ST between the mother and son was just over the top.
Not surprised Mr Singh doesn’t know anything about Saigal. Really, does the man know anything at all about India?
The man who sang Mere Sapnon Ki Raani was a great fan of Kundanlal Sehgal. Sehgal was once upon a time a great star. He was a great talent and his rendition of Wajid Ali Shah’s thumri in Bhairavi ‘Babul Mora’ is regarded as one of the finest ever. Every Indian kid knows this. Note this down, Mr Singh, you can use this little factoid some day.
10 · desi man said
this is obviously NOT true:) Note this down, maybe you can use this factoid someday. are you so patronizing only in an anonymous forum, or is that your general modus operandi?
seriously. i’d like to see what other facts ‘every’ indian kid knows, esp. those who have had no connection to hindi films (in the 1940s, no less).
port – i wasn’t thrilled with ‘death of…’ (partly b/c of his writing style) – any hope for this new book?
Every Indian kid can tell the difference between Kishore Kumar and Sehgal. Every Indian kid knows more than Amardeep Singh about anything that Singh writes about India. Maybe Singh should drop the ‘I’m such a scholar writing about my speciality’ tone and maybe stick to things he actually knows. He makes so many gaffes he should be running for President.
at the risk of feeding a troll, here it goes :
you completely missed my above point – which is that hindi films do not envelope everything about being indian – esp. if you are not from a hindi-speaking region (and most esp. if you are not from a hindi-speaking region and did not grow up in any decade circa the 1940s). unless you’re talking about political history or current events, there are few issues that every indian person will be thoroughly versed in. and it’s quite possible that amardeep would know more than the average indian person (and gasp more than you) about a particular subject relating to india.
13 · desi man said
Worthwhile Indian kids will be doing their maths homework, not watching movies, and certainly not specializing in playback singers. And in any case, even one out of every 10 dentists disagrees with the other nine, so how can we expect kids to achieve a 100% consensus?
and drinking their horlicks/complan 🙂
Oh Amardeep, Rahul…this must have reaallly made your day. You must be sooo happy. Elated, even. I mean, how often does this happen?
wow, one post about some hindu organization being reliably ridiculous about something innocuous like the love guru, and immediately amardeep is labeled a hater, and the dedicated foot soldiers start following the time honored tactics of rats and rove admirers everywhere – when you can’t defend your position, snipe at and denigrate the person. disgusting.
didn’t your mother ever tell you: if you have nothing nice to say, just shut the f— up?
ok, so I saw “Tashan” the other day, and was thoroughly entertained. Boy, if that soundtrack is an example of what the kids are listening to, I doubt very much that Every Indian kid can tell the difference between Kishore Kumar and Sehgal all desi kids
16 ak said
whorlicks? what kind of a name is that for a children’s energy drink! these multinational companies corrupting morals of impressionable indian children! it worms its way into their young minds like a subliminal mantra, and next they’ll start refusing our wholesome and swadeshi chywanprash.i will personally accompany local thugs to shops that sell this abomination, and break every bottle of this asura potion that i can find. we will then burn some buses and threaten some girls in jeans. only for cheap thrills yaar, no hidden message-vessage in that.
ak, i haven’t read this one yet — but i am hoping to like it. special affection for books which have a place for delhi. although, then again, i haven’t read much manju kapur either (besides difficult daughters, which clearly did not make much of an impression on me, because i am finding it hard to remember central plot details).
seriously — horlicks trivia from wikipedia:
Don’t miss Mohammad Rafi at the end of Mere Sapnon Ki Rani. I am referring to Naushad/Saigal one in comment #6.
Yes, they absolutely did have a lesbian moment,and it was beautifully written scene. Such good writing. Anyway, I wonder if the reason so many readers were put off by Meera is the sexuality evident between herself and her son. And I am wondering where that discomfirt comes from… I mean, did you not think Suri handled it competently? or is it an overall problem with putting sexuality, mother, son together in any way? Did you think it was sensationalist and un-needed? Not believable? I am just curious.
I do agree that I found the second person narration somewhat jarring to read at first. But that’s just because I am not used to reading second person, and once I did, it was fine.
Also reply to this person:
What? No way. She was anything, but. She makes so many strong decisions in her life (spoiler alert), she starts up w/ Dev, orchestrates their courtship, essentially decides their future when she defies her father (albeit in complicated ways), and most importantly… she is a single mother living alone in Bombay! my god, if that by defination, is not strong… then I don’t know what is.
Also, I did agree that
he he. horlicks is supposed to be wholesome, no – wheat drink and all that?
it’s true – the kids in the chyanwanprash ads are always more ‘healdhy’ in the desi way. though, complan takes the cake – those are some serious hatta-khatta kids they use 😉 (honestly, have you seen the fat and sugar content in complan? it’s disgusting…)
i take your comment in serious consideration, port, so i will put it on my list of books. btw, not that this is a book, but have you seen khosla ka ghosla – very delhi. love that film.
where did this “desi man” twit crawl out of? asli namoona hai yeh…
Wondering!, if desi man is really a man! What sort of man has to declare that he is a man, even when no one questioned his manhood!
Sonia, I am the one who spoke to her lack of strength.
Here is my view take on your thoughts:
1.) Starts up with Dev- to get back at her sister for her own insecurities on not being as beautiful as her. How is that strong? Its selfish and she didn’t at all consider the consequences of her immature act. Her competition with her sister continues her whole life. When does she ever mature? 2.) Defies her father in that one moment- but in the long term shows her dependence by accepting the charity he gives her whole life? 3.) Single mother in Mumbai- so what? Really didn’t feel anything exceptional in terms of her struggle, someone was always there to back her up financially. Did she ever really worry about feeding her kid?
Anyways, everything is certainly up to interpretation, but the kind of crap put forth in the form of “strength of the female character” in both the Age of Vishnu and The Space Between Us for example, forgets the strength of truly strong female characters that authors like Bapsi Sidwa and Tagore have put forth and told their stories in a compelling manner.
I haven’t read the book yet. It is on my list of things to do. But I wanted to share my thoughts on the act of touching feet that don’t belong to the spouse.
I come from a very irreverent family. As far as I know, 3 generations of my kin have not lowered or bent their spines for another human; not once. So as an outsider looking in on adult-children expressing their love, gratitude and respect for their parents(or gurus, as in Bharatnatyam gurus, etc), I cannot help but wonder if I am missing out on a very unique and beautiful expression of the parent-child (or guru-sishya) relationship. When done right, the gesture is akin to an art form; the body expresses so much: complete surrender of the ego, near-rapturous attention, utter devotion.
Of course, not everyone is picture-perfect enough to feed my romantic notions of this tradition. Some, especially the men, are as stiff and awkward as I will be if pushed onto the catwalk and expected to sashay in a seductive manner in front of hundreds of strangers.
In my circle, the only times I get to witness similar uninhibited, gracious public displays of highly-esteemed relationships are when the adults are interacting with cuddly toddlers, brand new loves, potted plants and furry pets. And not necessarily in that order.
Hi Meenakshi, I just wanted to chime in about your points. Spoiler-Alert Laden comment post.
Meera starts up w/ Dev because she is in love with him. And only after her sister breaks up with him. Callously. Because she got someone rich. The sister doesn’t even have the guts to talk to him directly. And she does consider the consequences of her act, because they stop before having sex, remember? In fact, she owns up to all of that was her fault in that part.
Her competition with her sister certainly does not continue her whole life. Her sister comes up, sure, but quicky becomes a peripheral character as she always was. I don’t know where you got that she competes w/ her throughout the book. In fact, it’s her sister who consistently takes jabs at her. And Meera gets upset/angry, but that’s not competition.
I don’t understand how you can dismiss that moment. It’s that point when she could have taken all that financial support from her father and been out of her husband’s house. She had everything that she wanted right there, and she rejected it purely for principal. How many of us do that? She is never dependent on her father. Her father controls and manipulates her, but she never capitalates to his whims. Remember that whole bit about life insurance? It’s Dev who leeches off his father-in-law.
“Single mother in Mumbai? So what?” What? I don’t really understand statements like that. Did we read the same book? No, somebody wasn’t there always to back her up financially. Her father is constantly manipulating her, and one of the themes of the book centers around this control. She works throughout the book, and is independent for much of it. Even when Dev is around, he was jobless for much of it.
I get easily annoyed by this term “strength of the female character” as well. Meera was a fully realized character with human flaws and strengths, and this apparently makes her weak. And what is “truly strong female characters”? What about Sidwa and Tagore’s women did you find strong? What is strong?
I’ve only touched someone’s feet on the one occasion and the person was my very old grandmother so I didn’t mind. I didn’t actually touch them but my hand kind of hovered over them like I’ve seen it done in hindi movies. But it is the oddest gesture. I’m sure that in the book it’s symbolic of something. I’m not sure what but it could be Meera’s subservient position or it could symbolize her resignation or surrender to her circumstances.
this is a question for ak. Regarding books about delhi, have u read city of djinns by william dalrymple. he really brings the city alive. also manju kapur’s books are very delhi especially “a married woman”.
sorry for going off the subject 🙂
Hi all, from the peanut gallery of the book group!! After reading DoV I got going on White Tiger,(Adiga) which seems to me a much better book, and also written in the second person. I think the reason the device works better here than in the DoV is that Suri writes “you” constantly to refer to the character he is addressing, which jumps off the page- and disturbs suspension of disbelief. In White Tiger the author addresses the second person character that the character he is narrating to by their name, or sir, etc. so the reader feels they are still observing and not being directly addressed. (The same goes for the novel Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid).
Lastly, I suddenly realized that the foot touching by the heroine reminds me of the re-take of the veil in neo-Islamic rebellious youth- nose thumbing to those liberal parents. A funny connection.