Bombay Meri Jaan

I accept it.. I have been a little slow on the uptake of Indian authors. Once I fell in love with the league of authors like Chitra Divakaruni ( Sister of my heart), Jhumpa Lahiri ( Interpreter of maladies) there was no turning back. But they were stories of Indian authors brought up and living in the States, their stories marking the juxtaposition of lives as sweaty, colourful ( see how I spell that with a ‘ u’?), small town/ middle class India to the wide roads, white picket fence American houses, giving a voice to a generation of Indian men and women that migrated to the US for extended education and by marriage. Then came the books by Suketu Mehta ( Maximum City), Salman Rushdie ( Midnight’s children)** based wholly in India ……..books that spoke of an country as experienced by someone who has the same well of memories and experiences as all Indians.  Of course this isn’t brand new, Britishers, Americans have been writing about India for the longest time, but Indians write about India without exoticism, their settings uncharmed by the 'turbans' and 'elephants'. They write in a language they have lived and learned, with the same unguardedness and honesty of a native.

There are just five stories in this collection and they are named for the traditional human pursuits of Vedic lore. The pursuits are the subject of much disputatious Hindu philosophy. But whereas three of these stories bear the names ''Artha'' (wealth), ''Kama'' (desire, pleasure, love) and ''Dharma'' (faith, righteousness), missing is the fourth great Hindu pursuit, ''Moksha'' (salvation). Mr. Chandra replaces it with ''Shakti'' (strength) and ''Shanti'' (peace), as if to suggest that strength and peace are the only salvation available to his characters, writes Shashi Tharoor.

''Love and Longing in Bombay'' stands out as a considerable accomplishment, one in which the author marries his storytelling prowess to a profound understanding of India's ageless and ever-changing society. Vikram Chandra remains unapologetic of his Hinglish, staying true to the hybrid dialect of urban India, not selling out his story because if the lack if a true English word for a thali. What also impresses you, is the Bombayness of the book- stories of a city- worldly, eclectic and humane – before the wave of ‘Me Mumbaikar’, in the face of ‘Me Mumbaikar’.

I leave you with Chandra’s writing- because nothing I write with come close to making you feel the way I do, when I did.

 ‘I am walking in my city. The island sleeps, and I can feel the jostling of its dreams. I know they are out there, Mahalaxmi, Mazgaon, and the grand melodrama of Marine drive. I have music in my head, the jingle of those old names, Wadala, Matunga and as I cross the causeway I can hear the steady, eternal, beat of the sea, and I am filled with a terrible longing. I know I am walking to Bandra, and I know I am looking for Ayesha. I will stand up before her and when it’s morning I will call her, maybe ask her to marry me, and if we search together we might find a house in Andheri, in Colaba, perhaps not heaven, but life itself. ‘

…and it wraps you in an embrace of the hope, the love, the longing, the sea.

**( admittedly a book in a league of its own, drawn here just for the sake of the point, and because I read it recently)