The first thing a reader wants to know when he reads a book review is that is it a good book and the second thing is, is it my cup of tea? Well, in regard to this book the answer to the first query is “Of course, it’s Bapsi Sidhwa” and to the second, “Of course not, it’s Bapsi Sidhwa.”
It has been published simultaneously by Penguin, India and Readings, Lahore, and by the way, the latter is a unique and highly commendable institution dedicated to promoting Urdu and English literature as well as ‘reading books’ in Pakistan.
Sidwa is living a retired life in Houston, Texas, lecturing in a college and caring for her family. After a lengthy hiatus the author has now brought out this book of short stories. One feature found invariably in almost all of Bapsi’s writings is an intense love for Lahore. Thus probably this book is a nostalgic journey back to this city. All but one of the stories directly or indirectly evoke memories of a past Lahore.
Another characteristic of Sidwa’s is a sense of history. Thus in the various stories we see Lahore reflected in different past phases that awaken all sorts of memories. In the first story we see the spirit generated in the 1965 war and it ends with an immense Manto-esque concept of the subliminal reason why the Indian forces did not overrun Lahore. If you want to find out what I’m talking about you better read the book. Then there are two stories showing the insidious restriction on free thinking during Zia’s regime and the second, about people of the richer class’s urbane somewhat casual reactions to the previous Afghan war and the dreadful upheaval it really was for that country; both stories are told through the eyes of a glamorous and flirty foreigner. Then there is a devastating story ‘Sera-bai’ of the rich classes (naturally centering on Parsis, but that is just incidental) during the time of our grandparents, in fact it is about a grandparent and the tale portrays an elderly genteel, gracious and wealthy lady who has led a seemingly ideal life that anybody would envy; but then we get a glimpse of the reality of the dreadful emotional straits that she has suffered and the wounds still smart. The final story is situated in Houston and shows the problems of adjusting to an alien culture that ex-patriates from both sides of our border face over there, i.e. Muslims and Sikhs. But again Lahore features in it and it is really a grand finale with a mind-blowing denouement of the atrocities committed during partition that elevates this story and the whole book to an historical level.
Then there is the enchanting title story ‘The Language of Love’. This story is also about an expatriate couple adjusting to life in the US and leaves us enamoured by the beautiful relationship between them, which in fact the husband is unaware of. The wife’s loving female wiles are what, unknowingly to him, bolster his masterful male role of ‘knowing how to manage things’.
In her latest book Sidwa’s stylistic prowess has gained by leaps and bounds. Take for instance this random selection where she refers to meeting two young American agents sent to aid a mission in the Afghan War: ‘they were so young, caught up in war games — acting out their adolescent fantasies and those of older [states]men’ (The word in brackets is inserted by me to clarify the meaning).
However in reading these stories some of us may have to alter our perceptions and expectations. Here, as in fact in almost all of Sidwa’s writing, there is no flag waving; no pontification of ideals; there are no exalted victories; no tragic retreats; there is just the human element affected by these events and her only ideal is humanity and living in harmony. Sidhwa merely observes what she sees around her. Her characterisation is one of her fortes. And this too seems to be a matter of observation. Probably most of her characters are based on people she actually saw and she portrays them by her depth of understanding of human nature. That is why almost all her characters are a quixotic mixture of both good and bad: Freddy, his mother-in-law, Feroza, her mother, even the dauntless Godmother in Ice Candy Man who is veritably idealized, is very nasty in the way she treats her sister. The nicer side of the villainous Ice Candy Man is also shown and in fact in the end he is shown in a pathetic almost sympathetic light as a victim of his own evil that communal prejudice had created in him. Thus Sidhwa does not take sides in political, religious and other issues and the average middle-class reader with fixed values might not comprehend this. Further, since her characters are based on real life, even the ‘good guys’ sometimes do not behave as we would like them to, or for that matter probably even as the author would want. Thus Bapsi Sidwa is nobody’s ‘cup of tea’, hardly even her own. However these aspects, plus her Dreiser-like stylistic excellence and depth of understanding people, is what makes this book another beautiful opus by our greatest writer in English.
It can be said that these stories read like a musical composition, gently carrying us along by the evocative style, interesting characters and a nostalgic presence of Lahore; the serenade interspersed by crescendos of stunning impact.
The reviewer is a published author and he can be reached at [email protected]