A Gen-X bangaal and Her Gain of Inheritance

In my very first attempt to write about an author, that too someone who’s been labelled as “The youngest female writer to win the Man Booker prize,” I was somehow curious to know how the author (thankfully something like ‘authoress’ isn’t used as much yet!) reacted to the tag. So, I raked up the internet and found an interview where she said, “Youngest female makes me feel like a biological specimen! A good book can come from the location of youth or of old age, don’t you think?” Yes, we’d rather like to think so too.

Besides being the youngest female writer etc, Kiran Desai is a third generation bangaal. Well, that’s a little distant, but never too far from her roots. Her maternal grandfather was born in Bangladesh, and married a German lady. That makes her mother Anita Mazumdar Desai, one of the most prolific Indian writers in English, a second generation bangaal, and Kiran, a third one. She was born on September 3, 1971 in Delhi, lived there till she was 14, and moved to England with her mother. After spending a year there, she moved to the USA and studied creative writing at Bennington College, Hollins University, and Columbia University.

An Attempt at a Critical Overview of Amitav Ghosh’s Body of Work

Amitav Ghosh is my kind of writer. He doesn’t have the masterful genius of a Rushdie or a Naipaul nor perhaps the eccentric erudition of a Seth, nor the poignancy of Lahiri in detailing little everyday experiences. He writes with an anthropologist’s precision, taking care to situate his characters and themes in a well-defined historical context. He loves to dwell in those little-explored spaces where cultures intersect and identities emerge, classes collide and languages melt into each other, and equipped with his gift for lucid prose and power to relate in a way that is at once modest and deep, comes away as being extremely convincing for his pains. What’s more he has written consistently over twenty years and seems to improve with almost every book, and manages to remain fashionable in academia, and attractive to the lay reader, at the same time. These are no mean achievements in today’s bustling world of Indo-Anglian writing.

When you read the likes of Orwell there are moments when you jump up and say “Yess! that’s exactly what I feel too”. With a clever little narrative device, the author has articulated a little piece of your Weltanschaung, perhaps better than you yourself could have ever put it . Such literary resonances oftentimes happen with Ghosh too, not least the “compass on an atlas” episode from “The Shadow Lines” where the narrator picks up an old atlas and with a compass centered on Khulna draws out an arc through Srinagar. It flashes upon him that Chengdu and Chiang Mai, places one would have barely heard of, are closer to Calcutta than Kashmir is, and yet happenings in the Hazratbal shrine in that faraway valley could set off riots in Bangladesh, to be symmetrically reflected in Calcutta. This “yess” moment in one broad sweep ( like the compass’s swinging arc), ponders on the ironies of borders, on the meaning of identity, on the problematics of nation-states and expresses an aspiration towards a certain universal humanism.