Musings On A Literary Allegory Of Mumbai Where Many Dreams Go To Die

Mumbai reminds me of the Hindi novel Kuru-Kuru Swaha (1980), written by Manohar Shyam Joshi, an iconic litterateur and scriptwri­ter. It바카라�s said to be the first post-modern novel in Hindi. Undoubtedly, it바카라�s very different from its Hindi contemporaries, with a non-linear narrative that avoids the dominant trope of mainstr­e­am Hindi literature바카라�marginalised society.

Set in 1962-63, the novel doesn바카라�t talk about 바카라�one바카라� but 바카라�many바카라�. Even its narrator has many identities. It is a kind of biographical novel, with three narrators바카라�Manohar Shyam Joshi himself, the writer Joshiji who dreams of writing a magnum opus equal to War and Peace or The Wasteland, and Mano­har, an emotional fool. While living in Mumbai, Joshiji has developed a second dream바카라�of making a film called Sweet Decadence.

These three overlapping narrators encapsulate the dilemma of India바카라�s emerging middle-class. The­ir composite represents a generation that had begun to lose faith in the grand Idea of India, with the mohbhang (disillusionment) over the Nehru­v­ian model setting in after India바카라�s humiliating military defeat in the hands of China. The mohbhang is described satirically. At one point, the second narrator Joshiji tells Mohan Rakesh, another real life litterateur and playwright, that, 바카라�There바카라�s nothing we can hope or worry about바카라�even a second attack by China!바카라�

As a metaphor for Bombay, the novel offers the reader everything that the Bombay of 1962 did. Bombay meant cinema, Bombay meant dreams, business, power, a vibrant fine arts and theatre scene. Most of all, it represents Bombay바카라�s cosmopolitan core바카라�representing India in a microcosm.

These days, Mumbai has become a centre of pow­er and power brokers. But that too reminds one of Kuru-Kuru Swaha. Perhaps, it바카라�s the only Hindi novel that foregrounds Mumbai바카라�s ubiquitous dalal (pimp)바카라�a guy named Babu, whose business it is to stand at Chowpatty beach and sell Bombay바카라�s beauty to unsuspecting victims.

The next character the novel introduces is the woman Pahuncheli. Together, they stand as metaphors for the future Mumbai. There are people like Babu selling its beauty, and there are others바카라�migrants hoping to fulfil their dreams, like the narrator(s) fruitlessly trying to acquire Pahunc­h­eli바카라�a mysterious woman everybody claims to know, but none actually does. That바카라�s Mumbai right there.

Kuru-Kuru Swaha is reminiscent of the days when Bombay was also a centre for intellectual activities, such as publishing, art exhibitions, terrace theatre, film societies and progressive movements, glimpses of which run through the novel. The novel reflects upon the meaninglessness of Bombay바카라�s leftist intellectuals, who, after promising to work for the movement, abandon it to run after the glamour of Bollywood. There is a leftist Urdu poet Khaliq, who renders hifal­utin speec­hes, only to become a film scriptwri­ter, start making money and forget all about his revolutionary idealism. In this, it dovetails into the author바카라�s later novel Kyāpa, a Sahitya Acad­emy winner, that also critiques leftist writers in the movement.

By blurring the boundary between the literary and the populist, the novel also breaks new gro­und. It tackles all the intellectual debates of its time, but satirically, confounding contemporary critics. In a long interview of Joshi by poet Ajit Kumar, published in the January 1981 issue of the literary magazine Sarika, the interviewer draws similarity between Kuru-Kuru Swaha and She­k­har: Ek Jeevani (Agyeya, 1940), and castigates Joshi of narcissism. Personally, I find Kuru-Kuru Swaha closer to Shrilal Shukla바카라�s Raag Darbari (1968) in its humorous narrative style, even tho­ugh thematically, Raag Darbari is about political disillusionment and cynicism, while Kuru-Kuru Swaha targets intellectual decadence.

Among other things, the novel also focuses on how the Idea of India is dying in its commercial capital, as everything, including arts and culture gets commercialised. There are throwaway debates on the clash of tradition and modernity, the Angli­cised middle-class, their decadent parties, and the­ir detachment from the realities of India바카라�s maj­o­rity. As a major (pejorative) trope, bazaarvaad gains centrality in Hindi literature much later, around the 1990s. Kuru-Kuru Swaha, tho­ugh, anticipates that through tropes of loss of ideals and innocence.
Among memorable characters in the novel, special mention must be made of Rathijit Bhatta­cha­rya바카라�a 바카라�genius바카라� filmmaker바카라�and the story-writing sessions with him. The debates there are reminiscent of the vibe around the 바카라�parallel cinema바카라� mov­e­ment of the 1960s.

But most of all, what sets the novel apart is its use of Bambaiya, the city바카라�s colourful, constantly evolving pidgin, and its many registers바카라�in Hindi, Gujarati, Punjabi, Marathi. Perhaps, no Hindi nov­elist since Phanishwarnath 바카라�Renu바카라� has played with Hindi바카라�s multifarious oral traditions as well as Kuru-Kuru Swaha.
(This appeared in the print edition as "Many Bombays Now")

(Views expressed are personal)

***

A Whimsical Philippic

That memorable evening!

After picking my brains over the script of an in-house docum­e­n­tary on the Western Railways, I came out of their office exhau­s­ted. I thought, 바카라�Let me have a tea at the stall outside Church­gate railway station before heading to the guest house.바카라�

As I started on my cup of tea and a plate of pakoras, a voice from behind said: 바카라�I can be convinced to have tea with you, and if you insist a lot, I might even consider the pakoras.바카라�

I turned to find Khaliq, dressed whimsically. Dirty, torn pyjamas and an inverted khaki vest. A week-old stubble. Barefoot. Teeth that had not been brushed for some time.

I answered Khaliq바카라�s questions and then tried to get rid of him.

바카라�So, you have developed such airs that you can바카라�t bear my company?바카라� he responded, irritably, 바카라�Does your bourgeois nose find me smelly? Go on, tell me?바카라�

Why would I confess to that. Even though the body of the genius was emitting a rank sweaty smell.

Khaliq grabbed me by the collar and pushed my nose down his hairy armpit: 바카라�So, can you smell the working class Indian now?바카라�

When I pushed him away, he started fighting me. I could have easily beaten him up, but according to Joshiji, even that would be his victory. Irrespective of the righteousness of his 바카라�rebellion바카라�바카라�he would always come out victorious against my 바카라�compromise.바카라� I had 바카라�compromised바카라� as soon as I had got a job.

In any case, I resorted to the same 바카라�compromise바카라� now and said: 바카라�Khaliq, I바카라�m also a worker like you. I survive by my pen. Even on a holiday today, I바카라�ve toiled the whole day writing for a docum­entary. So far, I바카라�ve not even become a small-time sahib, earning a meagre Rs 1,000 a month.

Khaliq softened a little and wished me luck: 바카라�Go on, bastard! You바카라�ll become a small-time sahib after all, as you바카라�re not fit to bec­ome anything more than that anyway.바카라�

Thereafter, Khaliq began ranting on the 바카라�system바카라�, cursing the revolutionary souls of our acquaintances who had 바카라�made it.바카라�

Once this 바카라�blessing ritual바카라� was over, he was happy. But this hap­piness cost me dearly. Now he insisted I accompany him to Andheri East바카라�s slums, where he was cam­ping. He said now that I바카라�d become a little fresh after smelling his armpit, I had to get rid of my bourg­eois staleness by smelling the place. He claimed that the recent success Shailendra had achieved with some of his songs was a result of the inspiration found while spending four hours in Khaliq바카라�s shanty.

(Translated by Iqbal Abhimanyu)

Prabhat Ranjan is a Hindi novelist, translator and professor at Zakir Husain College, DU