Dazzling Damayanti Redeems Toxic Tale of Love

 

Nala Damayanti is a timeless tale of love from the Mahabharata that seeks to impress upon impressionable young girls, that they must love their spouses unconditionally. Even/especially if, said spouse is a whiny, weak loser who irresponsibly gambles away his entire Kingdom before abandoning her in the forest, to fend for herself. Husband dearest might be a rapist, murderer, and afflicted with every kind of awful trait there is but the wife must put up with his crap not just with superhuman stoicism but with a loving heart and devote every waking moment of her existence to pandering to his unworthy whims, enduring his gross embrace, and bringing forth sons by the dozen. She must also refuse to entertain even the thought of another man let alone his advances, because according to the ancient incels who wrote the scriptures while under the influence, a woman’s chastity must be safeguarded at all costs even if it entails eking out a miserable existence without an orgasm in sight, leave alone happiness or fulfillment.

Anand Neelakantan takes this material, and working within these crippling limitations does his utmost to redeem it. The fate of humanity, which is dangerously close to extinction, thanks to Brahma, the original dirty old deity, rests in the dainty hands of Damayanti, and her ability to love a man, who is hardly worth her toenails unconditionally, while fighting her way past the many barriers, that loom on their way to a doubtful happy ending. She is aided in her hopeless quest by Hemanga, a golden swan with a beak that just won’t quit jabbering. The lovers face untold hardships, thanks to the wily machinations of Kali, a God of darkness, who emerged from the sum of humankind’s fears and insecurities as well as Indra, Agni and Yama who toy with humans because they can and since immortality does not seem to have rendered them immune to boredom.

The story chugs along pleasantly enough. Here, as in the epic one wonders what Damayanti sees in Nala. We are told that the way to Damayanti’s heart is through her stomach and Nala as an amazing cook, manages the feat with a little help from Hemanga, in whose wake chaos usually unfolds. This isn’t quite convincing, but the reader goes along because of the charming mirth present though the proceedings. Nala is a self – made, irritatingly noble soul who has made a better life for his people but his achievements notwithstanding, he suffers from a severe inferiority complex on account of belonging to the Nishada tribe. He and his people are constantly dehumanized over their lower caste status. Neelakantan explores this recurring theme common to most of his books with the sensitivity and sharp wit he is known for, making Nala a sympathetic figure when he is not being an insufferable one.

In contrast to the self – pitying and almost ineffectual Nala, we have King Rituparna of Ayodhya who towers over the story with his brashness, bawdy tastes, and ferocious appetite for life. A truly memorable character, he appears to be a stand – in for the author himself with his irreverence and impatience for those who are so filled with fear about the torments of an afterlife that may see them in hell for their sins, that they forget to savor the joys of the single life allotted to them and fail to fill it with love and worthy deeds. He is the perfect answer to false Godmen and priests who play on the human penchant for being foolish for personal profit. Too bad, Damayanti doesn’t ditch Nala for Rituparna, but an epic tale can only go so far and thanks to Neelakantan, the modern reader will hopefully emulate Damayanti’s intelligence and gritty resolve to extricate herself from impossible situations in which she lands up thanks to idiot males without ever losing sight of the power of love to fix almost anything.

This book review originally appeared in The New Indian Express.

WHY WE OUGHT NEVER TO TIRE OF RETELLING TALES FROM INDIAN MYTHOLOGY

The resurgence of all things mythological in the literary space is a welcome phenomenon and not only because many authors including yours truly have made a career out of this seemingly insatiable interest. Any book that can distract youngsters from their addiction to fancy gizmos designed to make douche bag zombies out of them by harkening back to the glories of an ancient time must be considered a truly marvellous accomplishment. In fact, offerings in this sphere have helped people from all age groups suffering from smartphone syndrome. Which is why it is encouraging when books in this genre especially when penned by the likes of Amish Tripathi, Anand Neelakantan and Kavita Kane sell like hotcakes with a little something illegal stirred into it. 

Yet, in keeping with the adage that where there is a demand there must be an excessive supply this trend has led to aficionados overdosing on the stuff and reaching saturation point. Publishing houses are spewing out endless mythology related titles featuring every single character from the Ramayana and Mahabharata into the sea of books that have already been written on the same, Many aspiring writers who dream of getting published feel that mythology is the way to go and contribute steadily to the massive influx.

In fact, there is even talk that one enterprising author has successfully pitched a book – proposal to a leading publishing house about a fly on the wall who happened to be present when Ravana and Mandodari were engaged in a heated debate over the unmitigated gall the former had displayed in kidnapping another man’s wife which the latter felt was a scathing indictment of the fact that her looks where no longer what they had been before she had borne him the warlike sons, he had insisted upon. The eponymous character is saving the details about the make-up sex that followed as well as his familiarity with Ravana’s bowel movements for a sequel. 

If this sort of desperation does not put off the faithful adherents to the genre then the infamous ‘Gau Rakshaks’ and religious doggerel spouting extremists will definitely do the trick. They have managed to take a lovely tradition and found a way to make it something unspeakably ugly by using it as a weapon to spread hate. 

If they had their way India would be a nation of clones brainwashed into toeing the line for jingoistic goons who would have us believe that ideally we should all turn vegetarian, embrace Hinduism, speak nothing but chaste Hindi, enforce modesty upon women by forcing them into clothes that cover up every inch of their bodies as well as chastity belts and figure out a way to reproduce by swallowing tears. Partying, kissing, hugging, sexual intercourse (Gasp!) and questions of sexual orientation (Double Gasp!) ought to be made taboo in the interest of preserving our culture of course.

Such regressive thinking has to be contained in order to prevent folks becoming allergic to all things related to Indian mythology, especially those who have been victimized and marginalized in its name. Which is why it is more important than ever to read retold versions of beloved tales in order to stop those who would purvey distortions and half – truths to further their twisted agenda. It is imperative to understand and familiarize oneself with the compelling philosophy, complex truths and pearls of wisdom bequeathed to us by the best minds of the past through this medium. And no, they were not intolerant jerks who sought to belittle and prosecute others over petty nonsense.

The noblest and greatest of our ancestors sought to teach us how to be better people and live rich fulfilling lives by learning to do the right thing by ourselves and others. There is nothing in the knowledge imparted to us over the eons that encourages us to be judgemental, badly behaved buffoons who would bully others into behaving in keeping with misguided beliefs.

By preserving the proper spirit of the past contained not just in Indian mythology but in those belonging to different parts of the world, passed on by storytellers, wandering minstrels, bards and yes, present day writers on the subject, we can find a way to deal with the horrors of the present in order to usher in a better future where sense prevails.

            

How much Mythology is too much Mythology?

In recent times, the tidal wave of interest in mythology has become something of a publishing phenomenon. Thanks to the extraordinary success of the likes of Ashwin Sanghi, Anand Neelakantan, Devdutt Pattnaik and Amish Tripathi among others, the supposedly 33 crore deities from the Hindu pantheon have been retrieved from the musty passageways of memory and legend, dusted off, polished, retrofitted and propelled into the collective consciousness with gleaming, often  glamourous avatars. And the reading populace can’t get enough, it seems. Mythology appears to have become a safe bet as far as the publishers are concerned and hence, an endless stream of myth – based fiction is making its way to the marketplace. But is this surfeit of a good thing really a good thing? 

            On the one hand, one wishes that aspiring authors would quit it with the mythology obsession which if it continues at the present rate is surely going to make the taste of the flavour of the season cloying in the extreme and effectively kill the market. It is the hope that the scribblers write about something else or take up another career if it means making the field less competitive. But that would be indicative of selfish self – interest as this writer has a finger in the mythology pie and it would behove her to look at this question from an objective angle.

            While those with a religious frame of mind or an appreciation for our glorious culture and heritage are no doubt thrilled that youngsters have taken to Puranic lore in such a big way the more conservative among the populace are frothing at the mouth with some of the artistic liberties taken with the sacrosanct material that most first heard, while seated on the laps of their grandmothers who told the edifying stories just so, the way they heard it while sitting cross – legged on the earthen floor from their elders. In this brave new world though, the Gods are no longer all powerful entities who leave the pious quaking with love, awe or fear but they have been brought to the level of the mortals where one may get up close and personal with them and I daresay find a wart or two and even grey hairs, sorry, shades.

            This brand new relationship that has been forged with the supreme consciousness, appalling as it may be to some is nevertheless a wonderful thing. And before extremists grab their weapons of sweeping condemnation and moral outrage, allow me to elaborate. Indian culture with its grandiose, sweeping range and a major chunk of traditions, religious and otherwise that have been handed down over the millennia has survived despite repeated attacks by invaders who made short work of entire civilizations. And no, it is not a fluke.

The powerful Gods from Roman and Greek mythology rule only in the pages of charming fiction but are otherwise forgotten and certainly not worshipped. Youngsters hardly know the Norse Gods, excepting Thor and Loki, the mighty God of Thunder and his nemesis, who many believe to be the work of Stan Lee at his most creative. Have the Egyptian Gods or the way of life that came into being with the magnificent Nile – valley civilization retained their relevance?  What about the Incans, Maya or Aztecs? What spared India from a similar fate? 

While it has not been worked down to a science, the general consensus is that Indians have always had the ability to assimilate the best from other religions, cultures and traditions even if it belongs to a hated conqueror in order to incorporate the best others have to offer with the vastness of the precious knowledge that was no doubt accumulated in the same way and make it their own. It is through this remarkably symbiotic process that the gifts of our predecessors in the fields of art, science, philosophy etc. have been preserved and we ensure that the presents of the past survives the merciless sands of time. If that is not a beautiful thing I don’t know what is!

Likewise, if the modern era demands that we re-examine the way we choose to connect with our Gods and Goddesses, treating them as friends, adversaries or intriguing puzzles that need to be scrutinized every which way, surely there is nothing wrong with it? Because for the most part, readers pick up these new – fangled books not merely because they are a fad or an amusing curiosity but out of an underlying sense of love and deep respect for a culture and heritage that is exclusively our own and one we can take rightful pride in.

This abiding affinity for all things Indian be it myth, pickles or item numbers allows us to stay connected to our roots and feel the sanctuary of a grandmother’s lap even as we find ourselves barrelling across the highway of life, heading for strange shores to make our homes, embracing cutting – edge technology and contributing to it or wrapping our heads around ideas and notions that are entirely foreign but have been accepted as the norm. Why then should we disparage authors for taking the mythology that is common to all of us and doing with it what they will if it means that our children and their children will keep the treasure trove of the best of our ancient beliefs close to their hearts and value it forever? 

Hopefully future generations will take the old stories, add a little something new in keeping with their times and infuse it with a delicious irreverence that will make the most sacrilegious and contentious authors of the present day puke blood or roll in their graves. That would be fine too, because ultimately we cannot have too much of a good thing when it is our good thing.   

An edited version of this piece was published in Creative India

Converting a Critic while Fighting the Green - Eyed Monster

There are few things that suck as much as a bad review.  And if the bad review is from a good critic it sucks even worse. A couple of years ago, Urmi Chanda - Vaz, who describes herself  as a psychologist by training, a journalist by profession and a mythologist by passion, had this to say about Arjuna: Saga of a Pandava Warrior - Prince in her article Indian Mythological Fiction: What to Read, What to Ditch for Scroll, "Another disappointment in the realm of Indian mythological fiction comes in the form of Anuja Chandramouli’s Arjuna. In yet another retelling of the Mahabharata, the author writes the story from the prime Pandava’s perspective. With so many character-specific retellings in the market and subpar language, there’s nothing new this book has to offer. Her latest book, Kamadeva – The God of Desire chooses an unusual character and one hopes there are more takeaways." (You can check it out here.)

Needless to say, I was crushed but consoled myself with the fact that Ashwin Sanghi and Anand Neelakantan,  were keeping me company on the 'Ditch' list and Urmi had some scathing things to say about their work as well. The thought offered a little solace till harsh reality struck - both are more successful and famous though I am younger and thinner, which last fact notwithstanding, Amazon still went with Ashwin for what I am sure was a super - lucrative advertising deal and the Gods of television chose Anand to script a mega serial. Damn it, no wonder they seem to handle criticism with such grace and poise, two traits I struggle to find in the aftermath of negative reviews! How on Earth does one recover from such trauma without wallowing in petty envy and resentment? Simple, one gets over oneself and keeps going. 

Cut to a couple of years later. I had been pestering Urmi on Facebook, with the occassional cringe - worthy message that went something like this: "Hi!

I just read your article, "Indian Mythological Fiction: What to Read, What to Ditch" and what can I say but ouch! That being said, I hope you do read Kama. Arjuna may not have been the right guy for you but Kama is irresistible and hopefully this time around, you'll be blown away! Regards, Anuja Chandramouli" 

Sometimes I am the world's greatest source of embarrassment to myself and still find it hard to come to terms with the lameness and desperate need to be liked part of me which clashes awfully with the don't - give - a - hot - damn persona, that I worked so hard to cultivate for myself. The critic in question meanwhile was sweet and showed a great deal of restraint while dealing with this pain in the posterior/ irritatingly insecure author. 

When Shakti was out, she promised me a review and was as good as her word. In her assessment of my third, which appeared in Swarajya she had a few observations, " This book had me both delighted and confused. Delighted, because in the realm of mythological fiction Anuja Chandramouli displays great skill...Confused, because its agenda doesn’t seem very clear.I cannot help but call this work ‘moody’ given that it swings so often from the sublime to the violent, from the lofty to the crass. 

When she assumes her beauteous stance, the author’s words sound mellifluous and poetic. But when she gets into her blood-and-gore mode, her language gets crass and the graphic details could put an Eli Roth movie to shame." (You can read the rest here.)

With Ashwin Sanghi, Anand Neelakantan and Arshia Sattar at OLF 2013

This is not exactly a rave review even though she commended me for tackling such a complex subject with "guts and gumption", but I am still over the moon, because it is awesome when readers get you. It was my intention to bring together the sacred and profane; profound and putrid in Shakti, because the way I see it, every single contrasting element in the world may be traced back to the same divine source and hence nobody and nothing is ever exempt from divine grace. That is a happy thought isn't it? Especially for one who admires and respects Ashwin Sanghi and Anand Neelakantan for being lovely human beings and wonderful authors, despite an awful tendency to be jealous of them and as a direct consequence, stooping to the level of making fun of their girth and advanced years.