A Suitable Boy

A Suitable Boy
By Vikram Seth

A book equal to Hugo in quotable quotes. My favorite quote among many to choose from: ‘Do not let the bee enter the garden that the moth may not be unjustly killed.’

On the author Vikram Seth: What he does to the color of a character is what Victor Hugo does to color a scene. Each compels you to read and re-read their works just for shear enjoyment of the mosaic of words; paintings upon the readers mind. There comes a point where the reader could care little for the plot as he is pleasantly lost in the picture. The following is an example of quips of drama, romance and humor that barely scratches the surface in representing my point.

• For the most part he treated the patient audience to a speech of exceptional banality. He soared and veered over a vast terrain, and assumed that his droppings would make an intelligible pattern
• Said the professor to the nephew , “economics, such a wasted subject. When are you going to switch subjects?” The nephew’s reply, “I can’t”. “Why not” retorted the Uncle. “I already graduated.”
• For a man who in his friendships and acquaintances looked upon religion and nationality as both significant and irrelevant…
• The joke about super human phenomena and 50 women sitting under a tree perfectly silent

As far as plot goes, this book does a masterful job in tying a Gordian Knot with strains of love, religion, family, politics, international business and then spends one lakh, (a thousand) pages drawing in tension based on loves’ intrigue. What is read on page one will be pulled through to page thirteen hundred and fifty. While the prime question is who Lata will choose as her suitable boy for marriage, there are strands of love’s intrigue between every character in the book. In this book love is not necessarily romance, in fact far from it. There are absolutely no steamy scenes. But it is always placing love on a condition with a mysterious sense of forgiveness. The churn is realized through profound superficial differences that are moored by a distinct sameness in each other. It is the drama of coming to an understanding of another that makes this book a compelling read. In the oneness of mankind, amidst all our differences there is a sameness that makes us One.

In this book as an American of 2012 views India, with its different attire, food, and religion as a very foreign country; we find underneath these veneers exists the very same human drama that plays out here in America. The author illustrates that in the differences between Muslim and Hindi are also sameness’s and friendships between families. And within families we all know too well that each child is a very different person from the next. One an athlete, the other an intellect. One a musician, the other an engineer. One socially energized the other an introvert. Yet what binds a family together in all this diversity is love. In this book the glue for that love is found in the character of Ma, the master puppeteer of a family displaying all the above traits. There is not a mother on earth that would not enjoy this short read of one thousand, three hundred and fifty pages. The question let on by the author is: does love need the crutch of tradition perhaps found in the bedrock of religion to maintain a sense of discipline when our love is on the lam? Or does religion become the agent of strife? Or does love prevail on its own on the basis of human nature. No man is an island.

What is it to be Indian? For the western reader, you certainly get to experience modern day India by living one year in the life of four intertwined families. In addition you get educated. The following conversation between Dipinkar and the Grand Dame at a dinner party is a profound academic existential interpretation of being Indian.

In a question put to Amit by the Grand Dame at a dinner party: What is all this about “being” and the birds and the boats and the river of life – that we find in Indian poetry – the great Tagore excluded; his fundamental construct of being is the square-the four stages of life – love, wealth, duty, and final liberation. Even the four arms of our ancient symbol, the swastika, so sadly abused of late…yes it is the square and the square alone that is the fundamental construct of our spirituality.

a. ..the elemental paradigm – and I would never have said construct – our ancient civilization is of course the Trinity … I don’t mean the Christian trinity…all that seems so crude somehow - but Trinity as Process and Aspect – Creation and Preservation and Destruction – yes the Trinity is the elemental paradigm of our civilization.
b. ---the primeval texture of Indian philosophy is that of Duality---yes Duality---The warp and weft of our ancient garment, the sari itself – a single length of cloth which yet swaths our Indian womanhood.
c. --- the intrinsic essence of our being here in India is a Oneness, yes, a Oneness of Being, an ecumenical assimilation of all that pours into this great subcontinent of ours. Its Unity that governs our souls, here in this ancient land.
d. ---No no no said the Grand Dame; Not Unity but Zero, Nullity itself, is the guiding principle of our existence. I would never used the term intrinsic essence – for what is an essence if it is not intrinsic?

I muse not only the fundamental elements of the four points of view, but the nuance in the framing of each view. I find that framing sort of dialogue in my every day life with Indians . It very much an Indian trait, where as we Americans are shorter on words to express ourselves.

The essence of Hindi, from the Gita:
2. Contacts with matter make us feel
3. Heat and cold, pleasure and pain
4. Arjuna, you must learn to endure
5. Fleeting things – they come and go
6. When these cannot torment a man,
7. When suffering and joy are equal
8. For him and he has courage,
9. He is fit for immortality.
10. Nothing of non-being comes to be
11. Nor does being cease to exist;
12. The boundary between these two
13. Is seen by men who see reality

The Muslim – Hindi cross over permeates the book. Mann (Hindu) falls in love with Saeda Bai (Muslim). Lata (Hindu) and Kabir (Muslim) fall in love. Mann and Frioz (Muslim) are best friends. Maheesh Kapor the head of the Prim Niva House (Hindu) And Nawab Sahib the head of the Batair House (Muslim) were best of friends and covered for each other in political and police scraps. Mann stays with Rasheed’s family (Muslim) and is embraced by all the Muslim villagers. The embrace is mutual. Maheesh Kapoor finds his primary constituency in politics to be Muslim and this is not a problem. The reader comes away from the book with a real sense that it has only been tradition, borne not in religious beliefs, but religious rituals, that is the chief protagonist to the divide between Hindu and Muslim. The most profound example is the religious ceremonies that happened to fall on the same date in 1952. Each celebrated the victory of their anointed one over some foe. In Bampur India this victory played out in real life rioting finding Mann coming to life saving rescue of Frioz against a Hindu mob. The people above all things that make the news at individual and family level have a deep and intertwined love for each other in their toils through life. There is an interdependency and from that need for one another is cultivated a deep respect and even love for each other. The differences are superficial. The sameness is not to be over looked.

While the title of the book drives a plot towards finding a suitable boy for Lata, the theme of the book is life in India in 1951/52. We all know India today to be ripped with politics and most would characterize Indian politics as corrupt. The prime issue of the year of 51 was the Abloishiment of Zamindars Act. Zamindars are akin to what we know in the West as Duke, Earls, the Irish simply called them landloards. Nawab Sahib a Muslim zaminder, the chief opponent of the Bill as this book describes it, was compelled to admit the question of competence. Most zaminders – himself alas, perhaps included – could hardly administer even their own estates and were fleeced by their munchis (the zaminders’ stong man) and money lenders. For most landlords the primary question was not how to increase their income but how to spend it.

As the storyline of the book, through character portrayal, the Anti Zamindar Actleads the reader to see the issue as Muslim-v-Hindu issue. However there were many Hindi landloards as well. Essenentially the Congress Party of India saw as a key to progress to give the land to the many as opposed to the few. Abolishment of zamandari meant reallocating land to those who worked it as opposed to those who inherited it. The following speech on the floor is a snippet of the Muslim-Hindu dichotomy around this issue. Begum Abida Khan, a Muslim Minister who resorted to God has her higher authority, to the House: O may tell you that the music (the debate) is not very pleasant: it is monotonous without being soothing. It is not the voice of reason or reasonableness but the voice of majority power and self-righteousness. You are dispossessing eight lakh (a unit of measure) people, and openly inviting communism. The people will soon find out who you are.

I am curious as to the ramifications of this Bill. India saw a monumental shift in the beginning of self rule towards communism. If it’s true that the zaminders were incompetent, was it smart to replace them with an equally incompetent government? Would drawing a parallel to Pakistan shed light on the answer? Did Pakistan take the same Abolition of Zamindar course? And finally, since India has progressed and Pakistan has not, how much relevancy does the Abolition of Zaminder (essentially feudal society) weigh? If I were to characterize India I would call it a Democracy, albeit with much corruption. If I were to Characterize Pakistan, it would call it a constant feud of people in a feudal society. I will say I have come to appreciate the Commercial Code we have in America. One that Obamacare violates.

The following quote summarizes it succinctly. Rasheed (Muslim) said to Mann (Hindu)…But I have lived in the village all my life, and I have seen the whole system. I know how it works. The zaminders – and my family is not so extraordinary to be an exception to this – the zaminders do nothing to but make their living from the misery of others; and they try to force their sons into the same ugly mold as themselves.

When the case is brought to the Indian Supreme Court, the petitioners suggest their referring to the American Constitution when looking at the delegation of authority. Apparently in 1951 and in this book, the Indian high court perceived it unconstitutional for government to delegate. Yet in America we have a complete body of administrative (delegated) law. I hoped to have read further that the delegation referred to in Zaminderi is outside any body of Indian law. What seems to escape our modern society is that many issues are too complex to for legislators and so they do delegate. It is in that delegation that a new version of zamindarism takes flight. Nancy Pelosi signed off on a Bill that she DID NOT Read. Obama signed a bill that he DID NOT READ. They have delegated this to HRSA, another alphabet soup agency that regulates how we live and do business. Yet like in India of 1951 the implementation of the bill is left to interpretation by ADMINISTRATORS. If this is unclear to the western reader, I point to the Affordable Housing Act that led to our crash of the American economy in 2008. The chief agents to this collapse were Fannie Mea and Freddie Mac, administrators of a short sighted bill. To my opening theme, let me reiterate it here. In our superficial differences we are ironically much alike.

Woven through the whole book is the poetic mind and expression of India. By page 227 the reader comes to appreciate the poetry and poetic expression, that I have found common with Indians. I turned back to the Table of Contents and note that it is in the form of a series of couplets…a trait running through the book. The Indian word ‘ghazhal’ is now a fond word with me. It is one of the principal poetic forms which the Indo-Persian-Arabic civilization offered to the eastern Islamic world. Ghazhals are a poetic form of rhyming couplets a refrain with each line sharing the same meter. A ghazhal may be understood as a poetic expression of both the pain of loss or separation and the beauty of love in spite of that pain.

And finally to Lata’s choice: in a conversation with Malati, the summation of her choice in whom to marry drew on the mind of an Indian bride of the 1950’s. Interesting enough I saw the choice, though with varied nuance implanted by culture driven situation, to follow one common denominator. The real material question being who will bring me a good life, may outweigh to whom does my true love belong. The rationale being that from a good life, love could grow.

• Kabir was a Muslim and Lata’s true love. Being a Hindu in India in 1951 made the prospects of a life together impossible. But more-so what weighed on Lata’s decision was Kabir’s arrogant confidence. The arrogance came mostly from her interpretation of a good looking accomplished young man. This mesmerized her and thus immobilized her. She feared she would end up a meaningless addition to her husband.
• Amit was a well placed Hundu. Life with him would have been quite comfortable as Amit was well connected in high society Amit was lost in his poetry and novel writing and she feared that she would be lost in his life.
• Harseh was a hard working ‘blue-collar’ cobbler. He earned his educational credentials on his own. He came up through the ranks of the shoe factory he worked at. He earned all his promotions. He was confident and yet humbled himself before Lata.

So what is love here in the material world? In Kabir love struck her soul, there was a mystery of unconditional acceptance of the other. Upon the canvas of cultural difference that was rooted deep in tradition of the family that would only draw conflict. But more-so was the pedestal that Lata put not Kabir, but her love for Kabir on. Upon a canvas of conflict could she live up to her own expectations. She resigned herself to Harseh because first her mother would be happy, second she would have a comfortable life that she could adapt to. And finally she felt with the first to bases covered she could find a way to love Haresh. She surrendered her true love of her soul, phenomena of a separate reality. It would be a reality that she would touch in her own quite moments as she communes with God as a foundation of peace in her heart. She knew that no matter which direction fate would take her and Kabir, though it be in different direction, the love though never really allowed to see the light of day, would forever live on.


Dog eared pages:

Page 996: The Nawab Sahib frowned. ‘ Kapoor Sahib,’ he said, ‘ I am less concerned about my own house than those that depend on me. The people of Baitar expect me to put on a proper show for our festivals, especially for Moharram. I will have to keep that up in some fashion. I have certain other expenses – the hospital and so on, the monuments, the stables, musicians like Ustad Majeed Khan who expect to be retained by me a couple times a year, poets who depend on me, various endowments, pensions, God – and my munshi – who knows what else. At least my sons don’t make vast demands on me; they’re educated, they have their own professions, they aren’t

Page 1022: ‘Well,’ said Abdus Salam in passing, ‘ Pakistan was a good thing.’ Seeing Mahesh Kapoor looked shocked, he said, ‘For one things, with the Muslin League wielding so much power in an undivided India neither could you have got rid of princely states like Marh nor forced through the abolition of zamindari. Everyone knows this, yet but no one says so.
My comment: And this lay the difference in economic success between . Pakistan in 2012 still practices a version of zamindari, where as India’s system as corrupt as it me be accused of, does all it can to promote individual pursuit of happiness by taking away the barriers of fiefdom rule. In India there is no demand for a fealty towards what we western people term as Dukes or Earls. In India you are not bound to your master or your master bound to you as demonstrated in the dialogue on page 996.

Page 1023: “Well instead of getting a commanders battlecry or even a pragmatist’s plan, we got a speech about Unity of the Heart. We should think above divisions, splits, cliques! We must all pull along as a team, a family, a battalion. Dear Cacha Nehru, I felt like saying, this is India, Hindustan, Bhrat, the country where faction was invented before zero. If even the heart is divided into four parts can you expect is Indians to divide ourselves into less than four hundred?

Page 1036: ‘Im not., said Frioz, ‘In fact – and you’d better not tell anyone I said this – but I am not a great fan of Hussain. And Muawiyah, who got him killed, wasn’t as dreadfull as we make him out to be. After all, the succession was quite a mess before that, with most of the caliphs getting assassinated. Once Muawiyah set things up dynastically, Islam was able to consolidate itself as an empire. If he hadn’t , everything would have fallen back into petty tribes bickering with each other and there’s be no Islam to argue about.

Page 1081: Or perhaps it was that, refusing to be turned and off like a tap by requests for intercession, Brahma at last refused to deliver what was asked of him by millions of upraised hands, and therefore fell out of favor. It is rare for religious feeling to be entirely transcendent, and Hindus as much as anyone else, perhaps more-so, are eager for terrestrial, not merely post terrestrial, blessings

Page 1220: Mrs. Mahesh Kapoor was dead, and felt nothing, this ash of hers and sandalwood and common wood could be left to the doms at the cremation ghat to sift for the few pieces of jewellery which had melted with her body and were theirs by right. Fat, ligament, muscle, blood, hair affection , pity, anxiety, illness all were no more. She had dispersed. She was the garden at Prem Nivas, she was Veena’s love for music, Prans’ asthma, Mann’s generosity, the survival of some refugees four years ago, the neem leaves that would preserve quilts stored in the great zinc trunks of Prem Nivas, the moulting feather of some pond-heron, a small un-rung brass bell, the memory of decency in an indecent time, the temperament of Bhaskar’s great-grandchildren.