JOIN USLoosely draped tale
The most obvious question that comes to mind after reading Javier Moro’s The Red Sari is why Congressmen did not want the book published in India. The book claims to be a dramatised biography of Sonia Gandhi. But there is hardly anything in the book that makes it a red rag for the Congressmen.
It does not show Sonia in a poor light, and there is no occasion, word or action on her part which would hurt the Congress or offend members or well-wishers of the Gandhi family. The book, originally published in Spanish and later translated into English, was not available in India for many years.
Offended sensibilities are the usual excuse trotted out for a call to ban a book in our country. That is a lame excuse for a ban, but even that is not available for this book. Most people who want a book banned do not read it. Even the rare literate Congressman wouldn’t have read this book before wanting to ban it.
A dramatised biography is difficult to define. What is meant may be is a dramatic presentation of the events of a life. Moro’s life of Sonia is not an authorised biography. His account is based on events in the public realm and information he gained from talking to people close to Sonia Gandhi or others who were or are part of her life.
They include Sonia’s teachers in school, friends of her father Stefano Maino, Indira Gandhi’s friend Pupul Jayakar and her private secretary Usha Bhagat and many others. The author has obviously added frills and embellishments to the story.
The book is in fact also described as a novel. There are elements of fiction in the very narrative. Love at first sight between an Indian boy from a high family and an Italian girl from a humble background, marriage, many trials and tribulations, tragedy and bereavement and rise to pinnacles of power. All this is in the background of a large national canvas because the characters shaped the history of India in the last many decades. So the book may even be considered as historical fiction.
But the free rein given to imagination detracts from the credibility of the book as a biographical account. It is doubtful if the situations are all genuine, and many of the conversations are most probably invented. Otherwise, how would Moro know what went through Sonia’s mind when she met Rajiv or on many other occasions? “The memory of Rajiv’s smile slipped through her mind and took a central place in her imagination.
It was much more pleasurable to let herself be carried along by her daydreams.” Elsewhere, “Sonia’s hair stood on end when she heard that. She was about to say ‘No!’ loudly, but she stopped herself.” And then, “...before retiring to her room, she goes into the study to feel the presence of the man she still loves like she did the first day she met him. With all the heat, the flowers in the garlands around Rajiv’s photo have withered a little.”
Moro imagines much else too, including the words and moods of Indira Gandhi and what exactly happened in her official, personal and family meetings. We also come to know what all others in the story — ministers, officials, leaders and occasional entrants into the story — said, did and even looked like. They should make the first draft of history if they are true. But even the strongest suspension of disbelief won’t help the reader to accept them as true.
Moro says he wanted to humanise Sonia Gandhi. But what he has done is a hagiographic account of her life, and it is an angelic portrait that emerges from the book. She has the finest qualities of heart, she bears tragedy well, loves the country she adopted and becomes a part of it and even rejects the offer of prime-ministership. Neither she nor Rajiv had any role in the Bofors scandal.
Moro is even on the right side of family politics: in the family only Sanjay and Maneka get some adverse attention. It is the writer’s right to draw any kind of portrait of the characters in a book. Many elements in Sonia’s character that Moro details may even be correct. But the form of the book and the presentation do not help the reader to put any trust in the writer’s judgement.
The Red Sari is not good fiction. It is not good biography, though most of the important events in the life of Sonia Gandhi may have been strung together in it. Moro has put them together the way he wanted it, and interpreted them the way he liked. It is obviously not history. It does not add to our understanding of the lives and times it deals with, except for some odd snippet here and there.
The style is pedestrian and the language is not appealing. It has some value as a propaganda piece for Sonia Gandhi, and Moro even hints that the Congress party may come back “under the aegis of another Gandhi — perhaps Indira’s only granddaughter, Priyanka.” The Congress should arrange for free distribution of this book.