A mother's monologue

In this, her first novel, the author takes on the persona of Kaberi and carries on a monologue with her unborn child; a silent recipient of her confidences. Early in the novel, one finds out that it is a much-awaited baby and the story has Kaberi, not unnaturally, bonding with it, even before it makes an appearance in the world. It is not all happy thoughts that are shared with the unborn, and yet Jahnavi makes the process believable, as she grabs the reader’s attention in this first-person narrative. The endearments that she uses as she speaks to the baby, inside her, are heart-warming and add to the charm of the story.

The book abounds in descriptions, as Kaberi talks about her husband, Ron, and brings his physical presence alive for the reader and her unborn child. It is the same with the other characters in the book, including the domestic help, Mary, with the bottu on her forehead. Barua reveals her keen powers of observations to convey unspoken messages, like the “lacy edges” of the fried egg “curling up and hardening” and the sausages “congealing in their thickening fat.”

But where Jahnavi seems to exude passion is when she is writing about nature. Her love for nature’s bounties comes through with intensity in her writings, as the first page starts with how she “missed the open skies of her childhood” and goes on to name Bangalore the “city of winds.” The author also personifies nature in original ways to convey the moods and moments that are so much a part of life. From the sun which blazed down “uncaringly” to the “consoling gurgling of the bird;” the silence that is “wild”, and of course, what the author seems fascinated by in her home state of Assam, the river that appears “laughing!”, Jahnavi is blessed with the ability to sculpt feelings with her words and she works miracles with this gift, when she combines it with writing about nature. It is clear that Barua is most in her element amidst the sylvan surroundings of her own state, and she cleverly weaves her tale to juxtapose Assam with Bangalore to the delight of the reader. The non-linear format employed is seamless and easy to follow even as the author moves from the present to the past.

Whilst the myriad manifestations of nature often serve as a backdrop to human behaviour in Jahnavi’s prose, she does not lag behind in other imaginative forms of expression like when she makes Kaberi say, “I thought I had finally achieved dominion over the nature of things by my delicate control over words, but Preetha… has displayed so emphatically that a picture is enough”!

Weaving in the politics of Assam and its links with the personal tragedies in people’s lives is a master stroke. The involvement of civil society in the politics of the state adds another dimension to the book, and here Jahnavi’s attempt at humour is well-handled.

 Barua also reveals her keen eye with regard to the fine things of life and excels in detailing them as in “straight lines, minimal embellishments; the stark beauty of a flat chenille fabric…” Kaberi, the protagonist, confesses to “a positive aptitude for luxury” and says, “Money alone cannot buy happiness but money can, sometimes, sweeten the soil so that happiness is allowed to grow.”

It is undoubtedly Barua’s mastery over words that elevates this book from being more than just a story of an errant husband, a lost friendship and a dysfunctional relationship with her parents. The protagonist’s efforts to understand the reasons for the tenuous relationship with her mother are touching, as also the missed opportunity to make reparation with her father.

Kaberi offers a reasonable analysis on the causes for domestic violence, but one does not feel one has to know enough about her husband, Ron, beyond his superficial preferences like food, clothes and furniture. Some characters could have been further developed, and it is not certain whether Jahnavi did this with the deliberate intent of leaving something to the reader’s imagination. However, a few situations do appear less credible because of a reliance on melodrama, making them the weak points of this narrative.

It is said that a clever author does not provide all the answers to the reader. Barua does just that by holding back a definite conclusion. The romantic in me confesses to a feeling of disappointment but if a classic like Gone With The Wind can end with Scarlett O’Hara saying, “Tomorrow is but another day,” thus giving an opportunity for others to follow with sequels, one can perhaps hope that Jahnavi will think of continuing from where she left off in her second novel.

Overall, it is an excellent effort by a very talented writer and readers will find the book racy and easy to read. Jahnavi Barua is definitely gifted and there is no doubt that we will see plenty of her in the future.