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Memories
of Rebecca Three generations of a Bengali family, a disappearance and a house called Mandalay. But it's not quite enough. By Shohini Ghosh A SIN OF COLOUR Three generations of a Bengali family, a disappearance and a house called Mandalay. But it's not quite enough. This is a novel about three generations of a family whose story unfolds in Oxford and a house called Mandalay in Calcutta. Built by a British officer, this exquisite mansion is bought by the wealthy Roys. Debendranath Roy is one of the inhabitants of Mandalay who goes on to become a professor at the University of Oxford. One day Debendranath disappears -- or "dies". Niharika, daughter of Reba, Debendranath's enigmatic sister-in-law, returns to Mandalay in order to write a novel about her family and her relative's very sudden disappearance. Twenty years later, Debendranath reappears to complete Niharika's novel, as it were. By now Mandalay is in ruins haunted by memories of the past. Why did Debendranath disappear for so many years? What made him stage his own death? Debendranath compares his staged death to Niharika's return to Calcutta. "Why are you here if not to find a life that does not call for you to lie at each instant?" Debendranath's disappearance and existential dilemma is inextricably linked with his elder brother's wife, Reba. As Sunetra Gupta's most interesting protagonist in the novel, Reba's presence permeates Mandalay even in her absence. Strongly reminiscent of the title character in Daphne Du Maurier's well-known Rebecca, Reba haunts Debendranath's imagination, life and imagined death. "I dreamt I was in Mandalay again," says Debendranth recalling the opening line of a novel that has remained a favourite among the Bengali reading public for years now. The story of three generations is told through chapters titled Amethyst, Indigo, Azure, Jade, Saffron, Ochre and Crimson. However, the colour motifs remain undeveloped as they fail to weave themselves into the texture of the narrative. Despite the enigmatic and philosophical crises of the journey of the family, A Sin of Colour remains a colourless novel written self-consciously and with little spontaneity. Neither Oxford nor Calcutta come alive as separate locations. Familiar songs of Rabindranath Tagore are rendered unfamiliar through awkward translations. Uninterrupted by whimsy or humour, a certain flatness pervades the narrative of a A Sin of Colour. The author seems anxious not to alienate readers who may not appreciate culturally specific nuances. The safe option works to the detriment of the novel. A more experimental approach to the language on the part of Gupta may have resulted in a more readable book. Tortured souls and signs of a book that might have been. By Sudeep Chakravarti BY THE SABARMATI It's a pity when an author -- or in this case, her editor -- chooses to open a collection of short stories with some of the worst in the book, stories that belie the boast on the jacket of "simple unadorned prose". It's in the manner of that existential joke-masquerade of immature schoolchildren of the shortest story in the world: there were two amoebae, they died. In this case, a story titled "Father" ends like this: "That was the coldest night of the year. Many people died that night. Deva was one of them." You and I can do better than that with our mind's eye closed and brain on powersave. Fortunately so can Esther David, who displays a nice touch of telling that her editors try so hard to destroy by including chaff in the collection of 22. It doesn't need a passionate acceptance of Ahmedabad's greatness and grotesqueness as I have to connect with the stories in By The Sabarmati. These are all about women, tortured souls and soul sisters for what fickle life -- and men -- dish out for them in unfair proportion and, seemingly, at will. David's women are everyday and everywhere. The beautiful, doomed actress, Maya Desai; Shridevi, tortured and left for insane; the forsaken mother; the wife in spirit. But the tales, many shaky and some stirring, are unified by the rhythm of a single metronome. Almost all are brooding and dark. There are few stories where distress or deliverance doesn't lead to deep trauma or death. It's as if the spirit always bends and then breaks. So when a Muslim girl almost destroyed by riots sees humour and fellowship in a buffalo destined for the glue factory, it's a relief. Perhaps it's because sometimes David tries too hard, makes things too unadorned, simplistic. When she's less encumbered, then the words flow: simple, unadorned and captivating. The book scores a few deep marks. It could have left a lasting impression.
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