This book may be 700 pages long, but it's got its own energy and rhythm. Geetanjali Shree's Tomb of Sand is full of enthusiasm, and Daisy Rockwell's brilliant translation brings it to life. The language is sprinkled with Hindi (and even a bit of Sanskrit!) and while some words are translated, there's no need as it's still easy to understand. Tomb of Sand is a huge novel, and it celebrates our love of storytelling. From historical figures to Bollywood songs to delicious food, this book invites the reader to explore a new culture and recognize the global issues we all face. It's a great way to defy borders and experience a new story!
Winning the International Booker Prize is a rare moment of hope that we can break through the usual Euro-American literary, scholarly and market boundaries. Awards like this can keep that dream alive and recognize the diversity of cultures outside of Europe and America. In India, where divisions and various identity issues exist, this book reminds us that we should be proud of our language not just because it's spoken by many, but because of the quality and achievement of our literary tradition; something which Shree's novel helps to reinforce.
An Excerpt from the book I liked:
Anything we say about the Mahabharata could also be said about families: they contain all that exists in the world, and whatever they don’t contain doesn’t exist. Not even in the imagination of a poet. That is, the gone-astray terrorist, the hot-headed leftist, the female and the feminist, the every-thingist and the opti-pessimist, all in the family. Or in the Mahabharata; whichever you prefer. The world is in the Mahabharata, the world is in the family, and thus the Mahabharata is in the family. The daily flare-ups —each one a Mahabharata. For this reason, every member of the family knows that what exists in me exists in no one else, and what does not exist in me has no call to exist.
And that I have the brain; others have the money.
And that everyone has taken advantage of me, so from now on, I won’t do anything—let the rest of them do it.
And that I’m the most tenderhearted despite living far away, while you are right here, yet so completely inconsiderate.
And I’m always the giver, and you are always the taker.
And wow, your wheeling dealings are just because you’re such a friendly soul, but if I do the same, I’m cold and calculating.
When you’re quiet, you’re polite; but when I’m quiet, I’m wily. If you did it, it’s good etiquette; if I do, it’s fawning flattery.
If you say it, it’s candid; if I do, it’s just rude.
If I ask, it’s obscene curiosity; when you do, it’s sympathy.
If I do it, it’s for my own convenience; if you do it, you’re most beneficent. If I do it, I’m being stingy; if you do it, you’re being thrifty.
If I’m quiet, I’m acting proud; if you’re quiet, you feel bashful.
I’m extremely secretive, but you’re just reserved.
And my fashions are faux, whereas yours are cutting edge.
And if I lose something, what’s the big deal, but if you do, you’ve been robbed, woe is me!
And if I do something it amounts to nothing, but your merest intention of doing something amounts to actually doing it.
That is, I am what I’ve done; you are what you’ve thought.
And what I said was scornful, but when you said it, it was just a joke. When I said my piece, I was being a show-off, but when you had your say, it was the unvarnished truth.
And if I got it, I grabbed it, but if you got it, it was your right.
And if I said it, I was deluded, but if you said it, you were just right.
And when I get angry, I’m humourless, but when you do, it’s self-respect.
And when I went and did it, it was my duty, but when you did, it was big of you.
And when I’m successful, I got help from you, but when you’re unsuccessful, it was me who threw a spanner in the works.
And if I get stuck, I’m a slacker, but if you get stuck, you blew your chances. And, oh, yes, if I don’t get it, I’m a moron, but if you don’t, you’re innocent.
And, oh, yes, if you’re enemies with me, I deserve it, but if I am with you, I’m jealous.
And, oh, yes, if I did it, I’m self-serving; if you did, you’re self-effacing. And if I don’t do it, it’s carelessness, but if you don’t, it’s helplessness. And however much I’ve done is not enough, and whatever little you did is plenty.
And if my nose is crooked, it’s ugly, and if your eye is crooked, it’s artistic. And, oh, yes, if I look good in a picture, the photographer was gifted, but if you look good, it’s because you’re beautiful.
And, oh, yes, if I’m fair, I look like a skinned quail, and if you’re pale, you look like a foreigner.
If I’m dark, I’m Mr Eggplant Head, whereas when you do, black is beautiful.
If I’m fat, I’m Tubby Tubkins, if you’re fat, you’re pleasingly plump.
If I’m thin, I’m dry as a stick, if you’re skinny, you’re svelte and shapely. And if I turn on the AC, I’m decadent, but if you do, you suffer from delicate health. When I drink, I’m a drunk, when you drink, doctor’s orders.
If I speak in English, I’m giving myself airs, if you do, you’re educated.
Oh, and if you need it, we’re all one big family, but when I need it, you’re separate and alone.
If I’m polite it’s pretentious, if you are, it’s pedigree.
If I live by the fruits of my labour, I’m a crude drudge, but when you cling to like a leech, it’s a cultural custom.
And yes, your work is the bee’s knees, but mine’s a hobby if you, please.
Family and my own decency have destroyed me. Otherwise, I’d have been like you: director, professor, officer.
All right, then, you’re not me, because you don’t want to be me, but I’m not you since I could never be you. I am responsible and dutiful.
My city has been highly cultured for centuries, whilst you choose to talk on and on about some recent goondas and give it a bad name.
Aji, once we’ve become a great civilization, we’ll be forever free to go any which way.
And how can you carry on about the disrespect, rape and casting out of women, when this is the land where Gargi once beat Yagyavalk and Mandan Mishra’s wife beat Shankaracharya?
Why do you see only cow dung and crap where Radha once danced, and Ganga descended from Shiva’s locks?
Yes and no, no and yes, me and you, you and me, and you and I and Amma and we did so much and you were with her, but you didn’t see and the poor thing grew older and she lay there and alone and didn’t even know what she was doing and she’s even forgotten and inventing some imaginary names and her memory’s clearly affected and everyone went running.
Comments
Post a Comment