OK. Let me confess. I have this bitter prejudice towards ‘celebrity’ authors. But you will understand my prejudice if you look around the current literary scenario. These days any celebrity can lend their initials – literally – to the brainchild of somebody else and smugly enjoy all the accolades and royalties for someone else’s efforts. How else can you explain it, when a fast-bowler, known more for off-field antics than on-field heroics, one who cannot even write a proper tweet without making himself a butt of jokes, suddenly writes a ‘memoir’ (!) and rakes in the moolah?!
Sudha Murty was one author whose works I had shunned for so long due to this same prejudice. I thought of her as someone who was making hay as the sun shined – hogging limelight more for her being the spouse of Narayanamurty, the legendary founder of Infosys, than for her own literary prowess. This book proved me wrong completely. This book is a flowing tale of a female protagonist, who gets shunned by all and sundry, including the man who ‘loved’ and married her, for the only reason that she has started developing white patches on her skin.
Anupama is your quintessential Indian heroine, her beauty sans pareil, her intelligence of highest order, everything about her good and lovely. The only defect about her is her poverty. Anand is an equally charming, equally brilliant, but abundantly rich hero, who falls in love at first sight with our heroine. Then come the typical step-mother and the equally typically incapable father of Anupama. On Anand’s side are his mother, who is bent on flaunting her social status, and an arrogant sister. When Anand from high-society falls in love with Anupama, they get married without any trouble. While everything seems to be going in Anupama’s favor, she develops ‘leukoderma’, which results in her developing white patches on skin. As could be expected, she gets shunned by her in-laws, with her husband proving to be utterly uncaring. Returning to her maternal home, she gets ill-treated by her step-mother as could be expected. While on the verge of killing herself, she has her epiphany and decides to take charge of her life. Was she able to rebuild her life? Did she find the overcome the ‘stigma’ of skin deformity in a society obsessed with mere external beauty? The book answers these questions.
The tale is written in a simple, flowing, interesting manner. But nothing about the book feels original. The events all remind you of those sad Indian movies of 1950s and 60s. The end is, again, not much convincing or, as modern-day ‘feminists’ might say, ‘ground-breaking’. Also the claim that there is a similar novel with the same name, written by Marathi author Sumati Kshetramade, leaves a not-so-pleasant taste in the mouth.
This book is a nice read, but nothing much can be taken from this.
Mahashweta – mixed emotions!
Sudha Murty was one author whose works I had shunned for so long due to this same prejudice. I thought of her as someone who was making hay as the sun shined – hogging limelight more for her being the spouse of Narayanamurty, the legendary founder of Infosys, than for her own literary prowess. This book proved me wrong completely. This book is a flowing tale of a female protagonist, who gets shunned by all and sundry, including the man who ‘loved’ and married her, for the only reason that she has started developing white patches on her skin.
Anupama is your quintessential Indian heroine, her beauty sans pareil, her intelligence of highest order, everything about her good and lovely. The only defect about her is her poverty. Anand is an equally charming, equally brilliant, but abundantly rich hero, who falls in love at first sight with our heroine. Then come the typical step-mother and the equally typically incapable father of Anupama. On Anand’s side are his mother, who is bent on flaunting her social status, and an arrogant sister. When Anand from high-society falls in love with Anupama, they get married without any trouble. While everything seems to be going in Anupama’s favor, she develops ‘leukoderma’, which results in her developing white patches on skin. As could be expected, she gets shunned by her in-laws, with her husband proving to be utterly uncaring. Returning to her maternal home, she gets ill-treated by her step-mother as could be expected. While on the verge of killing herself, she has her epiphany and decides to take charge of her life. Was she able to rebuild her life? Did she find the overcome the ‘stigma’ of skin deformity in a society obsessed with mere external beauty? The book answers these questions.
The tale is written in a simple, flowing, interesting manner. But nothing about the book feels original. The events all remind you of those sad Indian movies of 1950s and 60s. The end is, again, not much convincing or, as modern-day ‘feminists’ might say, ‘ground-breaking’. Also the claim that there is a similar novel with the same name, written by Marathi author Sumati Kshetramade, leaves a not-so-pleasant taste in the mouth.
This book is a nice read, but nothing much can be taken from this.
Mahashweta – mixed emotions!
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