The Elephanta Suite, by Paul Theroux
In this book, Theroux presents an India experience far removed from anything the grand India tourism machinery would like the world to have. And certainly one that will enrage anyone already irritated by 'The White Tiger' and offended by 'Slumdog Millionaire'.
The book has three stories, very mildly inter linked, of Americans exposed to the worst India has to offer - sleazy prostitutes, depraved co workers, fawning subordinates, grasping socialites. And the big one -POVERTY!!! The Americans rapidly degenerate into victims of one kind or another, easily exploited by conniving locals for sex and unlimited 'baksheesh'.
In 'Monkey Hill', a middle-aged couple at a fancy spa lose the immunity of white skin and dollars when they cross the line with some employees. In 'Elephanta Suite', a visiting lawyer, initially fearful of the water, the food and the people, feels freed of his inhibitions in a series of sexual encounters with prostitutes. And the young tourist in 'Elephant-headed God' (I think, can't remember the exact title), who is stalked and raped by an obnoxious co-worker, and then practically abandoned by law and locals alike, finds help and closure in the unlikeliest of places.
Some common themes run through the three stories - a gradual dissolving into bewilderment and alienation,a growing disillusionment with the people they meet and the experiences they have.Each of these characters feels isolated, threatened and ultimately used, by the people around them. Their India experience proves to be neither exotic nor exhilarating - it becomes an onslaught of grime, odour, depravity, greed, violence, cosmetic spirituality and really bad English.
And yet, I can't say I hated this book.Theroux's analysis of his characters - white and brown - is equally ruthless, but compelling. The book portrays Americans bearing the brunt of the way they are perceived by Indians. Their own responses are not always very smart, and the consequences always grim. Despite how unpleasant these stories were, I found myself curious to know how things would end for these rather hapless fish out of water. Yet with each story, the protagonists' response progresses a step forward - from fear, to calm acceptance to hitting back. The book does end with a very filmi climax,however, rather as if Theroux was getting a punch in for the Yankees.
Or he's a Hindi film fan.
By contrast, Chasing the Monsoon by Alexander Frater is much cheerier. Frater chronicles his travels on the heels of the Indian monsoon in the 1980s, a journey that starts in Kerala, works up to Goa and Mumbai and then on toward Delhi. Parallel to the story runs his recollections of his parents and grandfather, and their own ties with rain, life in tropical climes and this journey.
The most significant part of this journey for Frater is a trip to Cherrapunjee,a dream his father had but never lived to fulfil. A large part of the book is thus devoted to Frater's struggles with the bureaucratic process that hinders his trip to Meghalaya, then going through civil unrest and army intervention. It takes him two trips to India before the necessary permission finally comes through and Frater then finds himself in a race against time to reach the town, hopefully experience some rain and then leave before his permit expires. Will he, won't he?
This is a quick read - humorous, though not a laugh riot like Bill Bryson. It is peppered with all the usual colourful characters that are the mainstay of most tourism writing about India - bad drivers, gregarious socialites, weird mendicants, difficult civil servants. Also pimps, devotees of the BBC who would like to migrate to the UK, and a steady stream of strangely verbose fellow travellers. Did I mention bad drivers?
Frater does talk of poverty, corruption and the colossal failure of urban infrastructure in India.But his descriptions are never harsh. And in his writing, the monsoon becomes a character in itself, a wilful creature- loved ,romanticized or hated by people depending on their economic circumstances,capable of toppling governments by being fashionably late, still inspiring mass yagnas, ridiculous inventions and even human sacrifices in her crazed devotees.
In the end, however, I had to ask, what was the point? And was this really a chase, as much as a series of rain baths in picturesqe locales enjoyed while waiting for the only visit that he feels an emotional attachment to? Finally, this book was really 'Chasing Cherrapunjee'.
In this book, Theroux presents an India experience far removed from anything the grand India tourism machinery would like the world to have. And certainly one that will enrage anyone already irritated by 'The White Tiger' and offended by 'Slumdog Millionaire'.
The book has three stories, very mildly inter linked, of Americans exposed to the worst India has to offer - sleazy prostitutes, depraved co workers, fawning subordinates, grasping socialites. And the big one -POVERTY!!! The Americans rapidly degenerate into victims of one kind or another, easily exploited by conniving locals for sex and unlimited 'baksheesh'.
In 'Monkey Hill', a middle-aged couple at a fancy spa lose the immunity of white skin and dollars when they cross the line with some employees. In 'Elephanta Suite', a visiting lawyer, initially fearful of the water, the food and the people, feels freed of his inhibitions in a series of sexual encounters with prostitutes. And the young tourist in 'Elephant-headed God' (I think, can't remember the exact title), who is stalked and raped by an obnoxious co-worker, and then practically abandoned by law and locals alike, finds help and closure in the unlikeliest of places.
Some common themes run through the three stories - a gradual dissolving into bewilderment and alienation,a growing disillusionment with the people they meet and the experiences they have.Each of these characters feels isolated, threatened and ultimately used, by the people around them. Their India experience proves to be neither exotic nor exhilarating - it becomes an onslaught of grime, odour, depravity, greed, violence, cosmetic spirituality and really bad English.
And yet, I can't say I hated this book.Theroux's analysis of his characters - white and brown - is equally ruthless, but compelling. The book portrays Americans bearing the brunt of the way they are perceived by Indians. Their own responses are not always very smart, and the consequences always grim. Despite how unpleasant these stories were, I found myself curious to know how things would end for these rather hapless fish out of water. Yet with each story, the protagonists' response progresses a step forward - from fear, to calm acceptance to hitting back. The book does end with a very filmi climax,however, rather as if Theroux was getting a punch in for the Yankees.
Or he's a Hindi film fan.
By contrast, Chasing the Monsoon by Alexander Frater is much cheerier. Frater chronicles his travels on the heels of the Indian monsoon in the 1980s, a journey that starts in Kerala, works up to Goa and Mumbai and then on toward Delhi. Parallel to the story runs his recollections of his parents and grandfather, and their own ties with rain, life in tropical climes and this journey.The most significant part of this journey for Frater is a trip to Cherrapunjee,a dream his father had but never lived to fulfil. A large part of the book is thus devoted to Frater's struggles with the bureaucratic process that hinders his trip to Meghalaya, then going through civil unrest and army intervention. It takes him two trips to India before the necessary permission finally comes through and Frater then finds himself in a race against time to reach the town, hopefully experience some rain and then leave before his permit expires. Will he, won't he?
This is a quick read - humorous, though not a laugh riot like Bill Bryson. It is peppered with all the usual colourful characters that are the mainstay of most tourism writing about India - bad drivers, gregarious socialites, weird mendicants, difficult civil servants. Also pimps, devotees of the BBC who would like to migrate to the UK, and a steady stream of strangely verbose fellow travellers. Did I mention bad drivers?
Frater does talk of poverty, corruption and the colossal failure of urban infrastructure in India.But his descriptions are never harsh. And in his writing, the monsoon becomes a character in itself, a wilful creature- loved ,romanticized or hated by people depending on their economic circumstances,capable of toppling governments by being fashionably late, still inspiring mass yagnas, ridiculous inventions and even human sacrifices in her crazed devotees.
In the end, however, I had to ask, what was the point? And was this really a chase, as much as a series of rain baths in picturesqe locales enjoyed while waiting for the only visit that he feels an emotional attachment to? Finally, this book was really 'Chasing Cherrapunjee'.
Was shocked by the Elephanta Suites. And to think its by the same writer we've loved in great Railway Bazaar, Patagonian Express et al
ReplyDeleteIt's weird to see how threatened he is by this place- all the characters in his book get killed or raped while in india..
like Frater when i read him years ago.
PS- re bookclub you're very welcome . send me your id and i shall mail you details.