The Virasat Anthology of Short Stories, comprising 34 short stories, is an eclectic collection of diverse voices. Grounded and unpretentious, they steadily nurture the consciousness of a conscientious reader traversing a wide spectrum of emotions. As a genre uniquely attuned to moments both subtle and sharp, the short stories here unfold unforgettable journeys that bring together voices from Mauritius, the USA, Venezuela, India, the Netherlands, and Ireland. Masterfully edited by Nishi Pulugurtha, the capacious compendium offers emotions, thoughts, arguments and characters that pulsate with an enigma rare enough to yield fresh perspectives on human existence.
‘Rainbow Passage’ reminds us of Kafka’s ‘The Metamorphosis’, where Celia, “born in a desolate place at the bottom of the ocean” (unlike Gregor Samsa), found a voice of her own as her fish tails transformed into the “loveliest pair of legs any young maid could hope to have”. ‘The Perfectly Round Chapatti’ unravels a different kind of transitional journey: a newly married woman who had slipped into a socially contrived domestic world where her role as the perfect wife and daughter-in-law helmed her existence – awakens to her rediscovered individuality as she revives her long-lost interest in journalism. In a stream – of – consciousness retelling of events, ‘Raw Memories’ navigates a present that carries the emotional burden of a past bristling under the surface and a future waiting in the offing, where memory blurs into symbolism. ‘Dress Code’ – read after Victor Shklovsky – artfully defamiliarises the saree, a familiar outfit for Indian women. Delving into a complex socio-cultural-economic zeitgeist, the story powerfully captures the multifaceted role of this rather modest dress code. ‘I Am Another’ is a trenchant and ironic narration of a young girl’s life, a victim of the gross imbalance in the social and gender hierarchy. Disengaging herself from the flesh and blood body is the only escape for this girl from Haryana, who, like the mythical Draupadi, is married off to four men.
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Some of the stories read like interim leisurely pieces that thread the narrative voices together into a seamless continuity, illuminating the variegated facets of life. ‘100 Pairs of Hose’, for example, allows one to ponder on the nuances of class and gender as it interweaves the pain and self-reflections that everyday existence is embroiled in. In ‘The Apple Tree’, the narrative shifts from Tanushree’s gaze to her husband Vimal’s: a couple grappling with the loss of a home they have left behind as much as the gradual tearing apart of the world they seemingly inhabit. The tender narrative flow aligns itself with themes about nation, memory and loss that postcolonial diasporic narratives often seek to explore. The story is punctuated with pregnant moments searingly tragic as deeply sensitive – “The laughter in Tanusree’s voice was unmistakable. In moments like these, it seemed her mind was once again agile, was able to join all the dots of past and present.” ‘Ghost of Fire’ is a trip down the resplendent alleys of childhood, the innocuously held beliefs that make it worth reliving in all its playful make-believe moments of fantasy.
For zealots of the Swiftian kind of satire and for those interested in plots beyond the anthropocentric ones, ‘In the Mind of Eragneur of Wallthasure’ is the go-to story. Although the influence of the mock-epic conventions is clearly evident in the narrative, there is also an unmistakable effortlessness about it that is disarmingly invigorating. ‘The Sun Under Water’, a politically conscious story poised precariously at the crossroads of the political and the personal, follows the life of Ratneswar. Having experienced spousal abandonment way back in the past, his life takes an unexpected turn when he is reluctantly pushed into sharing his sparse home with Nilim, a young man fleeing from the army. Nilim’s presence reignites emotions buried inside him. As a tumultuous past gets unleashed, it leads to a moment of reckoning that finally compels him to encounter his own loneliness and impending death. In ‘A Burning Saree’, the saree, a potent metaphor of acceptance and transgression, entails rich and layered connotations. ‘Leer’ unpacks the scheming, insidious patriarchal ploys readily deployed to keep women in check. Appa, the oppressive father, had finally found a way to ensure his daughters’ subservience – harnessing their need for his property and inciting jealousy for each other. The three sisters, however, quietly but firmly refuse to comply with his demands, leaving him wallowing in vacuous vanity.
When Ganga finally spoke, her voice was that of three daughters, not one. ‘Marry again, Appa. I hope you will have many sons. Keep the mill, keep the cattle, keep the land, keep it all. We want nothing.’
‘No matter what, you have to take care of me!’ he ranted. ‘It’s the law!’
A psychologically rich monologue unravels the complex tapestry of a woman’s selfhood in ‘Mirror, Mirror on the Wall’. It pries open a self, lost out to the mundane humdrum of everyday monotony. ‘Ties that Matter’ captures a moment pivoting on childhood as it stands facing secrets rigorously guarded by the adult world. It also explores the relationship between the narrator and his elder cousin that grows deep and strong over the years and remains untarnished by social stigma and taboos. ‘The Horse of Black Magic’, written in the flat declarative style of realist fiction, harbours the pain and suffering of a tribal community: the death of a newborn eaten by rats, a worldview steeped in magic and superstition, and a woman crumbling into insanity. ‘Above the Clouds of Reality’ explores the capitalism-development rhetoric that takes a toll on the environment, furthering the crisis that has already reached frightening severity. ‘Boracic’ is an honest introspection that reveals a deep-seated dichotomy: the protagonist self-deflatingly sliced into contradictory demands while trying to help a poor immigrant family. ‘The Complaint’ delves into the patriarchy-infested corporate world (# MeToo movement) that glibly glosses over misogyny and sexual offences. Power equations take a backseat when Simran fights for justice, even while staking her career. ‘The Night Alone’ is a poignant take on the individual and collective struggles of refugees, particularly women. Reshmina, “sleeping with the newborn baby at her breast along with her mother-in-law and other women clubbed together on the cold, uncarpeted floor” – abandoned by her husband, manages to rent a cheap “single room with a common toilet shared by four families near Ridingia, not far from the bulldozed ruins of their own home.” Aloka in ‘Ataraxia’ arrives at a life of understanding, acceptance and forgiveness after grovelling through years of indifference and rejection. ‘A City in Heat’ is a surreal overview of a city in perpetual flux. While ‘Umbilicus’ is a foray into relationships forged by blood ties, madness and sisterhood become catalysts for female solidarity in ‘Berserk Banshee’
What makes these stories remarkable is their quiet and compassionate rendering of ordinary moments and unremarkable lives. They offer an intimate, unexaggerated reading experience where the reader is not being performed at but let in. While dredging out truths that remain hidden in plain sight, at times lost beneath the noise of urban life, at times obscured by the mindless conundrum of social media, the stories are honest, insightful, poignant, layered, socially aware, feminist, and powerful.