Even though both Pakistan and India are experiencing a rapid change in terms of
interest in South Asian English literature, the field stills remain sparse and
dominated by only a few well-known names.
Haveli, one of the more popular ventures of
Indireads, a Canada-based independent publishing company, is a novella set in a
time period that appeals to both Pakistani and Indian readers. The location of
the story, a mansion in Jalalabad, featuring in the book as a former princely
state of Pakistan, employs the perfect tone for the readers to immerse
themselves in the culture and traditions of the local population.
Set in the 1970s, Haveli’s story follows the
life of a bright, vivacious 20-year-old girl named Chandni, who lives with her
grandmother within the stately, opulent haveli. Chandni, who
prefers to be called ‘C’ over her 'filmy' name, is abandoned at birth by her
flighty father. After the death of her mother soon after, she is left in the
care of her rather strict maternal grandmother, who Chandni secretly nicknames
'The Broad'. One of the redeeming qualities of the story throughout remains its
depiction of these two strong female characters, whose intentions and actions,
and the consequences of the latter, help strengthen the plot.
The author, Zeenat Mahal, does a fairly good job of hooking
the reader in with Chandni’s snarky, self-deprecating tone. The opening scene
in which Chandni is being taught how to properly pour tea brings to mind famous
costume dramas along the lines of Downton Abbey and Emma.
The next few scenes seamlessly introduce us to the other side characters, but
considering the limited length of the novella, one could say the author tries to
cram in too much at first. However, the ease with which new characters are
presented doesn’t let us get lost in the plot line.
Fairly early on in the story, Chandni’s personality is
revealed through an incident that involves smuggling a ballet teacher, who is
tormented by her intimidating grandmother, out of the country. If the reader is
in doubt about whether to trust the young woman’s self-proclaimed fearlessness,
this provides the evidence.
Unfortunately, the story line doesn’t remain
consistent throughout the narrative. With the exception of Chandni,
every new character is introduced with a ready-made set of adjectives. Over the
course of the story we do find out more about the various characters, but the
stock sentences describing them lend no authenticity to their existence as
three-dimensional characters. Some personality traits are reinforced later on,
such as the kindness lurking beneath the hero Taimur’s bluster, the villainous
intent behind Chandni’s returning father’s plans and the caring nature of her
outwardly strict grandmother — but mostly we are forced to take at face value a
number of character traits which remain unproven.
The story also falls victim to every cliché in the book when
it comes to its main characters. We have the naive, virginal heroine pitted
against the world-wise, smirking hero. We even have the blonde, good-looking
foreigner who our heroine initially falls for, but whose glib charms are no
match for our dashing desi hero. These clichés extend to physical traits as
well. There is an abundance of broad shoulders, silky hair, and smouldering eyes
for the men, and full lips, bright clothes, and thick hair for the women.
However, an argument can be made for the clichés, which is, their existence
depends on their demand. There is a reason writers like Judith McNaught and
Danielle Steele repeatedly use these story lines and still manage to
retain their loyal fan following. It’s because these clichés sell, and in
a Pakistani reader market fairly young in the English-language romantic
genre, I’d say we can forgive the author for indulging in these particular
ones.
The story does manage to make a few interesting points in
terms of social commentary and the representation of the time it is set in.
Chandni, who has been home-schooled, understands that she is among the
privileged few. There are dinner table conversations that revolve around the
political turmoil in the country, which help the story maintain its historical
perspective. There are even clever sentences about women and their sari-wearing
habits, which help set the story solidly in the location’s culture.
Another aspect worthy of discussion is the complexity of the
relationships Chandni has with the rest of the characters in the book.
Abandoned at a young age by a father who returns later on to try and win her
affections and take all her money, Chandni’s initial desire to please him and
her later horror at his true intentions make her a more realistic character.
Her relationship with her half-brother Zafar, with the charismatic but gullible
Kunwar, and with the hero’s father Baba, who is a loving father figure in her
life, helps provide a complex psychological perspective to the story that makes
it a very interesting read.
The story is also a very honest representation of the
mindsets that prevail in South Asian culture, especially when it comes to the
concept of adultery and intimacy before marriage. Chandni’s inner monologue
helps us understand how tradition dictates the way young Pakistani girls think
of romantic liaisons, even though the book does sometimes suffer from the
stream-of-consciousness writing style. There is a way to properly portray
thoughts in a manner that engages the reader, and the success of books like Catcher
in the Rye by J.D. Salinger and Mrs Dalloway by
Virginia Woolf attest to this. This book, however, fails to hit the mark in a
number of places.
A reviewer could, perhaps, also question why a story which
claims to cater to a South Asian audience makes so many references to celebrity
figures such as American actress Ava Gardner, literary figures like Heathcliff
and Moriarty, or even randomly insert currency values like the British
Farthing. Much more apt would have been names like Rumi, Dev Anand, and the more
locally understood paisa. However, the joy of reading about a
funny, snarky heroine is a refreshing change from the majority of South Asian
literature these days, which revolves more around politics, religion and death,
and less on the fun, romantic concept of young love.
Well-attended literature events, a fast-paced social media
market, and the advent of the E-book has meant that more and more people are now
embracing writers who are venturing beyond their mother tongue to represent
their traditions. But, there’s still a distinct lack of quantity to allow
readers to sample everything that South Asian countries have to offer. So,
while Haveli may falter in a number of places, it manages to
both entertain and also simultaneously represent the culture and mindset of a
young South Asian woman from the ’70s. It is hoped that publishers such as
Indireads and novellas like Haveli will, over time, polish
themselves into something that South Asians everywhere can be proud to be
associated with
.
This article was originally published in Newsline’s November
2014 issue under the heading “Romancing a Genre”.