Book Review: Babyji by Abha Dawesar
I was drawn to the book by the title, the picture of what looked like little girls in bloomers and lace, till upon looking closer I realised it was actually schoolgirls with assorted skirt lengths. I debated whether to borrow it or not: it wasn't on my travel booklist, and I hadn't heard of the author. But I was feeling lucky, and given my partiality for Indian literature, decided to give it a shot.
And boy was I not disappointed! Babyji is about the appropriately titled Anamika (nameless), precocious Head Girl and sensualist extraodinaire. Written in 2005 in contemporary crispness, but set in 1992, it explores her adolescent angst, ambient 9read Kinsey-scale), emerging Lolita-esque sexuality, caste, sex, gender-based politics, both in terms of the body and of the mind, the Mandal Commission, and winding, dusty Delhi and its environs.
Anamika is a physics and maths brain and uses her understanding of the various theorems and formulae to come to terms with existential reality. Yet at the same time, equating a non-linear life to measurable coordinates sometimes places her at the vortex of a moral whirlpool, and she loses sense grip, but manages to emerge victorious and a bit more mature, albeit sopping wet.
What indeed, is measurable about love? Or lust for that matter? Can it be measured absolutely, or only by degree? Power does have it place here, in the intersecting dimensions of age, caste, sex, economic and educational status. Power, too, determines sensuality. Anamika, dizzy with possibilities, gets entangled in romantic liaisons with a divorced mother, a classmate, a low-caste slumdweller, and a friend's father. Some are of her doing, some not. She also experiences the violence of sexuality that simmer under the surface in men, whether intended or not. And reacts the way women both do, and ought to.
And boy was I not disappointed! Babyji is about the appropriately titled Anamika (nameless), precocious Head Girl and sensualist extraodinaire. Written in 2005 in contemporary crispness, but set in 1992, it explores her adolescent angst, ambient 9read Kinsey-scale), emerging Lolita-esque sexuality, caste, sex, gender-based politics, both in terms of the body and of the mind, the Mandal Commission, and winding, dusty Delhi and its environs.
Anamika is a physics and maths brain and uses her understanding of the various theorems and formulae to come to terms with existential reality. Yet at the same time, equating a non-linear life to measurable coordinates sometimes places her at the vortex of a moral whirlpool, and she loses sense grip, but manages to emerge victorious and a bit more mature, albeit sopping wet.
What indeed, is measurable about love? Or lust for that matter? Can it be measured absolutely, or only by degree? Power does have it place here, in the intersecting dimensions of age, caste, sex, economic and educational status. Power, too, determines sensuality. Anamika, dizzy with possibilities, gets entangled in romantic liaisons with a divorced mother, a classmate, a low-caste slumdweller, and a friend's father. Some are of her doing, some not. She also experiences the violence of sexuality that simmer under the surface in men, whether intended or not. And reacts the way women both do, and ought to.
Dawesar creates, at a micro level, an fascinating sociologial study of a middle-class society and public administration, opinion and aspirations, through Anamika's role as liaison between the students and teachers, through her parents, civil servants, through the various opinions related to lifestyle (alcohol, smoking, boys, sex) peppered throughout the book. Not to mention the politics of skirt hemlines and the possibility of categorising a woman on the basis of her bra and the hair (or lack of it) in her underarms. Provocative for sure. Simply because this is the first coming of age novel Ive read about a young girl in India, who actually dares to explore her sexuality of her own accord, and who is successully integrated (at least externally) in the mainstream.
Conclusion: A racy, feisty, classic Bildungsroman (YES! That's what the coming-of-age genre is called!) filled with jealousy, desire, school, and most of all, sparkling intelligence. Definitely one of the best 'new' books Ive read (those that are not already tried and tested by people, such that you're already positively biased towards them).
posted by Princess Joya | 4:18 am
1 Comments:
i loved the words in fact!!!
The fact that she didn't do a journalistic thing on teh Mandal commission or a thesis on the middle class mentality, that it just sort of happened around the edges of her consciousness - she was framed just like a teenager and i could totally associate with her edginess!
There was totally a storyline! A space of a few months and intense subliminal identity formation! i know it was kinda desi Mills and Boons gone nuts, but it gave off the steamy tension that mills under the surface of supposedly sleepy Indian cities. It was light, enjoyable and nice. Just different and not drowning in magical realism like most other Indian authors.
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