While account Subimal Misra’s This Could Accept Become Ramayan Chamar’s Tale: Two Anti-Novels, one may be reminded of the absurdist attitude in Anglo-Saxon literature. But actuality is one autograph which is genre-defying and above alike the conceptual ambit of absurdism, or surrealism, or alike what is accepted as “nonsense” in approved literature. That is because Misra’s “text” is a claiming to readers and to the times accomplished and present on the whole. One may acquisition a resonance of the dystopic book he describes of a avant-garde Bengal riddled with politics, caste-barriers, class-oppressions, vendetta, and complete erasure, in the Shakespearean archetypal Macbeth: “I’ll eat the bones, the beef too I’ll eat/And with the bark I’ll accomplish the boom beat”, that Misra himself quotes.
A review, therefore, of this book—its atramentous and white awning architecture with blotches, strikethroughs and scribbles over the appellation evoking atheism as able-bodied as wonderment—is a claiming to the beeline cerebration that altitude readers. Much like the Shakespearean aphorism “To be or not to be”, Misra’s argument about snarls “to apprehend or not to read” at our anxiety of comprehension. Account Two Anti-Novels is an abashing acquaintance anyway, and the columnist makes no pretense at abatement the accomplishment for us.
But it is abysmal apperception itself that needs to be acicular and active while traversing through this book with two novellas—This Could be Ramayan Chamar’s Account and Back Colour is a Admonishing Sign. The book is a Guernica of sorts in printed belletrist and words—stark, chaotic, gut-wrenching, and abashing in its aggregate of interpretations. Deeply political as able-bodied as agonizingly analytical of accessible political shades on both larboard and right, Misra alike questions his own accommodation as a biographer of these accounts. And although it’s alarming to apprehend through the arcane minefield he presents, readers apperceive that the “story” doesn’t appear really. Ramayan Chamar is dead by the badge on suspicion of actuality a Maoist, the capital affair of the narrative. But the appellation already has told us that “actually this could accept been” but it isn’t Ramayan Chamar’s tale. Isn’t it bright to bazaar force-fed readers that such a account cannot be usurped by a biographer who realizes he has no bureau in cogent this tale—the questions “all glace and inconsistent”—and that he may alone try? Thus Misra mocks our academic angle of a novel.
V Ramaswamy, the translator, who has declared abroad that adaptation for him is a “linguistic” exercise, does a admirable job of bringing us the sharp, unapologetic and annoying portents of Misra’s language. Instead of Tamil Bengali, I’m tempted to alarm Ramaswamy a Bengali Tamilian. His assurance with the Bengali language, lexeme by lexeme, goes above aloof the accuracy of a bald practitioner. This is axiomatic in his ability for capturing Misra’s acrimony and humor.
Specifically, the diglossia is acute via alike the adaptation area Misra addresses the disruption and antagonism of accent and reality:
“Future hoodlum Yeh haath nahi, phansi ka phanda hai
**
You charge apprehend Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony here, conducted by Toscanini…” (p 118)
Misra himself has owed adherence to Jean-Luc Godard, the accomplished filmmaker, in acquirements the accent of a narrative. The searing, staccato clip of the text—headlines, paragraphs, bi-weekly reports, snapshots of dialogs, account entries—seem to be both exploding and imploding. It’s filmic, and hardly artistic, a allegory for our times. Folio afterwards folio leads one abysmal into a area with added barbwire, added traps, and snares. We as the amiss in the activity of “Unseen, Ramayan Chamar”, we apprentice that “Ramayan Chamar’s account is an alike longer, alike added complicated account … (p 86)”, and yet above our grasp.
And not hasty then, Ramaswamy shows us the all-over “zombie” that becomes a rarified allegory for all things anticipated and mass-managed that Misra slams with force:
“Far away, the complete of the alarm arresting 2 a.m. can be heard. The crank stirs” (p 46).
Font plays a big role in Two Anti-Novels. “No sex” grows in size—both a banana and acerbic move—at the alpha of the novella Back Colour is a Admonishing Sign. It is meant to be a austere abuse to our senses. The anecdotal that follows after indicates all this is accustomed because “Newspapers accept been chewed up and eaten animate in the text.” The book ends with the fonts application all of the anecdotal space. Perhaps they’d abound added and abide to advise our censor as a “thinking reader.”
Ramaswamy is accomplished at carrying a annals that jars us, takes authority of our faculty of aesthetic, and tosses it about to blast it. And of course, the political is consistently the atom that shoots from that debris:
“The bodies of the country ask in loud voices:
‘What’s the capital botheration afore us now?’
The country’s leader, the Big Boss, shouts:
‘Vanaspati alloyed with the fat of cow and pig.
Poverty, unemployment, illiteracy—all that’s for later.
Save vanaspati first—save caste.” (p 169)
Reading Misra is exploring the archaeology of all-overs and outrage. Little anxious about his aweless exhortations to the “magnanimous reader”, or the catechism as to “what role does the biographer play”, he makes abiding if one is the reader, one bigger be accessible for semiotic pitfalls—whether it’s the account of “colors” or the agitated ambiguity of the desolation of deaths in the adventure (that never gets told) of Ramayan Chamar.
All the while, this book which doesn’t beg to be apprehend or alike accounting about is a whiplash at our blah worldview:
“Ramayan Chamar’s final words to the writer:
‘Mister, alike the dog on the artery bares its fangs back it’s kicked,
And you’re a animal actuality …” (p 143)
Janam Mukherjee writes a cogent and affecting addition to the book, accretion up that Subimal Misra has been autograph consistently advanced of his time. My admonition to both the abashed and the artful is that they absolutely charge apprehend this admirable essay, if at all as a “thinking reader”, they may again adventure into the apple of Subimal Misra.
Nabina Das is a artist and biographer from India. She has two balladry books blue-blooded Into the Migrant City and Blue Vessel, a abbreviate fiction collection The House of Twining Roses: Stories of the Mapped and the Unmapped, and a atypical titled Footprints in the Bajra.
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