Snapshots of the subaltern
In what can be perceived as an attempt to reject the conventions of contemporary Nepali literature, wherein major characters are often selected from dominant social groups, author Nayanraj Pandey has taken a step in the other direction with his new novel Loo. Pandey appears to be intent on bringing into the spotlight those marginalised communities and individuals who are largely voiceless, and cannot speak up for their own rights. Nimbly incorporating one such marginalised community as its main setting and the members of that community as characters, the book essentially narrates the painful story of the people who live around the Nepal-India border. The novel’s charm lies mainly in the author’s saccharine and well-expressed language. The storyline is simple; however, as a reader, it is that very simplicity that proves engaging. One feels as though one has actually been transported to these locations described in the book, surrounded by Pandey’s characters, playing, eating, and confronting their painful circumstances first-hand. This is largely thanks to the author’s unique, and fairly new, writing style, that even leans towards meta-fiction at times. Aside from writing technique, also engrossing is the selection of characters in Loo. In providing such a character-focused narrative, the author seems to acknowledge the fact that detailed personal accounts are what appeal to the interests and sentiments of most readers.
Loo begins with the story of Ilaiya and Nusrat, using them to reveal the larger issues plaguing their community, particularly the cruelty of the Indian police stationed in the area. Although the book is riddled with umpteen characters, this isn’t
necessarily a drawback, because the individual accounts of each have been structured well and simply so as to avoid any possible confusion. Among the most interesting is Tute-Pandeet, who offers some much-needed comic relief with his amusing antics. Bajrangi, Karim, and Maheshar Kaka are also big players in the storyline, although they tend to get relegated to the background time and again. Radiolal is another interesting character, named for his role as the village’s source of news and gossip. But it is perhaps Ilaiya who fascinates the most, vacillating between good and evil, and constantly eluding definition.
Comparisons between Loo and the book Can the Subaltern Speak? by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak might be inevitable, rooted as both are in similar concerns. But a significant difference would be in the way Pandey is able to push his characters to break out of their silent mould and speak up, challenging the authority of those political leaders who have long turned a deaf ear to the people in the border areas. There is a noticeably empowering tone in the book, where seemingly insurmountable obstacles and hurdles are brought in one by one, but also eventually resolved. Pandey has a definite knack for expressing the emotional, pulling readers right into the heart of things, and reflecting on dilemmas and their outcomes with great passion.
What makes the book especially relevant to Nepali readers is the fact that Pandey deals with a problem that has existed for decades in the border regions—the issue of land encroachment. The people living in these volatile areas have, over time, suffered numerous political, economic and cultural troubles, and Loo offers commendable insights into each. Additionally, Pandey’s deft touch in portraying both Muslim and Hindu cultures and everyday lives is a testament to his deep understanding of the dynamics of these two groups and his wish to maintain internal cohesion between them. He is able to excavate, layer by layer, the crux of long-standing issues, achieving this at a healthy pace that still manages to retain the interest of readers. In this sense, then, this book—with its patriotic undertones and nationalistic themes—could be considered a worthy adjunct to the list of forces working to uphold social structure and internal homogeneity in Nepal’s western belt.
Many activists and political parties use the term ‘margin’ loosely as per their personal agendas, a usage that becomes vague when it comes to actual accountability. That is not the case here, however. Pandey seems determined to really point out who these marginalised people are, and to demonstrate how they’ve been pushed aside in mainstream politics, especially with regards to decision-making powers. Loo, while fictional, brings out some very real problems, like the atrocities committed by the Indian police on Nepali locals, including rape, burglary, theft, and abuse. It is the mad lawlessness of these very circumstances that
supposedly inspired the book’s title, a metaphorical allusion to the chaos caused by the hot, raging winds that blow in these parts.
One can very easily concur that this volume represents a milestone in Nepali modern fiction. Not only does Pandey offer a detailed, revelatory look into border politics, but he does so in an engaging way that allows readers to identify with specific characters, to emphathise with them, to feel for their plight. While narratives on marginalised communities have certainly cropped up in large numbers in recent years running parallel to their ongoing struggle for attention from the government, not all have been effective. Loo, though, breaks down the larger issues into simple, relatable chunks that any reader could easily gobble up and enjoy.
Perhaps not everyone will agree with Pandey’s views on federalism though, where he advocates staunchly against adopting an ethnic-based model for the country, a point that has been debated continually in current political discourse. He almost sounds like he is propounding a theory once put forth by acclaimed sociologist Emile Durkheim—that of mechanical solidarity—as a tangible means of preserving the connections between the border communities. The only drawback in the book, and a small one at that, is the fact that the author has, for some reason, chosen to fuse the acknowledgement section towards the end with the main narrative, making for an oddly structured conclusion. That aside, this is a must-read for those interested in the idea of the ‘subaltern’—Loo cements Pandey’s identity as an inimitable force in Nepali fiction.
Posted on: 2012-04-21 08:51
