The Ministry of Utmost Happiness

It is a wonderful book about a difficult subject. Although it is not as easy to read as "The God of Small Things" which may be the best book I have ever had the pleasure to read, still it is a worthy novel. Perhaps Ms. Roy took on too much with the situation in India, Afghanistan and Kashmir. Still, the characters are very well-drawn and the story was captivating. War is a tragedy felt most acutely by those who experience it but it has an impact on all of us involved. I wish that our governments would tell the truth that she has so bravely written about. Viva la Resistance!

It's not as good as The God of Small Things, but, I could read Arundhati Roy and nothing else till the day I die. Perceptive, sensitive, topical, heartfelt and beautifully crafted.

“He narrowed his blindgreen eyes and asked in a slygreen whisper…”Arundhati Roy’s second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, published 20 years after her first beloved debut, The God of Small Things, was perhaps one of the most anticipated novels of 2017. It’s had a mixed reception and I can see why. The novel starts off in old Delhi with Anjum, a hijra, along with a colorful cast of characters. One of my favorite things about the novel is how the city’s flora and fauna is as much a part of the story as the humans.“When the bats leave, the crows come home. Not all the din of their homecoming fills the silence left by the sparrows that have gone missing, and the old white-backed vultures, custodians of the dead for more than a hundred, million years, that have been wiped out.”The old city’s centuries long Muslim culture and architecture is nostalgically laid out, and Roy’s ear for language and detail is often sublime: “a small tortoise…with a sprig of clover in one nostril.”I found Anjum compelling if tropeful - an elegant fierce outspoken Urdu poetry-quoting drag queen. It wasn’t obvious to me immediately that her companions and antagonists - and pretty much every other character in the book - are also symbols. They represent the many conflicts that routinely tear India apart and that have occupied Roy’s political, human rights, and environmental concerns and her nonfiction writing for the past 20 years: the Hindu-Muslim divide, the caste system, the Kashmir conflict, the Indo-Pak wars, the 1992 Gujarat massacre, the 1984 Bhopal gas leak, and of course the farmers and fishermen whose lands and livelihoods are variously taken over by capitalism and corruption and other horrors.The second half of the novel turns to the monstrous ongoing civil war tragedy that is Kashmir, following four college friends, a civil servant, a journalist, a Kashmiri activist, and the woman they all love. Again, the tropes and stereotypes abound: the quiet noble freedom fighter, the ambitious journalist, the suave diplomat, the mysterious beautiful woman who doesn’t have to say anything, has no past, but everyone falls anyway.“There was something unleashed about her, something uncalibrated and yet absolutely certain.”Despite this, I was wrecked by the account of the war in Kashmir. There is a scene when a boy is brought in after interrogation (i.e. torture, which is so graphically described at times that I wanted to throw up).“To refuse to show pain was a pact the boy had made with himself. It was a desolate act of defiance that he had conjured up in the teeth of absolute, abject defeat. And that made it majestic. Except that nobody noticed. He stayed very still, a broken bird, half sitting, half lying, propped up on one elbow, his breath shallow, his gaze directed inward, his expression giving nothing away.”Even with the overwriting, the melodrama, I don’t think I’ll ever forget this broken bird of a boy. I didn’t grow up in South Asia, and I’ve never been to Kashmir, but its beauty of landscape and people is legendary. I have long recognized the utter wonder in people’s voices when they speak of the region. And it seems as if there’s no way out now, no light at the end of the bloody tunnel. There are so many militant groups, so many broken families, so many displaced people of different religions, so many armies and guerrilla forces from India and Pakistan, so much sorrow, so much loss. No one wants to let go. No one will and everyone suffers for it. This is not a new story to South Asians (which might explain some of the grim subcontinental reviews of the book), but the novel outlines the longevity, continuity, complexity, and intensity of the conflict, and it is overwhelming and horrifying.That said, there are entire sections of the novel where semi-journalistic/semi-diary reports of violence, political intrigue, and human rights abuses in Kashmir are clumped together without context or explanation. This is a shame because these are real and important stories, but without tying them to characters we’ve grown to know or the places they inhabit, they end up feeling extraneous. I read these awkwardly written sections impatiently, trying to figure out how they tied in, and when they didn’t, waiting for the book to get back to the story. It felt like lazy writing, or lazy editing perhaps.The two halves of the novel are tied clumsily together with a plot point - a baby - that appears magical-realism style. Of course, in addition to connecting the two halves, this baby serves its political purpose, standing in for another conflict, this one from the vicious war the Indian government is waging against its own citizens - Maoist guerrillas in the jungle.“Normality in our part of the world is a bit like a boiled egg: its humdrum surface conceals at its heart a yolk of egregious violence.”If you don’t know much about modern Indian history and politics, Roy’s novel is an education, and an indictment of India Shining. Political figures are tarred and feathered, including the current Prime Minister, Narendra Modi, referred to as Gujarat ka Lalla. The country-wide violence, corruption, and discrimination seem bone deep, systematic, inevitable. Perhaps it’s as the novel itself says, “There’s too much blood for good literature.”But I have faith. Maybe now that Roy has painted the broad strokes in her second novel, her third might go more small things than utmost, deeper than wider. However, I have less faith in the future. If history is indeed a revelation of what’s to come as much as it is a study of the past, as The Ministry of Utmost Happiness claims, then “pretending to be hopeful is the only grace we have…”

This novel is about the marginalized people in modern India--people living on the periphery--the transgenders, Dalits (untouchables), Muslims, Kashmiris, people not included in the rising capitalist India. Aftab, who later changes his name to Anjum, is born to Muslim family in old Delhi. His mother notices that there is something not quite right with him, he has both the male and female body parts. Despite family’s best effort Anjum moves out of the house and starts living with other transgenders, called Hijras in Urdu-Hindi.There is a lot of symbolism in the novel how Anjum as a Hijra and as a Muslim is treated by the society at large, and how she perceives herself. Who is she, what is she, and maybe why? In most countries, including India, people have struggled to deal with transgenders. In this novel, Arundhati Roy, tries to show that it is not just transgenders, there are many different types of people who have uncertain role and relation with modern India. Muslim in general but especially muslims in Kashmir are one of those people.The novel describes the riots in Gujarat, and the violence in Kashmir. Musa, a Kashmiri, who is going to college in Delhi, due to a tragedy, in which his wife and daughter are killed, turns to extremism and becomes a Kashmiri separatist.The Chamars, Dalits, or Untouchables are another example of historic outcastes in the society like transgenders. Saddam Hussein, not his real name, who belongs to Dalit caste, is attacked with his father by Hindu extremists, and his father is murdered. There is similar pattern when it comes to his predicament, like Anjum a Hijra, Musa a Kashmiri Muslim, modern India does not quite know how to deal with him.Tilo is another such person, from South India, born out of wedlock, she is searching for destiny. Musa and her have close relationship, she even helps him out with insurgency in Kashmir. All these outcastes eventually start living in a graveyard together. It is in this graveyard, all of them rejected and scarred by the society, come together, share each other’s pain, and find some peace and sense of community.It is a beautifully written novel. It gives this hope that despite shortcomings of India democracy, there is room for protests and debate. All different kinds of protesters who gather at the Jantar Mantar is one example of that. Muslims, Dalits, Hijras, gas leak victims from Bhopal, Earthquake victims, and many other kind of protesters, they all gather there, with hope that they will be heard. Maybe a time will come when they will be.

This anticipated novel is a complex story with characters interwoven across time and place. Having visited India several times, including Kashmir just before some of the times described in this novel, I was able to put myself in the story. It can be a bit confusing at times as the narrative moves forwards and backwards, but I did enjoy it. Recommended.

Infumable...

“Como contar uma história estilhaçada? Lentamente se tornando todo mundo. Não. Lentamente se tornando tudo”, lê, em um diário, um personagem de THE MINISTRY OF UTMOST HAPPINESS. Em seu segundo romance (que foi gestado em 20 anos), a indiana Arundhati Roy segue essa proposição, para contar uma trama fragmentada que vai e volta o tempo e espaço e dá conta de forma poética e incisiva do presente da Índia – e, por tabela, do mundo contemporâneo.O resultado é uma sinfonia caótica de pequenos pedacinhos que montam uma constelação de tramas e personagens de forma abrangente, peculiar e sagaz. Possivelmente, nem há um protagonista aqui, mas uma personagem se destaca logo no início. Ela é Anjum, uma Hijra, pessoas transgêneras e intersexuais cujo destino é dar prazer aos outros sem receber nada em troca. Anjum, cuja vida começou com Aftab, um garoto desejado e amado pelos pais, com 40 e poucos anos vai viver num cemitério, “como uma árvore”, se define, distante do Khwabgah, onde vivem as outras hijras, conhecidas como o 3o gênero, donas de um papel importante – apesar de ainda marginalizadas – na cultura indiana. Porém, sua morada no cemitério não dura muito, até que ela constrói uma pequena casa ao lado, e, aos poucos novos cômodos, e recebe pessoas excluídas e renegadas, por um aluguel baixo. O local ganha o nome de Jannat (paraíso), e sua posição dentro da narrativa acaba fornecendo o título ao romance.Outra personagem feminina, o outro polo da trama, é a ilustradora Tilo, que, em Kashmir (Caxemira), reencontra um antigo amante, Musa, que perdeu a mulher e a filha numa rebelião perdeu a mulher e a filha pequena. Na região, ao norte do subcontinente, divida entre Índia e Paquistão, é palco de constantes conflitos desde o fim da ocupação britânica. Em seu segmento dentro do romance, Tilo irá se deparar com os horrores da ocupação indiana, especialmente as atrocidades do exército.O primeiro romance da autora, The God of The Small Things, rendeu-lhe o Booker Prize, em 1997, e acusação de obscenidade no estado onde ela nasceu, Kerala, além da reputação como uma romancista séria, entre outras coisas. O livro lidou de forma franca com sexualidade e política – muitas vezes, interconectando os temas. Seu estilo beira uma espécie de selvageria meditada, com idas e vindas no tempo, e personagens marcantes.The ministry of utmost happiness não é muito diferente nesse sentido, mas, de certa forma, parece mais visceral, menos ponderado em sua forma do que o anterior. Seu retrato de duas décadas de história da Índia parece menos amarrados, mais solto, e mais direto quando se trata de abordar a política no país. Ao recusar uma narrativa clássica, sequencial, a autora parece buscar ciclos de violência e desejo que se formam de maneira não linear, e devastam a vida de pessoas em determinados períodos, com altos e baixos.Ao contrário de The God of the small things, The ministry of utmost happiness não é um romance que seduz rápida e facilmente, é um livro que pede atenção, concentração e manda seguir em frente mesmo quando alguma coisa não faça muito sentido. A parte político-histórica, para quem não está familiarizado com o tema em relação à Índia, é bastante árdua e, às vezes, quase desanimadora, mas Roy tem diversas recompensas para quem não abandonar o livro. O seu panorama de hijras, mulheres e homens é vasto e a investigação da alma humana recompensadora.O transito entre pequenas tramas pessoais e grandes movimentos históricos ajuda na compreensão de um todo – porque as duas coisas estão conectadas, e disso suas personagens jamais poderão escapar, como bem diz uma hijra a Anjum: “Os motins estão dentro de nós. A guerra está dentro de nós. Indo-Paquistanês está dentro de nós. Isso nunca vai se acalmar. Não pode”. Como boa investigadora de seres humanos e seus desejos e conflitos, Roy sabe somos frutos de um espaço e um tempo, e disso, não temos como fugir.

After a long wait of twenty years, Arundhati Roy’s new release has met all the expectations that were bestowed upon it. Her exceptional story telling capabilities and spectacular writing abilities make this book an instant favourite of bibliophiles.CharactersLike its predecessor, The God Of Small Things, The Ministry Of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy has numerous memorable characters.Be it Anjum, a hijra born as a boy and who struggled throughout her life to find a foothold, braving all the discriminations against her; or the cigarette smoking, unreadable, strong willed and a woman of few words, Tilo from Kerala, the book has a number of strong characters. One immediately falls in love with brave militant Musa, that is ready to sacrifice anything for his land and with the various acquaintances of Anjum like Saddam Hussein and Zainab.The reader can’t help despising the malicious and heartless Amrik Singh, an Indian military officer tracking Muslim terrorists. Other main characters include Naga and Biplab, college friends of Tilo and Musa. Even though there is an abundance of characters, Roy has done a spectacular job in telling each one’s tale with the same ferociousness and care.StoryThe book begins with the story of Anjum, a hijra living in a graveyard in New Delhi. As the story unfolds with her chasing her dreams and aspirations, and the atrocities and prejudices against people of the third gender, the reader is transported through various milestones in the history of India like the Gujarat riots, second freedom struggle against corruption, and the likes.The second plot begins with an abandoned newborn in Delhi that changes many lives that it touches upon. The story then takes one to the war trodden Kashmir, where three friends- Naga, Musa, and Biplab fight for the same purpose, but under different roles- one a journalist, other a militant, and the third a military officer, each having their own definition of nationalism. Fate has their paths crossing yet again after decades, along with that of Tilo, the girl that all the three loved.WritingThe book has been written with painstakingly honest words that touch upon the reader’s soul in a manner that only Roy’s words can. Each word and every sentence need careful attention to grasp its meaning to the fullest depth. She weaves magic with her words and grips the reader with her masterful storytelling.ConclusionArundhati Roy’s latest release, The Ministry Of Utmost Happiness is as much a heartbreaking tale of love, friendship and family; as it is an eye opener to the disastrous political situations in India, corruption, the prevailing caste and religious prejudices and terrorism and the never ending fight for Azadi (freedom) in Kashmir.Because of the controversial subjects addressed in the book, many are sure to criticise the book. With the state that our country is in right now, we need more bold authors to come up with such books. This is a must read for every single Indian out there as many a youth are either blinded by the senseless political parties that they support or basking in the safety of their metropolitan environment.

Roy's scholarship is formidable. Her sympathetic portrayal of the Islamic culture in India is deeply studied and engaging. So is her knowledge of Kashmiri politics and ethnic and religious struggle as well as the constant exposure of the populace to the threat of torture and even death.We are swept up at the start into the world of transsexuals and eunuchs - the Hijras - and the destiny of Anjum, one of the protagonists. We are given an engaging look into the lives of an upper class Hindu falling in love with a Dravidian from Deep South and how their lives come together, part and come together and part again.In short, the book takes a quite testing journey through literally scores of names and events, all of them presumably fictional, through a large part of the middle. This made for a tedious read as there was little direction, no sense of suspenseful yarn, almost as though the author was on a personal trip with little regard for the reader. On several occasions I almost gave up.But the mood changes towards the end and in three final chapters things begin to gel and we meet up with people from the early passages and it all ends with a fairly satisfying resolution. I'm glad I stuck with it.

Wie wohl viele, die auf dieser Seite nachsehen, hatte ich lange auf einen weiteren Roman von A. Roy gewartet. Ihr Kampf für Umwelt und Menschenrechte hatte in der Zwischenzeit eine Reihe von Reportagen hervorgebracht, deren Engagement berührt, die aber das Niveau des "Gotts der kleinen Dinge" nicht erreichen. Im vorliegenden Werk wird der Leser sofort wieder auf die besondere Stärke Roys aufmerksam: die warmherzige Menschenzeichnung, die oft aus einer kindlich-kritischen Perspektive erfolgt. Das Werk zerfällt in zwei Teile, die eher notdürftig miteinander verbunden sind: Im ersten der beiden, der ca. 30 % des Buches ausmacht, geht es um Anjum, eine Frau in einem Männerkörper (Hijra), die in einer Hijra-Gemeinde Neu Delhis Aufnahme findet, sich später jedoch auf einem Friedhof mit einer Reihe Gleichgesinnter einrichtet. Hier wird nicht nur - wie so häufig in Indienromanen - das "malerische Elend" der indischen Unterschichten ausgebreitet, sondern auch die Unruhen in Gujarat zum Thema, die unter der Verantwortung des heutigen indischen Ministerpräsidenten zu einem von Hindu-Nationalisten begangenen Massenmord an Muslimen geführt hat. Wird dieser Konflikt noch subtil eingeführt – er wird vor allem im Schweigen und der psychischen Zerrüttung Anjums durch die Ereignisse deutlich –, bordet der zweite Teil geradezu mit Reportagen über den Kaschmir-Konflikt über. Die Heldin dieses Teils - Titotama – ist erkennbar ein Selbsportrait der Autorin: Als syrische Christin, ohne Vater aufgewachsen, Einzelgängerin gerät sie in den Kaschmirkonflikt. Die Schilderung der Ereignisse erfolgt aus mehreren Perspektiven: Bevor wir Titotamas Sicht kennen lernen, tritt überraschend ein Ich-Erzähler für kurze Zeit auf und gibt einen Grobüberblick über die Ereignisse. Dieser Ich-Erzähler kommt auf den letzten Seiten des Buches noch einmal kurz als gebrochener Mann vor: das war’s! Über Seiten zitiert er bei seinem ersten Erscheinen die Aufzeichnungen, die Titomama beim Tod ihrer sterbenden Mutter gemacht hat: Als diese bereits delirierte, stenografierte Titotama mit. Über Seiten finden sich so im Buch frei assoziierende, dunkle und nicht sonderlich tiefgehende Äußerungen der sterbenden Mutter: Ich musste hier als Leser deutlich kämpfen. Die Bedeutung dieser Passagen dürfte in einer persönlichen Aufarbeitung liegen, die für den Leser nicht nachvollziehbar ist. Im Einstreuen von Material liegt auch an späteren Stellen eine eindeutige Schwäche des Buches. Die Autorin ist so voller Botschaften, die sie an den Leser bringen muss, dass sie auch ihre Heldin über Seiten Protokolle über die Gewalttätigkeiten im Kaschmir wiedergeben lässt, die mit der Romanhandlung nichts zu tun haben. So bedrückend die Ereignisse sind, so banal und trivial ist auch vieles, was hier geliefert wird, etwa die Bemerkung, man habe Hennen jetzt genetisch so verändert, dass sie sich nicht mehr um Eier und Küken kümmerten, was besser für die Eierproduktion sei. Die Autorin empfiehlt, dieses Verfahren auch auf die Mütter aus Kaschmir anzuwenden, die nach ihren verschollen Männern und Söhnen suchen. Am Schluss des Buches wird dann auch noch der Kampf der dravidischen Maoisten gegen die Landenteignung der südindischen Bevölkerung in einem breiten Bekennerschreiben mit Reportagecharakter ausgebreitet. Die breiten Passagen innerhalb des Buches, in denen ungefiltert Ergreifendes, Passendes, Banales und Unpassendes hintereinander präsentiert werden, hat mich – auch im Impetus – an den Stil Victor Hugos erinnert, der etwa im „Mann mit den Lachen“ über Seiten die disparaten Lebensmaximen seines Helden ausbreitet, die dieser in Form kleiner Zettel in seinem Wohnwagen aufbewahrt. Dass beide Teile des Buches nicht auseinanderbrechen, verdankt sich der meisterhaften psychologischen Menschenzeichnung.Der „Henker von Kaschmir“ ist ebenso meisterhaft gezeichnet, wir der Weg des einzelnen in den Terrorismus und die einfache Volksgläubigkeit: Der Titel des Romans nimmt nämlich Bezug auf die Grablege eines mittelalterlichen Mystikers und Renegaten, der vom Mogul Aurangzeb aufgefordert wird, zur eigenen Entlastung das islamische Glaubensbekenntnis öffentlich auszusprechen: Der Arme kommt nicht über „Aschhadu al la ilah“ (Ich bezeuge, dass es keinen Gott gibt) hinaus und wird deshalb auf der Stelle enthauptet. Seine Grablege ist Wallfahrtsort für die Helden des Romans, die ohne doktrinäre Festlegung selig werden. Vor allem auch die warmherzigen Stimmung, in der alle am Ende vereint sind, versöhnt den Leser, der sich über Seiten durch das pseudodokumentarische Material kämpfen musste. Das Buch ist sicher eine Bereicherung, erreicht aber nicht den dichteren Eindruck des „Gotts der kleinen Dinge“. Man hätte sich als Leser schlicht ein strafferes Lektorat gewünscht, das die ergreifende Geschichte von eigentlich unnötigem Ballast befreit hätte: denn die humane Botschaft kommt beim Leser auch ohne dieses an!