New Life by Sharmistha Mohanty

There are books that one reads and enjoys for their plot and exposition. And then there are those that one reads for the sheer pleasure of the sparkling and sensuous prose that their authors create. Sharmistha Mohanty’s New Life is one of the latter. Mohanty’s language is pellucid, evocative, and almost crystalline in its beauty. Her prose maintains a cerebral distance from the story, while still managing to have an unusually visceral quality.

Anjali, brought up in Kolkatta, upsets the fragile tenor of her family by proclaiming her intention to marry a man of her choice – the large, gentle Riaz. She moves to America to be with him, forsaking home and family. Years later, she returns to write, travel and explore in an India that finally feels like it is hers. The book is Anjali’s story – a careful mapping of her life and her mind as she grows and changes. Though nothing dramatic happens in the book plot-wise, its serious, craftsmanlike writing makes for a mesmerizing and enjoyable read.

In parts, Mohanty shows a tremendous delicacy of touch. The descriptions of Anjali as a girl growing up with a mother who has a psychological condition are excellent. No attempts are made to sympathize with the mother or demonize her. There is just the reality – harsh, extreme and sorrowful – of having to grow up before one’s time. Brought up by her grandmother and her father, Anjali flowers into an intelligent, strong-minded young lady. Later, when she falls in love with Riaz, she realizes that their relationship has a timeless and sublime quality to it. Telling her father about it, Anjali is shocked to discover that her kindly, liberal parent opposes the match on religious grounds. Equally frightening is the strength of his dismissal, the resolute anger that he directs towards her.

The beauty of Mohanty’s book lies in the fact that each relationship is described lovingly and with a gentle touch. Whether it is a girl Anjali befriends briefly at University, or the lover she takes on later, each association is crafted painstakingly, so that you realize that life is, after all, a sum of the many relationships that pepper it.

The key to enjoying this book, however, lies in ignoring the few parts that seem painfully and self-consciously obscure. They are either immaterial to the enjoyment of the text, or will fall into place much after the book has been read. The first half – with its dexterous and delicate unfolding of the story – is moving, beautiful and triumphant. The second part, where much of Anjali’s life is played, has a quiet power too. But the final chapters, which are largely spiritual in tone, lack energy. You can’t help but feel a tinge of disquiet, a yearning for the inspired, rigorous power of the beginning.

IndiaInk / Roli Books
(Anita Vachharajani © DNA)