Without a story, a book is just going to be one more book: Anosh Irani

Anosh Irani, who was born and grew up in Mumbai, moved to Vancouver in 1998 to make a name for himself as a writer. The author-playwright wrote the absurdist The Cripple And His Talismans in 2004, followed by The Song Of Kahunsha which had the Bombay riots of 1992-93 as its backdrop.

Irani’s theatrical oeuvre The Matka King, Bombay Black, and My Granny the Goldfish have garnered critical acclaim and won several accolades.

His latest novel Dahanu Road is a tale of a chikoo farm owner’s son Zairos who is enamoured by the daughter of Ganpat, a tribal farm labourer. The novel, while detailing the plight of the Zoroastrians, unravels an unsettling past that spans three generations and offers a glimpse into the small town of Dahanu near Mumbai and its curious inhabitants.

You emerged as a novelist with The Cripple And His Talismans which could strictly be referred to as belonging to the magic realist style.
Yes, my first book was a magical realist work. But this one is my most realistic book compared to the other two. Not that there isn’t any magic in Dahanu Road, it’s just magic of another sort.

Your most realistic book, and most personal?
Yes, I would certainly say so.

Care to elaborate on the historical background of the book in terms of the Iranian exodus?
Well, from personal experience, I remember the tales that my father would tell me of the hardships endured by my grandfather who travelled from Iran to Bombay on foot.

The first Zoroastrians came to India in 716 AD. They hailed from a region called Pars. Hence, they were referred to as the Parsees. 

They were fleeing religious persecution. Afterwards, in the late 1800s, a second wave of Zoroastrians, referred to as the Iranis, came to India.

Bombay has been the stage for most of your writings. Why the sudden shift to Dahanu?
Dahanu proved to be an interesting setting. I wanted to capture the nuances of a small town. My parents, of course, owned a farm there.  Interestingly, not many are aware of the fact that Dahanu holds special importance for the Zoroastrians.

Iranshah, the sacred fire, which was kept burning for thousands of years in Iran, was tended to in a cave at Bahrot hill near Dahanu for 12 years since Muslim forces had descended upon Sanjan, about 700 years after the first Zoroastrians fled from Iran to the coast of Gujarat.

The Parsees put up a fight under the command of the valiant Ardeshir but victory was not theirs.

The holy fire was taken to Bahrot hills. It burns to this day in Udvada in Gujarat.

How was your story conceived?
About five years ago, a friend had told me a story of how, during Prohibition in the 1940s, my great grandfather would dig holes under a chikoo tree in his farm to conceal liquor bottles. Later, I had come to know of a tribal farm hand who hanged himself. I knew then that there was a reason why I heard of both incidents. It was like they existed, waiting to be linked by me into a single narrative.

Did you have any reservations about the irreverent tone about a past which is shared by family and friends?
Everyone understands it as a work of fiction. I don’t believe one tends to put one’s self in the place of characters. To the readers, these people don’t exist. Also, irreverence is important to lighten the tone of the book.

With three novels out now, what would you choose to be remembered as — a prolific writer or a meticulous one?
I don’t think it’s important to be prolific. Writing a book is painstaking work. It takes constant endurance. It’s like running a marathon as opposed to a 100m race.  Writing Dahanu Road took some three years. Telling a story is about quality over quantity.

You have won acclaim in Canada since you shifted there in 1998, and Dahanu Road is, in fact, your first book to be published in India. Who would your audience be — Indians, Canadians, or NRIs?
Well, it’s for anyone who is receptive to a good story, basically. A well-told story is universally well received.

What is your advice to would-be writers?
It’s important that you have a story to tell. There are many people who can write, but do they have a story to tell? That’s the most important thing. Without a story, a book is just going to be one more book — and the world would probably be better off without it.

How broad or narrow is your idea of what comprises “the story”?
Structure is indispensable to the story, whatever it may be.

In Dahanu Road, maintaining fluidity in the structure was vital since the plot tended to go back and forth between present and past incidents.

What would you say to those who have stories to tell but lack the faculties to express themselves?
Writing can be developed with practice; I believe that the story is the most important thing. There are many natural storytellers out there. Before books and plays existed, there was the simple village storyteller. It has always been the story that captivated people.

What are your literary influences?
Albert Camus’s works, The Stranger in particular, presents interesting ethical and moral dilemmas.  Rohinton Mistry, who is another amazing writer, possesses a knack for creating the most vivid characters. Charles Bukowski’s writings are full of humour and irreverence that has been influential to my own style.

You have written three award-winning plays. What is the lure of theatre for you?
Theatre is the purest form of storytelling. It has an element of unpredictability that scares me… and I love that. Theatre gives me a way of connecting with the audience in a way I can’t usually do, except maybe during readings.

Are you averse to cinematic adaptations?
No, why would I be?  I love cinema as much as the next guy.  I would like complete creative control in terms of the screenplay, though.

Dahanu Road is published by HarperCollins.