Book review: When your choices betray your ideals

Book: Anitya: Halfway To Nowhere
Author: Mridula Garg
Translated from Hindi by Seema Segal & Krishna Dutt Paliwal
Oxford University Press
256 pages
Rs395

2010 English translation of the original published first in 1981 is not for the casual reader. Set in post-independence India and steeped in the philosophy of Bhagat Singh and other hardliners of the freedom struggle, Anitya takes us on the internal journey of one Avijit Bansal, a rich executive and middle-aged father of four living in Delhi. As the events of the book unfold, we see how he must reconcile his anti-establishment leanings of the past with his current status as a well-known member of mainstream society.

As a manager in a large industrial house bribing ministers for licences, Avijit is haunted by the reality that in many ways India’s independence from the British was merely a changing of guards. The country was never truly liberated from its evils of bureaucracy, class and gender divides, and people like him chose to go with the flow rather than fight for ‘Purna Swaraj’ as they had originally vowed to.

Most of the action in the book occurs only in the last 50 pages and for nearly three quarters of the book, the narrative moves between the past and the present, describing short incidences. Avijit relives all those instances in his life where he chose to take the easy way out, whether it was not going in to help Azad being killed on the ground of Allahabad University, avoiding lathi blows when jailed by the British, or not marrying his college girlfriend Kajal. He knows that like him, many people paid only lip service to the ideals of the freedom struggle and parleyed their involvement in it to nothing more than positions in government and the bureaucracy.

Where the book truly scores is in characterisation and an insightful understanding of human relationships. The author cleverly uses the female leads in the story to bring out various facets of Avijit’s character such as guilt, inability to act, mediocrity and escapism. Mridula Garg proves that she has a keen grasp of interpersonal relationships as she boldly lays bare the ugly truths of various relationships — husband-wife, father-children, giver-receiver. So when we see Avijit, a husband burdened by the duties of an invalid wife, Shyama, or a man silently bearing the censure of Sangeeta, a woman he sexually exploited, the agony in the situations rings true and clear and is bound to resonate with readers.

Anitya tackles the subject of the individual caught in the midst of a historic event. In the protagonist we see the impact of India’s struggle for freedom not only on a whole nation but also on the lives of ordinary people. Avijit is an example of how a larger revolution forces ordinary people, sometimes unwillingly, to take sides. So if Avijit abandoned his friend Chadha when faced with the ire of the British jailer, he not only betrayed a nation but was also forced to break ties with his circle of friends. He took on a guilt that would pervade all facets of his personal life from there on.

The title ‘Anitya’ comes from the Buddhist philosophy of impermanence. At one level the book does talk about the impermanence of things like social status and relationships.

Also, we meet a recurring character in the book by the same name, Avijit’s brother, meant to be the voice of his conscience. But Avijit’s conscience is far better revealed by the women in his life, and the most striking aspect of his life is not impermanence but guilt. 

With its essays on translations and evolution of women writers, and long passages from works by Bhagat Singh, at first glance this OUP edition of Anitya seems to be for those interested in studying the literature and philosophy of newly independent India. But if you can look beyond all that, it is also a beautiful rendering of the weaknesses and complexities of individuals forced into greatness but cursed by ordinariness.