On writing- A scene from Family Matters

I read a lot of books about India. The country seems to produce so many stunningly good novelists (and has also inspired many non Indian writers too). The latest to come to my attention (via our newly formed ex-pat editors book club) is Rohinton Mistry, whose 2002 Booker-shortlisted novel “Family matters” kept me distracted for much of last week. It’s a long novel, set in the Jain community of modern day Bombay and offers insights into both. To directly quote a Van Morrison interview I listened to this week it is “like all art, about redemption through suffering.”

I was particularly drawn by one of the side avenues of the book: a character who only makes a few cameo appearances and is almost a literary device rather than an character who develops throughout the novel. Vilas runs a bookshop next to the shop managed by the main hero. As well as running a bookshop he also works a scribe, writing and reading letters for the illiterate migrants to Bombay who do the most menial jobs. He does this as a hobby and a way of finding fulfilment. He enjoys being able to put people in touch with each other, sees it as his mission in his life and sees his clients and their distant relatives as an extended family. Through this character/device Mistry is able to provide a link between rural and urban India and make keen and key observations about rural urban relations and the joys and barbarity of rural Indian life. Through this Mistry also brings home what a wonderful thing it is be able to be able to read (the power of education is a sub theme throughout the book).

Vilas starts writing letters when a cleaner he has hired comments that he is surrounded by books all day, smells them and even dreams about them but cannot read a word. Vilas asks if he would like to learn to read and he replies that he would just like Vilas to write a letter to his family. Here’s the scene (pp.138-9).

After the shop had closed the two sat on the steps and Vilas prepared to scribble a quick paragraph. Between the salutation “My dear Pitaji and Mataaji” and the leave taking “Your obedient son” he filled five pages.

Three weeks later came a reply, the first letter Suresh had ever received. He held his breath, watching as his benefactor took a sandalwood letter opener from the counter display and slit the envelope.

“Only one page” observed Suresh sadly.

“Don’t be disappointed” said Vilas. “A letter is like perfume. You don’t need apply a whole bottle. Just one dab will fill your senses Words are the same - a few are sufficient”.

Suresh was sceptical as Vilas began to read the scrawl of the village scribe. There were invocations for success and good wishes for health and prosperity. But the rest was devoted to conveying the family’s happiness at listening to Suresh’s letter. Such a beautiful letter they said, it is like being with you in the city, sharing your life, taking the train to your bookshop, watching you work. And we hear your voice in every line, so wonderful is the effect of words.

Suresh was glowing pride as the letter ended. “One page only” said Vilas. And see how much pleasure it has given you?”

The power of words, expressing the power of words.