Reading The Naked wind, is like traveling through a translucent mind scape of ethnic Indian characters. Brinda Charry has perfected the art of capturing pearls from the ocean depths. She weaves an intense pattern of individuals by inviting the reader oh so cordially into their inner chatter.
Everyone needs someone to talk to. To unburden to. To make a friend with. This is what the reader feels she is becoming when the character converses with you, rather than a monologue.
Sample this excerpt from Shanthi’s mutterings, when she talks of the days before her husband, Vasu, left home:
“I wanted my children around me once, their soft young bodies, their soft young bodies, the sound of their footsteps around the house. But now, as I get older I want to be left alone, alone with…
With what? No, not with my memories. Who told you that? You know that I can complete my sentences for myself.”
Almost fifteen years ago, Vasu left his wife, his home, his children, in search of a spiritual life. Having grown up without his presence, the children have more or less forgotten his existence. Vasu’s aging mother does not cherish any hopes of seeing her son ever again. There is, however, one person who is still waiting for him to come back. Shanti has gotten into a deep depression, waiting for him, year after year. She wills the chair on which he sat to turn towards her. Her yearning is probably stronger than his seeking, for Vasu does return home.
Another perspective to the unfolding family drama is Shanti’s maid, Rani. She is a woman who takes pride in matching her blouses to her sarees. The author follows this character right into her bedroom, or rather, the one room house in a slum, where she lives with her boring husband, where sometimes her drunken father parks uninvited. As she tries to sleep, her angst is clearly expressed in her own voice:
‘If I hadn’t been on my feet the whole day, if this hadn’t been a slum, I would go out for a ‘walk’ like rich people do, people who can afford to walk nowhere in particular, for no particular reason.’
There are more voices in the book, of the neighbors, relatives, and the narrative progresses with each set of mutterings in an intricate, interwoven string of events.
A few pages after Shanti gets a letter saying Vasu is coming back, her neighbor unexpectedly sees an old man who looked like Vasu walking into Shanti’s house. Just when you relax with one life style, some other life just jumps past, making the book quite a page turner.
What I didn’t like in the book:
The print is too small.
It takes a good fifty pages of reading to figure out who is whose neighbor, relative,etc. It’s a novel that demands attention and concentration.
What I liked in the book:
The language is very poignant. Each person’s voice, be it an old woman or the maid servant, has an individual and rare touch of poetry. It makes you wonder at the artist who lives in each of us, but gets crushed amidst all the chatter.
The struggle of a minority community to exist is revealed in an intimate and shaky atmosphere. Brinda Charry has a deep insight into how religious dogma is used to cover up personal inadequacies.
Jack, Ellens first child, however, is a survivor from age five. He burns down an existing church in the middle of the night so that Tom may get to build another. In the process of helping him, he also learns and inherits Tom’s dream to build a Cathedral.
Aliena becomes Jack’s wife, but she is actually a wronged princess. She has scores to settle and battles to win. The biggest battle, however, is with poverty. At a time when women were still practicing the oldest profession as the only way to make an independent living, Aliena dares to get into business.
What I did not like in the book:
It’s too long. The dark patches are sometimes too vulgar and crude. More importance has been given to the physical aspect of devotion: the structure of the cathedral, how it will arch higher and higher, and almost none to the spiritual aspect.
What I liked about the book:
The pillars that sustain this medieval timed book are the art force and the life force of the characters. Without using the word, artist, Ken Follet has created a true blue character in Tom. Even if he is a little stereotypical, he is totally beleiveble.
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