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1 week Ago By Nandita Bose
Dr CS Lakshmi who writes under the pseudonym Ambai, is preceded by her fame. In 'Death of a Sarus Crane' there are four stories from her Sudha Gupta detective fiction. Translated by Gita Subramanian, they provide the reader a glimpse into the world of archival Mumbai, including cinnamon tea and garrulous old women.
The world of Sudha Gupta is freakishly simple: her husband Naren is a scientist and they have a daughter Aruna. ACP Govind Shelke is her friend since his days as an inspector and often consults her on cases, even finding a way to pay her well for her work. She is assisted by Stella and can always rely on her cook Chellammal for good vegetarian dishes, a cup of tea and great advice.
Her guru Vidyasagar Rawte passes on his wisdom to her, but is himself retired. Within this world, Sudha operates with enviable efficiency. All is right in Sudha’s world.
In A Room Measuring 250 Square Feet, the central question is who will inherit the 250 sqft kholi that Anil Pawar leaves behind when the 18-year-old commits suicide. This story deals with the transgender community and among the many problems they face, what do they tell their children about themselves? The second story, which shares its name with the book, is about a woman whose rage at a little servant girl causes her death. It is about class and the disdain the rich have for us, but somehow it becomes all about the lady Madhavi and her dark heart, and once she is removed from the scene, all is right with this quasi-happy world.
The story Sepal is about the cook Chellammal’s daughter. She has been steadfastly refusing all marriage proposals and her mother is miffed at her. Sudha uncovers that an award-winning headmistress has untoward feelings for her and unsnarls the matter so that Mallika and Aman can marry.
This is probably the sorriest mess made of the progressive topic of alternate sexuality. What works in Tamizh does not work in English. The failure of these stories is that they are solid social critique and have chosen possibly the worst vehicle—detective fiction—to air them.
In the end, the detective is merely a construct, a laughable plaything with absurd unbelievable reach and privileges railing against injustice. The social elements in these stories are strong and maybe would have been better dealt with in a more direct way. In sorting everything out in neat edges is a triumph of the storyteller, but does no favours to either the topics or the characters.
Yet these stories provide a strong hit of nostalgia and for that alone, must be read..
