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Say it loud… Say it Proud… I’m a Communist

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17 October 2018 12:00 am - 0     - {{hitsCtrl.values.hits}}

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A REVIEW OF THE NOVEL PEMATHO JAAYATHI ASOKO BY ISURU PRASANGA PUBLISHED BY FAST PUBLISHING


 

 

This is the motto of the novel published by journalist turned novelist, Isuru Prasanga, titled “Pemato Jaayati Asoko” (Loosely translated as ‘sorrowlessness arises from endearment’). Among the recently published Sinhala novels that I have read to date, this had a considerable impact on me. I was reluctant to start on this novel since I have heard of the author more as a journalist with a political consciousness, rather than a writer of fiction. I, like most, did not fancy wasting the limited reading time that the modern-day allows, on the propaganda of any political ideology.

However, when I kept aside the novel upon its completion, I had no doubt that I would have lost out on the deal, had I skipped this novel.

 

Bohemian vagrancy: 
 

The main character of this work is a man by the name of Ravindu – he is in his early forties by the end of the novel. In the thirty or thirty-five years that we associate with him in these pages, it is apparent that the only thing he earned was an unending wealth of experiences.

These experiences come at a high cost. He loses, as a result - one who was possibly his true love, a couple of chances at good employment and of course the chance of higher education – which to the average Sri Lankan meant State University entrance, till very recently. In a certain dialogue, Ravindu states that the joy of vagrancy has as its downside a certain loss and the nostalgia of that loss. The joy of association of many is coupled with the loss of someone much closer. The one who wants to treat the sky above as his roof loses the comfort of his own dwelling, yet one who prefers the security of his own roof has to forget the wonder of the sky above. He confesses that hitherto he has not been able to find the middle ground of these two positions.

I do not know which part of this story is influenced by the author’s own life, but the reader cannot be faulted if he/she feels that a fair portion is. The narration weighs the pros and cons of total personal liberty. It elaborates on how one would not make a certain level of sacrifice for another, if he or she does not have an expectation that the other person too would reserve some part of his or her life, towards him or her. Essentially, limiting love and passion to one person is a transaction. The moment passion crosses its artificial border, the scale loses balance.

A reason I attached myself to this novel is that this is a novel of our times. We are possibly the last generation who had to write letters to those who won our hearts back then as young adults. A friend’s sister acting as “the post(wo)man” was not uncommon. Ravindu here too faces the same dilemma. His unexpressed love finally finds an opening after twenty-three years, thanks to Zuckerberg – for he made a channel for communicating with those, at a distance. Today, the middlemen and the prying public is no longer a worry as the concerned parties get the chance to interact directly. Isuru Prasanga has essentially captured these changes that we lived through over the last 25-30 years.


 

Essentially, limiting love and passion to one person is a transaction. The moment passion crosses its artificial border, the scale loses balance.

 

Wandering – The Nation that strayed: 

While Ravindu experienced changes in the world over the last thirty years, the other side of this novel is the realpolitik that we as a nation experienced. Ravindu, as well as his best friend Sudheera, were closely attached to the JVP from their schooling days, having attended the famous ‘five classes’ or the ‘Panthi Paha’.
While Sudheera becomes a strong activist of the JVP aligned student union of the Peradeniya University, Ravindu being the non-committed type was not even an official member of the party, being active only at the periphery. Ravindu’s wandering nature comes up in other areas too as he is not able to enter University, never sticks to a steady job, and prefers a kind of bohemian life.

Sudheera soon after joining Peradeniya, opens up about the true nature of the University from inside and about the draconian control the students union has. He compares it to a Taliban camp, instilling fear in the students against even uttering a word. He is surprised that there are daily meetings to discuss the most trivial of matters, which end in disagreement. Sudheera finds it difficult to accept that Peradeniya is not the sacred temple of Socialism that he dreamt it was. Later Sudheera decides to dedicate his whole University life to politics, ending up a dropout and later becoming part of an extremist alternate breakaway group with a separatist agenda, as the JVP goes into an internal crisis. Sudheera’s drunken lamentation on pages 258-259, on what he lost, about the failure of University politics in gaining any tangible results – whether it was an attempt to change “the savage culture” in the University, matters of University Education or the making of a man who thinks objectively and critically, is definitely good reading for those who bring our universities to this state.

JVP’s internal conflict coincides with the last decisive stages of our war effort against terrorism. An ex-JVP politician shares an important insight with Ravindu. The essence of that insight is that it was the ‘tough man with a big heart’ who gave the much needed political leadership to fight terrorism as he did not care nor understand the international political implications to its full effect, and that helped. Given the situation, this was the best thing that could happen at the time. A more educated or knowledgeable leader, say a Sorbonne educated one, for example, would have backtracked. Honestly, round about here a subtle fear crept into me, as the book was halfway through, whether the novel was now going to change track and become political propaganda. But I had underestimated the author. The author hides nothing as his sharp criticisms then target the post-war political establishment, including the politician who shared the above political insight. Incidents that portrayed the degeneration of the establishment – Samurdhi officers who tied themselves to trees, teachers who knelt down in front of MPs, canines who travelled from Switzerland in chartered flights. He then concludes that the Leader who defeated the world’s most ruthless terrorist organization, was not capable of controlling “his domestic animals”, who brought him ruination, and a tale like that beats all the magical realism in modern novels. The country was experiencing a new kind of realism, as Gabriel Garcia Marquez stated, were “fortunate sons” used soldiers to realise their fetishes such as car races, making the army hate them as they lifted sandbags, to do their bidding. The parts which ran with the above descriptions, our recent past, proved that the author had no aim of being a propagandist. No political party or side is spared, with mismanagement and incompetence of the current lot included.

 

The essence of that insight is that it was the ‘tough man with a big heart’ who gave the much needed political leadership to fight terrorism as he did not care nor understand the international political implications to its full effect, and that helped. Given the situation, this was the best thing that could happen at the time


 

The Lighter side  

The book is not without its lighter moments including an episode in which our narrator gets an ear load trying to win the favour of a harlot, who had sometime back taught him the finer points of lovemaking. Even the episode, through which he loses his true love is not without comedy, as it was due to a careless drunken boast.

 

Short-Term Heroes  

Page 368 elaborates a pertinent observation. Through our lives, we experience the falling from grace of many a role model or a hero. It is just a matter of time, experience and knowledge till even “great men” like Che, Gandhi and Lenin appear in their true size. It is an acknowledged state of the world, we live in – especially the fast-changing times we live in.

This book doesn’t depend on experiments in form or a poetic language to give it additional value. The language is apt for the times it relates, with a few uses of undignified vocabulary to add spice and a sense of naturalness. It’s an account of our times, told as if he lived it by a fictional narrator, through the travails, hopelessness and the rare moment of celebration. The worst criticism that one could make would be that the book could be edited out by another fifty pages – but that too may harm the wandering nature and the nuances it carries. It was a book that I read with such relish, convinced that it would have been such a shame had I skipped it.


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