Dec 28, 2004 05:12 PM
2151 Views
(Updated Dec 28, 2004 05:12 PM)
Devi Yeshodharan, an alumni of IIMC from the batch of 2003, recently won the first prize in the e-Author context conducted by Oxford Bookstore and Rupa & Co. for her book - We Were Young. ''Her novel We Were Young was selected for the top prize from among 2,194 entries for the popular and prestigious contest.
The contest involved a two-stage process where the novels were short listed based on the first chapters of their novels. The selected candidates were then given a period of three and half months to complete their works, which were subsequently evaluated by a team of six judges. '' Now, given the recognition that We Were Young has got, you probably would anyway download it (https://oxfordbookstore.com/oxfordonline/Services/e-author3.0/040814_winner1.do
c?sid=0GEVXW5FA0T12M7H00NGS42S6NSC5MNE) and savour the brilliance of this work. But, just in case you need a second prompt, let me try to explain, without disclosing much of the plot, why this makes such a wonderful reading.
Ok, to begin with, it is a simple, straight from the heart story of a man who is unable to shed the guilt of a ''sin'' he committed years back. Most of the story is a recollection of the events (a lot like in God of Small Things) that happened.
But, what stands out is the way this tales twists and turns and binds the reader to its protagonist and the related cast. I do not want to disclose the plot so I would not go into details. But, this is about love and jealousy, and the madness that follows.
As Devi puts it - ''In the end, what no one tells you is how difficult an emotion love is to master, how it will change shape and nature if left unattended. It isn?t a cute, naked cherub, blond and blue eyed, a feeling sanitized by sentimental greeting cards. It is more of the nature of the emotion present in the older legends, both Indian and Greek, where women were at the centre of bloody wars, where passion blinded even the Gods with rage, and made them destroy entire worlds and order the death of their children in the midst of their madness.''
The protagonist here is a man, and this is a story written by a woman. That, to me, is always interesting. In a first person narrative, a woman penning down a man's thoughts. And thats why, there is a sensitivity that a man can be feel when told, but cannot always articulate. It is like wafting through a dream, a dream that has a pall of gloom hanging over it, and yet a dream so endearing that its a rude jolt to wake up when the story ends.
I can feel the sweat of Muzaffarpur summers and the poisonous trees planted by Vineet (the protagonist) in his garden, and can still see Maya holding the yellow jarberas. If you are the sentimental types, this story will strike chord with you. I am not aware how long Devi has been doing serious writing, but this is an extremely polished work.
The story just flows through - after every page, I felt more and more involved with the characters, and even as I anticipated what was to come, I kept turning pages frantically. Ultimately, it is about the man in the photograph whose face was ''blank, ordinary, but the crows on his shoulders looked fierce and vicious. They looked as if they could lift him off the ground and carry him away.'' Brilliant!
