| Saad Ashraf's book fails in this one respect. It starts around the time the capital of India is shifted from Calcutta to Delhi and ends when Pakistan is still in its infancy. Yet, there are not even a handful of pages on the strong socio-political undercurrents of the times. |
| A train journey from Delhi to Pakistan at the height of Partition riots is dealt with in just one line! Contrast this with the vibrant, and often disturbing, drama of Khushwant Singh's Train to Pakistan or Bhisham Sahni's Tamas. Or with the stark realism of Manto's short stories. Ashraf's book sticks to the personal story of a man. The environment be damned. |
| Except in the final few chapters when the scene of action shifts to Pakistan, Ahsraf brings out the anarchy that prevailed in Pakistan after the sun had decisively set on the British empire. This clearly is the high-water mark of the book. |
| The frustrations of the central character, Ghulam Rasool, after his retirement from the department of posts, sound real and familiar. Indians are no strangers to the apathy, often bordering on the inhuman, of babus. But Ashraf has gone slow on the anarchy that took over India after Partition. |
| This raises the question: is The Postmaster just a politically correct book? A Pakistani writer pens a book that is set largely in India. There is not a single mention of the political controversies of the time. |
| The riots, looting and rape that happened at the time of Partition have all been brushed under the carpet. Is the book a "quickie" to cash in on the rising bonhomie between the two countries (nuke-armed neighbours, as the Western media must describe us at all times)? |
| Perhaps. But I still read Ashraf's book cover to cover. To begin with, his style is lucid. Enough time is given to each character in the novel to develop. The anxieties and petty concerns of people have been captured well by Ashraf. |
| Two, he gives a good insight into the world of WOGs""the derisive term for westernised oriental gentleman. It might sound strange now, but those of us from the "Swinging Sixties" know there were people who lamented the loss of the Raj. They openly wept over the British leaving India to its fate. |
| Ghulam Rasool's father, Ghulam Nabi, is one such man. He believes the British were born to rule and the Indians were there to be ruled. One day at work he comes to know that Victoria, the queen of England, is dead. This lands him in a heart attack situation and soon he dies. Would anyone believe it today? Maybe, a tad overdone. |
| Before dying, Ghulam Nabi tells his wife that there is only one way to live, the British way. Unread and unlettered though she is, the wife brings up their son, Ghulam Rasool, in a way that he imbibes the British way of life. The end product is a strange mix: he even enjoys the ridicule of the British. |
| Thus, "Blackie" is a term of endearment for him coined by his tennis partners and not a racist remark. Being thickskinned was a good survival tactic during the Raj. |
| In contrast, when it comes to dealing with Indians, Ghulam Rasool is stern, preferring not to mix with them too much. He even refuses to catch the drift of words when the doctor examining him demands money to give him a fitness certificate. |
| Till the very end, he is unwilling to do anything that violates the law of the land. Except when it comes to women. The strict disciplinarian even manipulates postings of a subordinate so that he can sleep with his wife. He has no qualms about bedding a maid. |
| But give the man credit where it is due: his sexual appetite brings out his secular credentials. Ghulam Rasool has two extra-marital affairs, once with a Christian and the next with a Hindu. In between, his vaulting libido pines for other women too. But then, who said men were perfect. Even in politically correct books. |
| THE POSTMASTER |
| Saad Ashraf Penguin Books Price: 295 Pages: 339 |
Top Section
Explore Business Standard