A Search for Truth

Bombay to Eternity: memoirs of a laid-back rebel by Uma Ranganathan; Penguin Books India; 2004; pp. 289; Rs 295

And so goes the narrative voice in Uma Ranganathan's Bombay to Eternity. The metaphoric grey waves may well represent our minds, the ominous stone wall emblematising all our collective experiences, prejudices, our inhibitions and fears, and serving as the obstacle that separates us from the path of enlightenment, or 'the Big Meaning', as the author says. The quote above represents a choice, of either succumbing to lead a superficial existence, or trying to break down the stone wall, as the protagonist relentlessly strives to accomplish. She plunges into an all-consuming quest to find the Self over Life and Death, and yearns for peace and for freedom--from her own emotional baggage, and the assortment of life's experiences that weight her down. In short, the mind is not allowed to stagnate while it drifts through the pages of this novel.

In the book, life is not presented as linear, but as a collage, a form emulating the fragmented experiences of our own lives. And why not? Bombay to Eternity is not a work of fiction; rather, it consists of memoirs with each of the ten or so chapters based on non-fictional accounts gleaned from the author's life, who is, in fact, the protagonist. In her quest to find herself, Ranganathan undergoes psychoanalysis, attends extensive workshops, and even experiments with consciousness-expanding substances. Through all of that, she attempts to strip away layers of pretenses in order to reach the core, discard societal rules that bind, and ultimately embrace life to simply be. Ranganathan leads a rather Bohemian lifestyle, defying conventions by staying single, befriending Sarla her maid who becomes her closest confidante, and toying--if momentarily--with the notion of finding love in a member of the same sex.

In chapters such as 'Bombay Diary', 'The age of psychoanalysis', and 'Adventures in consciousness' amongst others, the author laments over the disconcertingly transient quality of life, all the while struggling to survive, to not drown in frequent bouts of loneliness and helplessness of the kind that arise out of a loss of control over one's own destiny.

Ranganathan's forces us to face up to questions that have, since time immemorial, plagued the thinking man: Who are we? Do we have a purpose? If so, do we have a greater mission that lends us with a degree of grandiosity, or are we not only miniscule in the larger scheme of things, but pathetic, even bestial by nature? Within the novel, the character of Munia--a deaf, mute woman that the author had taught during her days as a teacher--compels us to confront such questions. The author's own feelings toward her are a mixture of amazement and disgust. She writes, "I watch [Munia] while dim prehistoric shapes resembling bats and lizards slunk through my mind…the more I stared at [her] I would see myself go all lumpy and shapeless, swinging like an ancient arboreal creature from tree to tree in forested gloom." It is disturbing to witness a human being, deformed, and reduced to an animal-like stature, but what perhaps is more terrifying, is how -- as the author herself acknowledges -- Munia mirrors our own state of being. We fear, even loathe her, because she seems to epitomise the darker side of man.

But according to Ranganathan, there is salvation, which "really lies in giving up the fight and acknowledging [our] own humanness"; to 'let go', is to free the Self. As we draw towards the last chapters of the novel, we find the author's search to find the Truth does not go in vain. Arguably, it leads her to reach a kind of embryonic state of being, a neutral space where she may finally be at peace with herself and all around her: "I simply [lie] in the cradle of the universe like a new-born baby, dazzled by the colours and textures."

The downside to this particular narrative is that while at times the prose is seductive, drawing us in, enchanting us at first with a tone infused with wit, humour and candour, the rather seamless mode of storytelling that continues can edge on boredom, growing to be a rather tedious and redundant process.

Life goes on in Bombay to Eternity. The journey ends, or rather begins optimistically, with a vision the author longs to see, of a metaphoric sunset heralding in a new world.

Rubaiyat Khan is a feature writer for The Daily Star.