A new novel from Anjum Hasan is certain to evoke excitement, the author having garnered a loyal readership over the years with her edge-of-sanity brand of writing. And, The Cosmopolitans does not disappoint, rather it firmly establishes itself as the author’s tour de force.
Set chiefly in the city of Bangalore, with a brief detour around suburban Bombay, and moving on to rural Simhal later, the novel captures a time frame in the life of its protagonist Qayenaat Gupta. Named so by her father, a lover of Urdu poetry, Qayenaat is not like your regular heroine—she is on the wrong side of fifty, a failed artist, assailed by self doubt 24x7, perennially battling penury, sartorially grungy, has done away with her last name at twenty and is perfectly capable of flashes of pure bitchiness when discussions turn to beautiful actors and successful female artists. And discussions there are a plenty, most of them revolving around the vagaries, value and relevance/ irrelevance of art in contemporary society.
Participating vociferously in these debates is a pair of renowned art critics, Qayenaat’s friend Sara Mir, ex-boyfriend Sathi and internationally acclaimed art prodigy Baban Reddy, who was once Qayenaat’s colleague and secret heartthrob. There is also his glamorous agent Tanya Patel.
The novel opens with Baban exhibiting his famous art work in a gallery in Bangalore with all the characters milling around voicing their individual perceptions, even as a covert drama is being played out in the tangle of relationships between Sara, Qayenaat, Baban and Sathi. Such is the power of the author that there is no sitting on the fence for the reader; they are compelled to take sides in the culture-centric arguments.
The reader seamlessly enters Qayenaat’s stream of consciousness, aching with her as her old love for Baban erupts, biting nails as the romantic status continues to linger in a gray zone, worrying over Qayenaat’s monetary hassles, wallowing blissfully in the angst of middle-class Bangalore while groaning over the fading of old traditions and arrival of the technological boom concentrated in the snazzy area of Whitefield. The art world meanwhile continues to celebrate Baban.
So far, so relaxed; almost languorous, in fact. And then suddenly, Qayenaat takes a step that is drastically out of character and in the process, a senior art critic is accidentally killed. The already fragile-as-porcelain protagonist is now swamped by guilt, her only confidant being Sathi and the next thing we know is that she is a fugitive on the run from Bangalore and her own conscience and headed out for the strife-ridden rural town of Simhal where she hopes to rediscover an old favourite dance form. If the first part of the novel revolved around the intricacies of the art world, the second jumps gracefully on to the arena of dance. Fascinated by the king of Simhal living out his life in loneliness in a dilapidated palace and with tribal unrest a constant backdrop, Qayenaat’s seeking nature makes this section rich in history, mythology and local politics. From this point on her life travels a completely unexpected trajectory.
In the hands of a lesser writer, the load of content could have been unwieldy, the two sections sticking out jaggedly as mismatched and mutually exclusive bodies. But Hasan’s mastery over the fiction form fuses both parts with exquisite craftsmanship. Hers is the innate magic with words and plots where delightful similes tumble around with gay abandon, and humour lights up even the darkest areas. The prose is rich, nuanced and riveting.
Her deep knowledge of the cities and towns she writes about evokes a sense of recognition. Her description of art, architecture and history is well researched and informative, but it is in etching the characters, with minimum fuss, that she hits the bull’s eye. Qayenaat is extraordinary in the sense she embodies every person on the street. As she agonises over having missed the bus and lost out to a younger smarter generation, as she resists the nine-to-five rut only to live in near-poverty, as she tells herself that she is content to merely be an admirer of art and beauty, every reader is likely to find a bit of himself/herself in Qayenaat. This makes her an unforgettable literary character, paradoxically, by virtue of her sheer ordinariness.
A writer’s writer, Hasan’s prose can stimulate the average reader as well the discerning one; her craft perfectly capable of hammering away even a fellow writer’s mental block! The Cosmopolitans is a precious novel, to be read, shared, discussed and revisited every once in a while.