Usha Priyamvada is the writer of ‘ennui’—that is how Daisy Rockwell, the American translator of South Asian literature, describes the Hindi writer’s 1967 novel, which she has translated as Won’t You Stay, Radhika? But, those who have read other works by Priyamvada will know that the sense of listlessness flows through almost all of her stories.
In Antarvanshi (2000), where we meet Vana, an Indian girl married to an NRI in America, ennui haunts her. Similarly, in Pachpan Khambe Lal Deewarein, Sushma grapples with intermittent waves of dissatisfaction, and a feeling of loss, finding solace only in the presence of her lover, Neel. Sushma’s life has been marred by the unkindness of her family, and she finds herself trapped in a monotonous pattern from which she yearns to break free. Then, the author’s famous short story Vapsi (1961) is about a man struggling with the feeling of being unuseful for his family after retirement.
Priyamvada has spent a large part of her life in the US, and as a result, her stories predominantly revolve around the lives of NRIs. The sense of loss and nostalgia often emerges as a consequence of this, and Won’t You Stay, Radhika? is another such remarkable addition to her bibliography. It’s an intriguing novel that attempts to somewhat psychoanalyse the protagonist’s thoughts as she returns to India under unprecedented circumstances.
Growing up, Radhika had always been cross with her father, after he decided to marry a younger woman, following her mother’s death. To her, the act seemed that of betrayal. This fuelled a rebellious streak in her, leading her to pursue a relationship (though there isn’t much clarity on that) with a much older journalist, with whom she briefly shifts to the US.
It is her life after returning to India—as she struggles to piece together its fragments—that forms the core of the novel.Radhika is described by her step-mother, and also her former suitor Manish, as someone who suffers from the Electra complex, a term used to describe a daughter’s attraction towards her father. Manish once told her that she seeks a father figure in all her lovers, which is the cause of her sadness. This bothers Radhika, as she desires a stable relationship, but continues to find it difficult to express herself, with all potential relationships falling apart.
The book is about a lot of things—patriarchy, broken homes and, most importantly, ennui. The idea of family—one that is expected to stay by your side notwithstanding the circumstances—is challenged, as it is her family that makes Radhika feel like a stranger. Her blood relations no longer do the job they were meant to—provide emotional support. And she, with her listlessness, merely exists in the familial spaces.
Rockwell, like her previous translation of Priyamvada’s works, diligently re-offers a tale with its soul intact. It may have been written over half-a-century ago, but it is incredible how relevant Won’t You Stay, Radhika? remains in today’s time, as Indian families continue to undergo a churning. The so-called stability is being disrupted as people are moving into different cities for various reasons, ensuing a tug-of-war between the desire for the familial bond and to break free from the shackles that hold you back. Then, there are those who feel more distant from their families than ever despite inhabiting the same space, and those who cannot legally call themselves a family, but are a unit nevertheless, in spite of all the odds.
Like the idea of family, Priyamvada also questions the traditional notions of romantic love, particularly by putting a significant age gap between partners. She does it with Sodamini and Arkdipt in her latest novel, Arkdipt, with Neel and Sushma in Pachpan Khambe Lal Diwarein, and with Radhika and her much older partner, making the author’s way of approaching love liberating, not just for the characters, but also for the readers. Her idea of love also defies patriarchy. Even as her women characters seem broken in their single, separated and abandoned lives, the author reinstates their agency to make their own choices and create a new, safe space around them. The sentiment that pervades through all her writing can perhaps be credited to Priyamvada’s own life. She was raised by a single mother.
The author published Arkdipt earlier this year, and continues to write even at 92. Considering she is among the leading feminist voices in Hindi literature, one can only hope that she continues to write stories that matter.