THIRUVANANTHAPURAM: In one chapter of Cinemascope you see a bunch of primary school kids who are not ‘supposed’ to attend the class before lunch break. They are expected to help prepare ucha kanji, the free gruel-and-green-gram meal. As one of the kids fetches water from the well, his mother, who works in the nearby construction site, sees him. Rupesh Kumar, the author, writes about the incident without an iota of embellishment, a passing statement that knocks open a dark, unfair world. And before you start seething at the injustice, the novel is nothing but a chronicle that zooms into the subaltern reality in ‘secular Kerala’.
On the outset, Cinemascope looks like the compilation of random musings. Raju, an incurable film-lover, is introduced through his personal and social circles. The author’s bio in the beginning hints that the incidents, situations, and the ensuing disillusionment are all slices out of Rupesh’s own life. So there is an endearing honesty that marks his writing, making it more of a fragmented soliloquy. The author’s obsession with shots and angles invades his writing as well, lending a certain cinematic quality to the storyline.
Raju, a lecturer and documentary filmmaker, says he learned English from the soft porn films at the rural talkies, not from any class room. Peringeel, his home town, often appears in the novel with all its ingenuities and startling secrets. A colony of feudal slaves in the past, Raju’s ancestors lived in the marshy lands working for the upper caste landlords. And, as the narrative progresses, Rupesh makes you realise untouchability is not a matter of the past, it’s still lurking there in umpteen, invisible ways.
Rupesh never goes for a literary overplay, rather sticks to a simple, original vocabulary. Another highlight of Cinemascope is its non-linear narrative pattern, where the author refuses to go by the laws of chronology. At one point in the novel, a character asks ‘what do you know about history?’. And, as you finish Cinemascope, you can’t help wondering about the authenticity of what you call history.
But above all the dalit and political markers and subaltern dialogues, it’s the story of a man hopelessly in love, trying to woo his beloved for decades now. Career, social acceptance, marriage, family - Raju gambles everything for her and even bouts of ill-health or depression can’t douse his passion for cinema. So, ‘Cinemascope’ is both a personal and political account, often a synergy of the two. The book published by Ami Books is priced Rs 300.