I read The Ministry of Utmost Happiness late last year. It’s a bit late to be putting down a review on it. For all you know, I might have forgotten all the most important, pertinent details in this review. That’s what I thought too. Who’d want to review a rambling review about a book read months ago? How would you even trust it?
But this book has remained in my consciousness throughout. It’s not like it was the most perfect book I read. I guess The God of Small Things (Ms. Roy’s first book) would come closer to that idyll. But in spite of all its flaws, I loved The Ministry of Utmost Happiness. Absolutely loved it.
About The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
How to tell a shattered story?
By slowly becoming everybody.
No?
By slowly becoming everything.
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness takes us on a journey of many years – the story spooling outwards from the cramped neighbourhoods of Old Delhi into the burgeoning new metropolis and beyond, to the Valley of Kashmir and the forests of Central India, where war is peace and peace is war, and where, from time to time, ‘normalcy’ is declared.
Anjum, who used to be Aftab, unrolls a threadbare carpet in a city graveyard that she calls home. A baby appears quite suddenly on a pavement, a little after midnight, in a crib of litter. The enigmatic S.Tilottama is as much of a presence as she is an absence in the lives of the three men who love her.
~ Synopsis from goodreads
This book is a huge book, massive in scope. The synopsis above explains the scope thoroughly. Arundhati Roy tells the story of everyone – by slowly becoming everybody and everything.
But a book so vast in scope is not possible. So, she uses the voices of two people – Anjum, a trans-gender and S. Tillotamma, a woman in love with a terrorist. And uses these two people in turn to tell the stories of the multitudes of people in India who don’t normally have a voice in the media.
Why did I love this book so much?
Reason #1. This is a ridiculous reason. But I loved how beautifully Arundhati Roy brought the city of Delhi to life. It’s an ode to a Delhi that is rapidly changing – losing it’s old-world charm to an industrialized, and polluted modern city.
Still, there’s beauty in it.
She thought of the city at night, of cities at night. Discarded constellations of old stars, fallen from the sky, rearranged on Earth in patterns and pathways and towers. Invaded by weevils that have learned to walk upright.
Reason #2. It’s not just Delhi, her writing brings a kind of beauty and grace to the ugliness of life and death that’s covered in the book.
Here she describes a victim of a terrorist attack:
In the last photograph of her, the bullet wound looked like a cheerful summer rose arranged just above her left ear. A few petals had fallen on her kaffan, the white shroud she was wrapped in before she was laid to rest.
Equally beautiful is a description of a terrorist killed by the police:
She described how, when her brother’s body was found in a field and brought home, his fists, clenched in rigor mortis, were full of earth and yellow mustard flowers grew from between his fingers.
Reason #3. I loved how fearlessly she tackled some of the problems facing our society. All her experiences with political activism, and her rage at the injustices happening in India are poured into this book. This, in my opinion, is the book’s biggest strength and its weakness all at the same time.
I personally loved all the activism, this book has heart and passion, and rage, and there’s nothing I like more than a book that’s straight from the heart. However, seeing the myriad lukewarm reviews on the book indicating that there’s too much happening made me realize this is not a book that will appeal universally.
A lot of the issues covered – our Narmada dam issues, the Gujarat riots, and so on may not mean much to a casual reader who’s not vested in Indian current-day political issues. In addition, this is a book with a strong, and I do mean strong liberal slant. So conservatives, and Hindutvas in particular are not going to like it.
Why should you read this book?
For the beautiful writing. For wonderful characters like Anjum and Tilottama. To grasp at a Delhi that will soon no longer be this quaint. If you are looking for a book that will make you laugh and cry sometimes at the same time. If you are interested in Kashmir. If you want a book that offers more than just plot, then you should give yourself time to read this book. It’s like sinking into a whole other world.
This book made it to the Man Booker longlist in 2017. It didn’t make the cut into the shortlist. I was pretty surprised when I saw Exit West (a book so mediocre, I couldn’t be bothered to review it) made it to the shortlist, but this one was left out. I don’t know what the judges were thinking, as The Ministry of Utmost Happiness is so clearly the superior book.
Oh well! That’s the thing books isn’t it? A book can invoke so many completely different reactions from people.
Have you read this book? Love it or hate it?
