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19 JANUARY 2020 LIFE & LETTERS 9

A slow spiral into darkness
A narrative told with no apparent alteration, An Orchestra of Minorities is full with Chinonso’s memories of when he was
not an orphan and, importantly, a goose he had as pet embodied all the love of his boyhood
LUIS A. GÓMEZ with Ndali, a beautiful and rich student, the hate and rejection. There is no usual of the book, you can feel a little lost. A young

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daughter of a powerful chief in Nigeria. Of melodrama and tears on end here. Just a poor man sacrifices whatever he possesses for
hat we are dying from the moment we course, being the chi (and probably Obioma concise narration in which Chinonso is the love of a rich young lady. Obioma is
are born is no secret, more like an too) an old-style spirit, love and couples are of humiliated inside a rich house by her family. A Dicksensian that way: labours and perils of
ancient wisdom to mark our limited the hetero-patriarchal kind. Even when the downer but quite normal, any reader can see: the low class good people...
chance here; on Earth and among our spirit praises femineity; the more he does it, no way the humble man can marry the Where are we going? To a small island in
pairs. Then, it is probably what we make out the more a reader will feel he is actually daughter of a powerful chief (anywhere). As the Mediterranean sea, Cyprus. Pursuing the
of this chance that matters most. How we live underlining a masculinity (if kind and normal is what will come next in Obioma’s dream of a better life, like millions of us from
the time and the relations we built, the pas- humble). second book. the poor continents, Chinonso moves to
sions we ignite in us. Or the contrary, opin- A narrative told with no apparent Europe (to its periphery) only to discover a
ions divided on the subject. Especially among alteration, An Orchestra of Minorities is full A way down for us all childhood friend had run a scam on him, one
those like Chinonso, Chigozie Obiome’s anti- with Chinonso’s memories of when he was not So what we have here is a book telling us more of the actual schemes to take your little
hero: not many choices in a life in Africa (or an orphan and, importantly, a goose he had as how a young man, alone in the world, can feel money from your hands without a fight.
Colombia, or India), not enough wealth to pet embodied all the love of his boyhood. They he is the problem. His poverty (and his lack of Human trafficking made by your own.
enjoy what the world has to offer for those will come to haunt or to console him every education) is the problem ... so in his We used to think they only did it to white
TITLE: An orchestra of
on top of the food chain ... you wish for now and then through the pages. In the same innocence he tries to fix himself. Obioma lets people on the Internet, the mugus, but look, see
minorities nothing but another day, you long for every- way they do in ‘real life’ feelings will as well us read his exposition on inadequacy, a vice of how they destroy their own people, their own
AUTHOR: thing. And then an accident, a simple talk can show up inside his chest and then leave him to the poor, and inferiority. That’s why Chinonso brothers and sisters? (p. 248).
change the river’s course. What happens next give place to others. Until love populates all feels terrified of the prick Ndali’s brother is in Then, more than incantations or prayers,
Chigozie Obioma
is the content of An Orchestra of Minorities, and his daily life transforms into a light all his pride and apparent superiority. But he the chi’s overtures in each chapter of the book
PUBLISHER: Little, a long trip in which nobody gets lost, except flowing from meals to work, from bed to the is more than just love and weakness. read more like diatribes. He’s right, tough, on
Brown the protagonist. verandah of the That’s why he every account, on every claim he makes about
Framed by the Igbo people’s view of the paternal house he makes one move that life today (and the white man’s ways). It’s
PAGES: 528 universe and spiritual life, the second book by made his farm
So what we have here is will seal his fate. He annoying, it should be. The neutral style of the
Obiome is a long allegation made by around. decides to sell book is tiresome, offers no shelter at any point.
PRICE: Rs 478 Chinonso’s chi (a guardian spirit every person Until the a book telling us how a everything, return to You will see a man crying or accepting fate
has). Incantations to attract god’s pity or romance grows and school (he is not that like his ancestors did, sometimes, shipped to
empathy for a young man, for his perils. Not moves forward. It young man, alone in the old) and become a man America as slaves or drowning in the sea every
an easy reading but one worth thinking about. becomes a family of worth in front of year for decades now.
Soon enough, this poor guy—owner of a small matter (her family). world, can feel he is the his girlfriend and her Chinonso will start a new path in such a
poultry farm—will start living things, moving The neutral and family. That’s how, strange place, robbed and alone. By now the
into realms he can’t really stay in. And that elegant tone brings problem after one incantation, reader knows the line followed by An
would be it. Falling in love, tracing a new path then episodes of and more than a third Orchestra of Minorities is in fact a spiral,
to triumph or simply adjusting going slightly down with each
one’s existence to a loved one, turn of events. He will find so
simple enterprises launched by many new ways and manners. He
simple men everyday, everywhere. will be the living proof of the
What’s important about them? Orientalism proclaimed by
Nothing. Edward Said. And he will pay the
But the chi insists, chapter price, as thousands do in the
after chapter. His tone is northern coasts of Africa, the
circumspect, resembling the border between Mexico and the
etiquette used by a steward or an US or the Balcan region.
airhost. He reflects, he dwells on Nevertheless, this is a book of
the teachings from the past, hope ... and despairs. This is a
crafted by the forefathers of his novel about a simple sweet man
host, (Chinonso) in a region where daring to dream beyond his poor
once not long ago hopes where side of the world. Migrating,
great and then a war almost struggling, finding a new life (a
exterminated a generation of West future). A reflection of that 99 per
Africans. So the narrative of An cent of humanity we are, wishing
Orchestra of Minorities gets some to reach, to settle. Inside a fragile
sediment with every episode the boat, with an American visa in
spirit guardian blows into your our bags or the illusion of leaving
eyes, full of ancient knowledge all this death and abjection
and at the same time rooted in a behind. Obioma knows.
small plot of the present, the poor But we will not go to the
depleted present of the world. So bottom here with Chinonso,
the story of a lonely man gets anyone with a heart can read a
value after all. book listed for The Booker in 2019
This is a book of love too, of that will take you on a slow spiral
course. A young man awakening into a small inferno. Reading the
to the fascinating mysteries of sex Igbo way and realizing once again
(with a patient sex worker guiding we deserve better, like a young
his mind and organs), of sharing humble man in Nigeria does. The
(with a young woman, a street chi knows, that’s why he advocates
vendor) and of unrepentant love on behalf of him from page one.

REFLECTIONS

A trip to Tagore’s Shantiniketan

MANJIRI INDURKAR some milk, tea leaves, ginger, bread, two Tagore’s life. What, I wondered, was the children? I saw the rooms where Tagore that promotes arts and crafts. It had a lot
packets of Maggi, and eggs. My room purpose of this place? When I walked had his literary gatherings, I saw his of lovely cotton kurtas, bags, jewellery,

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he day I landed in Shantiniketan, it came with a small kitchen, where I out of that house, and moved to the bedroom but no one told me where he home décor things. I ended up spending
was already late afternoon. I was a made tea for myself, took out Phillip next building—the complex houses five went to cry when his wife Mrinalini Devi a large chunk of my money there
bit tired because I hadn’t gotten Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, sat homes where Tagore stayed at various died. I later found out that Mrinalini without any regrets. By then, it was late
proper sleep the night before. I was on the terrace, and read till sun down. stages of his life—where Tagore’s car Devi wasn’t too pleased with Tagore evening and I was ready to head back to
feeling dirty, not having taken a shower. For dinner I made myself some Maggi, was parked, a man shouted in chaste spending all his days in Shantiniketan, my Bnb, where my chai and my book
And I was famished, not having eaten and called it a night. Bangla, calling for his son to stand in leaving Calcutta behind, where all her waited for me.
anything since the 7am breakfast. The Next morning I was up early, I made front of the car so he can click a picture. friends lived, where she had a life. Next day was a Sunday. I woke up a
first thing I did after dumping my myself breakfast and chai, and soon This picture I imagined would be shared Where did Tagore fight with his wife little late, I got ready, and I left for the
luggage in my room and taking a bath, enough I was out of the BnB, walking on social media and liked by friends and when she resented him for upending University again. This time, the guard let
was to leave my room and start hunting towards the university which was hardly relatives. Tagore, somehow, will still her life and moving her to an infinitely me in. I walked straight to Kala Bhawan,
for food. I looked up restaurants on 1.5 km away from where I was staying. remain invisible. miniscule town which wasn’t even a checking off the first thing on my list, all
Google, and walked to the nearest one. When I reached the university, I found When I saw Tagore’s photos with town then? the Ramkinker Baij sculptures. After that,
A lovely café called Ocampo, run a out that most of the campus doesn’t Albert Einstein, with Sigmund Freud, The museum cannot show us the I just walked and walked looking at all
sweet Bengali aunty from Bihar. open for outsiders till 2 PM. But the with Gandhi, I wondered what they grief corners, the spaces of reflections. the other installations, sculptures,
I ordered a Bengali thali — aloo guards told me I was allowed to visit the talked about. I know Tagore and Gandhi Surrounded by loud tourists who have paintings on the walls. Art is embracing
poshto, begun bhaja, daal, sukto, rice, Uttarayan Rabindra Museum. So, I did not agree on their ideas of come for a quick weekend getaway, you from all ends. The sprawling campus
papad, pickle, ghee, raw onions. And bought the ticket for 50 bucks and soon nationalism. Did they fight? We don’t looking for some culture capital in this that has a lot of trees and benches
one whole nolen gur roshogulla. After enough I was in. really know, not by looking at those holiday season, I found Tagore to be a underneath them where all the classes
polishing off my plate, I sat in the sun on The museum is a neat division of the pictures of famous men standing next lonely, almost invisible figure. I don’t happen, I sat on one of the benches,
the terrace of the café for a bit, and I man’s life in parts that all fit. The first to each other as the world around them think he would want us to focus on his took out my journal and I wrote for a
was off again. thing you see is a house that keeps his burns. Then the famous friends of car or his comb. He would be grateful if good hour. The first thought that hit me
I hadn’t come to Shantiniketan with writings, his manuscripts, his Nobel Tagore, WB Yeats, Satyendra Nath Bose we read what he wrote, gave the kind of while I was sitting there, thinking with
any tourist agendas in mind. I just Prize, his pictures, pictures of his family and others, whose photos adorn the education he envisioned for all to our the kind of clarity I hadn’t had in years
wanted to be with myself, and away with their tragic stories, his paintings, walls of the museum, how close were kids. But in the absence of that, we must that I need to come back to this place
from the stress of writing my whole life paintings by other painters, his shoes, they to Tagore? Were they helping him make do with a selfie or two in front of again, to work on my next book. I ended
that would be packaged in a book and his combs, his cups, everything the man build Visva Bharti, did he have any non- his stolen Nobel Prize replacement. up making notes on the idea for the
presented to the world soon enough— once used, all his object memories famous friends? Did Tagore break down Walking around the museum made next book while sitting under one of
my memoir. I was expecting to see a neatly stacked for all the consumers of in front of these friends when he lost his me hungry. It was a Saturday and I had those trees, in, at the risk of sounding
university town, where you’d find young the Shanivar Haat on my mind. I would too corny, Tagore’s embrace.
artists roaming around, going about return to the university the next day, and The next day I came back to the
their lives, having conversations, the day after, this time avoiding the university campus, to cross out the last
creating art. What I didn’t except was museum. I got out of the museum thing yet to be seen, the Chatimtala, a
the mindless cacophony of loud tourists. complex, sat in a Toto, and asked the meditation space where Tagore wrote a
I was looking for solitude and what Toto man to take me to the Shanivaar lot of poetry, his songs and
better than a town that carries silence in Haat. On the way to the haat, we ended Debendranath Tagore spent his time
its name? Now that I was here, and was up chatting and he became my Toto guy meditating. The meditative space was
aimless, I decided to take a walk. I had for the whole day. He told me how much crawling with tourists and I soon lost
the next three days to hit the university he did not like Kolkata, too crowded, too interest in that. I found myself another
campus, to explore the other big and big and scary. This was nicer, quieter and tree, another bench, put my earphones
small places. Today was just about calmer. At the haat, I bought myself on, listened to some music and left
walking, wherever my feet took me. some handmade jewellery and a grey silently. Next day I was back in Kolkata
I took a road that promised me a trip saree. I listened to some Baul music, with all the peace, all the quiet, all the
to the deer park. Which I am sure it grabbed a quick bite and I was off to tranquility I could take for myself. With
would have taken me to, but I gave up Amar Kutir. Amar Kutir, which translates the lingering thought that I will be back
too soon. Tired, I turned back, bought to my cottage, is a corporative society again, this year. And I will be.