'It will make no difference in the end'- The Far Field (Madhuri Vijay)

Far Field and I met at bookstores quite a number of times, it staring at me from the New Releases section, sneaking up on me as I looked for my next read and on my insta feed at random times as I wistfully looked at aesthetic book photos. Like all good love stories, I did ignore it till I couldn't anymore. Why did I ignore it? Because I felt it was a product of aggressive marketing and anything that requires such carpet bombing cant be that good a book. Which thankfully I can now say is such a stereotype I was working with. One of the things that we old school book readers forget is that maybe sometimes for the right book to reach you, you do need to notice it first. Like relationships need Bumble, books need marketing.

Long story short, I picked up Madhuri Vijay's Far Field finally from the book fair when it had already won accolades, won the very expensive JCB prize. To be honest, I picked it up just to prove myself right that this was a product of viral marketing, much like Adiga's White Tiger and would be a terrible read. Boy did I regret my ego and its choices! Vijay and her book is one of those gems which need to be feted not because of her subject matter (which is complex and timely) but for the lilting quality of its language. She reminded me a lot of Nadeem Aslam and his turn of phrase which makes me feel sad again as I do wish Aslam would write more often. But that's a story for another day.

Far Field tackles a host of themes-- depression, marriage, loneliness, Kashmir, the city versus the mountains and most importantly the millennial angst which spreads like a bloody blot all over the pages. Having lost her mother suddenly, Shalini goes into a spiral, fixating on her childhood relationship with her mother and believing that the lost friend of her mother's, Bashir Ahmed, will be the answer to all her questions about her mother and by extension herself.  As the story travels with Shalini from the traffic-laden city of Bangalore to Kishtwar and then to the far flung mountain villages of Kashmir, one cant help but feel uncomfortable, knowing that post-Article 370 repeal, none of us would ever know or guess what Kashmir is or was except as anecdotes in stories and novels such as this. Vijay's Shalini like most of us Indians is a brat--too self-assured in their rights and often blind to the socio-economic privilege that allows us to be so. While Vijay gives us glimpses of the lost children, the army brutality, the everyday routine of ID cards, her narrative, much like the news stories in reality, are sanitised--so an army subedar just threatens, a young Kashmiri who refuses to answer is just left with a broken ankle/ legs and no one likes to talk about the disappeared. Kashmir is treated more as a "moksh-inducing" drug than an actual place and that is my biggest problem with the story.

However, one cannot deny the sheer lyrical quality of the prose. Vijay's prose is urgent, anxious and captures the desperation of its protagonist in a way very few writers can. If you have ever suffered from depression or anxiety, you will find yourself in her language--the same bursts of feelings, the continuous fixating on others for answers and the tiredness, the soul breaking tiredness.     

If you are looking for a book about Kashmir, this is not for you because it will make you angry at its flippant attitude and then arrest your attention as you realise that this is exactly what the rest of the country, much like Shalini's dad, good hardworking man, thinks of Kashmir as-- a drain on their taxes for which the Kashmiri should forever remain grateful. Pick the Far Field up if you want to read good writing, some wonderful characters and more importantly to find a new writer who promises to be the one to look out for in the Indian Writing in English scene.

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