Strange things keep happening in this world. Suicides are ruled out as accidents, a whole city demands that women in prostitution be thrown out, real estate developers want to offer ticketed shows to witness life in red light areas up close, meticulously written reports are quietly sidelined for sensational headlines. But are these occurrences so outlandish, after all? How often has some reiteration of this happened in our cities, or have we at least read about in newspapers?

Akhil Yadav’s eponymous novella in Courtesans Don’t Read Newspapers is a farce about the incredible things that happen in our incredible India. The holy city of Varanasi is faced with a generational dilemma – what is to be done about the women in prostitution who have taken over Manduadih? A DIG who has fallen into disrepute takes it upon himself to clean up the city’s moral landscape but he runs into resistance not only from the sex-workers themselves but also from two pesky journalists – C Antaratma (a play on conscience?) and Prakash (light?).

But his troubles are small in comparison to the sex-workers who face insurmountable challenges in forms of unchecked urbanisation, bureaucratic corruption, and lifelong social stigma. A cracker of an opening story, written with incredible panache, enabling Yadav and his translator Vaibhav Sharma to conjure a world where everything is upside down, inside out, and so very bewildering.

Public apathy

The novella is followed by five stories of varying themes and seriousness.

“Lord Almighty, Grant Us Riots!” is an almost fantastical tale about the suffering of poor Muslim weavers in Mominpur, a ghetto of dismal conditions in Varanasi, during the monsoon season. Terribly mismanaged as it is, the rubbish of Varanasi drains into Mominpur, flooding the houses and streets with the vilest sludge. As Varanasi swells in size, the ghettoes and suburbs sink under the weight of its aspirations and garbage. Administrative neglect and general apathy for the poor, more so since they are Muslim, causes death, destruction, and disease but relief is a distant dream. The only way to get the administration’s attention – a riot. A bleak story that shocks and angers, it is charged in Sharma’s translation by a kind of energy that makes the grotesque even more unbearable.

I’m impressed anew by the translation after finishing the second story, “The Folk Singer’s Swan Song.” It follows Janam, a Birha singer, who as a boy was ridiculed for his singing, to his rise in the political sphere for his easy connection with the masses. In the meantime, Janam is faced with the duplicity of caste, the invasion of Bollywood songs and evolving trends in Birha, and questions about his masculinity that never really leave him. For him, no matter the question, the answer is always music. In this tale of rise and fall, Sharma’s keen ear for music and poetry is the greatest joy. The translations of the often brash and coquettish Hindi lyrics dazzles with wit. He creates rhythm with seemingly great ease. I know I’ll keep revisiting them.

“The Magic of Certain Old Clothes” tickled me in all the right places. Nalin, something of an upstart, despises the cheap, sometimes second-hand clothes sold by the heaps on the roadsides. His girlfriend Neelima has no such reservations. She sees value in shopping smart, in being faithful to one’s budget. A rift appears between the two as they quibble about the merits of dressing right. Nalin’s disdain for the “painti painti” clothes is undermined when he strikes a friendship with one of the sellers.

Private heartbreaks

“The Road to the Other World” is a quiet, inward-looking story about childhood memories, the passage of time, and losing our loved ones. It is also the gentlest story in the collection, a detour from Yadav’s style that you’ll have got used to (and immensely be enjoying) by then. It’s also an ingenious display of his writing prowess – he is as skilled at writing private lives as he is at collective destitution. The precious bond between a boy and his Mausi comes alive in quiet moments of love and companionship.

In the final story, “RJ Saheb’s Radio,” a life comes full circle through old Hindi songs and memories. The protagonist, RJ Saheb, a corporate employee who remembers every little detail of the years gone by but cannot for the life of him tell you how he lived, is seized with existential questions. He is successful at his job, fathered a child, and his marriage has gone sour – the circle of life is complete. What is in store for him next? A sombre end to an equally sombre collection.

Anil Yadav’s abilities reminded me of Chandan Pandey, another writer whose incredible, experimental fiction is a breath of fresh air in the contemporary Hindi scene. Yadav is remarkable in his range, canvassing the urban and rural, the private and the public, bringing stories that will be impossible to overlook, much less forget. Courtesans Don’t Read Newspapers is daring and bold, but most importantly, it is immensely affecting. This collection is a winning combination of a writer’s finesse and a translator’s flair. Do not miss it.

Courtesans Don’t Read Newspapers, Anil Yadav, translated from the Hindi by Vaibhav Sharma, Penguin India.

📰 Crime Today News is proudly sponsored by DRYFRUIT & CO – A Brand by eFabby Global LLC

Design & Developed by Yes Mom Hosting