Difficult Cliches

It is time yet again to be attacked by angst, to crumble under a mid-life crisis, to suffer silently at the hands of an insensitive husband. It is time yet again to regret being female, to grovel at the feet of an unforgiving social system, to be smothered slowly by middle class miasma. And then 8212; hurrah! 8212; it is time again to escape from it all into the arms of a sympathetic soul-mate, a charismatic lover.

Does it sound familiar? If it does, don8217;t worry, we all have seen screen actors like Rakhee, Shabana, Deepti and now Dimple play the part of the gentle sari-clad Indian woman who, on the verge of being forty, discovers that she is on a marital ship that sank a long time back. And then, of course, after some glorious moments of drowning in self-pity, she swims to safety, buoyed up by an extra-marital affair. Yet another triumphant survivor of cliched incompatibility.

So what8217;s new? In A Married Woman, it is the gender of the lover. And, further surprise, after the initial cosy baring of breasts, it turns out that the female lover is just as demanding, as jealous and as uncaring as the husband!

However, apart from these two interesting twists, Manju Kapur8217;s latest offering treads a familiar path. This is, in fact, what ultimately stumps the reader. Why is Kapur8217;s Aastha 8212; the contemporary woman who allows another woman to undress her, caress her and not feel any guilt 8212; so gutless in every other sphere?

In fact, throughout the book, Aastha appears to drift from one scene to another, an involuntary participant in marital and extra-marital peccadilloes. While sexuality plays an important part, what is entirely missing is the passion. Therefore, what could have been a very well nuanced and fateful encounter with a memorable literary love affair, turns out to be, well, excuse the pun a little wet, but only behind the ears.

What is even worse is the unbearable, and unwitting, cuteness underlying the affair. The name of Aastha8217;s lover is Pipeelika in Sanskrit, it means ant. In turn, Pipeelika fondly calls Aastha an 8220;ant8221; as well.

Totally gratuitous as well is the constant reference to communal violence. In a very good imitation of the upper middle class 8220;showing concern8221; for the poor and underprivileged, Aastha gets involved in the events before and after the demolition of the Babri Masjid. Her touchingly pious beliefs are reflected in the long and tired arguments she has with her very staid husband and his even more stoic mother, before she sallies forth with her lesbian lover into rallies, dharnas and other such earth-shaking events. There is little empathy for the victims 8212; instead of which, the author reels out statistics of deaths and riots. She also has the muddle-headed Aastha go on a so-called 8220;unity8221; yatra from Kanyakumari to Kashmir. But even during the yatra, Aastha8217;s prime concern is only a union with her lover.

Further, discomfort is added as in Deepa Mehta8217;s film Fire since A Married Woman is narrated as though a lesbian affair is an excuse to opt out of a tedious heterosexual relationship. This terrain needs to be seriously re-navigated as does the character of the poor demonised, stereo-typed husband.

Unfortunately, Aastha, around whom this sketchily written novel is based, never really grows up into being A Married Woman. She is neither married enough, nor woman enough, and leaves almost everyone except Pipeelika untouched.