There will be comparisons to Malgudi. But Shankar’s meticulous detail cannot be born of anything but first-hand encounter The core of the book, a matter of three or four days, is set in late 1996 — a point the author takes some pains to emphasise — but it captures appropriately the penumbra of apocalyptic change. First, there’s the journey away from home, the construction of the nuclear unit, the forced estrangement from far-away families. And then there’s the emotional distance between generations, born of changing values and communication gaps, even under the same roof. Intimately, even lovingly, observed elements save the novel from the humdrum middle-classness it portrays. Paavalampatti will invariably invite comparison with Malgudi — indeed, the authors have more than a sense of humour in common — but the meticulous details cannot be born of anything but first-hand encounters, remarkable, really, in a writer settled in Hawaii. Describing a perturbed Parvati, Shankar writes: ‘‘The questions were popping in her head like black mustard seeds in hot oil.’’ And to portray the wonder of a big city after life in a small village: ‘‘Over (the narrow alleys of George Town) the smell of the sea hung constantly, like the rumour of an even larger world beyond Madras.’’ For these occasional gems, one is willing to forgive the sporadic lapse into ‘‘South Indian English’’ — ‘‘Him Gopalakrishnan liked’’ being only one example — and the rather hurried denouement, that goes against the languid spirit of the novel. No End to the Journey may not bear too many surprises, but it certainly packs a punch, all the more potent for being familiar.
