Wedding Woes

Fractured homes and fantasies come alive in melancholic prose

Small House
Timeri N. Murari
Penguin, Rs 325
Modern marriage, Oscar Wilde once acknowledged wryly, thrives on mutual deception. The business of life is still a complicated affair. It is these fragile relationships, constantly threatened by our whimsical choices, which form the basis of Timeri N. Murari8217;s latest book The Small House. Murari writes lucidly about contemporary angst with an easy, laconic style, observing his cast of characters in Chennai, gently, from a distance.

There is the emotionally cold historian Roopmati Malhotra, from a renowned royal family, who escapes reality by immersing herself in a dreamy past, in the parallel life of her namesake in an ancient kingdom. Her husband Khris, a shrewd, ruthless businessman, has some uncomfortable secrets of his own. Then there are Tazneem, distraught, because she has discovered her husband is homosexual; and Hari, who has just entered a new, heady, homoerotic world and is plagued with guilt about letting go of his straight camouflage. Right between these fractured lives are an ambitious and beautiful journalist, a debauched, wayward brother and family retainers.

The title, The Small House, refers to chinnawheedu, a Tamil term for the home where men keep their mistresses. When Roopmati discovers her husband has been cheating on her, she emerges from her stupor, and reluctantly and cold-bloodedly, assesses her marriage. She envies Tazneem her broken heart, uneasily aware that she feels nothing at all, except maybe curiosity. The cast, part of the city8217;s cocktail circuit, is torn between keeping up appearances and living life the way they really want to within this insidious circle. Eventually, when they throw their inhibitions aside, the consequences are damaging.

Murari8217;s writing is occasionally flawed, yet sensitive. He draws comparisons between a Chola bronze and feminine beauty with style, and breezily refers to terrorism in the next sentence. He addresses history with a flourish, like a sepia snapshot, and suddenly conjures up delightful passages on times gone by. His prose is melancholic and he8217;s always sympathetic to his characters but it8217;s unclear what exactly ails them besides monotony. The trade-offs between family, friendship and betrayal have been cursorily touched upon, but not explained enough 8212; like the baffling turn of events when Roopmati leaves her mansion to experience life in the small house, a bizarre attempt to rekindle passion in her loveless marriage. The most interesting character, the homosexual Hari trapped in marriage and riddled by debt, is the quintessential story of gays in India and is way too typical; we8217;ve heard it a hundred times before. Tazneem8217;s complete acceptance of her husband8217;s bisexuality also doesn8217;t ring true. However, if you ignore these discrepancies and the occasional sermonising tone, The Small House is mostly a pacy read. There8217;s nothing pretentious about Murari8217;s writing, he8217;s an accomplished storyteller, and an entertaining one.

The 66-year-old, low-key, almost reclusive author has focused on a similar theme in a previous book, The Arrangements of Love: the Chennai society where there are no secrets and everybody is breathlessly waiting to be entertained by the next scandal. Parties mean the small, insular circle of acquaintances, where words spoken in the morning could haunt them the same evening. The climax of The Small House, Roopmati8217;s ultimate betrayal and her coming to terms with her self-depiction, is sudden and haphazard. But then, what is fiction without a sensational twist?