The difficult art of brevity

This anthology of short stories is a testament not only to the power and beauty of the form, but also to the rich diversity of regional Indian writing.

Stephen King likens it to a kiss in the dark from a stranger. The short story that is. But American humourist David Sedaris is more visceral. He says a good short story “would take me out of myself and then stuff me back in, outsized now, and uneasy with the fit.” That hits home, doesn’t it?

When you browse through this collection of short stories, be assured you will be taken out of yourself and put back in several times. And you will feel doused, beaten, uplifted and enlightened, sometimes all together. Edited and lovingly put together by scientist, writer and literary curator Dr Indira Chandrasekhar, this is an anthology culled from the online short fiction portal Out Of Print of which Indira is the founder and principal editor. This is a volume that commemorates ten years of the portal’s existence and indeed, does a great job of bringing together all that is remarkable and joyous about an exclusive space for short fiction. As Indira puts it in the preface, the anthology is not a ‘best of’ volume; instead, the effort has been to “capture the spirt and ethos of Out Of Print.”

Carefully selected

To achieve this practically is a huge task as anyone who understands literary curation would know. Perhaps to make navigation easier, the anthology has been organised into five thematic sections with each section featuring five to seven stories. The themes range from mythology to memories to a deeper examination of reality and mindscapes. Each theme carries an introduction by a well-known author. I particularly enjoyed the introductions by Janice Pariat and Sharanya Manivannan; both made me eager to devour the stories in the sections in one session (which I almost did). Several big names feature in the anthology — from U R Ananthamurthy to Shashi Deshpande to Krishna Sobti and P Lankesh, to mention just a few. Another heartwarming aspect of this collection is the range of geography it manages to cover. There are translated stories not only from Kannada, but also from Marathi, Gujarati, Malalayam, Urdu, Bangla and Hindi.

The best part about anthologies, of course, for people like me who prefer dipping into books rather than allot a specific time for reading, is that you can begin anywhere. I began with ‘Reincarnation of Chamunda’ by Annam Manthiram about a woman who has been rejected by prospective grooms several times and goes into her room to read obituaries and eat raw onions to extricate herself from the repeated humiliation.

In a eerie way, the story reminded me of British-Bangladeshi writer Leesa Ghazi’s heart-stopping novel ‘Hell Fire’ about two sisters imprisoned literally and metaphorically by their mother. Annam’s tale has the same feverish quality to it — as if you are being pulled deeper into a whorl of darkness and you go in, despite yourself.

A veritable feast

‘The Three Princesses of Kashi’ by Shashi Deshpande is a matter-of-fact, sneeringly direct comment on the injustice served to the Amba sisters (from the Mahabharata). Very Deshpandesque in its style, this short, short story will force you to remove your Amar Chitra Katha- and Doordarshan-tinted glasses and look at this poignant tale from the epic with new eyes.

I was delighted to find Krishna Sobti’s first short story written way back in 1948 featured in the collection. I had read an anecdote (which incidentally is also mentioned in the footnotes of the story) that when Krishna submitted this story to a notoriously finicky editor, he accepted it without a single edit and that spurred her on to become a writer. ‘The Currency Has Changed’, translated from the Hindi by Daisy Rockwell, follows Shahni’s departure to a refugee camp from her beloved haveli in a truck...without giving away anything, suffice to say the story is a lament about a time when “it rained blood”.

A mention must also be made of ‘The Chameleon’s Game’ by Azra Abbas (and again expertly translated by Daisy Rockwell), one of the shortest stories in the anthology. One of Pakistan’s most celebrated women poets, Abbas’ story is stunning in so many ways — its swift shift from the happy poetry of a carefree chameleon lounging in a tree to the brusque prose that shatters its (and our) illusions is a testament to the power and beauty of this very form of writing.

Indira says in the preface that she would have liked to end the anthology on a happy, uplifting note, but “editorial integrity intervenes”.

I am glad it did...the reader is all the better served for it. In short, this is a book I would recommend to anyone who would like an introduction not just to the form of short fiction, but also to the rich diversity of regional Indian writing.