Simona Hevešiová
The search for one’s identity and the process of its (re)construction rank among the most frequent discourses in contemporary academic discussions. The concept of identity has been scrutinized within a variety of disciplinary areas and from many perspectives, such as psychoanalytical, social constructionist or ideological but also in terms of its representation in the literary form through the view of essentialists or structuralists. To large extent, the preoccupation with identity and the self in the literary milieu has been fuelled by the emergence of postcolonial and ethnic writing which gained prominence in the last decades and became almost fashionable to deal with (at least at Western universities). In fact, the explosion of theories and new concepts of identity aiming to investigate the mysterious depths of human mind triggered Madan Sarup to mark the “widespread, pervasive fascination with identity” as a “symptom of postmodernity” (1996: 28). However, there has been a noticeable development within the field that has marked a shifting terrain in the studies. As Zygmunt Bauman pointed out the “modern ‘problem of identity’ was how to construct an identity and keep it solid and stable, the postmodern ‘problem of identity’ is primarily how to avoid fixation and keep the options open” (Bauman, 1996: 18).
In general, the self was exposed to a crucial and dramatic transformation since its (re)evolution contributed to the alteration of its essential characteristics. It went from being marked as homogeneous and unified to being viewed as transitory and polysemous. The idea of a coherent, centered and integrated identity disappeared and was replaced by its flexible, fragmented and ambiguous counterpart. With the traditional views being undermined a new concept regarding identity as “fabricated, constructed, in process” (Sarup, 1996: 14) has supplanted them. Clearly, the postmodern world is a world of dynamism that leads to the reconstitution of the self that no longer possesses stability and fixedness. Instead, contradiction, inconsistency and hybridization take their place. In consequence, identity becomes a multidimensional space in which both psychological and sociological aspects have to be taken into consideration and which give rise to a relational self. It can be viewed as a “mediating concept between the external and the internal, the individual and society” (Ibid., p. 28), adjusting the self-definition to the changing relationships with others.
Writers such as Zadie Smith, Hanif Kureishi, Monica Ali, Diran Adebayo, Sunetra Gupta, Romesh Gunesekera, Caryl Phillips, Kiran Desai or Jhumpa Lahiri, to name just a few, all deal with questions of identity in their novels. As Mária Kiššová points out ”the formation of the notion of identity and belonging are the key concepts of postcolonial literature discussed by McLeod, Spivak, Bhabha and many others” (2006: 93). Most of the current narratives, from the postcolonial literary spectrum or those that are labeled as postcolonial, are set in the multicultural centers of contemporary metropolis where different cultures coexist side by side. The protagonists, often immigrants or their descendants, inhabit a strange space in-between two cultures, which forces them to renegotiate their identities and come into terms with the challenges this position poses to them. Contemporary postcolonial writing seems to be so suffused with diverse comments on identity that, from certain perspectives, it appears to be stuck at the same place. Despite their unique style, poetics and their ability to lure the reader into the inner world of the characters, the stories seem to recycle the same notions or problems again and again. The Indian writer Aravind Adiga brings in a little bit of fresh air into the stale atmosphere.
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What the novel seems to suggest is that there are no securities or fixedness in social structures that have been in operation for generations and have determined the shape of Indian identity. Balram himself floats easily from one identity to another as he climbs up the social ladder and the only distinction that he is willing to accept in relation to India’s social diversity is the division into the India of Darkness, or as he calls it the world of small bellies, and the India of Light, i.e. the world of big bellies. In the end Balram has gone a very long way and is as far from his origins as he can be thus eluding any attempt at putting a label on him. The author himself attempts to avoid clear identification; in one of the interviews he claimed that he does not necessarily see himself as an Indian author: “As a writer, I don't feel tied to any one identity; I'm happy to draw influences from wherever they come”[2]
Adiga’s second published book Between the Assassinations, which he wrote before The White Tiger, discusses identity both on the personal and cultural (or national) level. Most of the stories do not open this discourse explicitly, yet the preoccupation with the topic is omnipresent and seems to be rooted in the very culture the book refers to. The text itself is very elusive in terms of genre identification and structure and it repudiates any attempt at defining it with a single and ultimate tag. The thick volume looks like a novel but it consists of separate short stories; it also contains simple maps and other typographical elements that refer to the format of a guidebook and masquerade fiction as fact. In terms of style, the stories are written in a straightforward way and are devoid of dense usage of symbolism characteristic for short stories. On the other hand, it lacks profound characterization and formal unity typical for novels. Adiga is simply a master of disguise (like some of his characters).
Kittur, the fictional setting of Adiga’s book, represents a small town vibrant with life and energy. The temporal framing of the stories dates from the assassination of Indira Gandhi on 31 October 1984 to the assassination of her son Rajiv on 21 May 1991 (hence the title). By employing an unusual format for his writing, reminding one of the structure of a guidebook, Adiga puts the reader in the role of a tourist who, in Bauman words, “is a conscious and systematic seeker of experience, of a new and different experience, of the experience of difference and novelty” (Bauman, 1996: 29). The gaze of the tourist might be perfunctory, as the brief factual descriptions of the town’s monuments and places of interest suggest; yet Adiga forces the recipient to look under the surface of the tourist glamour. The factual[3] descriptions of various places of interest and short digressions into the town’s history or its linguistic and religious diversity are accompanied by stories of its inhabitants. These stories, which are always related to a particular monument or a place in Kittur, reveal another face of the town, the one which a tourist cannot access normally, and they provide a glimpse into what lies beyond the appealing fabrications of tourist machinery.
At first sight, the town is presented as an ideal tourist destination – it is a place with rich historical background and is inhabited by diverse religious and ethnic communities. As the introductory passage of the travel guide informs the reader, “[g]iven the town’s richness of history and scenic beauty, and diversity of religion, race, and language, a minimum stay of a week is recommended” (Adiga, 2009: 1) The central street of the town, namely Umbrella Street, accommodates a pornographic cinema, a manufacture of beedis, an ice cream shop, an English-language film theatre and a Chinese restaurant together with a Ganapati Temple, a Roman Catholic suburb, a Hindu suburb and a Muslim area.
Yet what appears as a multicultural and multireligious paradise is in fact a battlefield of races, castes, classes and religions fuelled by prejudices and stereotypes. Words like Brahmin, Hoyka or low-caste are thrown into people’s faces as the worst offence. The history of the town, as the book informs us, has been marked by constant religious unrests and riots, violated treaties and conflicts, be it among the Arabs, the Portuguese or Mohammedans to name just a few. The town was ruled and inhabited by so many different groups of people that it failed to achieve a unified common identity that would embrace its diversity. The unrests and the violations of the past are obviously recast into the present and become the unofficial trademark of the town where it got so far that real-estate transactions masquerade as religious riots (ibid.: 162).
As far as the town’s demographic diversity is concerned, there are clear rules in operation, boundaries that are not to be crossed and which prevent different groups from mingling. Identifying with one group may automatically lead to repudiation from certain social and professional spheres as the opening sentence of the introductory story suggests. Obviously, it outlines Kittur’s problems springing from its cultural and religious diversity and unmasks the real face of the town. Moreover, the vast majority of characters in the stories are introduced to the reader in terms of their caste, religious denomination or social status (some of them even remain nameless) as if these labels would imply the existence of fixed and solid identities. Unmistakably, they are supposed to facilitate mutual contacts and communication as they clearly outline the territories in which they operate. But the stories continue to demonstrate that these labels and the characteristics that are attached to them are completely meaningless and imaginary. Let me mention few examples.
The protagonist of the first story is Ziauddin, a small Muslim boy, who has miraculously found an employment in the local tea-and-samosa shop despite the fact that “[n]one of the shopkeepers near the railway station would hire a Muslim” (ibid.: 3). The first sentence uttered by the boy when addressing his future employer is an evident statement of self-identification. Ziauddin’s “I am a Muslim, sir” (ibid.) clearly implies that the boy associates his religious denomination with some personal qualities and characteristics (evidently positive ones) and expects others to recognize them as well. Two pages later, however, the boy announces vehemently that he is Pathan which is obviously better than being a Muslim and even better than being a Hindu. Even at his age, Ziauddin understands that belonging to certain group is far more beneficial than being a member of some other so he assumes those religious or ethnic labels that suit him best at a given situation. But the matter is complicated even further when one of the locals starts claiming that “Pathans are white-skinned, like Imran Khan” and the boy is “as black as an African” (ibid.: 7).
The rich and spoilt boy Shankara, the hero of another story, faces similar problems as Ziauddin[4]. Being born half-Brahmin and half-Hoyka, Shankara finds himself in a conflicting position in between two different castes which leads to a dramatic turn of events. Shankara, feeling that the hated chemistry professor humiliates him because of his origin, decides to explode a bomb in the classroom. This act of violence meant as a form of protest represents Shankara’s attempt to silence his own rage and helplessness, yet it also produces an atmosphere of fear and inflames further anger and suspicions. The world that the boy lives in is a world of contradictions. Among his Hoyka relatives, Shankara is viewed as their superior since he is half-Brahmin, i.e. he belongs to a higher caste. Among Brahmins, he is looked down upon because of his Hoyka’s heritage that degrades his social position despite the fact that he comes from a rich family. The very family is divided by an impenetrable boundary produced by the caste system and Shankara decides to fight against it.
“I have burst a bomb to end the 5,000-year-old caste system that still operates in our country. I have burst a bomb to show that no man should be judged, as I have been, merely by the accident of his birth” (ibid.: 57).
This pathetic message that the boy addresses to the police in an imaginary interview is contrasting sharply with his own behaviour. Shankara is not only a victim of prejudices and cultural bias he himself acts according to them (although unconsciously). He looks down upon his chauffeur and his relatives in the same way he is discriminated for his own background which only documents how deeply rooted the notions of caste are in Indian society. As the boy gets involved with caste business more intensely (by attending some rallies), a world of absurdity is uncovered before him. As one professor informs him, the Hoyka caste which already belongs to the lower castes is further subdivided into seven sub-castes that are all governed by their own special principles. It is practically impossible to follow all of them and behave appropriately in every situation.
Unlike the young generation that is able to adapt to new circumstances to certain extent at least, the 50-year old Jayamma is stuck in a world of the past where stable rules were in operation; everybody having a clearly assigned role and position within the society. Jayamma, working as a cook in the household of a Christian advocate, is a proud “high-born Brahmin woman” (ibid.: 233). She clings to this mantra that represent all the certainties she has but is unable (or unwilling) to acknowledge the transformations that are taking place all around her. Throughout the story she keeps asking: “What kind of era is this when Brahmins bring lower-caste girls into their households? Where have the rules of caste and religion fallen today […]?” (ibid.: p. 236) Feeling punished for being “stuck among Christians and meat-eaters in this strange town” (ibid.: 232), Jayamma holds on to the stereotyped worldview. She does not change her opinion even after she finds out that the Hoyka girl she despised is in fact a lonely little girl and the Brahmin boy that she cared for behaves like a spoilt prat.
Adiga makes it clear that the caste politics only creates unnecessary subdivisions and artificial borders between people and supports the discords in the society. They only lead to further problems and splits which demark dangerous territories; and no one knows how to navigate in them. At one point Shankara is proud to be half-Brahmin and dismisses Hoykas only to change his opinion few hours later and ends up absolutely confused. “[He] felt ashamed to be a Hindu; what a repulsive thing, this caste system that his ancestors had devised. But at the same time he was annoyed with Daryl D’Souza. Who was this man to lecture him on caste? How dare the Christians do this? Hadn’t they been Hindus too, at some point?” (ibid.: 71) Obviously, once you get involved in the absurd caste politics there is no way out of this carousel.
“I have the anxiety and fear of the Brahmin, and I have the tendency to act without thinking like Hoyka. In me the worst of both has fused and produced this monstrosity which is my personality” (ibid.: 74) “He was in a secret caste – a caste of Brahmo-Hoykas, of which he had found only one representative so far, himself, and which put him apart from all the other castes of humankind” (ibid.: 75).
The concept of identity presenting it as a rigid, unchanging entity simply does not work for Shankara, Ziauddin and the other characters in the book. What Adiga’s book suggests about identity does definitely correspond with current trends and theories in the field since they both emphasize the elusiveness of identity and the impossibility to fix it. Of course, Adiga’s portrayal of this matter is situated in more or less absurd and even (tragi)comic circumstances but the essence of the problem remains the same, i.e. it is impossible to fix identity in a particular place and time and keep it solid forever whether on the personal or on the national level.
In conclusion, Between the Assassinations abounds in foreboding images and portrayals. There seems to be no sense of a collective self that would unite the town and its diversified inhabitants; the majority of the characters are egoistic individuals who are interested in their lives solely not realizing that without some unity no positive change can be achieved. Adiga’s book, then, does not provide a very optimistic portrayal of the multi-layered society; the stories depicting people struggling with irreversible poverty, corruption and with unendurably stratified environment imply that there is a dark ominous cloud hanging over
Bibliography
ADIGA, Aravind (2009): Between the Assassinations.
BAUMAN, Zygmunt (1996): From Pilgrim to Tourist – or a Short History of Identity. In: Questions of Cultural Identity. Eds. Stuart Hall, Paul du Gay (2005), London/Thousand Oaks/New Delhi: Sage Publications, pp. 18-36.
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KIŠŠOVÁ, Mária (2006): The Search for Identity in Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children. In: Emigration to the English Speaking World. Eds. Janka Kaščáková, dalibor Mikuláš (2006). Ružomberok:
SARUP, Madan (1996): Identity, Culture and the Postmodern World.
Interview. Available at: http://www.bookbrowse.com/author_interviews/full/index.cfm?author_number=1552
[1]http://www.bookbrowse.com/author_interviews/full/index.cfm?author_number=1552
[2] Ibid.
[3] Since Kittur is a fictional town Adiga created for his own purposes, one has to bear in mind that the factual parts of the book referring to the town’s history, social and demographic landscape are fictional as well. The author thus creates an illusion (that of a guidebook which is not a guidebook at all) and complicates the matter even further by blending the borders between the objective and the subjective.
[4] Like Ziauddin who adopts identities as it suits him, Shankara has also been willing to change his denomination and become a Christian since there are no castes among them.
