Fatal Accidents of Birth (Book Review)

Fatal Accidents of Birth by Harsh Mander
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Fatal Accidents of Birth (Stories of Suffering, Oppression and Resistance)
Author: Harsh Mander
Publisher: Speaking Tiger
Price: Rs. 499
Pages: 203

The review also appeared in The Free Press Journal on January 1, 2017. Find the review here.

‘Our task is to change some conditions that appear to me as obviously against the beauty of being human’, said Paulo Freire. The quote greets the reader first. Little did I know that as I would turn the pages, I would learn so much about the inhuman intricacies woven into human lives, at times by circumstances and at other times simply because of one’s ignorance about the bigger picture while nitpicking over the supposedly misplaced tiny details.

The preface Other Lives, Other Worlds is hard-hitting and delivers the chills even before the human coldness starts storming in from the seventeen stories ahead.

Far from the hustle and bustle of rural India, where people swear by superstitions and certain beliefs and where caste still plays a dominant role, living in a city like Mumbai with its own cacophony of things ranging from one’s livelihood to grand plans of existence, this book caught me off-guard. It is not only powerful but also offers riveting accounts of human lives caught in the glare of media at some point of time. While the tales of some characters ended abruptly just like their lives, some other characters’ tales found a better twist and hopefully will have a ‘proper ending’, if there would ever be one. But each of the seventeen stories is a slap on the face of the society that we are a part of. Each story has the potential to leave the reader aghast and rework the so-called rules of the ‘rigid society’ which, according to many, no longer exists. It very well does exist, probably just outside the confines of the place they call ‘home’ and sometimes inside it too, without their knowledge.

It also provides various angles to the Ishrat Jahan case (The Many Deaths of Ishrat Jahan) and leaves the threads of her tale open so that the reader can try to make some sense of it and make patterns of it in his mind as per his understanding.

It also chronicles the story of Rohith Vemula, doctoral scholar at the University of Hyderabad and a lover of people, who, he believed, are created of stardust, from the time of his mother’s birth. The story of ‘a man who could not rescue himself from what he described as the “fatal accident” of his birth, Rohith Vemula’s first and last letter to the world and the outrage that followed his death also find mention in this book [Mourning Rohith Vemula (1989-Forever)].

From the social stigma attached to HIV/AIDS, prostitution, bisexuality, begging and certain castes to the consequences and dangers of human trafficking, militancy, murder and riots – there is much insight to be gathered about all of these from this book. Some first-person accounts are dark and gory to the core which will make the reader pause and reflect over the lesser fortunate ones with whom he co-exists and yet is unaware of, or is rather silent when he should be voicing against the injustice meted out to them.

The human race is selfish. It will take kindness and a lot of empathizing to drill a sense of brotherhood and ‘-ity’ into ‘human’. Harsh Mander, maybe because he is a human rights worker and has seen in person and heard the tales of many of the people whose stories constitute this book, manages to bring to life a picture of the lives and tribulations of those hit by tragedy into mainstream conscience, deftly. It gives the reader a chance to step into the shoes of those whom one would generally not give a thought about, or rather whom one would look through, because caught as they are with the cobwebs of their own life, who would want to spare a second to possibly gather more cobwebs? Isn’t it? No. By doing so, we may actually be able to do something better to a lesser fortunate one. We could, even if we cannot clean their cobwebs, at least try to be a ray of hazy light for them to look past their cobweb-filled existence.

Pick up the book if you think your life could have been better than it is right now. Chances are, you will be grateful for the life that you were granted while in the bylanes, a mother would pray for a son from the confines of a prison and another woman would wince as another hand would grope her unprotected body while in yet another roofless camp, heartfelt prayers would be sent to bring some solace for those with charred thoughts who would have to start learning once again how to live, clutching on to the vestiges of a dream that now lies shattered into a million pieces.

-Divya Nambiar
(http://www.freepressjournal.in/book-r...)

View all my reviews

Comments

Goodbyes like these

9:02 AM Bangalore airport Two people, post typing their out-of-office automated replies, sit looking at the crowds passing by. Bangalore airport doesn't seem empty. Neither at this hour, nor when we had reached around 2 hours earlier. Brother called to enquire why may have his most trusted G-Pay given up. G-Pay seemed to have reached its limit when they tried settling some hospital bills...just like the life that had decided it had reached its limit some 3 hours earlier. Try debit card then, said the husband. Strange, isn't it? The person who peeped into the phone screen over a video call to ask how our recent trip had been, while sitting on a sofa now rests in a mortuary, waiting for those people to bypass the screen and reach her, one last time. Guess the very last time... There is no alternative here, like in the case of G-Pay. Ammamma, ini ormakal maathram . From school, straight into the house. The walk gains momentum as soon as she enters the house. T...

Yet another gold castle emptied

Rain lashes outside the windows Washing away the mud people scurried over a while back Freshly made bed, pillows fluffed up Sprawled upon it a thousand memories, Time ticks away. It was 11.26 just three minutes ago. Or 23.26. Charlatan thoughts they are Fastidious care, theirs. Washing away the hours she scurried over a while back. Time ticks away. Doesn't it, always? The blueprint in the making, Do they go back to it After buildings have fallen, without grace? Time ticks away, like it never cared. Rubble. People. Rubble. Trapped, beyond rescue. Gracefully frozen beneath the din For time ticks away... like it must. Wrapped in six yards of silk, she thought this was it. She walked with a large brass plate towards the altar, Carrying the garlands that would seal the loose ends -- bit by bit. The bridal gait, the overflowing love, some jealous looks -- she now looked at it from afar. Who knew the walk was towards her own end? A bright, young lady walking towards her own doom? Vismaya...

The Last Karwa Chauth

A tradition started 12 years ago. At the cusp of adulthood, but while in school (class 12, to be precise); when romance novels were Where Rainbows End, Dear John, Message in a Bottle and P.S. I Love You ; when promises were made and felt rather deeply by the heart (not that they aren't now) -- Karwa Chauth was taken up with a whimsical approach. Karwa Chauth -- a day of fasting (without consuming even a drop of water post the sargi) usually undertaken by Indian married women every year post Dussehra and before Diwali (that's how I always remember it) -- assumed more importance thanks to Bollywood with its smattering of Karwa Chauth in many of the movies I grew up watching. Also, I found the north Indian rituals and festivals amusing as a South Indian (Keralite). For someone who witnessed wedding rituals lasting for not more than two minutes back home, the Big Fat Indian Wedding, popularised by Bollywood and stories by north Indian friends alike, fascinated me no end. W...

'Without self-respect, we detract from our own power' -Cristiane Serruya (An Interview)

“The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.” ― Coco Chanel This is the quote that comes to mind after the discussion I had with her. To stand shoulder to shoulder with your head held high along with people who are considered to be a step ahead of you, is a big thing. Even more when it is just a pre-conceived notion and nothing more. To make a strong foothold at a place where the sand beneath your feet is slipping constantly is no ordinary thing. That's what I got to learn from her. So here we are, with Cristiane Serruya, author of The Modern Man and The Trust Trilogy, as promised in my last post . How does it feel to have released the final installation of the Trust series? (Are you happy to have completed a circle or sad that your relationship with the characters has ended?) I was very happy when I put the last full stop in the book. It was an exhilarated mission-accomplished feeling. It was a long and exhausting ...

Seven cups and love

My uncle and aunt got married on Oct 20, 1997. I earned a new family that day. It was a bumper prize for a 4-year-old me -- two aunts (thanks to Chinni didi)? Na, elder sisters? Not sure how I defined those relationships then. But I remember being happy and excited at the prospect of visiting them or them visiting us. My first tryst with a tiny box that housed eye lenses; many different shades of nail polishes (there was one that was colourless and yet delivered a star on each nail, that sat beautifully on my little fingers) were all thanks to them. Oh, how can I forget that magical make up box that seemed to open up wondrous things that gleamed and seemed magical for a kid then! In between those experiences, there were two people -- Rao aunty and uncle (as I called them long before my brother and uncle and aunt's kids were born. Then they added terms like 'thaathu' into my vocabulary). Saraswati Rao Aunty, a constant presence, was probably my first...

Coming Soon : First Big Interview

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.” ― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre She lives in Rio de Janeiro, the second largest city of Brazil, with her husband and two daughters. With a Masters in Business Law and great interest in cases of abuse and violation of human rights of children and women, she’s a lawyer and a writer. After twenty-two years of practicing law, she finally decided to give writing a go and that was when she realized that it was the piece that was missing in her life. We met on Goodreads. I, a journalism student, a lover of books and a part-time writer. She- a published author with a beautiful smile and ...

Malik: The movie Malayalees were waiting for amidst the pandemic

The clouds seem to have drifted away to let the sun a little sneak peak into our lives today. Phew! 4 days later. Thank you, Kerala for the weather. Oops. I take back my words for here comes the lashing rains, yet again. Twice or thrice I checked if my vision was playing tricks upon me in these past few days. Then I realised, it had to do with the tricks of the clouds. I switched on the lights and lo and behold! It was bright all over again. While the rains lash down, I am transported to last night when the soil lay drenched and I sat like a panda under a huge blanket while Malik beckoned. My husband couldn't wait to click on the play button. After a long time, I was excited to see a movie trailer and ever since I did, I eagerly waited for Malik . And it started. Nimisha & Fahadh -- my heart did a double somersault. Then came the ones who have been part of some remarkable Malayalam movies since few years now -- Vinay Fortt, Dileesh Pothan, Dinesh Prabhakar, Parvat...

'Criti....que not Criti....cize'

Search This Blog