An Angry Genius Called Sasthi Brata

Although he is a forgotten figure now, Sasthi Brata was a big name in the field of Indian Writing in English from the late 1960s to the mid-80s. He introduced a certain sort of freshness to the genre. The didactic novels of Mulk Raj Anand, the heavy philosophical content of Raja Rao's works, the all-too-predictable style of R.K. Narayan and the turgidity of Nirad Chaudhuri's prose were the order of the day. Excellent writers like Manohar Malgoankar, Bhabani Bhattacharya, Sudhin Ghose and Kamala Markandeya had already started to fade away from public memory. A void was created and there was a strong desire to hear a new voice. It was at that time that Sasthi Brata made his appearance in the Indian literary scene.

His first success came with the publication of his autobiography My God Died Young in 1968. He was only 29 years old. This irreverent book attracted attention both for his elegant prose and for his unequivocal rejection of superstition-laden practices of Indian society. He earned notoriety as Bengal's angry young genius who much rather preferred to live in exile in London than offer criticism as an insider. In later years he continued publishing books and in each one of them he carried on his attack on what he believed were the hypocritical aspects of Indian culture and society. A bold treatment of the subject of sex also came to be regarded as a regular feature of his writings.

My father was a college-going man when Sasthi Brata's books began to appear in print. I don't think he was much into reading but I could see Sasthi Brata's books in his meagre collection. I believe an anthology of Tagore's love poems, Nirad Chaudhuri's To Live or Not to Live and Ruskin Bond's Love is a Sad Song were the other books in his collection. Except Encounter he had all the major books by Sasthi Brata. I say this just to show how popular the writer must have been during the heydays of his creativity. I was too young to read his books. But I remember very distinctly the covers of his novel She and He and his collection of stories A Search for Home. The first one had a photo of a man and a woman with their backs turned against the gaze of the person holding the book. Remarkably, the couple had no piece of clothing on them. The second book had a painting which showed a naked couple entangled in an erotic posture. Salacious? Yes, of course!

I must confess, in the earlier half of this year, I purchased one of his books because I found the title simply irresistible. I later learned that this book was banned in India immediately after its publication in England. But now things have cooled down and the ban has been lifted. Confessions of an Indian Woman Eater, that's the title of the book I am referring to. On reading the book I was struck by its lucid prose, its unconventional plot (the book was published in 1971), and its philosophical depth. The titillating content is there all right, but that should not undermine the creative achievement of the text. I borrowed all his other books from my University library --- I couldn't have waited to go back home and read them --- and devoured them like a maniac. What a brilliant writer! What devilish wit!

I started researching on him and somehow managed to get his London telephone number. On a whim I dialled the number and found Sasthi Brata himself on the line. When I said I wished to interview him he readily agreed and asked if I wanted to do it right then. I didn't have the questions ready and we decided to do it a couple of days later. When I called him on the appointed day a woman --- I think she was either his English wife or his step-daughter; I am not sure who --- answered the phone and informed me that Sasthi Brata had to go out on an urgent business and would call me back as soon as he returned. Would I leave my phone number with her? I did. He rang me up after three hours.

The interview began and I discovered that he spoke with an RP accent. Why I didn't notice it on the first day, I can't tell. I also realized that he was not an easy person to interview. He is sharp, vigilant and, sometimes, throws questions back at you; the last one is extremely disconcerting for an interviewer. At one point I cited some critics who said that he "commodified" women in his books and invited his response on the issue. He asked me to explain the meaning of the word "commodify". Now, I have this compulsive habit of trying to act smart. So I explained the meaning of the word by using a culinary metaphor. I could sense that he got furious but soon regained his composure and refuted the charge. But I had learned a valuable lesson. One shouldn't throw words around casually without really knowing their meanings. Except this one instance the interview concluded amicably. He argued that he is not read anymore because reading is a matter of fashion; what he had written then are no longer fashionable now. Since the last 20 years or so he has been writing a novel Damned by the Rainbow and he is no longer sure if he would live to finish it. After I had turned off the recording device we spoke for about 15 minutes on various things. I remember asking him a question in Bengali but he chose to answer me in English. I don't know whether it was because of his temporal and geographical distance from India or because of his characteristic nonconformism. I didn't persist. He wanted me to send him a copy of whatever I would write on the basis of the interview he had just granted me. Even if I wrote an unflattering piece he wouldn't mind, he assured me. He is against any kind of censorship.

A few days ago I wrote to tell him that I was busy with a few other projects and couldn't complete the piece I intended to write on him. I promised to finish the task before the year was out. He never wrote back!