A room as simple as the man. A man as simple as his writing. His writing
as simple as his way of life.
The room mentioned here is a study. A study that used to belong to the
Indian novelist known for being the simple genius that he was and his novels
known for their simple Indian flavour. Through his pen was created an entire
fictional village on the banks of a fictional river, close to a fictional
forest, with a charming fictional railway station to complete the setting. And peopled
by characters so close to real that the reader wished they could visit the
place. Yes, I am talking about R. K. Narayan, one of the most illustrious
Indian writers in English.
To visit R. K. Narayan’s house had
been a strong wish since the day it was known to me that the house is being
maintained as a museum. The house has been restored and kept just as the author
had left it. The spartan interiors of his home is filled with the vibes from a
past – a past filled with charming tales of ordinary people and their unpretentious
lives. The house, especially the study, is reverberating with, perhaps, his
thoughts that still linger unborne, unformed, unshaped by his unassuming style
of writing. His narratives are so
incredibly simple that it was considered a flaw, a shortcoming, by some, the
poster walls say. Surely they may not have recognised the complexity involved
in his simple writing.
RKN’s writing is soaked in the
spirit of the region where his stories happen. The alienness of the language he
writes in does not mar the pristineness of the world of his characters. The
regionalism of his tales does not come in the way of the grace of the language
he writes in. Or else, Graham Greene himself would not have taken the initiative
of getting RKN’s books published.
This unique raconteur’s stories took form while he was on his walks down the street. His characters took shape as he stopped to exchange pleasantries with the shopkeepers, the roadside vendors, the shoppers, and the random passersby he might have chanced upon on his casual strolls.
As a reader and a hopeful writer,
one feels it’s easier to be laborious in one's writing process than be
effortlessly engaging. For, simplicity has to flow naturally. Like it did from
this great storyteller’s pen.
His study has many windows. So had his
mind, which opened out into the world. And his thoughts would have soared the skies. Some would have flown away into the horizon. Perhaps some are still there perching on the trees. Swinging on the boughs.
Rustling the leaves. He would have recalled them into his study had he lingered
longer in this world. Had he lived longer, he would have ushered them in, put
them together, strung them one to the other to form charming tales, and
treasured them between the leaves of his books forever. Had he lived longer.
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