A Suitable Boy – Vikram Seth

Over the past year, I have cherished a newfound sense of curiosity when it comes to literature from the homeland. With its poetic title and tale that delved into everything from globalization and the dream of settling abroad right down to the effects of colonialism on those who found themselves newly free, The Inheritance of Loss started me off on a journey of discovery, both of the self and Indian literature. Jhumpa Lahiri’s The Namesake gave me a glimpse into life on the other side – a window into the lives of the children of immigrants growing up abroad, and the struggles they face when it comes to their identity. Rohinton Mistry’s works – particularly A Fine Balance – left an indelible mark on me, as did Family Matters. The former took me to the Emergency period of 70s India, something our history books never dared to. The latter, a more subdued yet resonant work of art dealing with regret, strained familial relationships and death, made me notice the delicate family dynamics I had already been an unconscious witness to my entire life. Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things transported me to Kerala, dropping me right in the middle of a tragedy in my home country where the Love Laws reign supreme. It is one of the few books that I went through in a feverish state, completely transfixed to each word and page, often re-reading the same lines over and over as to not miss out on their lyrical beauty and underlying meaning. 

Suffice it to say, I have had an amazing time with Indian literature the past year. It has helped me grow as a person, despite the turbulence of everyday life. When I finally got around to A Suitable Boy – a steady presence across every notable list and blog that talks of Indian literature – I was expecting a seminal work of literature. A massive novel that promised to deal with the social mores and politics of newly independent 50s India, I couldn’t help but expect a few cathartic, thought-provoking months ahead of me. And as I put down the novel in all its 1349-page glory a few minutes ago, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to feel about a book.

I have never been as torn in my opinion as I am with A Suitable Boy.

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Seth’s cast of characters is unique and – whether you love them or hate them - memorable. A Suitable Boy, given its length, is an indulgent novel. This is the story Seth wants to tell, the way he wants it told; nothing else could suffice. I respect that. In fact, a lot of my favourite films and video games are in that vein. 

The novel makes its intentions clear with a picture of 4 family trees before the first chapter even begins. Whether the characters are cliches or not is up for debate – many of them come across as caricatures, but then again I have come across the same moral policing, superstition, and misogyny that Seth writes about so dispassionately in real life too, so I would assume there is a grain of truth here.

As often happens with a cast this huge and the resulting battle for your attention, you end up loving certain parts of the larger whole more than the rest. For me, Seth’s at his best when writing about the political landscape of a newly independent India. His sweeping views of the caste divides that plague rural India and the subsequent demise of the resilient human spirit in the face of these rigid, exacting social evils, and his keen examination of religious fervor that ultimately results in tragedy for Hindu-Muslim communities, shows a deeper side to this novel that on the surface deals with a mother’s attempts to fix her daughter’s marriage to a ‘suitable’ boy.

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And in that marriage plot lies one of my biggest complaints with A Suitable Boy. One of the main plots revolves around Lata, whose mother Mrs Rupa Mehra conspires to get her daughter married to a man of her choice. Reading this in 2022 – and having dealt firsthand with the social backlash that comes from one’s own parents when you try to assert your independence as an adult – Seth’s dispassionate take on the subject matter is what turned me off Lata’s story like little else could.

SPOILERS BELOW

Lata starts off with a crush on Kabir. Alas, he is Muslim and surely, she cannot be thinking of pursuing a relationship? Over the length of the novel, she goes from being a rebellious adult who impulsively wants to run away with Kabir to ultimately giving in to marrying a boy of her mother’s choice, choosing to forsake her passionate first love. While jumping headfirst into a torrid relationship isn’t always the answer, I know for sure that giving in to Indian parents’ demands isn’t one either. These demands range from deciding how much time you can spend outside the home to choosing who you marry. Scarily, it rings true today just as much as it did in the 50s. I myself have been warned never to get involved with a Muslim woman by ‘concerned’ family. That inter-faith marriages are discouraged in India would be putting it mildly, and in the worst cases they can result in murder, dubbed ‘honour killings.’

Contrasting this with other authors, Seth’s reluctance to make a statement about these damaging beliefs and practices, despite a lot of political commentary on land reforms, corruption in politics, and caste divisions already present in the book (along with a subtle yet groundbreaking hint at a major character being bisexual), confounds me.

Flatly, it made me uncomfortable. Other authors have also written stories about choosing family and tradition over one’s love – my mind goes to Nariman from Rohinton Mistry’s Family Matters. However, Mistry’s descriptions leave no doubt in the reader’s mind as to his position on orthodox beliefs and controlling behaviour exhibited by parents (referring to arranged marriage, he calls them the ‘matchmakers of misery’). Contrary to this, Seth presents even the most manipulative behaviour in a neutral manner, never passing judgement. The story seems to nearly romanticize arranged marriage in certain sections – all the while laying bare the discriminating thought process behind finding a suitable boy, which involves judging a prospective match for everything from their income and skin tone to their caste. You can never really tell how Seth feels about all of it, and I wish we did.

In that sense, the ending was a letdown. Lata chooses the so-called suitable boy. She submits to her mother’s demands, and things go on as they always have. For a country where this is the norm, a story that deviates from this narrative is long overdue.