Owen Connelly (1929–2011)

The second book in his Trilogy about India. This book is set in the mid to late 70s that is in when the country is in the throes of Emergency.

In terms of writing style it is Vintage Naipaul, no doubts there. But when it comes to his observations, I must say that they are superficial and skin deep. He forms his opinions about the entire civilization and religion through a visit to a Bombay Slum. He even goes to the extent of discrediting an entire empire, the mighty Vijayanagar empire.

Some of his quotes, Hindu civilization has been in a state of decay, through repeated conquests, the people have become docile and are glad to be subjects of someone, the concept of leadership and original thought was lost long ago. Some of the points he makes to discredit the empire, the empire is a manifestation of this decline and decay. The empire was started in the mid 14th century by a prince who was sent to Delhi, converted to Islam and sent back to the South. He however decided to reassert himself and declared himself Hindu.

The rulers believed and indulged in human sacrifices. So pretty much in every page, there is a negative connotation and aspect that is highlighted. The positive aspects, of which there are plenty, are not mentioned at all. It is as if he arrived in India with a pre-determined agenda, to bad mouth and discredit anything and everything about the land of his ancestors. Was his intention to shake the people and make them see reality? To make them live and perform to a higher standard, the western standards that he grew up and is living with?

Nothing and Nobody escapes his scathing criticism, not even the Mahatma. He cuts no corners here in his attempt to put him down (I must say he failed miserably there). His observations after having read the autobiography. No mention is made or details given of his stay in the UK or South Africa. So he expected him to glorify or speak glowingly about that greedy imperialist power that lorded over even his native Trinidad.

Coming to think of it, I believe they handed him the Nobel just to shut him up. Here is a living and breathing example of identity crisis. A guy straddling two boats and knows not what his true personality is. Drunk on western thoughts (which he mistakes for Philosophy as there is not such thing as western philosophy). There is only one word that can be attributed to the west and that is Materialism and that is one word that defines everything that flows thereafter even religion. There is not Philosophy here.

The author conveniently forgets that the same Indian Ancestral Genes flows in his veins and make him the personality that he is (inherited from another vitriol spewing forefather perhaps) having migrated as Indentured Laborers, the same coolie genes have been passed on to him and that shows abundantly in the negative prose, always seeing the glass as half empty, brimming with pessimism and nitpicking on all the small flaws that are inherent in every human being. Not all the the accoutrements, the three piece suit, the pipe, the pseudo-western intellectualism do not a westerner make.

All in all a shallow minded imbecile and awarded a Nobel by some like minded imbeciles at the Academy. Takes one to recognize one I guess.… (més)