By Anita Agnihotri

Rs 295

Her words see through the symptoms and find the cause. Like a thin ray of sunlight that manages to find its way to the basement, they reveal the malignant sources of darkness hidden underneath dense layers.
With such words at her command, in her quest for the meaning of life, author Anita Agnihotri rakes the unexplored underbelly of India. A bureaucrat by profession, she has authored over 30 books.

In 17, her collection of 17 short stories, she narrates the tales of individuals and their emotional journeys. Set in metros and villages, travelling through small-town India and suburbia, the stories run across a gamut of experiences, sometimes routine, and sometimes extraordinary.
Originally written in Bengali, the stories have been translated by Arunava Sinha, a known translator of classic and contemporary Bengali fiction, for Zubaan Books publishing house.
In the title story, 17, the usual conflict of a lonely teenager feels as real as any of ours. Having led the life of a topper in Class 9 and 10, Hridi tries hard to adjust to her mid-level standing in the hierarchy of the bright at a new school. Her heart is no longer in her studies. Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry are like three massive stone doors that refuse to give way.
As she shifts to a small town with her working mother, Hridi, in her struggle to find her old self, appears like a butterfly bewitched, mute and unable to find its way amidst a riot of colours.
The writer showcases the loss of dignity by marginal groups, and takes up issues that are swept under the rug. In Heatstroke, the employees of a firm’s regional office in a sun-baked town threaten mass suicide because they have no hope of survival. Swadesh, a senior employee of the firm, arrives in the famine-infested land to audit the situation. Within a few hours of his arrival, Swadesh realises that every bit of his body, from his belly to the crown of his head, is parched. He feels the fear of death.
In The Shadow War, a group of tribals clash with a company over the compensation they receive for acquisition of their lands. Twelve people die in the incident, including the brother of a company executive’s driver. Upon her arrival in the town in the middle of the night, Tithi, the executive’s wife, trembles in fear when she does not immediately find her driver to pick her up. Enveloped in driving rain, the night shows no sign of dawn. When she finds her driver standing outside the platform, she wishes to touch his stony shoulders compassionately with her hand, but she cannot. Her fingers feel the cold of blood and rainwater mingled with guilt.
The writer brings out the consequences of the unconscious cruelty human beings practise against each other. Power games, the desire to love and hate, the blisters of pricked egos and loss of dreams flow as a fierce undercurrent in all the stories.
The dark element hidden deep inside human beings is a common thread in the collection Seventeen. The characters, while set in the regional background of eastern villages and kasbahs, appear universal. They all seem to explore the intricate layers of life and happiness in a passive slow motion.
At times, the translator seems to introduce subplots abruptly, a technique that may have been beautiful in original text. However, the English reader could do with a little handholding through the intertwining sub-plots. 17 makes for good reading and will keep you occupied through several thoughtful afternoons.
The subjects touched upon have the ability to shake the reader from slumber and are much more grounded than those addressed in most of the contemporary writing in India.