A book review by Roxanna Cain
The Death of Vishnu
by Manil Suri
Norton, 2000, 295 pages
Vishnu lies dying on a landing in a low-rise apartment building.
The landing was home much before he fell ill. He used to be a handyman. But
now he is soiled from his own excrement, protected only by a sheet that a
pitiful neighbor threw upon him.
To leave and arrive home each day, tenants must negotiate their
way around him. They are not sure whether Vishnu is alive or dead. And do
they really care?
Vishnu is the unifying thread in the stories of four families
who hope and despair in modern-day Bombay, India. Around the agonizing Vishnu,
sari-covered housewives, with bangles dangling from their arms, pit peace-loving
husbands against each other to settle domestic squabbles. The husbands find
respite among the more relaxing business of coffee and cigarettes at a local
luxury hotel. On the sidewalk outside, the cigarrettewalla and the paanwalla
hustle their wares, as do Short Ganga and Tall Ganga, characters that will
much amuse the reader as he sails through the passages of this delightful
tale.
Of the four stories, this reviewer most enjoyed the story of
Mr. Taneja, a widower who has difficulty breaking away from his wife’s
memory seventeen years after her death. This section is particularly sweet.
Meanwhile, other sections are downright hilarious. We will
refrain from giving more away lest we spoil the reader’s fun. But the
one thing that one comes away with after reading this novel is a wonderful
sense for Indian customs ––– for Indian city life, which may
be equally valid among our Indian neighbors in Panama and Colon. Thanks to
their longstanding presence in the community, they have brought India closer
to home. Mr. Suri’s depiction is rich, accurate, and respectful. If he
pokes fun here and there, it is only for the sake of fun, as he evidently
has enormous love for Indian culture, language, and customs.
Mr. Suri was born in Bombay, but lives in Maryland, where he
teaches mathematics at a large university. He is a first-time novelist. Before
breaking into the trade, he wrote short pieces for The New Yorker.
