Review: The Paradise of Food by Khalid Jawed - Hindustan Times
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Review: The Paradise of Food by Khalid Jawed

BySyed Saad Ahmed
Jul 06, 2022 09:00 PM IST

Khalid Jawed’s ingenuity and experiments with form and content stand out in his Rabelaisian novel brilliantly translated by Baran Farooqui

In Gargantua and Pantagruel, a fiction series by the sixteenth century French monk Rabelais, a character discusses “the most lordly, the most excellent, and the most convenient” ways to wipe one’s bum after “dunging”. A goose’s neck, velvet masks, hats, pigeons, and nettles are among the options, which span a chapter.

Khalid Jawed’s novel calls to mind the surreal paintings of the medieval era like The Fat Kitchen (1563) by Pieter van der Heyden. (Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Image) PREMIUM
Khalid Jawed’s novel calls to mind the surreal paintings of the medieval era like The Fat Kitchen (1563) by Pieter van der Heyden. (Heritage Art/Heritage Images via Getty Image)

One could say that Rabelais has found a worthy successor in the Urdu writer and professor Khalid Jawed, whose novel Ne’mat Khana (translated in English as The Paradise of Food) came out in 2014. In the book, a paragraph begins with the premise that “the hunger of human intestines conceals a mysterious and frightening erotic charge” and arrives at the conclusion “women have sex with pots and pans in the kitchen”.

402pp, ₹799; Juggernaut
402pp, ₹799; Juggernaut

Entrails not only animate the plot, they are also the novel’s antagonist. The protagonist is Hafeezuddin Babar alias Guddu Miyan. The book is largely a first-person account of his life from childhood to senility. He is obsessed with mastication, digestion, and excretion, and tries to make sense of the world through these. He believes that kitchens are satanic and claims they are the most dangerous place in the home. Indeed, most of the book’s mishaps, murders, and deaths occur in the kitchen.

After a near-fatal illness as a child, Guddu Miyan’s intestines whispered “a kind of knowledge” into his ear, endowing him with a sixth sense and giving a whole new meaning to gut feeling. His premonitions foreshadow a range of events, from the gory death of a pet to political turmoil and natural calamities. At a young age, an inexplicable desire to inflict suffering possesses him, which he does in good measure.

Author Khalid Jawed (Courtesy Juggernaut)
Author Khalid Jawed (Courtesy Juggernaut)

Jawed builds a rich inner world for the protagonist despite the latter’s largely uneventful life. Guddu Miyan’s bizarre thoughts and preoccupations engrossed me. Throughout the novel, I was curious about how his life would pan out and what his clairvoyance would unveil. The author’s turns of phrase and descriptions often made me simultaneously cringe and chuckle. His playful ingenuity and experiments with form and content stand out in contemporary Indian fiction.

There are glimmers of world literature and philosophy too — some referential, a couple derivative. Wittgenstein, Nietzsche, Heraclitus, and Proudhon’s ideas make appearances without being obtrusive. Guddu Miyan and his friends discuss thinkers and worldviews during a spell of erudition in college. An episode of relentless rain that brings the characters’ worlds literally and metaphorically crumbling down seems straight out of One Hundred Years of Solitude. The impish, quirky narrative voice is reminiscent of a range of works, from Tom Jones to Infinite Jest and Babu Bangladesh.

While the novel is mostly engaging, hefty chunks of text using stream of consciousness make it dreary in parts. The ones at the beginning enticingly set the tone for Guddu Miyan’s idiosyncrasies, but those in the last quarter oscillate from a feverish rant to unhinged raving. While these are meant to convey his state of mind, they are as tedious as delirious.

I can imagine the novel’s appeal being far from universal. If bludgeoning, bloodbaths, or expositions on the aromas of urine, farts, and undigested food make you squeamish, the book might seem distasteful, if not outlandish. The extent is likely to vary from reader to reader. I get queasy watching the gore and sadistic violence in Haneke or Pasolini’s films, but barely flinched while devouring the novel. To make a comparison in the author’s vein, reading it felt like watching a slaughter and dismemberment while relishing a hearty meal, chomping gleefully as innards ooze out with each incision.

Guddu Miyan is an awful human — his actions are criminal and thoughts egregious. He is a misogynist and insensitive towards disabilities and mental illnesses, or for that matter, towards everyone except himself. Consider how he describes his wife: “She was fair-complexioned, but the fairness did not cause a stir in my heart. I found this whiteness similar to that of split milk… her body smelt of stale curd.” He is not at all likeable, yet he is a compelling figure. What makes him more interesting is that the author neither explicitly endorses nor condemns him.

However, Jawed does not delve much into the other characters. They seem like mere appendages to Guddu Miyan, for him to hate, lust after, or sermonise to. Nevertheless, a couple of them are memorable. The lack of character development does not impact the story.

Translator Baran Farooqi (Courtesy the subject)
Translator Baran Farooqi (Courtesy the subject)

The blurb describes the novel as “the story of a middle-class Muslim joint family over 50 years… (it) penetrates deep into the dark heart of middle-class Muslims today”. While its accounts of Islamic customs and culture are expansive and enlightening, the “deep penetration” in the book is of the sexual kind. The novel does not draw conclusions about middle-class Muslims today, let alone their “dark heart”, apart from a brief foray towards the ending into the disenchantment of two young men with sectarian violence and discrimination in India. It is entirely the tale a man at odds with the world, who also happens to be Muslim.

While The Paradise of Food is rich enough to spawn diverse interpretations, it primarily unfolds in the domestic sphere, with occasional excursions to the neighbourhood and Guddu Miyan’s college and workplace. The external world and politics impinge upon the characters’ lives, but rarely figure among the pivotal plot points. A communal riot features in the novel, but Guddu Miyan uses the episode to substantiate his contention that “there is no living thing more dangerous than a kid” rather than pontificate on Hindu-Muslim relations.

Baran Farooqi’s translation has rendered the author’s voice into English with brilliant precision. It is exceedingly difficult to convey the rhythms of the Urdu original that arise from repetition, rhymes, or alliteration in a different language. So instead of replicating these, Farooqi builds a cadence and mouthfeel apt for English. However, the translation leaves out Jawed’s preface and the numerous epigraphs with quotes from writers, philosophers, and artists in the Urdu version. I wish it had incorporated these as they further enrich the reading experience.

Syed Saad Ahmed is an independent writer and communications professional

The views expressed are personal

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