One: City By the Sea
Dina Dalal seldom indulged in looking back at her life with regret
or bitterness, or questioning why things had turned out the way
they had, cheating her of the bright future everyone had predicted
for her when she was in school, when her name was still Dina
Shroff. And if she did sink into one of these rare moods, she
quickly swam out of it. What was the point of repeating the story
over and over and over, she asked herself--it always ended the same
way; whichever corridor she took, she wound up in the same
room.
Dina''s father had been a doctor, a GP with a modest practice who
followed the Hippocratic oath somewhat more passionately than
others of his profession. During the early years of Dr. Shroff''s
career, his devotion to his work was diagnosed, by peers, family
members, and senior physicians, as typical of youthful zeal and
vigour. "How refreshing, this enthusiasm of the young," they
smiled, nodding sagely, confident that time would douse the fires
of idealism with a healthy dose of cynicism and family
responsibilities.
But marriage, and the arrival of a son, followed eleven years later
by a daughter, changed nothing for Dr. Shroff. Time only sharpened
the imbalance between his fervour to ease suffering and his desire
to earn a comfortable income.
"How disappointing," said friends and relatives, shaking their
heads. "Such high hopes we had for him. And he keeps slaving like a
clerk, like a fanatic, refusing to enjoy life. Poor Mrs. Shroff.
Never a vacation, never a party--no fun at all in her
existence."
At fifty-one, when Most GPS would have begun considering options
like working half-time, hiring an inexpensive junior, or even
selling the practice in favour of early retirement, Dr. Shroff had
neither the bank balance nor the temperament to permit such
indulgences. Instead, he volunteered to lead a campaign of medical
graduates bound for districts in the interior. There, where typhoid
and cholera, unchallenged by science or technology, were still
reaping their routine harvest of villagers, Dr. Shroff would try to
seize the deadly sickles or, at the very least, to blunt
them.
But Mrs. Shroff undertook a different sort of campaign: to dissuade
her husband from going into what she felt were the jaws of certain
death. She attempted to coach Dina with words to sway her father.
After all, Dina, at twelve, was Daddy''s darling. Mrs. Shroff knew
that her son, Nusswan, could be of no help in this enterprise.
Enlisting him would have ruined any chance of changing her
husband''s mind.
The turning point in the father-and-son relationship had come seven
years ago, on Nusswan''s sixteenth birthday. Uncles and aunts had
been invited to dinner, and someone said, "Well, Nusswan, you will
soon be studying to become a doctor, just like your father."
"I don''t want to be a doctor," Nusswan answered. "I''ll be going
into business-import and export."
Some of the uncles and aunts nodded approvingly. Others recoiled in
mock horror, turning to Dr. Shroff. "Is this true? No father-son
partnership?"
"Of course it''s true," he said. "My children are free to do
whatever they please."
But five-year-old Dina had seen the hurt on her father''s face
before he could hide it. She ran to him and clambered onto his lap.
"Daddy, I want to be a doctor, just like you, when I grow
up."
Everyone laughed and applauded, and said, Smart little girl, knows
how to get what she wants. Later, they whispered that the son was
obviously not made of the same solid stuff as the father-no
ambition, wouldn''t amount to much.
Dina had repeated her wish in the years to come, continuing to
regard her father as some kind of god who gave people good health,
who struggled against illness, and who, sometimes, succeeded in
temporarily thwarting death. And Dr. Shroff was delighted with his
bright child. On parents'' night at the convent school, the
principal and teachers always had the highest praise for her. She
would succeed if she wanted to, Dr. Shroff knew it for
certain.
Mrs. Shroff also knew, for certain, that her daughter was the one
to recruit in the campaign against Dr. Shroff''s foolish
philanthropic plan of working in remote, Godforsaken villages. But
Dina refused to cooperate; she did not approve of devious means to
keep her beloved father home.
Then Mrs. Shroff resorted to other methods, using not money or his
personal safety or his family to persuade him, for she knew these
would fail hopelessly. Instead, she invoked his patients, claiming
he was abandoning them, old and frail and helpless. "What will they
do if you go so far away? They trust you and rely on you. How can
you be so cruel? You have no idea how much you mean to them."
"No, that is not the point," said Dr. Shroff. He was familiar with
the anfractuous arguments that her love for him could prompt her to
wield. Patiently he explained there were GPS galore in the city who
could take care of the assorted aches and pains-where he was going,
the people had no one. He comforted her that it was only a
temporary assignment, hugging and kissing her much more than was
usual for him. "I promise to be back soon," he said. "Before you
even grow used to my absence."
But Dr. Shroff could not keep his promise. Three weeks into the
medical campaign he was dead, not from typhoid or cholera, but from
a cobra''s bite, far from the lifesaving reach of antivenins.
Mrs. Shroff received the news calmly. People said it was because
she was a doctor''s wife, more familiar with death than other
mortals. They reasoned that Dr. Shroff must have often carried such
tidings to her regarding his own patients, thus preparing her for
the inevitable.
When she took brisk charge of the funeral arrangements, managing
everything with superb efficiency, people wondered if there was not
something a little abnormal about her behaviour. Between disbursing
funds from her handbag for the various expenses, she accepted
condolences, comforted grieving relatives, tended the oil lamp at
the head of Dr. Shroff''s bed, washed and ironed her white sari,
and made sure there was a supply of incense and sandalwood in the
house. She personally instructed the cook about the special
vegetarian meal for the next day.
After the full four days of death ceremonies, Dina was still
crying. Mrs. Shroff, who was busy tallying the prayer-bungalow
charges from the Towers of Silence, said briskly, "Come, my
daughter, be sensible now. Daddy would not like this." So Dina did
her best to control herself.
Then Mrs. Shroff continued absentmindedly, writing out the cheque.
"You could have stopped him if you wanted. He would have listened
to you," she said.
Dina''s sobs burst out with renewed intensity. In addition to the
grief for her father, her tears now included anger towards her
mother, even hatred. It would take her a few months to understand
that there was no malice or accusation contained in what had been
said, just a sad and simple statement of fact as seen by her
mother.
Six months after Dr. Shroff''s death, after being the pillar that
everyone could lean on, Mrs. Shroff gradually began to crumble.
Retreating from daily life, she took very little interest in the
running of her household or in her own person.
It made little difference to Nusswan, who was twenty-three and busy
planning his own future. But Dina, at twelve, could have done with
a parent for a few more years. She missed her father dreadfully.
Her mother''s withdrawal made it much worse.
Nusswan Shroff had earned his own living as a businessman for two
years prior to his father''s death. He was still single, living at
home, saving his money while searching for a suitable flat and a
suitable wife. With his father''s passing and his mother''s
reclusion, he realized that the pursuit of a flat was unnecessary,
and a wife, urgent.
He now assumed the role of head of the family, and legal guardian
to Dina. All their relatives agreed this was as it should be. They
praised his selfless decision, admitting they had been wrong about
his capabilities. He also took over the family finances, promising
that his mother and sister would want for nothing; he would look
after them out of his own salary. But, even as he spoke, he knew
there was no need for this. The money from the sale of Dr.
Shroff''s dispensary was sufficient.
Nusswan''s first decision as head of the family was to cut back on
the hired help. The cook, who came for half the day and prepared
the two main meals, was kept on; Lily, the live-in servant, was let
go. "We cannot continue in the same luxury as before," he declared.
"I just can''t afford the wages."
Mrs. Shroff expressed some doubt about the change. "Who will do the
cleaning? My hands and feet don''t work like before."
"Don''t worry, Mamma, we will all share it. You can do easy things,
like dusting the furniture. We can wash our own cups and saucers,
surely. And Dina is a young girl, full of energy. It will be good
for her, teach her how to look after a home."
"Yes, maybe you are right," said Mrs. Shroff, vaguely convinced of
the need for money-saving measures.
But Dina knew there was more to it. The week before, while passing
the kitchen on her way to the wc well past midnight, she had
noticed her brother with the ayah: Lily sitting on one end of the
kitchen table, her feet resting on the edge; Nusswan, his pyjamas
around his ankles, stood between Lily''s thighs, clasping her hips
to him. Dina watched his bare buttocks with sleepy curiosity, then
crept back to bed without using the toilet, her cheeks flushed. But
she must have lingered a moment too long, for Nusswan had seen
her.
Not a word was spoken about it. Lily departed (with a modest bonus,
unbeknownst to Mrs. Shroff), tearfully declaring that she would
never find as nice a family to work for ever again. Dina felt sorry
for her, and also despised her.
Then the new household arrangement got under way. Everyone made an
honest effort. The experiment in self-reliance seemed like fun.
"It''s a little like going camping," said Mrs. Shroff.
"That''s the spirit," said Nusswan.
With the passing of days, Dina''s chores began to increase. As a
token of his participation, Nusswan continued to wash his cup,
saucer, and breakfast plate before going to work. Beyond that, he
did nothing.
One morning, after swallowing his last gulp of tea, he said, "I''m
very late today, Dina. Please wash my things."
"I''m not your servant! Wash your own dirty plates!" Weeks of
pent-up resentment came gushing. "You said we would each do our own
work! All your stinking things you leave for me!"
"Listen to the little tigress," said Nusswan, amused.
"You mustn''t speak like that to your big brother," chided Mrs.
Shroff gently. ";Remember, we must share and share alike."
"He''s cheating! He doesn''t do any work! I do everything!"
Nusswan hugged his mother: "Bye-bye, Mamma," and gave Dina a
friendly pat on the shoulder to make up. She shrank from him. "The
tigress is still angry," he said and left for the office.
Mrs. Shroff tried to soothe Dina, promising to discuss it later
with Nusswan, maybe convince him to hire a part-time ayah, but her
resolve melted within hours. Matters continued as before. As weeks
went by, instead of restoring fairness in the household, she began
turning into one of the chores on her daughter''s ever-growing
list.
Now Mrs. Shroff had to be told what to do. When food was placed
before her, she ate it, though it did her little good, for she kept
losing weight. She had to be reminded to bathe and change her
clothes. If toothpaste was squeezed out and handed to her on the
brush, she brushed her teeth. For Dina, the most unpleasant task
was helping her mother wash her hair-it fell out in clumps on the
bathroom floor, and more followed when she combed it for her.
Once every month, Mrs. Shroff attended her husband''s prayers at
the fire-temple. She said it gave her great comfort to hear the
elderly Dustoor Framji''s soothing tones supplicating for her
husband''s soul. Dina missed school to accompany her mother,
worried about her wandering off somewhere.
Before commencing the ceremony, Dustoor Framji unctuously shook
Mrs. Shroff''s hand and gave Dina a prolonged hug of the sort he
reserved for girls and young women. His reputation for squeezing
and fondling had earned him the title of Dustoor Daab-Chaab, along
with the hostility of his colleagues, who resented not so much his
actions but his lack of subtlety, his refusal to disguise his
embraces with fatherly or spiritual concern. They feared that one
day he would go too far, drool over his victim or something, and
disgrace the fire-temple.
Dina squirmed in his grasp as he patted her head, rubbed her neck,
stroked her back and pressed himself against her. He had a very
short beard, stubble that resembled flakes of grated coconut, and
it scraped her cheeks and forehead. He released her just when she
had summoned enough courage to tear her trapped body from his
arms.
After the fire-temple, for the rest of the day at home Dina tried
to make her mother talk, asking her advice about housework or
recipes, and when that failed, about Daddy, and the days of their
newlywed lives. Faced with her mother''s dreamy silences, Dina felt
helpless. Soon, her concern for her mother was tempered by the
instinct of youth which held her back-she would surely receive her
portion of grief and sorrow in due course, there was no need to
take on the burden prematurely.
And Mrs. Shroff spoke in monosyllables or sighs, staring into
Dina''s face for answers. As for dusting the furniture, she could
never proceed beyond wiping the picture frame containing her
husband''s graduation photograph. She spent most of her time gazing
out the window.
Nusswan preferred to regard his mother''s disintegration as a
widow''s appropriate renunciation, wherein she was sloughing off
the dross of life to concentrate on spiritual matters. He focused
his attention on the raising of Dina. The thought of the enormous
responsibility resting on his shoulders worried him
ceaselessly.
He had always perceived his father to be a strict disciplinarian;
he had stood in awe of him, had even been a little frightened of
him. If he was to fill his father''s shoes, he would have to induce
the same fear in others, he decided, and prayed regularly for
courage and guidance in his task. He confided to the relatives-the
uncles and aunts-that Dina''s defiance, her stubbornness, was
driving him crazy, and only the Almighty''s help gave him the
strength to go forward in his duty.
His sincerity touched them. They promised to pray for him too.
"Don''t worry, Nusswan, everything will be all right. We will light
a lamp at the fire-temple."
Heartened by their support, Nusswan began taking Dina with him to
the fire-temple once as week. There, he thrust a stick of
sandalwood in her hand and whispered fiercely in her ear, "Now pray
properly--ask Dadaji to make you a good girl, ask Him to make you
obedient."
While she bowed before the sanctum, he travelled along the outer
wall hung with pictures of various dustoors and high priests. He
glided from display to display, stroking the garlands, hugging the
frames, kissing the glass, and ending with the very tall picture of
Zarathustra to which he glued his lips for a full minute. Then,
from the vessel of ashes placed in the sanctum''s doorway, he
smeared a pinch on his forehead, another bit across the throat, and
undid his top two shirt buttons to rub a fistful over his chest.
Like talcum powder, thought Dina, watching from the corner of her
eye, from her bowed position, straining to keep from laughing. She
did not raise her head till he had finished his antics.
"Did you pray properly?" he demanded when they were outside.
She nodded.
"Good. Now all the bad thoughts will leave your head, you will feel
peace and quiet in your heart."
From the Hardcover edition.
1. Why has Mistry chosen not to name the Prime
Minister or the City by the Sea, when they are easily recognizable?
Does recognition of these elements make any difference in your
attitude toward the story?
2. Is Nusswan presented entirely as a villain, or does he have
redeeming features? What are his real feelings toward Dina?
3. How does Dina''s position within her family reflect the
position of women in her culture and social class? Is the status of
Om''s sisters the same as Dina''s, or different? What sorts of
comparisons can you make between the roles and functions of women
in India (as represented in this novel) and in America?
4. Post-Independence India has seen much
religious and ethnic violence: for instance, the mutual slaughter
of Hindus and Muslims after Partition (1947), during which Ishvar
and Narayan saved Ashraf and his family, and the hunting down and
killing of Sikhs after the Prime Minister''s murder, witnessed by
Maneck. How does the behavior of the characters in the novel,
ordinary Hindus, Parsis, and Muslims, contrast with the hatred that
inspired these terrible acts? How much of this hatred seems to be
fomented by political leaders? Dukhi observes bitterly "that at
least his Muslim friend treated him better than his Hindu brothers"
[p. 115]. What does this say about ethnic and religious loyalties,
as opposed to personal ones?
5. After Rustom''s death, Dina''s primary goal
is self-reliance. But as the novel progresses and she makes new
friends, she begins to change her ideas. "We''ll see how
independent you are when the goondas come back and break your head
open," Dina says to Maneck [p. 433]. Does she find in the end that
real self-reliance is possible, or even desirable? Does she change
her definition of self-reliance?
6. Most people seem indifferent or hostile to the Prime Minister
and her Emergency policies, but a few characters, like Mrs. Gupta
and Nusswan, support her. What does the endorsement of such people
indicate about the Prime Minister? Can you compare the Prime
Minister and her supporters with other political leaders and
parties in today''s world?
7. Why does Avinash''s chess set become so important to Maneck,
who comes to see chess as the game of life? "The rules should
always allow someone to win," says Om, while Maneck replies,
"Sometimes, no one wins" [p. 410]. How do the events of the novel
resemble the various moves and positions in chess?
8. Dina distances herself from the political ferment of the
period: "Government problemsÑgames played by people in power," she
tells Ishvar. "It doesn''t affect ordinary people like us" [p. 75].
But in the end it does affect all of them, drastically. Why do
some, like Dina and Maneck, refuse to involve themselves in
politics while others, like Narayan and Avinash, eagerly do so?
Which position is the better or wiser one?
9. When Ishvar and Om are incarcerated in the labor camp, Ishvar
asks what crime they have committed. "It''s not a question of crime
and punishment-it''s problem and solution," says the foreman [p.
338]. If it is true that there is a problem-the vast number of
homeless people and beggars on city streetsÑwhat would a proper and
humane solution be?
10. People at the bottom of the economic heap frequently blame
so-called middlemen: people like Dina, who makes her living through
other people''s labor, or like Ibrahim the rent collector. Do such
middlemen strike you as making money immorally? Who are the real
villains?
11. How would you sum up Beggarmaster: Is he ruthless, kind, or
a bit of both? Does he redeem himself by his thoughtful acts, the
seriousness with which he takes his responsibilities toward his
dependents? In a world this cruel, are such simple categories as
"good" and "bad" even applicable?
12. When Beggarmaster draws Shankar, Shankar''s mother, and
himself, he represents himself as a freak just like the other two.
What does this vision he has of himself tell us about him?
13. The government''s birth control program is enforced with
violence and cruelty, with sterilization quotas and forced
vasectomies. But is birth control policy in itself a bad thing?
Dina tells Om, for example, "Two children only. At the most, three.
Haven''t you been listening to the family planning people?" [p.
466]. How might family planning be implemented in a humane
fashion?
14. After Dina''s father dies, her family life is blighted until
she marries Rustom. In later years, she chooses to withdraw from
her natural family; it is not until her year with the tailors and
Maneck that she again comes to know what a family might be. What
constitutes a family? What other examples of unconventional
"families" do you find in the novel?
15. Why do Ishvar, Om, and Dina survive, in their diminished
ways, while Maneck finally gives up? Is it due to something in
their pasts, their childhoods, their families, their
characters?
16. "People forget how vulnerable they are despite their shirts
and shoes and briefcases," says Beggarmaster, "how this hungry and
cruel world could strip them, put them in the same position as my
beggars" [p. 493]. Does A Fine Balance show people''s
vulnerability, or their fortitude?
17. What effect is achieved by the novel''s mildly comic ending,
with Om and Ishvar clowning around at Dina''s door? Is the ending
appropriate, or off-balance?
18. The novel gives us a vivid picture of life for members of
the untouchable caste in remote villages. Why might such an
apparently anachronistic system have survived into the late
twentieth century? Does it resemble any other social systems with
which you are acquainted? Why do so few of its victims fight the
system, as Narayan does? Why do so few leave the village: is it
from necessity, social conservatism, respect for tradition?
Discussion questions provided courtesy of Vintage Books, a division
of Random House, Inc., New York. All rights reserved.