Arundhati Roy Can Never Be As Fabulous As Her Mother
In her new memoir, Mother Mary Comes To Me, Arundhati Roy chronicles her story, and that of her mother. A woman who was a motherly figure to many men and women, just not the ones she birthed.
I’ve never met Arundhati Roy, at least not in real life. We’ve had many volatile conversations though. Every time I’ve read something she’s penned. Her words tend to rile me up. Her political opinions never find concurrence with me. Her writing though always leaves me awed. She’d quite like this dynamic, I’ve always thought to myself. If she & I were to ever cross paths. Not in my dreams for a change. I’m especially sure of it now that I’ve read her new memoir, Mother Mary Comes To Me. I’d like to call her Mart, though I ain’t nothing like G. Issac.
It’s nothing like The God of Small Things – nothing else can be like it. Nor is it like The Ministry of Utmost Happiness but then, Khwabgah isn’t so easily attainable. Though she’s often spoken about this ‘unusual’ relationship with her mother, nothing prepares you for what you’re about to encounter, as Roy opens up her heart, life, the doors to that home in Kottayam, or even Pallikoodam, the school that’s the true legancy of her mother. Her mother, Mrs. Roy, if we might, or Mother Mary, as the title suggests, was a formidable woman who took on social norms, broke them to bits and charted her own course, at a time when women with agency wasn’t a thing. She was everything she’d ever wanted to be. Even a great motherly figure to many men and women in her life. Just not to the ones she birthed. Arundhati and Lalith. A mother she never wanted to be. How fabulous is that though. I wish I’d met her – she would’ve loved me!
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Roy is a remarkable writer. You don’t need me to tell you that. Her prose is pitch perfect. Nothing new you didn’t already know. Yet, the writing in Mother Mary Comes To Me takes you by surprise. She says it like it is. No matter how awkward or uncomfortable it is. Like when she meets her absent father for the first time as an adult – one of the best things I’ve read all year. Or when she recounts Mrs. Roy getting her beloved pet dog, Dido, shot. It’s matter of fact while also layered with a unique kind of understanding – she understands, even though she doesn’t, why her mother would do such a thing, and wants her readers to do so too. Pathos provocateur, could we call her maybe?
Roy’s undying love for her mother is the key tenet of the book. No matter where she goes, no matter what she’s doing, it’s always her mother who remains the central character of her life. Even the book. Despite the fact that what you’re reading is Roy’s life story – from the young girl in Kerala to the student in Rome, the ‘star’ of In Which Annie Gives It To Those Ones (1989) to the wife and stepmother she dutifully becomes. Even when she talks about her activism for those less fortunate and chronicles the life and times of India as she sees it (her own biases and beliefs revealing themselves quite candidly – pardon me for I’m no communist!), she never lets you forget Mrs. Roy. Don’t let the woman on the cover fool you – it's Mrs. Roy who is the real star here. The woman who felt like she was slapped when someone asked her if she was Arundhati Roy’s mother. When was the last time you read about a woman this incredibly original? To borrow that cliché, they truly don’t make ‘em like her anymore.
That’s what you’re left thinking till the very end of the book. Mother Mary Comes To Me could’ve easily been titled ‘Mother Mary, I Bow Down To Thee’. I’d still like to retain the cover though – Roy holding that cigarette is quite an image!