I’m sharing this excerpt from an essay about one of my favorite novels–Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy. The entire essay can be read here. I have also reviewed the BBC adaptation here.
There are some works of literature that are like comfort food–ready for one to dip into whenever one is in need of a pick-me-up. For me, Vikram Seth’s 1993 magnum opus, A Suitable Boy, is one such work. The characters–ranging from the anxious and melodramatic Mrs. Rupa Mehra to the crazy Chatterjee family to the beautiful Muslim courtesan Saaeda Bai Firozabadi– are like old friends whom one has missed after a long absence. Every time I read the novel (and I have read it several times) I find new things to delight and ponder.
The novel begins with what in my opinion is one of the best openings in modern literature, one that immediately alludes to Jane Austen. Just as Pride and Prejudice begins with the narrator stating “It is a truth universally acknowledged ,that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife”, A Suitable Boy opens with the sentence: ” ‘You too will marry a boy I choose,’ said Mrs. Rupa Mehra firmly to her younger daughter.” With this sentence, Seth immediately lets the reader know what the book will be about: Mrs. Rupa Mehra’s search to find a suitable match for her daughter Lata. The novel opens at the wedding of Lata’s elder sister Savita. It will conclude with another wedding, that of Lata herself.
Though the plot ostensibly revolves around getting Lata married off, the novel is really a portrait of 1950s India, similar to the “condition of England” novels of the mid- 19th century. These novels (such as Charles Dickens’s Bleak House) contain, apart from their fictional plots, a debate or discourse about the current state of the nation. Just as Bleak House draws attention to the problems of the London slums and the need for reform of the Chancery courts, A Suitable Boy includes plot lines devoted to issues of land reform and religious communalism. Seth also includes several other aspects of Indian culture in the novel, such as the tradition of courtesans, Urdu poetry, and Hindustani Classical Music.
All these issues are addressed through the four families who make up the cast of characters, all of whom are related to each other through marriage or friendship. The novel opens at the wedding of Savita Mehra with Pran Kapoor, an English professor who is the son of Mahesh Kapoor, a politician in the Indian National Congress, and the Minister of Revenue in the (fictional) North Indian state of Purva Pradesh. One of Mahesh Kapoor’s most important legislative goals is the passing of the Zamindari Abolition Act, which will result in the dissolution of the large estates of the landed aristocracy known as zamindars. This act will have negative consequences for Kapoor’s friend, The Nawab Sahib of Baitar, who is a member of this hereditary class. Similarly, Seth brings in a description of the life of a courtesan by creating a plot line involving a doomed romance between Mahesh Kapoor’s younger son, Maan, and Saeeda Bai Firozabadi. The issue of religious communalism is brought into the novel by focusing on a conflict over a mosque which was supposedly built over a temple (clearly inspired from the Babri Mosque issue in Ayodhya). There are also sections describing rioting between Hindus and Muslims that occurs when a Muharram procession happens to cross a performance of the Ramlila. Several critics have argued that Seth uses these incidents to make a plea for secularism and against religious fanaticism. For example, Seth includes a scene set in the Alamgiri Mosque after Friday Prayer. For the past few months, a Shiva Temple has begun to be constructed next to the mosque, much to the dismay of the local Muslim community. After a particularly fiery sermon by the local Imam, a riot takes place. The narrator describes the scene as follows:
No one knew how the men who were gathering in the narrow alleys of the Muslim neighborhood that lay on one side of Chowk became a mob. One moment they were walking individually or in small groups through the alleys towards the mosque for evening prayer, then they had coalesced into larger clusters, excitedly discussing the ominous signals they had heard. After the midday sermon most were in no mood to listen to any voice of moderation. A couple of the more eager members of the Alamgiri Masjid Hifazaat Committee made a few crowd-rousing remarks, a few local hotheads and toughs stirred themselves and those around them into a state of rage, the crowd increased in size as the alleys joined into larger alleys, its density and speed and sense of indistinct determination increased, and it was no longer a collection but a thing-wounded and enraged, and wanting nothing less than to wound and enrage. There were cries of ‘Allah-u-Akbar’ which could be heard all the way to the police station. A few of those who joined the crowd had sticks in their hands. One or two even had knives. Now it was not the mosque they were headed for but the partly constructed temple just next to it. It was from here that the blasphemy had originated, it was this that must be destroyed. (Seth 251)
This scene ends with the police shooting at the mob, resulting in several deaths and injuries. A similar incident occurs later in the novel, a stampede at the “Pul Mela” on the banks of the Ganges (based on the Kumbh Mela celebrated in Allahabad every six years). The narrator writes:
Within fifteen minutes more than a thousand people were dead…. It was still not clear what had happened.
Dipankar had been among the spectators on the other side of the main route. He watched with horror the carnage that was taking place less than fifty feet away but–with the nagas between him and the ramp–there was nothing he could do. Anyway, there was nothing he could have done except get killed or injured. He did not recognize anyone on the ramp, so tightly packed was the crowd. It was a hellish scene, like humanity gone mad, each element indistinguishable from the other, all bent on a kind of collective suicide (796-797).
Through such episodes of communal clashes, Seth makes a plea for secularism, and more generally against passion and for rationality.
Another way in which the novel makes the case for rationality is through the heroine’s choice of a husband. Though she falls madly in love with Kabir Durrani, a fellow student at her university, Lata eventually comes to realize that because she is Hindu and he is Muslim, her family would never accept their marriage. She eventually agrees to marry another man, a candidate who has been approved by her mother. When her friend Malati upbraids her for compromising and giving up on love, Lata tells her: ” I’m not myself when I’m with [Kabir]. I ask myself who is this–this jealous, obsessed woman who can’t get a man out of her head–why should I make myself suffer like this? I know that it’ll always be like this if I’m with him.’ (1417). A few pages later, she goes on “‘All I meant was, Malati, that when I’m with Kabir, or even away from him but thinking about him, I become utterly useless for anything. I feel I’m out of control–like a boat heading for the rocks–and I don’t want to become a wreck’”(1419). Lata chooses companionate marriage and stability over romantic love. Even the man she ends up marrying has given up on romantic passion. Just as Lata was in love with an “unsuitable” Muslim boy, her future husband Haresh, was in love with a Sikh girl, Simran, whose family would never have accepted her marriage to a Hindu man.
Another example of passion destroying people is the relation of Maan and Saeeda Bai. Maan’s jealousy over Saeeda Bai causes him to stab his best friend, Firoz Khan (the son of the Nawab Sahib of Baitar) and to be sent to jail for attempted murder. The shock of his arrest causes his mother to die from a stroke. Maan himself is only acquitted when Firoz changes his testimony to say that he was not stabbed, but fell on the knife while trying to disarm his friend. In contrast to the Lata-Kabir and Maan-Saaeda Bai relationships, the most fulfilling relationship in the novel is that of Lata’s elder sister, Savita, and her husband Pran–a relationship that was an arranged marriage in which the parties learned to love each other afterwards. It is a relationship based on companionship and stability rather than grand romantic passion.

I know this is kinda a late comment, but this novel oddly reminds me of Govardhan Tripathi’s magnum opus: Saraswatichandra. This was a fascinating book set in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s in two fictional towns in Gujarat. The book, also, has the story of multple joints family strecth acrossed a wide landscape, each with their own personal dramas and moments of unity. It looks at passion, love, and affection, but it goes even further as it examines a decaying and ever-changing world unconfined to human expectations, one unwilling to be fully bound by modernity or tradition. The main story has a complex romance plot similar to a suitable boy, but its plot expands into politics, religion, and even culture.
Honestly, I would argue that Govardhan captures a certain aspect of Indian society that a suitable boy falls to extensively study: the inner conflict between tradition and modernity, alongside the function that the educated should function with this ideological conflict. Another thing would be that “A Suitable Boy” feels like a very sanitized take on family life and how things ran among the upper elite in Indian society were actually like during this time period. I am somewhat familiar with the landlord owning people, educated, and the burgeoning middle class during the 1950’s, since some of my great-grandfathers were local Jamnis (low-level landed gentry) in Kerala at one point in time, so let’s just say I am quite familiar with what some of these people were like and the world they lived in.
There were a lot of lawsuits, multi-generational family feuds that resulted in physical violence and accusations ranging from basic theft to black magic. Also, lots of infedelity; I mean, it wasn’t common, but it was exactly rare, or more an uncommon, somewhat prevalent thing. Somehow this book feels oddly sanitized by a very Victorian view of people back then, which ironically enough makes the book seem unrealistic to me since people were really insane, like people did actual class warfare with real bombs, kinda things. Saraswatichandra, in some weird way, feels more realistic of these people and their practices in spite of feeling more unrealistic to modern readers in some sense.
Thanks for your comment 🙂
A Suitable Boy is very consciously in the tradition of the “condition of England” novel such as Bleak House or Middlemarch. Seth very much wants to cover all the major aspects of Indian society (secularism/communalism, Hindustani classical music, zamindari, courtesans, politics, etc).
Honestly, I have a soft spot for this novel because it was one of the first Indian English novels I read. I must have been around 12 or 13.
Also, my parents are friends with Vikram Seth (they were together at Stanford) and the character of Kabir in this novel is named after me.
Really? Wow
Yes, my mom taught Seth to read Urdu on the bus from Stanford to Berkley.
She said that when he was writing this book (sometime in the early 1990s) she was visiting Delhi and had been invited to his parents’ house for dinner. Seth asked her what her children’s names were and wrote them down. One of the minor characters in the book (the Nawab’s grandson) is named Hasan–which is my brother’s name.