It has become de rigueur to pan the king of fruit as a falsification of 'colour' in Indian novels. But isn't deliberately squeezing it out just as ridiculous?
Outside the old house in Aracataca where Gabriel García Márquez was born is a big sign carrying one of his most well-known quotes: “I came back to smell the guava.” The writer made this statement when he decided to leave Spain, where he was working as a journalist, and return to his home country, Colombia. The fragrance of the guava evoked his Caribbean childhood, he said, and without it, it was impossible for him to write. It was a characteristically wily remark, at once earthy and grand, calculated and epiphanic, and it stuck to Gabo for the rest of his life.
After all, his rule didn’t stop him from enthusiastically endorsing Kiran Desai’s Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchard, and calling it “lush and intensely imagined,” which it certainly is. Desai’s magical-realism novel is set in a juicy guava tree, into which a young man climbs to escape his family’s endless pestering. In the tree, he cohabits with a troupe of monkeys, munches the ripe fruit, and eventually attains the Garciamarquian ideal of nirvana, by metamorphosing into a large guava.
Novelists of other countries, too, have grappled with the issue of how to write about their homeland and how to interpret it for the world. What should one include, and what should one leave out? The great Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges found himself questioning what was truly native and what crossed the line into the exotic and touristy. He found the answer in historian Edward Gibbon’s masterpiece, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
(This story appears in the May-June 2015 issue of ForbesLife India. To visit our Archives, click here.)