The Collected Short Stories of Roald Dahl

Horror films don't freak me out. Yes, I close my eyes and then peek from between two fingers. But, they don't haunt my dreams and turn them into nightmares. Maybe because I don't really believe in the living dead. What do put the heebies and the jeebies in me are evil tales of seemingly innocuous people leading a regular life.

The Collected Short Stories of Roald Dahl has 50-plus short stories by the author and each one of them revels in jumping out of the bushes and screaming "Boo" at the reader. The settings are of the ordinary, a bed and breakfast or an apiary or a country manor or a farm. The characters too don't draw any suspicion be it a matronly landlady or a bookseller or a travelling salesman or a country hick. Then, as the stories moved, some element would be introduced, almost as subtly as the pea under the princess' bed. Sometimes I spotted it as soon as it appeared and at times I missed it, and had to read back to figure out where he had twisted the simple tale. But, the resolution was almost always rewarding.

My favourites in the collection were The Landlady and The Bookseller. The Landlady starts off with a young man in search for a B&B in Bath. He chances upon a place run by a middle-aged lady. There were many clues that pointed to the oddities in the establishment but nothing quite prepared me for the creepy end. In the Bookseller the author's detailed description of the dusty shop and the spiritless owner and his secretary almost lulled me into a false sense of security, but not quite. It is almost at the end of the collection so I had smartened up to Dahl's tricks. And when the secretary called her boss William Buggage, "Billy", I knew the twist was around the corner.


Next review: Train to Pakistan by Khushwant Singh

What Arundhati Roy and I have in common...

Arundhati Roy and I have a connection.

I had just finished my workout and was sitting in the lobby and was chatting with the person who owns/runs the gym.

"Why don’t you become a personal trainer at my gym?" he asked.

"Are you mad? Who would want me to train them?" I laughed it off and left.

Later that day at lunch I told some friends about it, I thought they would have a good laugh. 

"Why not?" said Renu. "I think it’s a good idea."

"Ya me too." said Chloe.

"Are you all mad? I don’t look anything like a trainer and I don’t know anything about training. Plus, I am supposed to become a writer." I said.

"So? said Chloe. "Arundhati Roy was an aerobics instructor before she wrote The God of Small Things and became famous."

Well, I thought, if Arundhati Roy did it…and I have been a trainer for almost six years now.

                                              ——————-

My first attempt at reading The God of Small Things was when I was in my 20s. It had gained a lot of attention and appreciation and I thought reading it would be good for my intellectual image. A few pages was all i could get through. Though, I did pretend to have read it through. Now, at 35, it was the right time to take another stab at it. I am a more mature reader, I told myself, and a creative writing teacher. How shameful to not have read one of the gems of Indian literature in English. And one of my huge life decisions was inspired by her, I owed it to her.  

The start was hesitant, but short-lived. Within a few pages her writing had transported me to the Kerala of the twins, Rahel and Estha. Her detailed descriptions, which had bored me a decade ago, enchanted me and depressed me at the same time. ‘I will never be able to create images like this,’ my soul wailed, as I swallowed page after page. The narrative flow must have been difficult in the writing process but its reading is effortless thanks to the author’s ability to stay true the voice whether it is the older Rahel or the younger Rahel. But, more than the plot, it is the images that Arundhati Roy sprung on me with every detailed description, they evoked the exact emotion they were designed to - amazement, disgust, misery, joy, despair collided as the pages turned. The end came too fast.

Below: A picture taken outside Arundhati Roy’s house in Akkara, Kerala. Akkara also gets mention in her novel.