Jane Austen wrote, “ Let us leave it to the reviewers to
abuse such effusions of fancy at their leisure, and over every new novel to
talk in threadbare strains of the trash with which the press now groans…from
pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are almost as many as our readers.”
Above Average is a novel by Amitabha Bagchi, written
relating to his own experiences in life revolving around his stay at IIT. I
cannot go so far as to say it is a part of the oft-lamented trash Austen
accuses reviewers of condemning, but to say that Bagchi has foes as numerous as
readers when it comes to this book is no exaggeration. But it is neither pride,
nor ignorance, nor fashion that leads me to make such a statement.
This is a story written from the point of view of Arindam
Chatterjee, a seven point someone while at IIT. Written in a highly confusing
way to put it mildly, it seems to be a collection of passing thoughts that the
author chose to write down using his life and different names. A very strange
hodge-podge of events in this person’s life as he grows from adolescent to
adult forms the entire story. The strangeness I mention is entirely to do with
narration, not the events themselves, which are at best mildly interesting or
alternatively, shocking and at worst mind-numbingly boring.
Starting in a Tamil prep school in New Delhi, this Bengali
kid’s life is something we can all relate to, having gone through various similar
bouts of anxiety and pressure during our own JEE preparation. Passing with an
All-India rank of 62, the 17-year-old looks all set for a B.Tech in Computer
Science at IIT Delhi. The rest of the story takes him from boyhood to manhood back
to boyhood once again to manhood to…and that never really ends.
While on his journey of life, he encounters a whole range of
different characters, ranging from junkies to rock stars, the uninterested to
the over-interested, the nerdy to the artistic, and the brutally honest to the
tall-tale tellers. He explores his family life, values and friendship with
those of other castes, besides matter-of-factly stating the various sexual
goings on of the hormonal guys he is destined to acquainted with. His
scandalous-tale telling friend seems to know the entire goings on of doodhwaalas
of Mandawli and girls of Preet Vihar. Little everyday things of life in Delhi
and relationships with friends have been indeed brought out naturally, if a
little emotionlessly.
Male characters are numerous in this story, and girls but three,
much like life in IIT. However, the girls leave an impression on the reader
which is far more than can be said of most male characters. Each character,
though having more than a single side, is poorly developed, and at times,
rather forgettable. Despite tears being shed more than once in this story, the
connect necessary to feel the characters’ pain is just not there, which leaves
the reader feeling a rather odd restlessness to move on with the story.
Oddly enough, the character that features least and says but
a few lines is the only one I felt for, the only one that rent my heart and
evoked sensations other than confusion or downright boredom. Not central to the
story, this girl is Arindam’s friend’s niece, an innocent child of fourteen
when first introduced to the reader.
The story continues to be a confusing tangle of isolated
incidents in absolutely no chronological order, and slowly takes the reader through
competition, jealousy, dispute, anxiety, friendship and reflections at IIT
during Arindam’s stay there, exploration of his own interests, musical as well
as relating to his subject, a rather hilarious description of a class by a
famous researcher, changes back home, and his colony friend’s and his own early
infatuations.
Love forms but a small part of the whole, and is not dealt
with much sensitivity, besides being entirely without dejection. The reader is also
taken on a short journey with Arindam to Baltimore, where he completes his PhD,
and describes his sensations there, a dark period.
The author does not seem able to settle on a tense for
narration, and at several points, repetitive use of the word “would” nearly
defeated my will to go on with the story.
Joining the league of the numerous books written on IITians’
lives, this book certainly is not deficient when it comes to being able to
relate to it, but it fails to capture the reader’s imagination. It picks up
slightly toward the middle of the book, but falls back toward the end. The
reader is left feeling as if the story is incomplete and hasn’t been developed
enough. It took me a while to go through it entirely, and almost giving up was
not a one-time-only experience. All in all, this is not a read that is much
above average.
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