Sunday, February 22, 2004


Just what the doctor ordered
Samra Rahman

Transplanted Man
by Sanjay Nigam. Penguin Viking, Delhi. Rs 450. Pages 359.

Transplanted ManMEDICINE, in spite of the increasing role of technology, remains an intensely human profession. It opens for its practitioners a unique and privileged window to observe the human condition. Hence, the galaxy of writers, who had a medical background: Chekhov, Somerset Maugham, Conan Doyle, William Carlos Williams and many others. Maugham says: "I do not know of a better training for a writer than to spend some years in the medical profession—the doctor, especially the hospital doctor, sees it (human nature) bare."

By the same token, the doctor gets to see human beings in a context of pain and suffering. If he limits his writing merely to what he observes through the practice of his profession, he will end up portraying a narrow and unrepresentative segment of manlife. To be able to present a holistic picture, he has to attempt a broader canvas. Sanjay Nigam, himself a physician, accomplishes this with a considerable measure of success.

The setting is an enclave of immigrant Indians, in that city of expatriates and the UNO—New York. There is also a fair sprinkling of others—a Caribbean of Indian origin, whose one ambition in life is to sing for Bollywood; a native-born American, who had visited India in search of hashish and Nirvana and even a rootless Englishwoman—all of them, in one way or another, Indophiles.

The writer has delved deep into the psyche of the expatriate and the sort of umbilical cord that binds him to the mother country, even after a gap of a few generations. This is brought out by Manny, the Caribbean Indian: "`85neither me nor my dad has gotten rid of India, even though my family has to go back four generations before you find anyone, who’s even set foot there. The shadow of India still hangs over us like hurricane clouds." Though the "shadow of India" looms large over the whole novel, there are neither clich`E9d images or stereotypes, nor any sentimental nostalgia. There is an awareness of the reality that is India, warts and all, but yet suffused with love and longing.

Though most of the characters are connected in some way or the other with Medicare, whether as its providers or its clients, they are not presented unidimensionally, as mere doctors, nurses or patients. Dr "Sonny" Seth, the protagonist, for instance, is not just an intern in the hospital, but is an angst-ridden second-generation immigrant, whose childhood was scarred by his parents’ divorce. Gwen, the English nurse combines in herself an abiding love of literature with recurring spurts of nymphomania. The eponymous "Transplanted Man", a prominent Indian politician and the star patient of the hospital, emerges as a sensitive human being.

One of the central characters is a shrink, Dr Giri, who gets cast willy-nilly in the role of a Guru as well. He becomes a sort of focal point, since most of the characters go to him at one time or the other and their lives and actions get reflected there as if in a rearview mirror. Another, a homeless catatonic, who moves on the sidewalks of New York like a particularly sedentary tree sloth, the very antithesis of the brisk, fast-moving American Way of Life. He gravitates by some homing instinct to the more congenial environs of "Little India" to be taken for some sort of Yogic figure, becoming a tourist attraction.

A hospital throws up improbable scenarios. An Indian engineer, going one better than Vatsyayan, bites the ample posterior of his sleeping wife. When the couple comes to the hospital, seeking medical aid the scene in the examination-room combines realism with subtle humor, without a hint of trivialisation or sensationalism.

Another patient is brought in with barely a flicker of life. It transpires that he had got a cardiac arrest while cavorting with his mistress. When he lies in a coma, his wife and mistress keep a vigil like two avenging harpies. Eventually, he recovers and decamps, giving a slip to both of them.

The narrative is peppered with medical terminology, which is, however, integral to the evoking of the scene and the atmosphere. It is neither intrusive nor beyond the grasp of a reasonably aware and well-educated reader. Even a purely medical discussion between doctors becomes a minor highlight, as when an Oxbridge-educated kidney specialist reacts to a slighting reference to the kidney with what amounts to an ode to that lowly organ!

The incidental references to literature and the fine arts are not just garnishes, but emerge quite naturally from the character and the context. The shared love of literature between Gwen and the Transplanted Man occasions an insightful discussion of the character of General Kutuzov in War and Peace; so also the passing references to Reubens, Picasso, Wagner`85

A good read.

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