Customer Reviews

Real Time: Stories and a Reminiscence

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While reading this book I was strongly reminded of Chekhov, exhorting a writer to feel compassion down to his fingertips. The stories in "Real Time" amply demonstrate how this is a key to good writing.
Amit Chaudhuri is one of the most promising writers from India, in recent times. Four novels old, he has been often accused of writing full-length novels without even a semblance of a plot. At times his writing does feel like one has prepared a delightful gourmet meal without adding any salt.

Beautifully crafted sentences, his cadences are that of a poet. There does seem to be a presence of Gurudev Tagore, which pervades all his writings. (Me no Bong)
Correct me if I am wrong here but the writer does seem to have a fascination for DH Lawrence and Joyce, with a fair sprinkling of Proust.
Flawed though he might be, Chaudhuri still remains one of my favorite writers. There is something endearing about the human life that he describes in his books and I hope that as he matures as a writer we shall be treated to a remarkable repertoire of novels and short stories.
In his latest offering, "Real time", Chaudhuri has brought out a collection of his short stories. I, personally, would give this book a mixed review.
"Portrait of an Artist" is a charming character sketch of "Master Moshai", an image that lingers in your mind even after you have closed this book.
"White Lies", "Real Time" and "The Old Masters" are other works where Chaudhuri has his genius on full display.

However, Mr. Chaudhuri has failed miserably in at least two of his narratives, "Prelude to an Autobiography" and "The Great game". The poet and raconteur seems have fallen an easy prey to one of those seven deadly sins - Envy!!
The other stories in this collection seem to be fairly well written, but a bit in the grey zone. We have much more to expect from Amitda.

Not his magnum opus -but a good read all the same.

This book is subtitled "Stories and a Reminiscence." I'll go with the latter, but in all honesty, there is not, technically speaking, a single short story in the entire book. Instead, there are a lot of doodlings and undeveloped ideas for short stories. A couple of these "stories" are simplified retellings of Indian mythology (although they are incomprehensible without notes), but most of them are little formless vignettes about the author's childhood and youth. Once in a while there is a poetic image or a minor epiphany, but not one of these "stories" has a plot. Although this is a thin book, it was a struggle to finish it. I do not know what Mr. Chaudhuri's novels are like, but after this inept gathering of "stories," I would be loath to read them. He has talent, but mere talent is not enough. Good fiction writing needs craftsmanship and structure. There is very little evidence of either in this book.

I have seen bookshops in india selling this book at 80 % discount yet it turned out to be a boring flop.There is one story in this book about a lady who is an aspiring writer - I think it might be autobiographical. Get a life Mr Chaudhari

Amit Chaudhuri's latest work is called: Real Time: Stories and a Reminiscence. Within the pages of this (all too) slim volume, he perfectly captures many small samples of Indian middle class life. Most of the stories are not really so in the classical sense. Instead they are essentially snapshots from various parts of life all framed in "real time".

I loved all the vignettes very much. Amit Chaudhuri is very gifted at describing subtle facets of everyday life that might escape the rest of us. His descriptions of apartments either in Calcutta (adorned with white curtains with printed flowers) or Bombay are accurate enough to induce a warm sense of nostalgia.

My favorite stories in the collection are: "The Man from Khurda District" and "Beyond Translation." The former is a simply told story of a chowkidar and his life that revolves completely around his employer. Beyond Translation details the summer reading pastime that the author enjoyed along with his Bengali cousins.

Most of the people described in Chaudhuri's stories are solidly upper middle class if not downright rich. In a wonderfully fluid poem, E-Minor, at the end of the volume, the author informs us "I disowned our Mercedes-Benz, took the 106 bus, but remained unable to solve my lack of want."

Real Time demonstrates very ably, how good Amit Chaudhuri is at portraying a slice of Indian society that, in my opinion, is not adequately represented in modern Indian fiction.