Arundhati Roy
I have been an unabashed fan of whatever Arundhati Roy writes, and Mother Mary Comes to Me is no exception. This is a memoir, but I’d say it’s her love letter to her mother, and to some extent, others whom she loves, including characters in her works of fiction. It is also very Arundhati Roy – poignant and visceral to the point of tear-jerking, and yet funny – sometimes with wit – both the scathing and irreverent as well as the loving kind, and sometimes with the inherent hilarity of situations.
A sentence she highlights in the book about Mrs. Roy (the mother) is “She was my shelter and my storm“. The book plays out very much like that too, with anecdotes of hate and love. “I wanted to hug her and reassure her that everything would be OK. But you can’t hug a porcupine. Not even on the phone.“
While it does follow some chronology, Mother Mary Comes to Me also travels back and forth in time across her life. A disturbing childhood, the rebellious teen and a little beyond, an actress and scriptwriter, the firebrand activist and author (not activist author :)) and overall, a wonderful, compassionate human being who feels the pain of those who are fighting the battles that all of us should be fighting, and does what she can to help.
The book is also a collection of eccentrics, and yet somehow supremely relatable. G. Isaac, whom you’d easily mistake for the stereotypical cruel uncle in a typical Kerala context, but has many layers of resilience, erudition, and compassion.
Micky Roy the Boxer’s Boy, her father, who despite being on an alcohol-fuelled path to self destruction, wins you over with impish charm and antics. LKC, the brother whom I really feel for and would probably give an unsolicited hug to if I met him, and who survived the brutality of his childhood to become a seafood exports baron (she calls him prawnbroker), musician, and grandad.
Many others too, some of whom have been inspirations for characters in The God of Small Things. They live and breathe in the wonderful prose of Arundhati Roy, with a fantastic soundtrack – Joe Cocker, Janis Joplin, The Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, The Rolling Stones…
In all this, the influence of Mary Roy is unmistakeable – fiercely resilient, radically belligerent, bold, and inspiring. The Booker gave Arundhati Roy the “freedom to live and write on my own terms“. And what a life it is. Some patterns and a whole load of texture. And despite all the diverse experiences, a childlike innocence that still lives. Maybe it’s only the resilience of Mary Roy and the impishness of Micky Roy that could have created Arundhati Roy.
In my Bibliofiles 2025 list.
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