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Fiction Refugees from Paradise
Does paradise exist? What about those living outside it? Milton is still on the track, this time, reincarnated as an orange cat, to pursue his investigations undisturbed. He adopts Jonathan, a young film-maker and Anjali, a television producer who comes looking for a man who does not wish to be found… Reviews : The hows and the wherefores of this rather pop-philosophical tale are told by an orange cat named Milton. This is a lovely book, and is a pleasure to read. Hindustan Times …a remarkably original story. The Statesman Wise and yet refreshingly unpretentious. India Today …the radiant beauty of her novel… tells a story rooted equally in Europe and Asia… a contemporary eulogy of tolerance. Il Messagero (an) enthralling novel, between metropolitan scenarios and fantastic visions.. Jonathan paces the room like an animal caged, trying to break free from the confines of this story. It is Williamson’s story and he heard it when he was fifteen. Twenty years! He wants to make it into a film, it’s his only way out. He drops the towel on the floor and dresses quickly. The room usually reflects his mood. There are meticulous days. And there are days it looks as though he has plundered himself in search of a further clue. Today it still hangs in balance. He picks up a note from his desk sent up that morning by his landlady. In his other hand he holds a script. He weighs them both as he walks out and stops a moment before his reflection in the glass window. Because it’s my mystery, he says. Allow me indulgence for a minute, for I grow ubiquitous. It is Krishnagopal’s system. His vision has multi-track, simultaneous scan. Now he has left it flying in the wind, for free. It is an utopian system and therefore, questionable, unverifiable and suspect. But so are governments and armies and parliamentarians too. Let’s not dither. No one can pretend a truth with a lie. Am I getting poetic again? That won’t do. A cat must above all stand by his whiskers and watch. And there is much to see today. When the sky shuddered I turned east for Jonathan…I surveyed the world from my usual look-out. It was not yet noon. The drag of the pre-lunch hour had begun to perk up with expectation. Two motorcyclists sped along Fernhill Lane. One driving like a maniac the other aiming a gun. And for the first time since World War II, gunshots rang out through the little lane.. |
 No one can pretend Truth with a lie…
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