Book Review… Chutney Power

Feb 17, 2013 News

Chutney Power

– A determination to succeed at all costs

By Dr. Glenville Ashby

Willi Chen’s Chutney Power goes on a tear, assembling the good and not-so-good of East Indian life in bygone years. Written with creative frenzy, Chutney is a compendium of short stories—witty, colorful, and provocative.
As a sculptor, Chen’s artistic depth is renowned. He transfers this attribute into his literary work, resulting in a richly weaved prose of figurative value.
Beneath the outer layer are embedded some sociological inferences that beg for attention.
His trademark joie de vivre is evident, but this does not detract from his overall theme of an Indian cultural expression rooted in a fierce passion to surmount challenges, starting with Indentureship in May, 1845.
Chen, a Chinese Trinidadian who has lived among the Indian community for “longer than he can remember,” displays an enviable command of East Indian mores.
“I stayed at Indian homes, fed and was cuddled by their kind loving matriarchs, lived in their mud walled huts. I wrote “Freedom Road,” an Indian life play essentially about a cane cutting family,” he once said.
Chen scores on so many levels. The opening salvo: Mas is More than a Creole Thing is a knock on cultural stereotypes and stubborn prejudices—best tackled through candid dialogue and meaningful interaction.
Here, the protagonist and cane cutter, Bhim Pandarath is determined to buck the trend and play King of the Band in a steel orchestra—a role traditionally played by the physically robust Afro-Trinidadian.
Mas is More Than a Creole defines Chen’s work and forms the thematic underbelly of this gripping display of storytelling
This is a story that is arguably prophetic. The resilience of Pandarath is reflective of a people, bruised and battered by their historical experience – only to emerge – steeled and impervious to inter-ethnic rivalry.
The image of the Indian weakling, uncomfortable and disinterested in Afro-Trinidad rhythms, is turned on its head…shattered.
Curiously, Pandarath saves huge sums of money just to engage a new cultural experience. But it requires grit and stamina to prance with a heavy costume in blistering heat.
Afro-Trinidadians, masters of Carnival, deride Pandarath requests. ”Indian, you brave yes. You really brave,” he is told. Pandarath, the cane cutter is undaunted, relating his involvement in Ramleela, only to be told, ”Ramleela is Ramleela, Mas is Mas. The music and all different.”
Pandarath is defiant, ”But Ramleela comes from Indian Scriptures. This is we own kind of theatre. If you read Indian history, you will hear what my Agee and Kaka talking about.” “Chutney is only for you Indians,” is the curt response.
The band leader caves in, though, to Pandarath’s will. ”Give the Indian a chance, leh we see what he could do.”
The outcome is stupendous. Pandarath proves his salt, as he dances and prances with a breathless cadence, his every sinew glistening in the tropical heat.
“The audience was mesmerized. His legs were nimble but sturdy and supported the costume with ease.” As a cane cutter, ”the sun and heat had hardened him; the wild, rough terrain had strengthened his limbs. He moved to the left and chipped to the right, and weaved the costume expertly in a curve to the music. Bhim Pandarath, a cane cutter was the King of Carnival.”
Metaphorically, he has beaten Afro-Trinidadians at their own game. It’s a symbolic victory of gargantuan proportions, and underscores Chen’s message of a people’s determination to succeed at all costs.
This is an undertaking steeped in East Indian traditions, and Chen displays an uncanny mastery of even the most-seemingly inconsequential cultural nuance. In Look, Ma Coming, he writes: ”The market place stretched along the road. Vendors were on both-sides….Bisnath led Taramatie to the foodstalls. He bought paper bags of kurma, channa and saheena. Their fingers and mouth were yellow from the food. At the standpipe she raised her face to the sky and gargled like a true Indian on mornings.”
And moments later, Chen details with surgical flair, the inexorable flair of Indian dancing. “The Tassa drums erupted in a crescendo. Bisnath looked toward the gayelle and led Tara to the bamboo enclosure. He took off his blue crepesoles, rolled up his pants, jumped into the ring and danced. He turned like a snake, twisted and contorted his body like a pea tree in the wind, lifting his feet into the air, balancing his body as he piroutted on one foot. He shook his waist, wiggled…as he whirled with astonishing speed…”
This whimsical spirit is etched in other notable offerings. Free Pork for Christmas, Kipsy Loce Pork and The Almost Ramgoat Wedding are all imbued with the writer’s penchant for the jocular. Chen’s purview of life is hopeful and redemptive—trumpeting every vagary and travail. This is the signature “good feel” timbre that defines much ofChutney.
In The Bottle Washer who Nearly Danced, Prakash Roopnarine is enamored with Beulah Payne, a dougla or bi-racial temptress, who, living among Indians, has taken on their character and lifestyle. ”Her eyes were wild fire and her breath, flavoured by massala, had a curry-mouth aroma that engulfed him for days.
Here, Chen raises the sensitive subject of race and sexuality in a plural society where Indo- and Afro-Trinidadians jockey for position. Is there more to Roopnarine’s exploits and his unyielding drive to win over his love interest? Does it carry a more sociologically weighty statement with racial overtones?
In Chanka’s Backpay, he recalls life in the cane fields in central Trinidad. It’s an arduous existence where the burden is unloaded in the rumshop. It’s a tale of Indian frugality and craftiness amid deceit and duplicity. And in Secret Love, the protagonists, Ram, Deolat, and Dolly are locked in a deadly love triangle.
Other stories by Chen are equally hypnotic. Hostage, a veiled rendition of the failed 1991 coup d’état, explores class divisions, perceived ineptitude at the governmental level, and the fatalistic desperation of victimhood.
In Turning Point he examines the challenges of marital life and the calamitous repercussions of unbridled sensibilities. In The Madeira Crystals, Chen effortless changes scenery—relating the wretchedness of a maid’s life under the thumb of an urban doyenne.
It is a doleful exposé on class, privilege and servitude. And in Welcome Home, the undaunted spirit of an abandoned and impecunious protagonist proves supremely inspiring.
However, it is Chen’s theme of Indian unity and pride that resonates. He ably captures the tortuous history of Trinidad’s East Indians. Humble domiciles and poverty are rampant…life is daunting.
While this seminal work captures a time predating the economic and political ascendency of Indo-Trinidadians – to the dismay and consternation of many – there is a cryptic, almost “I told you so” element to Chutney Power. Chen’s masterpiece italicizes the importance of culture to the vitality and collective vision of a people
Chutney Power meticulously, but flamboyantly details how the seeds of unity and access to power are sown and nurtured.
Throughout, the East Indian, divorced from the motherland relives its rich traditions that are therapeutic, even transcendental.
Chen depicts a community that is unabashed and unswerving in its loyalty to India. This is where ethnic loyalty and nationalism collide. Can they be reconciled?
In Chen’s depiction, “ruralized” Indians, with little access to the political levers of power, closed ranks…their “Indianness” assuming precedence over nationalism and calls for a definitive Trinidadian identity.
Interestingly, Chen also showcases a telling co-existence between Muslims and Hindus – both communities coalescing around an unflappable “Indian” identity, due to shared experiences and communal living.
But despite this fierce ethnic identity, cultural transference – if not assimilation – is always a factor, and Chen’s vivid portrayal of Indian revelry, evokes images of blasé gyrations perfected by Afro-Trinidadians.
Religiously solemn festivals – such as Hosay, known for pious acts of self-flagellation in some countries, somehow devolves into a raucous free-for-all, fueled by pulsating Tassa drumming.
On these rare occasions, Trinidad is transformed into a mélange of indistinguishable cultural expressions.
As the last page is reluctantly turned—there is a sense of nostalgia for life with all its raw simplicity and honesty. Memories abound as words buried and hitherto irretrievable-resurface -igniting the senses: Chula, cuchilla, dahee, dhal, Gilpin, jhandi, lota, paratha-roti, peera, saheena, tharee, and so on….”
Indeed, Chutney Power is an enduring work of art fully clothed in Existentialism and the triumph of the human will.