Book Review: Azadi by Arundhati Roy
As a long-time lover of Arundhati Roy’s writing and as a person who can’t seem to avoid hyped-up book releases, Azadi made it to my shelf a quick day after its release and I ate it up in 24 hours. Its tagline “Freedom. Fascism. Fiction.” was a quick trigger for me, I knew I had to read it. I had already read some of the articles and speeches in the book but I liked having the full body of work, to see what it would do to my brain.
I had no doubt that I would be agreeing with a lot of what she says, and I was right- I did. The essays were an assortment of pieces about modern-day fascism in India, providing context to seemingly new problems (CAA and NRC), exposing India’s hypocrisy in calling itself socialist and secular, diving into the big question mark that is Kashmir and overall questioning the direction in which Hindu nationalism and fascism is taking in this country.
What I wasn’t prepared for, is that even though the essays reflected my ideologies, my beliefs, my anger and even my hope, I was so uncomfortable while reading it that I almost put it down several times. Maybe because of the times we’re living in and the vicious news cycle, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I say this, while sitting comfortably in my room and typing away on a spare laptop because my current one conked off thinking about how ridiculous it is that I’m saying “I couldn’t handle it” while I know where my next meal is coming from, where I’m sleeping tonight and that I can comfortably work on a spare laptop in my house. My basic needs are taken care of, so I shouldn’t have a problem with reading about minorities in India because they have lived through the violence and injustices that I’m choosing to read about.
I pushed through, I read about Assam and Kashmir, about the Godhra riots and the rise of fascism (and whether we should call it fascism yet or only in retrospect when we write history textbooks about its peak), I read her Pandemic is a Portal piece again, and all while thinking, what’s the point? Is there a purpose to reading history while it’s happening?
Everything written about in this book is fresh in my memory, I didn’t need to be reminded yet. I can’t see a right-wing supporter picking up this book and having it change their mind. It was written for people like me who share these thoughts, who share this anger and fear for the future of India. Some parts were a soothing balm to my brain. Yes, there are other people who think like me and who can articulate it far better than I ever could. (pictured below)
There is something to be said about reading a book so obviously biased (and I say this in a positive way). There is no trickery by the writer, there is no doubt about which side she’s coming from, there is no manipulation. Her opinions are plainly published, clear as a day, with nowhere to hide. Often I find that writers who attempt that “balanced view” are simply hiding their own biases but they still colour their writing in every word. Finding their biases between the lines is like a game of hide and seek, it can be exhausting.
Other parts of Azadi drained hope from me. It made me wish I didn’t start reading this. What is the point when there’s no conclusion yet? We don’t know where this is going and so much of this book induces utter hopelessness without any call to action about how to move forward. A part of me wishes that the tone was more balanced, not for my sake but so that it could trick a person with opposing political beliefs into picking it up and reading something well-researched and nuanced. This is just a whimsical dream because deep inside, I know that we all have the same facts in our hands. The internet has democratized that, at least. So if they needed to know the facts that are in her book, they would.
In all these garbled thoughts, I guess what I’m trying to say is that this was a difficult but necessary book to read. It was bleak and offered very little hope, but I’d rather know and be uncomfortable than live happily in ignorance.
