Welcome to my academic blog, a curated space where literature, theory, and critical thinking meet. As a postgraduate student of English at Maharaja Krishnakumarsinhji Bhavnagar University, I share detailed notes, assignments, presentations, and reflections on topics ranging from war poetry and modern drama to deconstruction and postmodernism. This platform serves as both a personal archive and a resource for fellow literature enthusiasts.
This blog is a part of a thinking activity given by Megha Trivedi Ma'am from The English Department, MKBU, Bhavnagar.
Buchi Emecheta
Buchi Emecheta’s full name was Florence Onyebuchi Emecheta, and she was born on 21 July 1944 in Yaba near Lagos, Nigeria to Igbo parents.
She died on 25 January 2017 in London, England at the age of 72 after suffering a stroke.
Emecheta was a novelist, playwright, autobiographer, and children’s writer whose works explore the challenges faced by women in both African and immigrant contexts.
She moved to London, England in 1962 after marrying Sylvester Onwordi and later became a single mother of five, supporting her family while pursuing her writing and education.
Emecheta earned a degree in Sociology from the University of London, which helped shape her insightful portrayals of social inequality and identity.
Her first novel, In the Ditch (1972), and early works like Second-Class Citizen (1974) were based on her own experiences as an African woman in Britain.
She wrote over 20 books tackling themes such as motherhood, female subjugation, cultural conflict, and independence through education.
Emecheta’s novels often highlight the tension between tradition and modernity, especially for women in postcolonial societies.
Her most famous work, The Joys of Motherhood (1979), critically examines the social expectations and harsh realities of motherhood in colonial Nigeria.
She received significant recognition, including the Jock Campbell Prize for The Slave Girl and was made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in 2005 for her contributions to literature.
The Joys of Motherhood
Aspect
Details
Title
The Joys of Motherhood
Author
Buchi Emecheta
Publication Year
1979 (first published), later editions in Heinemann’s African Writers Series
Publisher
Allison & Busby (London), later Heinemann (African Writers Series)
Genre
Historical/social fiction; Bildungsroman
Language
English
Setting
Rural Nigeria (Ibuza) and urban Lagos during colonial/post-colonial era
Protagonist
Nnu Ego – the central character whose life and identity revolve around motherhood
Plot Overview
Follows Nnu Ego from her childhood village through two marriages and the hardships of raising children in a changing society; despite fulfilling traditional expectations, she dies lonely and unfulfilled.
Major Characters
Nnu Ego, Nnaife (second husband), Ngozi (deceased son), Oshia & Adim (sons), Taiwo & Kehinde (daughters), other extended family members
Main Themes
Motherhood & Patriarchy: “Joy” is ironic — motherhood brings hardship and suffering rather than fulfilment for Nnu Ego.
Colonialism & Change
Colonial influence disrupts traditional values, introducing capitalism, Western education, and employment challenges that strain family life.
Women’s Identity
A woman’s identity is defined by fertility and children; failure to produce sons leads to shame and hardship.
Irony of Title
“The Joys of Motherhood” criticizes the romanticized idea that motherhood equals fulfilment, showing suffering instead.
Cultural Critique
Challenges traditional Ibo expectations of women and highlights how cultural norms and patriarchy marginalize women.
Colonial & Patriarchal Double Burden
Nnu Ego’s life shows how both native patriarchy and colonial capitalism restrict women’s freedom and well-being.
Symbolism
Children represent both hope and anxiety; success of children brings more burdens than support for Nnu Ego in her old age.
Significance
The novel is a classic of African literature, used in post-colonial, feminist, and gender studies to critique social norms.
Q. 1) If Nnu Ego were living in 21st-century urban India or Africa, how would her understanding of motherhood, identity, and success change?
Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood presents Nnu Ego as a tragic figure whose life is structured almost entirely by patriarchal definitions of womanhood, motherhood, and social worth within colonial and postcolonial Nigeria. Her suffering emerges not from personal failure but from a cultural system that equates a woman’s value with reproductive success and maternal sacrifice. Relocating Nnu Ego to a 21st-century urban context—whether in contemporary India or Africa—invites a critical re-examination of how motherhood, identity, and success would be understood under conditions of neoliberal capitalism, urban precarity, and reconfigured patriarchy. While surface conditions of modernity may appear to offer liberation, Emecheta’s narrative suggests that Nnu Ego’s tragedy would not disappear; rather, it would be reshaped into new, less visible forms of gendered exploitation and emotional dispossession.
Motherhood: From Sacred Duty to Negotiated Labour
In The Joys of Motherhood, motherhood is constructed as a woman’s primary and often sole pathway to social recognition. Nnu Ego’s despair following infertility and child loss is rooted in a cultural logic that renders her a “failed woman” when she cannot reproduce (Emecheta, ch. 5). Even when she becomes a mother, her labour is totalizing—economic, emotional, and physical—yet remains socially invisible. The novel repeatedly emphasizes that “the joy of being a mother was the joy of giving all to your children,” a maxim that ultimately consumes Nnu Ego’s life without reciprocal care (Emecheta, p. 224).
In a 21st-century urban Indian or African setting, motherhood would no longer be exclusively defined as biological destiny, but it would still function as an intensive, gendered form of labour. Urban mothers are expected to combine caregiving with wage labour, informal work, and emotional management—roles Nnu Ego already performs through petty trading and domestic sacrifice in colonial Lagos (Emecheta, ch. 4). Modernity does not erase maternal burden; it redistributes it under the language of “choice” and “responsibility.” Nnu Ego’s maternal labour would likely become more economically productive yet emotionally fragmented, as success would be measured by children’s academic mobility rather than communal survival. Her identity as the “mother of clever children” already anticipates this logic (Emecheta, ch. 16).
Identity: From Communal Validation to Isolated Selfhood
Nnu Ego’s sense of identity in the novel is almost entirely externally produced. Her worth is affirmed or denied by husbands, children, and community elders. Even moments of agency—such as engaging in petty trade—are framed as extensions of maternal duty rather than personal ambition (Emecheta, ch. 8). The novel underscores that Nnu Ego “had never really made many friends, so busy had she been building up her joys as a mother” (Emecheta, p. 224). Her identity collapses once her children leave, revealing the fragility of a self constructed solely through relational roles.
In a contemporary urban context, Nnu Ego might encounter narratives of individual selfhood and female autonomy, yet these would not necessarily translate into lived empowerment. Urban life often intensifies isolation, especially for working-class women whose labour sustains families without generating personal recognition. While modern discourse encourages women to “find themselves,” structural constraints—economic precarity, unpaid care work, and persistent patriarchal expectations—would likely limit Nnu Ego’s capacity to claim an autonomous identity. Her emotional breakdown following her children’s migration already mirrors modern forms of maternal abandonment, where success is spatially and emotionally distanced from caregiving (Emecheta, ch. 17).
Success: From Children-Centred Worth to Neoliberal Achievement
In Emecheta’s narrative, success is measured almost entirely through children: their survival, education, and eventual ability to provide material recognition, symbolized by Nnu Ego’s elaborate funeral (Emecheta, p. 224). Ironically, this success arrives only after her death, exposing the hollowness of a system that defers maternal reward indefinitely. Her sons’ global mobility—education abroad and economic independence—does not translate into emotional reciprocity or care.
In the 21st century, success would likely be reframed through economic productivity and professional achievement. Yet for someone like Nnu Ego, whose life is shaped by reproductive and domestic labour, such metrics would remain largely inaccessible. Neoliberal capitalism valorizes independence while relying on invisible care work, reproducing gendered inequalities under the guise of progress. Nnu Ego’s tragedy—dying alone despite fulfilling every social expectation—would persist in altered form, as maternal sacrifice would be normalized but unsupported.
Conclusion: Resolution or Reconfiguration?
Relocating Nnu Ego to a 21st-century urban India or Africa would not resolve her tragedy; it would reconfigure it. While contemporary contexts offer expanded vocabularies of choice, autonomy, and success, they continue to rely on women’s unpaid emotional and reproductive labour. Emecheta’s novel already anticipates this transformation, portraying a woman whose sacrifices fuel social mobility yet leave her personally depleted. Nnu Ego’s life demonstrates that modernity does not dismantle patriarchy—it refines it. Her suffering, whether in colonial Lagos or a globalized city, exposes the enduring cost of defining women’s worth through care without care in return. As The Joys of Motherhood ultimately suggests, the tragedy lies not in tradition alone, but in systems—old and new—that demand everything from women while promising fulfillment that never arrives.
Q.2) Buchi Emecheta presents motherhood as both fulfilment and burden. Do you think the novel ultimately celebrates motherhood or questions it?
Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood (1979) is set against the backdrop of colonial and early postcolonial Nigeria, a period marked by rapid urbanisation, economic instability, and the collision of indigenous patriarchal traditions with colonial capitalist structures. Through the life of Nnu Ego, Emecheta examines motherhood as the central organising principle of female identity within Igbo society. Far from offering a sentimental celebration of maternal joy, the novel interrogates the social, emotional, and economic costs exacted from women in the name of motherhood. Emecheta’s central concern is not whether motherhood brings fulfilment—since it undeniably does—but whether that fulfilment justifies the profound sacrifices demanded of women under patriarchy and colonial modernity. Ultimately, The Joys of Motherhood does not simply celebrate motherhood; it fundamentally questions and critiques it by exposing its contradictions and systemic injustices.
Motherhood as Fulfilment: Social Validation and Female Identity
Within the socio-cultural framework of the novel, motherhood functions as the primary source of social legitimacy for women. Nnu Ego’s early anguish over infertility illustrates the extent to which a woman’s worth is measured by her reproductive capacity. When she fails to conceive in her first marriage, she is cast off as a “failed woman,” internalising the belief that “without a child, she was nothing” (Emecheta, p. 56). Motherhood, therefore, is not merely a personal desire but a cultural obligation tied to honour, survival, and recognition.
Once Nnu Ego becomes a mother, she gains social validation and a sense of purpose. The birth of her sons secures her position within her husband’s household and restores her dignity within the community. Emecheta repeatedly shows that motherhood offers emotional fulfilment through continuity and belonging: children are viewed as extensions of the self and as guarantees of future security. Nnu Ego believes that by raising successful children, she is “investing” in her own old age (Emecheta, p. 101). This logic reflects a communal worldview in which motherhood ensures lineage, memory, and survival beyond the individual woman’s lifespan.
Motherhood also provides Nnu Ego with a coherent identity. In a world that offers women few alternative avenues for self-definition, being a mother allows her to endure hardship with moral purpose. Even her pride in being a “mother of clever children” signals a form of fulfilment rooted in maternal achievement (Emecheta, p. 188). These moments might suggest celebration, but Emecheta carefully frames them as culturally conditioned satisfactions rather than freely chosen joys.
Motherhood as Burden: Economic Hardship and Emotional Exhaustion
Running parallel to motherhood’s promise of fulfilment is its reality as an overwhelming burden. Emecheta exposes how motherhood under colonial capitalism becomes a site of exploitation, particularly for working-class women like Nnu Ego. The economic demands of raising many children in urban Lagos push her into relentless labour—petty trading, domestic work, and constant emotional caregiving—without security or recognition (Emecheta, pp. 82–101).
Crucially, motherhood does not shield Nnu Ego from poverty; it intensifies it. Each additional child increases her vulnerability rather than her power. Her body becomes a site of continuous sacrifice, marked by exhaustion, repeated childbirth, and emotional depletion. Emecheta dismantles the romantic ideal of maternal selflessness by showing how it is sustained by patriarchal expectations that normalise female suffering. Nnu Ego is expected to endure because “a woman’s pride is her children,” even when that pride costs her health and autonomy (Emecheta, p. 63).
Emotionally, motherhood isolates Nnu Ego. She invests all her affection, hope, and identity in her children, leaving no space for personal fulfilment beyond them. When her sons migrate abroad and her daughters marry into other families, Nnu Ego is left desolate. Her death—alone by the roadside, “with no child to hold her hand” (Emecheta, p. 224)—is the novel’s most devastating indictment of the maternal ideal. The promised reward of motherhood is endlessly deferred.
Individual Desire versus Communal Definitions of Womanhood
A central tension in the novel lies between Nnu Ego’s individual emotional needs and the communal definition of womanhood imposed upon her. While she occasionally yearns for rest, companionship, or recognition beyond motherhood, such desires are systematically suppressed. The community values her not as a person but as a function—mother, bearer, nurturer.
Emecheta underscores this tension through irony. Nnu Ego’s funeral is described as the grandest Ibuza has ever seen, a public affirmation that she “had it all” (Emecheta, p. 224). Yet this posthumous celebration cruelly contrasts with her lived experience of neglect and loneliness. The community’s insistence that she should be satisfied exposes the ideological violence of communal norms that prioritise symbolic honour over lived well-being.
Importantly, Emecheta does not reject motherhood outright. Instead, she critiques the structures that deny women the ability to experience motherhood without erasure. Nnu Ego’s tragedy lies not in loving her children, but in being denied any identity beyond that love.
Conclusion: Strategic Ambivalence, Not Celebration
The Joys of Motherhood ultimately does not celebrate motherhood in a conventional sense. Nor does it simply condemn it. Rather, Emecheta strategically exposes motherhood as an ambivalent institution—capable of emotional fulfilment yet structurally designed to exhaust and erase women. By tracing Nnu Ego’s life from hopeful young bride to forgotten mother, the novel dismantles the myth that maternal sacrifice is inherently rewarding.
The title itself is deeply ironic. The “joys” of motherhood exist largely as cultural rhetoric, sustained by patriarchy and communal expectation rather than by women’s lived realities. Through Nnu Ego’s unacknowledged suffering and lonely death, Emecheta fundamentally questions whether motherhood, as socially organised under colonialism and patriarchy, truly serves women at all. The novel’s power lies in this refusal of easy answers: motherhood is neither wholly celebrated nor entirely rejected, but exposed as a site of profound contradiction—where love and loss, pride and pain, fulfilment and exploitation coexist uneasily.
Q. 3) How is motherhood portrayed in a film/TV serial/advertisement/web series (Add two to three examples), and how is it similar to or different from Nnu Ego’s experience in ?
Motherhood is a socially and culturally constructed concept that operates not only within literature but across diverse visual media. In texts and screens alike, maternal roles are shaped by ideological expectations, economic structures, and gender norms that reflect broader socio-political power relations. Buchi Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood (1979) situates motherhood within colonial and postcolonial Nigeria, where a woman’s identity and social worth are tightly bound to her reproductive success and persistent maternal labour. Emecheta’s portrayal critiques how patriarchy and economic precarity render maternal fulfilment inseparable from burden: motherhood is honoured as indispensable yet achieved at profound personal cost. Comparing this literary experience with contemporary representations in films, web series, and advertisements illuminates both continuities and distinctions in how maternal roles are idealised or problematised under different cultural conditions.
Mothers in Indian Cinema: Filmmaking and Maternal Ideology
Indian cinema has long depicted motherhood as central to a woman’s identity, often celebrating self-sacrifice, emotional labour, and nurturance. Historically, mainstream Bollywood films have presented mothers as emotionally resilient and selfless figures whose primary role is to sustain the family through moral strength (Jhamtani 2016; as in Deewaar, Karan Arjun, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham). Recent cultural commentary highlights how this archetype persists, with mothers portrayed as anchors of affection and endurance, shaping family narratives and foregrounding maternal love as a core value (Times of India, 2025) .
In the 2017 Hindi thriller Mom, the central character Devki engages in extreme measures to protect and avenge her stepdaughter after sexual violence. Scholarly analysis of Mom underscores that motherhood in the film is depicted through intense maternal devotion and aggressive protection, demonstrating a mother’s emotional investment that transcends biological ties while also mobilising violence to secure justice for her child (Fitria 2025) . This representation emphasises the emotional fulfilment and moral agency associated with motherhood but also reveals the pressure on mothers to shoulder violence and trauma on behalf of their children.
A contrasting recent Indian example is the short film Natkhat (2020), which focuses on a mother teaching her young son about gender equality. The narrative frames motherhood not only as care and protection but as a site of social pedagogy, challenging patriarchal norms by foregrounding maternal agency in transforming gendered behaviour within the domestic domain (Wikipedia Natkhat) . Here motherhood intersects with feminist critique: it problematises traditional gender hierarchies by positioning the mother as an agent of change rather than merely a figure of sacrifice.
Western and Global Cinematic Representations
In global popular film, motherhood is often portrayed with narrative tension between emotional fulfilment and societal expectations. Films like Bad Moms (explored in cultural analysis) deliberately challenge conventional ideals of maternal self-sacrifice by showcasing mothers rejecting normative constraints of domesticity and “good” motherhood roles (Rahayu et al. 2019) . These representations reflect a growing discourse in contemporary media that questions maternal ideals, emphasising individual desire, agency, and the complexity of maternal identity rather than pure altruistic duty.
While these depictions occur in different cultural contexts, they share thematic concerns: motherhood is represented as deeply meaningful yet fraught with emotional labour, social pressure, and negotiation between personal identity and reproductive roles.
Comparing Media Mothers with Nnu Ego’s Experience
Emecheta’s The Joys of Motherhood portrays Nnu Ego’s maternal life within colonial Igbo society as a complex interplay of fulfilment and sacrifice. Nnu Ego’s identity is almost entirely defined by motherhood; her social recognition, economic efforts, and emotional self are inseparable from her maternal role (Emecheta, chs. 4–10). The novel exposes how patriarchy and economic precariousness position maternal labour as expected yet unrewarded: she works tirelessly for her children, enduring hardship and emotional exhaustion, only to be neglected in her old age (Emecheta, pp. 188, 224).
Contemporary cinematic representations reflect similar tensions between emotional fulfilment and social constraint. Indian films often valorise the mother’s devotion, casting maternal figures as moral centres of the family. However, unlike Nnu Ego—whose labour lacks autonomy and is embedded in structural poverty—cinematic mothers such as Devki in Mom or the protagonists of Natkhat retain narrative agency, shaping events actively around their children or social messages. Still, patriarchal expectations persist; in Mom, Devki’s fight is necessitated by a violent social context that fails to protect children, placing the burden of justice on the mother rather than institutions—a dynamic that resonates with Nnu Ego’s burden of care in the absence of social support.
Moreover, advertisements and commercial media often idealise maternal roles, reinforcing myths of maternal perfection and domestic nurturance. Historical analyses of Indian television commercials show how media codes emphasise domesticity and the selfless mother figure, perpetuating hegemonic norms that link womanhood to caregiving roles (Roy 1998) . This idealisation parallels the cultural rhetoric of motherhood in Emecheta’s narrative: motherhood is socially celebrated, yet the material conditions of maternal life remain unexamined.
At the same time, some contemporary media narratives diversify motherhood by depicting single mothers, stepmothers, or maternal figures operating beyond traditional frameworks. Such portrayals sometimes emphasise personal fulfilment, individual desires, and gender role negotiation, which differ from the more rigid expectations placed on Nnu Ego. Films like Bad Moms highlight maternal frustrations with domestic burdens and celebrate autonomy, challenging traditional maternal expectations even as they reveal the ongoing emotional labour associated with motherhood (Rahayu et al. 2019) .
Conclusion: Continuities and Transformations in Maternal Representation
In both visual media and The Joys of Motherhood, motherhood remains a site of ambivalence, shaped by cultural norms and ideological pressures. Contemporary films and web texts both reinforce and problematise maternal roles: many uphold romanticised ideals of selflessness, while others critique the constraints imposed by patriarchy and demand agency for maternal characters. This constellation reflects an evolving but persistent maternal ideology where emotional fulfilment coexists with burden, sacrifice, and structural expectation.
Compared with Nnu Ego’s experience—where motherhood is socially necessary yet materially unrewarded—media representations today often grant mothers greater narrative agency and complexity. However, persistent themes of emotional labour, societal expectation, and gendered sacrifice reveal that contemporary portrayals do not fully transcend patriarchal constraints; they instead repackage them in aesthetically varied forms. Thus, while visual media may offer broader interpretations of motherhood, the fundamental struggle between identity, agency, and social worth that Emecheta critiques continues to resonate in contemporary maternal narratives.
This blog has been assigned by Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad as part of a flipped-learning academic exercise in Contemporary Indian Fiction, focusing on The Ministry of Utmost Happiness.
Arundhati Roy’s The Ministry of Utmost Happiness resists being told as a single, coherent story. Instead, it unfolds as a “shattered narrative,” where fragmented lives, broken histories, and marginal voices slowly assemble meaning. This non-linear structure mirrors the trauma experienced by characters who exist on the edges of nation, gender, caste, and ideology.
This blog post emerges from a flipped-classroom worksheet that combines pre-class video lectures, AI-assisted analytical tools, and critical reflection. Rather than offering a linear reading of the novel, the discussion examines how Roy constructs alternative spaces of belonging—such as Khwabgah and the Jannat Guest House—while simultaneously exposing the cost of modernization, political violence, and social exclusion. Through thematic analysis, character timelines, and multimedia synthesis, the blog explores whether Roy’s imagined “paradise” is ultimately a space of despair or a fragile yet resilient form of hope.
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness is a highly complex novel in terms of its narrative structure and character network. During the first reading, readers struggle to decide whether a character is central or marginal, as seemingly insignificant figures later reappear with major narrative importance. Characters’ lives intersect suddenly and unexpectedly, compelling the reader to go back and trace earlier appearances. Because of this constant shifting of significance, reading the novel once or even twice is insufficient to fully grasp its depth, and the story resists any simple or linear interpretation.
2. Simultaneous Tasks of Reading
While reading the novel, the reader must perform two tasks simultaneously: understanding the unfolding story and tracing the relationships among characters. These two processes cannot be separated because the story itself emerges through the movement and intersection of characters’ lives. As the narrative progresses, the story opens gradually before the reader’s eyes, demanding continuous attention and rereading in order to make sense of both plot and character development together.
3. The Five Worlds of the Novel
The novel is structured around five different worlds or spaces in which the characters are dispersed across the length and breadth of India. Initially, these worlds appear disconnected, and the characters seem to have no relationship with one another. However, the narrative slowly reveals how their lives intersect, creating meaning through these unexpected connections. The novel is thus written in a way that meaning does not arise from a single storyline but from the convergence of multiple lives across these different spaces.
4. Opening in the Graveyard
The novel opens in a graveyard, immediately establishing a surreal and magical realist atmosphere. The first line, “She lived in the graveyard like a tree,” deliberately confuses the reader, as it is unclear whether the narrator is describing a tree or a human being. The imagery of birds resting on branches, birds dying, and vultures sitting high above reinforces this ambiguity, making the reader uncertain about the nature of the figure being described and setting the tone for a narrative that blurs the boundaries between the real and the unreal.
5. “Where Do Old Birds Go to Die?”
The title of the first section, “Where Do Old Birds Go to Die?”, introduces a philosophical question that resonates throughout the novel. Birds are rarely seen dying in everyday life, and their deaths usually go unnoticed. This idea functions as a metaphor for marginalized people whose suffering and deaths remain invisible to society. Through this title, the novel prepares the reader to engage with stories of those who exist outside the public gaze and whose lives are often ignored.
6. Differentiation Between Tree and Woman
As the narrative progresses, the text begins to differentiate between the tree and the woman by stating that she endured cruelty “like a tree would,” clarifying that the comparison is metaphorical rather than literal. The image of a transplanted tree enduring harsh conditions becomes a powerful symbol of displacement, suggesting the emotional and physical suffering experienced by those who are uprooted from familiar surroundings. This metaphor connects natural endurance with human experiences of exile and alienation.
7. The Man Who Knew English
An unnamed figure known as “the Man Who Knew English” appears in the opening section, his identity defined not by a personal name but by his knowledge of English. He later emerges as one of Anjum’s former clients and becomes briefly significant in the narrative. Through him, the novel introduces literary references and attempts to impose meaning on Anjum’s identity, highlighting how others try to define marginalized individuals through borrowed narratives.
8. Majnu–Laila Reference and Its Rejection
The Man Who Knew English claims that Anjum’s name is an inversion of Majnu, thereby invoking the tragic love story of Majnu and Laila. Anjum, however, rejects this interpretation, refusing to be defined through a romantic or tragic literary framework. This rejection asserts her agency and signals her resistance to being reduced to familiar cultural metaphors that fail to capture her lived reality.
9. Meaning of the Name Anjum
Anjum explains that her name means a gathering, emphasizing inclusivity rather than isolation or tragedy. She describes it as a gathering of everybody and nobody, everything and nothing, suggesting a space where conventional distinctions collapse. This idea foreshadows the later creation of Jannat Guest House, which becomes a physical manifestation of this philosophy of openness and belonging.
10. Jannat as Graveyard and Paradise
Jannat traditionally signifies paradise, yet in the novel it exists within a graveyard, creating a powerful paradox. The graveyard becomes a space beyond conventional ideas of happiness and sorrow, where life and death coexist without hierarchy. It functions as a place where worldly suffering ends and where those excluded from society find a form of peace and belonging.
11. Shift from Jannat to Khwabgah
In the second chapter, the narrative shifts from the graveyard to Khwabgah, marking a movement from Anjum’s present life to her past. Khwabgah is presented as the living space of hijras, and this shift allows the reader to explore the origins of Anjum’s identity. The transition deepens the narrative by revealing how her present existence is shaped by her earlier experiences.
12. Birth of Aftab
Anjum is born as Aftab to Jahanara Begum and is initially declared a boy by the midwife, leading to celebration within the family. However, Jahanara notices that the child has both male and female genitals and privately hopes that the female genital will disappear over time. This moment introduces the central tension surrounding gender and identity that will shape both the child’s life and the mother’s psychological journey.
13. Jahanara Begum’s Trauma
As Aftab grows, Jahanara Begum realizes that the child does not conform to the gender binary she understands, leading to profound emotional shock. Her reactions unfold gradually, moving from disbelief to fear, despair, and self-blame. The narrative describes her experience as falling into a world she did not know existed, capturing the depth of her psychological crisis.
14. Gender, Language, and Identity
Jahanara’s understanding of the world is structured entirely through gendered language, where everything is categorized as masculine or feminine. Her child alone exists outside this linguistic and conceptual system, making it impossible for her to fully comprehend or explain the child’s identity. Although the word “hijra” exists, it proves insufficient to provide meaningful understanding or acceptance.
15. Living Outside Language
The novel raises the philosophical question of whether it is possible to live outside language, since language defines reality, identity, and social belonging. Language exists before individuals and shapes how the world is understood, leaving little room for identities that fall outside its categories. Jahanara’s realization of this limitation does not come as a clearly articulated thought but as a silent, emotional understanding.
16. Khwabgah and Duniya
Khwabgah is contrasted with duniya, the external world preoccupied with riots, wars, price rise, domestic violence, and political conflict. For the hijras, these conflicts exist not outside but within their own bodies and identities. Their lives become sites of permanent internal struggle, making them fundamentally different from those who believe such conflicts can be resolved externally.
17. Discovery of Khwabgah
Aftab’s first encounter with the hijra community occurs when he notices a beautifully dressed hijra in public, an unusual sight in a conservative Muslim environment. Driven by curiosity, he follows her and eventually enters Khwabgah. This moment marks the beginning of his recognition of an alternative world in which he might belong.
18. Life Inside Khwabgah
Khwabgah is shown as a structured community governed by the gharana system, with Kulsoom Bi as its leader. The space includes hijras from different religious backgrounds and operates with its own rules, hierarchies, and rivalries. While it offers belonging and recognition, it is not free from power struggles and internal conflicts.
19. Historical Position of Hijras
The novel recalls a time when hijras held respected positions during Mughal rule, serving as caretakers of royal women. With changing political powers, this history has been erased, demonstrating how dominant narratives rewrite the past. Through this erasure, marginalized identities lose their historical voice and social legitimacy.
20. Transition from Aftab to Anjum
During adolescence, Aftab insists on living permanently in Khwabgah, a decision the parents eventually accept. This move marks the transformation of Aftab into Anjum, signifying a crucial shift in identity. It represents both self-recognition and separation from familial and societal norms.
21. Motherhood and Zainab
Anjum’s desire for motherhood is fulfilled when she finds and adopts an abandoned child named Zainab. Motherhood provides her with emotional purpose and affirms her sense of womanhood. Despite medical interventions such as surgeries and hormone treatments, Anjum remains physically and socially in-between genders, making motherhood a vital source of identity and fulfillment.
22. Trauma of the Gujarat Riots
During the Gujarat riots of 2002, Zakir Miyan is killed by a mob, while Anjum survives because killing a hijra is considered an ill omen. This violent experience traumatizes her deeply, leaving lasting psychological scars. The riots mark a turning point in her life, stripping her of earlier confidence and joy.
23. Withdrawal and Departure from Khwabgah
After the riots, Anjum undergoes a profound transformation, withdrawing emotionally and abandoning her earlier feminine appearance. Her relationship with Zainab weakens, and conflicts within Khwabgah intensify, particularly with Kulsoom Bi. Ultimately, Anjum decides to leave Khwabgah, rejecting its authority and structure.
24. Return to the Graveyard and Jannat Guest House
Anjum settles in a graveyard near a government hospital and begins living among the graves. Gradually, with the help of builders, she constructs rooms around them, transforming the space into Jannat Guest House. This return completes the novel’s circular structure, as the graveyard becomes a humane, inclusive space for those rejected by society.
The second part of the discussion begins by recalling the journey traced in Part One, where Aftab, born intersex, becomes Anjum, lives in Khwabgah, experiences both acceptance and exploitation, survives the trauma of the 2002 riots, and finally leaves Khwabgah to settle in the graveyard. This graveyard slowly transforms into Jannat Guest House, which becomes the central symbolic space of the novel and the nucleus of what can be understood as the “Ministry of Utmost Happiness,” a metaphorical parliament of the marginalized.
2. Entry of Saddam Hussein into Jannat
A highly significant character who arrives at Jannat Guest House is Saddam Hussein, a figure who leaves a lasting impression on readers. He becomes a permanent resident of Jannat and an important member of this symbolic ministry. His arrival expands the narrative beyond gender marginality into caste, class, religious violence, and institutional corruption, thereby widening the political scope of the novel.
3. Saddam Hussein and the Government Hospital
Saddam introduces himself as a worker connected to the nearby government hospital, particularly the mortuary. Through his narration, the novel exposes caste hierarchies within institutional spaces, where doctors usually belong to upper castes while mortuary workers dealing with dead bodies are predominantly Dalits, especially Chamars. Saddam explains that doctors often refuse to conduct post-mortems on badly damaged bodies and instead issue orders from a distance, highlighting both caste prejudice and professional hypocrisy.
4. Anonymous Deaths and Religious Disposal
Saddam describes how countless unknown bodies are found on roads every day with no relatives to claim them. These bodies are disposed of based on religious identification: Muslims are buried in the nearby graveyard, while Hindus are cremated. This mechanical handling of death underscores the anonymity, disposability, and institutional indifference faced by the poor and marginalized in India.
5. Job Loss and Security Agency Corruption
After a conflict with a doctor, Saddam loses his hospital job and later works as a security guard through a private agency run by a woman named Sangeeta Madam. He reveals how agency culture is deeply corrupt, with workers receiving only about forty percent of their official wages while the remaining amount is pocketed by agency owners. This system illustrates how neoliberal labor structures enrich the wealthy while systematically exploiting the poor.
6. Revelation of Saddam’s Real Identity
Anjum later accuses Saddam of lying about being Muslim, leading to a major revelation. Saddam admits that his real name is Dayachand and that he comes from Haryana. His adoption of a Muslim name is deliberate and politically charged, especially in a time when many Muslims conceal their identities for safety. This disclosure shifts the narrative from assumed religious identity to chosen identity shaped by trauma and resistance.
7. Family Occupation and Caste Violence
Dayachand recounts that his father worked skinning dead cattle, selling hides to the leather industry, and disposing of carcasses away from villages. Sometimes, due to extreme poverty, they also consumed the meat. This traditional occupation, associated with Dalit communities, becomes the source of brutal violence when villagers falsely accuse them of killing cows rather than skinning already dead animals.
8. Lynching, Pride, and Spectacle
The violence inflicted on Saddam’s father is not spontaneous but performative and proud. The attackers record videos of the assault and circulate them on social media, displaying no shame. The most disturbing aspect, as emphasized in the lecture, is not violence itself—which has existed for centuries—but the pride taken in publicly displaying cruelty, revealing a terrifying moral collapse in society.
9. Police Complicity and Betrayal
When Saddam’s father is taken to the police station, the family initially assumes negotiations will secure his release, as often happens through bribery. However, negotiations fail, and during religious processions filled with communal fervor, a mob storms the station and brutally kills him. The police’s inaction exposes systemic complicity and corruption within law enforcement.
10. Birth of Revenge and Hatred
Witnessing his father’s murder, young Dayachand runs away, carrying deep hatred and a desire for revenge. This moment becomes foundational to his identity, shaping his worldview and emotional life. His personal grief merges with political anger, creating a character driven not by ideology but by unresolved trauma.
11. Adoption of the Name Saddam Hussein
Dayachand later sees televised images of the execution of Saddam Hussein, the former President of Iraq. Despite acknowledging Saddam Hussein’s flaws as a ruler, he is struck by the dignity with which the Iraqi leader faces death. To Dayachand, Saddam Hussein becomes a symbol of defiance against overwhelming power, similar to David facing Goliath. He adopts this name as an emblem of resistance and vengeance.
12. Moral Ambiguity of Role Models
The lecture critically notes that Arundhati Roy’s positive treatment of the name Saddam Hussein is problematic. While American imperialism and oil politics are rightly criticized, Saddam Hussein himself was responsible for severe oppression. The novel thus exposes a dangerous psychological pattern where victims of injustice choose flawed role models driven by revenge rather than ethical clarity.
13. Saddam’s Place in the Narrative
Saddam remains a crucial character throughout the novel, eventually marrying Zainab and continuing to live in Jannat Guest House. He becomes Anjum’s companion and an active participant in the community’s collective life, symbolizing how personal trauma becomes interwoven with shared survival.
14. Jantar Mantar as a Protest Space
The narrative then shifts to Jantar Mantar in New Delhi, officially designated as a protest site. Historically built for astronomical observation, it has become a space where grievances from across India converge. Anjum, Saddam, and others visit Jantar Mantar out of curiosity and gradually become part of the gathering.
15. The 2011–12 Anti-Corruption Movement
At the time, the country is witnessing large-scale protests against corruption during the UPA government. Media plays a decisive role in amplifying these protests, particularly against the Congress leadership. Retrospectively, the lecture suggests that this media activism was selective and politically motivated, as later governments faced worse crises without similar scrutiny.
The lecture emphasizes that while one movement gains national visibility, others remain ignored, revealing a deliberate hierarchy of attention. This selective amplification suggests political engineering rather than genuine concern for justice, exposing how democracy is shaped by visibility rather than truth.
18. Entry of Mr. Agarwal
Mr. Agarwal appears as a political figure aligned with emerging anti-Congress leadership. He represents a future political force and clashes with Anjum during events at Jantar Mantar. His presence signals how protest spaces are gradually absorbed into formal political power structures.
19. Discovery of the Abandoned Baby
A turning point occurs when a newborn baby is found abandoned on a footpath at Jantar Mantar. Anjum insists on taking responsibility for the child, but others object, arguing that hijras should not raise children. Heated arguments follow, police are called, and amid chaos, the baby mysteriously disappears.
20. Symbolic Ending of the Jantar Mantar Episode
The episode ends with the sudden disappearance of the baby, unresolved and unexplained. This moment symbolizes the fate of the marginalized, who appear briefly in public attention only to vanish again without trace. The loss of the baby marks the conclusion of the Jantar Mantar section and prepares the narrative to move toward the next world—that of Kashmir.
In the third part of the novel, the narrative moves away from Khwabgah, the graveyard, and Jantar Mantar to new worlds—Kashmir and Dandakaranya. Until this point, the novel has introduced characters with distinct backstories whose lives intersect gradually, but now the narrative undergoes a sharp shift in both space and style. The story that follows is not merely an extension of earlier events but a deepening of the political and ethical questions raised so far, especially those concerning violence, resistance, and the language used to describe them.
2. Change in Narrative Style
A significant formal change occurs in this section as the narration switches from third-person to first-person. Only two chapters in the novel are written in the first person, both titled The Landlord. This shift immediately signals a different perspective and tone. The narrator is a man who owns an apartment and rents it out to others, which is why he is referred to as “the landlord.” Through this voice, the reader gains access to state machinery, surveillance, and bureaucratic rationality in contrast to the marginalized voices encountered earlier.
3. The Landlord as an Intelligence Bureau Officer
As the narration unfolds, it becomes clear that the landlord is an officer in the Intelligence Bureau working for the Government of India. Through his recollections and observations, the novel introduces the world of intelligence agencies, secrecy, and internal surveillance. His position allows him to interact with people involved in journalism, insurgency, and activism, making him a crucial link between the state and its perceived enemies.
4. Introduction of Tilottama
Within the landlord’s narrative, we are introduced to Tilottama, a mysterious and enigmatic woman. She is studying architecture in Delhi and is associated with theatre through set and lighting design rather than acting. Tilottama emerges as a central connective figure in the novel, linking different worlds—Delhi, Kashmir, activism, insurgency, and Jannat Guest House—without fully belonging to any single one.
5. College Years and the Circle of Friends
Tilottama’s college life introduces several important characters who later take radically different paths. Nagaraj becomes a journalist, Hariharan also works in journalism, and Musa eventually joins an insurgent group in Kashmir. During their college days, all of them are drawn toward Tilottama, though she remains emotionally distant. This period establishes emotional bonds that later complicate political loyalties.
6. Tilottama and Autobiographical Parallels
Many critics have noted similarities between Tilottama and Arundhati Roy herself, particularly in terms of her background in architecture and her critical engagement with political power. Tilottama’s mother and her move to Delhi for architectural studies further strengthen this perceived autobiographical proximity. However, Tilottama remains a fictional construct whose role is primarily to connect disparate narrative strands.
7. The Lost Baby and Tilottama’s Role
The baby who mysteriously disappears at Jantar Mantar is later revealed to have been taken by Tilottama. She quietly removes the child from the protest site and takes her to her Delhi apartment. This act positions Tilottama as the hidden agent behind a major narrative transition, transforming the lost baby into a living link between protest, Jannat Guest House, and the later Maoist narrative.
8. Connection to Jannat Guest House
Through Dr. Azad, Tilottama learns about Anjum and Jannat Guest House. It is suggested that the baby would be safe and cared for there. This decision brings Tilottama into direct contact with Anjum’s world, and the baby—later named Miss Jebeen the Second—eventually becomes part of the Jannat community, tying together gender marginality, political protest, and revolutionary violence.
9. Entry into the Kashmir Narrative
The narrative then moves decisively into Kashmir, where Musa’s story becomes central. Musa is initially portrayed as an ordinary man living peacefully with his wife Arifa and daughter Zeba. This domestic calm is violently shattered during a military encounter in which both mother and child are accidentally killed by a single bullet. The graphic description of this death marks a turning point in the novel’s portrayal of violence.
10. Musa’s Transformation into an Insurgent
The killing of Musa’s wife and daughter becomes the personal cause that drives him to join a militant group. The novel suggests that such personal loss provides fertile ground for recruitment into insurgency. Militant groups deliberately target individuals who have suffered such losses, as personal revenge strengthens ideological commitment. Musa’s transformation follows a familiar narrative pattern, which the lecture also identifies as potentially simplistic and one-sided.
11. Critique of the Kashmir Narrative
The lecture highlights a major problem in the novel’s Kashmir section: the insurgency is often portrayed with emotional softness, while the suffering of Kashmiri Pandits is largely absent. This selective narration raises ethical concerns about balance and representation, suggesting that the novel privileges certain victim narratives over others.
12. Captain Amrik Singh and State Violence
Among the security personnel introduced, Captain Amrik Singh stands out as a particularly brutal figure. While some level of force may be necessary in counter-insurgency operations, Amrik Singh repeatedly crosses into inhuman cruelty. His actions exemplify how power, when unchecked, degenerates into sadism and atrocity.
13. Killing of Jalal-ud-din Qadri
Jalal-ud-din Qadri, a respected human rights lawyer in Kashmir, is detained during a routine check and later found dead in a river. His body shows clear signs of torture, including mutilation. This killing sparks widespread outrage and protests, highlighting the deep mistrust between civilians and security forces.
14. Aftermath and Flight of Amrik Singh
Following investigations and testimonies against him, Amrik Singh and his wife flee India out of fear of retaliation. They move first to Jammu, then to Canada, and eventually to the United States. Despite escaping physical danger, psychological fear continues to haunt them.
15. The California Tragedy
News later emerges that Amrik Singh has killed his family and then himself in California. The novel leaves this event shrouded in ambiguity, raising questions about guilt, trauma, and delayed consequences of violence. This incident introduces the idea that perpetrators of violence are also psychologically destroyed by their actions.
16. The Landlord’s Discovery
After Tilottama disappears from the apartment, the landlord discovers files, photographs, and documents that reveal hidden connections among characters. These materials expose covert operations, surveillance, and manipulation by intelligence agencies, particularly through journalists who unknowingly function as state mouthpieces.
17. Journalists as State Instruments
Hariharan, presented as an investigative journalist, is revealed to be indirectly used by intelligence agencies to leak information in a controlled manner. Though he believes he is acting independently, his work often serves state narratives, demonstrating how power controls discourse without overt censorship.
18. Return of Musa
In the final first-person chapter, Musa unexpectedly appears in the landlord’s apartment. The encounter is charged with tension, as the landlord is an intelligence officer and Musa an insurgent. Despite this, they share a past friendship, complicating the clear distinction between enemy and ally.
19. The Truth about Amrik Singh
When confronted, Musa admits that he did not directly kill Amrik Singh. Instead, Musa and others followed him relentlessly, creating an atmosphere of terror that drove him to madness. Overwhelmed by fear, Amrik Singh killed his family and himself. Musa claims responsibility not for murder, but for creating conditions of psychological destruction.
20. The Chilling Statement
Musa’s most disturbing statement comes when he compares Amrik Singh’s fate to India’s future in Kashmir. He suggests that just as Amrik Singh destroyed himself, the Indian state is constructing its own destruction through brutality. This statement is delivered casually, making it even more unsettling.
21. Revolutionary Memory and Historical Parallel
The lecture draws a parallel between Kashmiri resistance and India’s own anti-colonial struggle. Just as British brutality left lasting historical guilt, the violence in Kashmir may shape future memory in similar ways. The novel forces readers to consider how today’s actions will be judged by future generations.
22. Dandakaranya and the Maoist Letter
Near the novel’s end, a long letter introduces the Maoist struggle in forest regions. The letter reveals that Miss Jebeen the Second is the child of a woman raped by six policemen during a counter-insurgency operation. The letter occupies several pages, deliberately overwhelming the reader with delayed truth.
23. Six Fathers and Three Mothers
Miss Jebeen the Second is described as having six fathers—the unknown policemen—and three mothers: Tilottama, Anjum, and her biological mother. This formulation symbolically unites gender oppression, state violence, insurgency, and communal care into a single figure.
24. Final Convergence of Narratives
By the end, all major narrative strands—gender marginality, Kashmir insurgency, Maoist resistance, state violence, and protest politics—converge in the figure of the child. The novel closes not with resolution but with ethical unease, leaving readers to confront the cost of power, resistance, and silence.
In the final part of the novel, all narrative worlds—Khwabgah, Jannat Graveyard, Jantar Mantar, Kashmir, and Dandakaranya—finally converge. What initially appeared as scattered and disconnected stories are revealed to be deeply interwoven. The mystery surrounding Miss Jebeen the Second is resolved: she is Udaya Jebeen, the daughter of Revathi, a Maoist woman. Her identity symbolically carries the weight of multiple struggles, as she is described as the child of six fathers—six policemen who raped Revathi—and three mothers: Revathi, Tilottama, and Anjum. Through this revelation, the novel ties together gender oppression, state violence, revolutionary politics, and alternative forms of motherhood.
2. Resolution of the Kashmir Narrative
The unresolved Kashmir thread concerning Captain Amrik Singh also finds closure in this final section. It becomes clear that he committed suicide, driven by relentless fear and psychological pressure created by militant pursuit. Although he was not directly killed by insurgents, their persistent presence pushed him toward self-destruction. This idea of “self-destruction” becomes symbolic, suggesting that oppressive power ultimately collapses under its own weight. History, the novel suggests, never favors absolute power, and over time, suppressed lands and peoples reclaim their voice, language, and narrative.
3. Meaning of the Title “Gui Kyong”
The final section is titled Gui Kyong, a word that resists easy definition, much like many names in the novel. Throughout the narrative, animals and birds—vultures, crows, parakeets, bats, and horses—carry symbolic weight. In the end, however, it is not a majestic animal but an insect that becomes central. Gui Kyong refers to the dung beetle, an uncelebrated creature whose ecological labor sustains life. By choosing this title, the novel shifts attention from heroic figures to silent, sustaining forces.
4. Musa’s Final Night at Jannat Guest House
The closing scenes are set during Musa’s third and final night at Jannat Guest House. Musa is at peace, sitting with Tilottama, who is now affectionately known as Ustani Ji—the feminine form of Ustad, meaning teacher. Tilottama teaches children living around the graveyard, extending care and knowledge within this marginal space. Her transformation into Ustani Ji signifies a shift from political witness to everyday nurturing presence.
5. Poetry, Memory, and Circular Structure
While Musa reads Tilottama’s writing, he refers to the line “Margayi Bulbul Kafas Mein”, a poetic refrain that recurs throughout the novel. Musa remarks that he wants this line to be his epitaph. At this moment, Ahlam Baji—the midwife who delivered Aftab at the very beginning of the novel—murmurs insults and turns in her grave below. This moment creates a powerful circular structure: the novel’s final pages echo its opening pages, collapsing time and narrative into a single continuum of birth, death, and remembrance.
6. Udaya Jebeen’s Midnight Walk
One of the most tender moments of the novel occurs when Anjum takes Miss Udaya Jebeen out for a midnight walk to familiarize her with the world. Passing the mortuary and hospital parking lot, they step onto the quiet road. When the child says “Mummy, sussu,” Anjum sets her down under a streetlight. The child urinates and then gazes at the reflection of city lights, stars, and the thousand-year-old city shimmering in the puddles. This image transforms an ordinary bodily act into a moment of cosmic wonder and continuity.
7. Return to Jannat and the Sleeping World
When Anjum and the child return to Jannat Guest House, all the lights are off and everyone is asleep. Life appears momentarily paused, wrapped in quietness and rest. The sense is one of temporary peace, as if the chaos of history has briefly loosened its grip.
8. The Dung Beetle as Final Image
Everyone is asleep except Gui Kyong, the dung beetle. He lies on his back with his legs in the air, described as “wide awake and on duty,” ready to save the world if the heavens were to fall. This image draws attention to the ecological role of dung beetles, which recycle waste, fertilize soil, and sustain life invisibly. The dung beetle becomes a metaphor for those who quietly hold the world together without recognition or glory.
9. Symbolism of “If the Heavens Fell”
The phrase “if the heavens fell” functions as a metaphor for catastrophic crises—wars, state violence, ecological destruction, and historical injustice. The novel suggests that when such disasters occur, it is not powerful institutions but small, resilient forces that prevent total collapse. Gui Kyong represents this quiet resilience, faith, and continuity.
10. Hope Through the Child
Gui Kyong’s faith that “things would turn out all right” is linked directly to the presence of Miss Udaya Jebeen. The child symbolizes a future generation that carries the memory of violence but also the possibility of renewal. The novel does not deny suffering; instead, it insists that hope persists despite it.
11. Transformation of Saddam Hussein
In the concluding pages, Saddam Hussein’s character arc also finds resolution. When he proposes marriage to Zainab, Anjum initially hesitates because his life was once driven by revenge. Saddam explains that he has abandoned that motive, citing collective awakening, especially the resistance of Dalit communities after incidents like Una. His hatred transforms into a desire for life and continuity, reinforcing the novel’s insistence that love must ultimately defeat vengeance.
12. Love Versus Self-Destruction
Through Saddam, Musa, Kashmir, and the Maoist struggle, the novel contrasts two trajectories: self-destruction born of hatred and survival rooted in love. Captain Amrik Singh’s fate becomes a warning of what unchecked violence does to perpetrators themselves. Love, care, and collective living—embodied by Jannat Guest House—are presented as the only sustainable alternatives.
13. Meaning of the “Ministry of Utmost Happiness”
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness is not a state institution but a fragile, improvised community formed by the marginalized. It offers sukoon—peace and dignity—to anyone who arrives, living or dead. In a country fractured by caste, religion, gender, and political violence, this unofficial ministry becomes a moral counter-state.
14. Final Note of Hope
The novel ends not with triumph but with cautious optimism. Despite immense suffering, history, violence, and betrayal, the presence of a child, a teacher, a graveyard-home, and even a dung beetle suggests that the world is still held together by care. Utmost happiness is not perfection but survival with dignity, memory, and hope.
One of the most central themes of the novel is the nature of paradise, symbolized through Jannat Guest House and the graveyard setting that frames both the beginning and the end of the novel. The paradox is immediately evident: a graveyard, a space associated with death, is named Jannat, meaning paradise. Roy questions the traditional religious idea that paradise exists only after death. If death is the gateway to heaven, then why do people who speak endlessly about heaven cling so desperately to life? Through this contradiction, the novel suggests that paradise is not an afterlife reward but something that must be created in the living world. Jannat becomes a secular, human-made paradise where marginalized people—Hijras, Dalits, Muslims, orphans, animals, birds, and even the dead—coexist. This idea is reinforced at Jantar Mantar, where protesters from across India speak the phrase “another world is possible” in their own languages, asserting the possibility of a just, harmonious world here and now. Paradise, therefore, is imagined as coexistence amid difference, struggle, and care, not as an abstract spiritual destination.
2. Ambiguity and Diversity
The novel celebrates ambiguity and diversity as fundamental truths of human existence. Anjum’s intersex identity embodies ambiguity at the most intimate level, challenging rigid binaries of male and female. This ambiguity mirrors larger social tensions—religious, cultural, political—where multiple truths exist simultaneously. Roy suggests that diversity is easy to praise but difficult to live with. Everyday examples, such as food habits, religious rituals, and cultural practices, reveal how tolerance is often conditional. People expect others to adjust to their norms rather than embracing difference fully. Through Anjum and the community at Jannat, Roy proposes that ambiguity is not a weakness but a strength, and that learning to live with difference—without demanding conformity—is essential for genuine coexistence.
3. Cost of Modernization and Development
A recurring concern in the novel is the cost of modernization, often disguised as “development.” Set largely in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, the narrative unfolds against rapid urbanization, industrial expansion, and Westernized consumer culture. Skyscrapers replace villages, rivers are dammed, forests are mined, and cities glitter “like Christmas trees.” However, Roy persistently asks: who pays the price? Farmers lose fertile land to highways and dams; tribal communities are displaced; slum dwellers are evicted in the name of beautification. Development benefits the privileged—those driving luxury cars—while the poor, whose land enables such projects, may never even walk on the roads built over their homes. Jannat Guest House itself exists illegally on graveyard land, constantly under threat of demolition, reflecting how modernization marginalizes the vulnerable while presenting itself as progress.
4. Blurring Boundaries Between Life and Death
Life and death are not opposites in the novel but interconnected states. The graveyard is not only a place for the dead but a living community. Characters experience multiple “deaths” and rebirths within a single lifetime—emotional, social, political. Rituals such as second burials emphasize that remembrance is for the living, not the dead. Roy shows how grief, memory, and survival blur the line between life and death, suggesting that existence is multidimensional rather than linear. Those who die—Musa, Revathi, others—continue to live through memory, narrative, and resistance.
5. How and Why Stories Are Told
The novel’s fragmented, non-linear structure reflects its thematic concern with storytelling itself. Roy breaks conventional narrative rules by shifting time frames, mixing first- and third-person narration, inserting documents, and abandoning characters for long stretches. This form mirrors the “shattered” reality of contemporary India. Some stories, Roy suggests, cannot be told in neat chronological order. The famous line—“How to tell a shattered story? By slowly becoming everybody. No. By slowly becoming everything.”—captures this philosophy. The how of storytelling must align with the what. Just as modern life feels fractured, the narrative must also be fractured to remain truthful.
6. Social Status in Contemporary India
The novel exposes how social status operates across caste, religion, region, and class. Kashmiri separatists, Maoists, Hijras, Dalits, and Muslims occupy precarious positions within the national imagination. At the same time, capitalism reshapes status through consumption: cars, credit cards, brands replace caste markers. Worth is measured not by identity but by purchasing power. Yet this apparent equality masks deeper inequalities, as marginalized communities remain excluded from economic mobility. Roy reveals how both traditional hierarchies and modern capitalism perpetuate exclusion.
7. Corruption, Political Violence, and Capitalism
Roy critiques corruption at multiple levels—from petty bribery to systemic exploitation. Political violence is shown as a cycle where state forces, militants, and insurgents feed off each other. Critics have noted Roy’s relative sympathy toward Maoists and Kashmiri insurgents, sometimes at the cost of balance. However, the novel does acknowledge corruption within militant movements as well, portraying them as entangled in power, profit, and manipulation of the poor. Capitalism intensifies this violence by reducing human lives to expendable resources within larger economic and political games.
8. Resilience and Hope
Despite its grim subject matter, the novel is not hopeless. Resilience emerges through ordinary acts of care—burying the dead with dignity, raising abandoned children, sustaining fragile communities. The final image of the dung beetle, tirelessly recycling waste, symbolizes quiet persistence. Hope also resides in children like Udaya Jebeen, representing future generations who may imagine alternatives to inherited violence. The novel insists that survival itself is an act of resistance.
9. Gender Identity, Social Division, and Coexistence
Anjum’s body becomes a site where multiple identities coexist, challenging the rigid binaries that govern society. Through her, Roy extends the idea of coexistence beyond gender to religion, nation, and ideology. Accepting difference, rather than erasing it, becomes the novel’s ethical core. True coexistence, Roy suggests, demands dismantling the impulse to dominate or normalize the “other.”
10. Social Hierarchy vs. Social Inclusivity
Roy reverses narrative perspective by centering the marginalized and pushing the socially “central” to the margins. This inversion forces readers to confront what it means to live without privilege. Inclusivity is not achieved by allowing the marginalized to imitate the dominant but by restructuring society to accommodate difference on equal terms.
11. Religion and Power
The novel powerfully critiques the fusion of religion and political power. When faith becomes a tool of governance, violence against minorities is normalized. Roy portrays extremism on all sides—Islamic militancy and Hindu majoritarianism alike—as destructive. Figures like Professor Abdullah, who advocate localized, inclusive religious practices, are silenced, revealing how extremism devours even its moderates. Roy warns that the collapse of the boundary between religion and state endangers freedom, safety, and democracy itself.
Conclusion of Thematic Study
Through its themes, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness presents a fractured yet interconnected portrait of contemporary India. Paradise is reimagined as coexistence; identity as fluid; storytelling as resistance; and hope as survival amid devastation. The novel does not offer solutions but insists on witnessing, remembering, and refusing silence.
1. Hazrat Sarmad Shaheed: Apostasy and Spiritual Freedom
Hazrat Sarmad Shaheed functions as a powerful symbolic figure in the novel. His story of apostasy—moving into religion and then moving out of it—represents a love that refuses rigid boundaries. Sarmad’s refusal to complete the Kalima fully makes him a dangerous figure in orthodox religious societies. The cruelty associated with forcing people to utter religious slogans mirrors historical and contemporary violence, where faith becomes a tool of coercion. Through Sarmad, Roy symbolically asserts that true spirituality lies in questioning, doubt, and the refusal to accept belief without experience. Sarmad becomes a reminder that faith should be a quest, not a command, and that love embracing ambiguity is far more humane than doctrinal certainty.
2. The Gandhian Figure and the 2011 Anti-Corruption Movement
The symbol of the Gandhian protestor—clearly evoking Anna Hazare and the 2011 anti-corruption movement—occupies a critical space in the novel. Roy captures how the image of Gandhi, fasting under the tricolour and Bharat Mata’s shadow, temporarily unified people across ideologies, religions, and classes. The movement created an illusion of moral clarity, where corruption appeared solvable through symbolism alone. However, as the novel retrospectively examines this movement, it exposes the fragility of symbolic politics. What began as a hopeful resistance gradually dissolved into silence, unanswered questions, and institutional opacity. Roy uses this symbol to question whether Gandhian imagery still has the power to protect democracy, or whether even Gandhi can no longer save a society that willingly abandons critical thinking.
3. Cinema Halls in Kashmir: Cultural War and Extremism
Cinema halls in Kashmir function as a deeply layered symbol. Militants shut them down believing Indian cinema represents cultural invasion and ideological contamination. This act reflects a narrow, fundamentalist reading of culture, where art is mistaken for propaganda. Historically, Indian cinema had remained largely secular and inclusive, even providing space for Muslim identities. The destruction of cinema halls therefore symbolizes not resistance but cultural suffocation. Roy suggests that those who ban art are more dangerous than art itself, as suppression of imagination marks the beginning of authoritarian control.
4. Cinema as Interrogation Centre: Military Imperialism
Ironically, once militants shut down cinema halls, these same spaces are converted by the Indian military into interrogation and torture centres. The transformation of places meant for imagination into sites of fear symbolizes the brutal reach of state power. This symbol highlights how violence replaces culture when both insurgency and militarism dominate public life. Roy thus presents cinema halls as victims of two forms of extremism—religious fundamentalism and state imperialism.
5. Jannat Guest House: Paradise, Dunya, and Survival
Jannat Guest House operates as one of the novel’s most complex symbols. Opposed to Dunya (the harsh external world), Jannat appears as a fragile utopia—a shelter carved out of violence and abandonment. Yet Roy destabilizes this binary. For characters like Revathy, a Maoist guerrilla, paradise is as terrifying as hell, filled with hunger, fear, and death. Similarly, Captain Amrik Singh’s dark joke of the “Jannat Express” reveals how paradise is weaponized to justify killing. Through these contradictions, Roy blurs the line between heaven and reality, suggesting that paradise is not a fixed moral category but a lived condition shaped by power.
6. Motherhood: Biological, Social, and National
Motherhood in the novel is not a biological certainty but a deeply fractured symbol. Miss Jebeen the Second has three mothers—Revathy, Tilottama, and Anjum—and six fathers, born of sexual violence. This dismantles conventional ideas of maternity. Roy contrasts this with the nationalist metaphor of Bharat Mata, where violence is justified in the name of the motherland. By recalling the film Mother India (1957), Roy critiques how nationalism demands moral sacrifice while real mothers often forgive injustice. The symbol exposes how motherhood is romanticized politically but denied compassion socially.
7. Bharat Mata: Nationalism and Violence
The symbol of Bharat Mata evolves from a nurturing figure into an aggressive, territorial icon. Early representations imagined India as a suffering mother; later depictions arm her with lions, weapons, and saffron flags. Roy suggests that this transformation mirrors India’s shift from ethical nationalism to exclusionary majoritarianism. Violence committed in the name of the motherland becomes normalized, and dissent is branded betrayal. The symbol warns against mythologizing the nation at the cost of human life.
8. Bodies, Refuse, and Internal Organs
Roy repeatedly uses bodily imagery—waste, refuse, organs—to symbolize internal conflict and social rejection. Characters like Saddam Hussein belong to communities associated with disposing of animal carcasses, marking them as untouchable. Waste becomes resistance: what society discards sustains life. Scenes involving urination, decay, and bodily fragmentation are not meant to insult civilization but to suggest that renewal emerges from what is deemed impure. Musa’s organs “whispering” to each other during guerrilla training symbolize deep psychological trauma, where even the body loses internal harmony.
9. Second Burials and Rewriting History
Second burials and repeated funerary rituals symbolize how history is continuously rewritten. The dead are buried again not for their peace, but for the living to cope with unresolved trauma. This motif suggests that official histories—like empires after 1857—are never final. They are revised to suit those in power. Memory becomes an act of resistance.
10. Vultures: Ecological and Social Collapse
Vultures symbolize unintended consequences of modernization. Their near-extinction due to veterinary drugs reflects how market-driven progress destroys natural balance. Roy connects ecological collapse with social displacement—just as vultures vanish, so do marginalized communities erased by development. The dying vulture becomes a warning sign for civilizations that ignore interconnectedness.
11. The Dung Beetle (Gui Kyong): Hope and Persistence
The dung beetle, Gui Kyong, is the novel’s final and most humble symbol. Working silently, recycling waste, and fertilizing soil, it represents unseen labor that sustains the world. Unlike heroic symbols, the dung beetle signifies resilience without recognition. Its faith that “things will turn out all right” mirrors the novel’s fragile hope—that survival itself is an act of resistance.
Conclusion: Symbolic Architecture of the Novel
Through its symbols and motifs, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness constructs a parallel moral universe. Graveyards become homes, waste becomes nourishment, broken bodies carry truth, and insects carry hope. Roy’s symbolism refuses grandeur and instead locates meaning in survival, memory, and care.
Activity A: The "Shattered Story" Structure (Textual Analysis with ChatGPT)
1.Analyze the Narrative Structure of The Ministry of Utmost Happiness
The Ministry of Utmost Happiness by Arundhati Roy deliberately rejects a linear, chronological narrative. As Prof. Barad repeatedly emphasizes, this fragmented structure is not a stylistic indulgence but a formal necessity arising from the shattered lives of the characters themselves. Roy’s narrative method embodies her famous formulation: “How to tell a shattered story? By slowly becoming everybody. No. By slowly becoming everything.” The novel’s structure mirrors trauma—discontinuous, recursive, and resistant to neat closure—thereby transforming narrative form into a political and ethical statement.
Fragmentation as a Structural Principle
The novel unfolds through disconnected zones rather than a continuous plot: Khwabgah in Old Delhi, the Jannat Graveyard, Jantar Mantar protests, Kashmir, and the forests of Dandakaranya. Prof. Barad explains that readers initially struggle to identify a “main story” because the novel refuses hierarchy. Characters appear, disappear for hundreds of pages, and reappear later—often transformed. This narrative instability reflects trauma’s psychological reality: traumatic experience does not proceed linearly but returns in fragments, memories, and echoes.
For instance, the novel begins not with a conventional protagonist but with Anjum’s birth and life in Khwabgah, a space already marked by social exclusion. From there, the narrative does not “progress” forward; instead, it shifts sideways, laterally expanding into other lives and histories. This deliberate disorientation forces the reader to inhabit the same fractured temporal consciousness as the characters.
From Khwabgah to Jannat: Spatial Displacement as Narrative Break
A key example highlighted in the videos is the transition from Khwabgah (Old Delhi) to the Jannat Graveyard. This movement is not presented as a smooth transition but as a rupture. Anjum’s expulsion from Khwabgah following communal violence leads her to settle among graves—life literally moving into the space of death. Prof. Barad points out that this shift marks the novel’s rejection of binary oppositions such as life/death, centre/margin, home/exile.
Narratively, this transition signals Roy’s broader strategy: the story migrates when the characters are displaced. The graveyard does not function merely as a setting but becomes a narrative hub where multiple broken lives intersect. Thus, structural movement mirrors existential displacement.
Non-Linearity and the Logic of Trauma
Roy’s timeline repeatedly jumps backward and forward—moving from Mughal history and Partition to contemporary protests, from personal memory to collective catastrophe. According to Prof. Barad, this non-linearity reflects trauma’s resistance to chronological ordering. Trauma collapses past and present, forcing characters to relive experiences rather than “move on” from them.
This is particularly evident in Tilottama’s Kashmir narrative, which interrupts the Delhi-based storyline entirely. The Kashmir chapters are told partly in the first person, a sharp stylistic shift that intensifies immediacy and psychological exposure. These chapters do not resolve neatly; instead, they suspend the narrative in a state of unresolved violence, mirroring Kashmir’s political and emotional paralysis.
The Found Baby as a Narrative Bridge
One of the most crucial structural devices linking fragmented narratives is the found baby. Prof. Barad emphasizes that the baby functions as a living connector between otherwise separate storylines. The baby appears mysteriously at Jantar Mantar, disappears, and later resurfaces in Tilottama’s life. Only much later do readers learn that the child, Miss Udaya Jebeen, is the daughter of Revathy, a Maoist guerrilla.
This delayed revelation exemplifies Roy’s method of retrospective coherence: meaning is not given upfront but assembled slowly, fragment by fragment. The baby links Anjum’s world of social marginality, Tilottama’s intellectual and political journey, Kashmir’s insurgency, and Dandakaranya’s Maoist resistance. The narrative thus “becomes everything”—gender violence, state violence, insurgency, protest, motherhood—without privileging one over the other.
Prof. Barad’s explanation of Roy’s famous line is crucial here. The novel does not aim to tell one story fully but to accumulate partial stories, each incomplete on its own. Police files, letters, interviews, diary entries, news reports, and first-person confessions interrupt conventional narration. This documentary fragmentation reinforces the idea that no single voice can contain the truth of contemporary India.
By refusing closure and linear progression, Roy forces readers to participate actively—to remember, connect, and reinterpret earlier fragments. This mirrors how societies process collective trauma: not through singular narratives, but through overlapping testimonies.
Conclusion
The non-linear narrative structure of The Ministry of Utmost Happiness is inseparable from its thematic concern with trauma. As Prof. Barad explains, Roy’s characters are shattered by gender violence, caste oppression, communal hatred, militarization, and state power. A linear, orderly narrative would falsify these experiences. Instead, Roy adopts fragmentation as an ethical stance, allowing form to echo content.
Ultimately, the novel does not move toward resolution but toward recognition—recognition that trauma fractures time, identity, and storytelling itself. By “slowly becoming everything,” Roy constructs a narrative that is not whole, but honest.
Activity B: Mapping the Conflict (Mind Mapping with NotebookLM)
Identify the connections between Anjum (Jannat Graveyard), Saddam Hussain (mortuary and cow-protection violence), and Tilottama (Kashmir and architecture) in The Ministry of Utmost Happiness.
The narrative of Arundhati Roy’s The Ministry of Utmost Happiness is a complex tapestry of marginalized identities, where the lives of Anjum, Saddam Hussain, and Tilottama intersect within spaces of death and resistance. These characters collectively represent the "shattered stories" of contemporary India, bound together by Roy’s fragmented narrative structure into a singular political vision of inclusive coexistence.
Anjum: From Khwabgah to the Liminality of the Graveyard
Anjum is introduced through the Jannat Graveyard, where she "lived... like a tree," a space that serves as both a setting and a symbol of her liminal identity. Born as Aftab, an intersex child, her identity is initially shaped by the Khwabgah (House of Dreams), a sanctuary for the hijra community. In the Khwabgah, Anjum navigates a world that exists "outside language," as the prevailing linguistic structures recognize only a binary of masculine and feminine.
Anjum’s identity shifts dramatically following the 2002 Gujarat riots. Having survived the communal violence that claimed her companion Zakir Miyan, she is left profoundly traumatized. This trauma prompts her movement from the Khwabgah to the graveyard, a space near a government hospital where she begins building the Jannat Guest House. By enclosing graves within her living quarters, Anjum creates a space where the boundaries between life and death—and between different marginalized identities—become porous, transforming a site of mourning into a "utopian bubble" for those rejected by the Dunya (the outside world).
Saddam Hussain: Caste Labor, Communal Lynching, and Defiant Identity
Saddam Hussain is introduced through the mortuary adjacent to Anjum’s graveyard, a space defined by structural oppression and caste-based labor. As a Dalit (born Dayachand) working among "unclaimed" bodies, Saddam highlights the intersection of caste and state indifference; the high-caste doctors maintain a distance from the dead, while Dalit and Muslim laborers handle the visceral reality of post-mortems.
Saddam’s identity is forged through a specific instance of cow-protection violence. He witnessed his father being lynched by a mob in Haryana under the false accusation of killing a cow, while a corrupt police officer negotiated the family's fate. This communal and structural violence leads to his radical self-reinvention. He adopts the name Saddam Hussain after witnessing the execution of the Iraqi president on television; to him, the name represents a "David" fighting against a mighty "Goliath" (the USA/the State), a symbolic act of defiance to maintain dignity in the face of absolute power. His eventual marriage to Anjum’s daughter, Zainab, at the Jannat Guest House signifies the integration of his vengeful past into a community of shared care.
Tilottama: Architecture, Political Insurgency, and the Witnessing of Kashmir
Tilottama (Tilo) is introduced through her architectural training in Delhi, a discipline that emphasizes the creation of structures, yet she remains an enigmatic figure defined by the destruction of political certainty. Her identity is inextricably linked to Kashmir, where she becomes a witness to extreme state violence and the "shattered" reality of the insurgency. Her architectural background is reflected in her role as a set designer, but her true "design" is her entanglement with figures like Musa, a Kashmiri militant, and Biplav, an Intelligence Bureau officer.
Tilo’s narrative highlights the brutality of state power, particularly through the symbol of the interrogation centers established in former cinema halls, such as the Shiraz Cinema, where the state’s "military imperialism" replaces cultural expression with torture. Unlike Anjum and Saddam, Tilo’s marginality is intellectual and political; she chooses to live on the fringes, eventually moving to the Jannat Guest House to find a place where her "shattered story" can coexist with others.
Miss Udaya Jebeen: The Narrative Bridge
The found baby, Miss Udaya Jebeen, serves as the vital narrative bridge that connects the disparate worlds of Anjum, Saddam, and Tilo. Found by Tilo at a protest site in Jantar Mantar, the child’s origins are rooted in structural oppression: she is the biological daughter of Revathi, a Maoist fighter who was raped by six policemen.
Tilo brings the child to the graveyard for safety, where she is renamed and cared for by the community. The novel describes the baby as having "six fathers and three mothers" (Revathi, Tilo, and Anjum), effectively stitching together the narratives of the Maoist struggle, the Kashmiri conflict, and the outcasts of Delhi. Udaya Jebeen represents a hopeful future where trauma is not merely remembered but is "stitched together" by a community of shared motherhood.
Synthesis: The Shattered Story and Political Vision
Arundhati Roy’s narrative structure is intentionally fragmented and non-chronological to reflect the "shattered" nature of the stories she tells. The novel posits that the only way to tell a story about people so broken is by "slowly becoming everything," allowing different faces of marginality—gender, caste, and political—to coalesce.
Anjum, Saddam, and Tilo do not meet immediately because their individual traumas—rooted in communal riots, caste lynching, and state insurgency—require distinct spaces (graveyards, mortuaries, and battlefields) for processing. However, the Jannat Guest House acts as a "parliament" for this symbolic ministry, where diversity and ambiguity are celebrated rather than destroyed. Roy’s political vision is one of inclusive coexistence, where the " Ministry of Utmost Happiness" is found not in the mainstream Dunya, but in the radical acceptance of the "unclean" and the "unimportant" within the sanctuary of the graveyard.
Activity C: Automated Timeline & Character Arcs (Simple Explanation)
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