If ever there is a book that screams “Don’t judge a book by its cover, title or blurb” from the top of its lungs, then it has to be Murtaza Razvi’s Pittho’s World. I picked this book up when I read its blurb which relates it to “Arabian Nights” though the similarities end with the roles of Scheherazade and the depraved king being reversed. I was expecting a collection of short stories along the lines but instead got a chronicle of oddball characters inhabiting the world of the protagonist Sheku, narrated to his non-conformist girlfriend Rani. The stories are neither as imaginative nor as entertaining as the former and deservedly more popular work. Equally confusing is the author’s thought of naming it Pittho’s World when her story, was only one of the several tedious stories, and does not unify them with a centralized theme through her life.

All the stories are about a family member of Sheku, follow the exact same pattern, narrated to a rather reluctant listener Rani. They start with Sheku mentioning their origin, how he/she is related to him, one random incident in their lives, and their death without really following any of them throughout their lives. At the end of each story, they seem to make love or Rani passes a wisecrack at Sheku or both sometimes. Sheku is not an unreliable narrator, so to speak, but Razvi’s prose, apart from the brilliant prologue, isn’t evocative or entertaining, making his stories episodic and tedious reads despite their short lengths. When there are no more stories left, we are treated with a couple of chapters on the prevalent political scenario in Pakistan, since the author is a political journalist in his time.

One of the interesting features about this book is how it avoids any real names of the characters and prefers them to be called by their relation to the author. So we get Dada, Dadi, Nani, Bia, Ammi, Abbu, Big Brother et al, probably in order to avoid confusion in remembering the names and associating their relation to the author. And the people who are not directly related to him are given nicknames like the eponymous Pittho (nicknamed for her enormous hips), Cattie Aunty (for her love of cats) and Pagal Kutta (A mad-cap uncle). Even the most interesting character in the book for me, called Apa, doesn’t have a name, despite being present in the maximum number of stories. Also, it felt strange to me to read the invective freely flowing among the family members, and I wonder if people really talk to each other like that.

Towards the end of the book, we cannot help wondering whether everything said in the stories was just an illusion or Sheku’s whimsical imagination to hold the interest of Rani, given that some of the beliefs held and actions taken by the people appear so unreal and fanciful.

If not for the general enthusiasm for a book coming from someone across the border, this one might not find many takers.


PS: In the paperback I ordered from Flipkart, the author’s lifetime was printed as (1964-2102). I hope the publishers make a note of this and correct it in further editions.