With the same assured, understated skill with which he wrote many a charming novel about self-deception and many an equally charming short story about the subtle ironies of fate, destiny and life in general, R.K Narayan, arguably the finest Indian writer of all time, sets out to chart and chronicle his own life, from his childhood to the seventh decade of his life, with customary grace, beauty and perceptive insight. And also with stirring economy - in less than a couple of hundred pages, he presents a lucid portrait of a man and also a man of letters growing and evolving in front of our eyes. "My Days", with a title that is a clever spin on his "Malgudi Days" is a lovely little slice of reminiscences and remembrances, embellished with the same intricacy of thought and emotion that marks his other works as well.
With a measured ease, the book takes us from his childhood, to his adolescence and youth, to manhood and eventually to his elderly years as an established writer, now calmed and mellowed by the passage of time, to take life and its ups and downs with a tranquil state of acceptance. The childhood sections of the book are predictably entertaining as they should be, punctuated with games, books, pets, vivid, wide-eyed recollections of experiences and memories of times spent with parents, grandparents and relatives. And yet, even in these parts, Narayan's deft touch of a writer in complete command of his prose is all too evident - these are made up of small, beautifully crafted scenes of whimsy and humour, in his misadventures with his various pets, in his times spent in his Madras home with his wise grandmother away from his parents living in some other town and his uncle, a pioneering photographer who took him on mesmerising trips through the town and also rendered realistically with elements of solitude and fear as well. Shuttling from one place to another, due to his father's appointment as a headmaster in different schools across the breadth of South India, Narayan samples many a memorable and unique experience of eccentric and enthusiastic teachers, friends, games, pastimes and more.
The first stirrings of his ambition to become a writer provide the most compelling scenes in the autobiography along with the humorous and even tragicomic situations that unfold and unravel in his middle-age. In his early youth, Narayan evolves wonderfully into a voracious reader sampling not only classic prose and poem but also popular fiction and thus developing a romantic, wistful personality of his own that would blossom further in full manhood and would also lend his work with its signature touch of melancholia. Infatuated with the beauty of words and of storytelling, he sets out to write, beginning with abstract poetry and prose and then cutting down his abstract style in favour of a cleaner method of storytelling, thus resulting in his first novel, "Swami and Friends".
We see Narayan go through all the expected trials and tribulations of being a writer, all handled naturally and with skillful credibility - the unreliability of payment of royalties, the callous manipulation by the high and mighty for their dishonest purposes, the constant sense of self-doubt and apprehension on the occasion of failure - this last is what most writers, aspiring or established, would resonate perfectly with. Narayan was literally unknown to most readers worldwide for a long, long time and he would have remained so, given the poor commercial performance, despite reasonable acclaim, of his early novels. It was Graham Greene, one of Narayan's best friends and his sole literary mentor, who took it upon himself to ensure that Narayan not only published his novels but that they also received an appreciative reading public. Greene is mentioned more than once for his persevering assistance and guidance and in one occasion, his condolence is also what cheers up Narayan during the darkest phase of his life and this book.
That phase is the death of his wife, Rajam - a catastrophe that throws a spanner in the writer's wheel of creativity and also, unexpectedly, leads him to the discovery of a life-altering revelation that also brings him back to writing and to life as well. The chapters after this significant episode in his life are devoted mostly to more of his struggles as a writer, his abortive and amusing attempts to start a journal called "Indian Thought", the humiliating terms and conditions of his novel "The Guide" being adapted into an expensive Hindi-language film (that earned so much popularity and also won so many awards due to its ballyhoo) and eventually some more charming memories spent with his daughter and grandchildren. And as in the rest of the book, these too are poignant, witty, warmly observed and lucidly written.
One suspects, however, an uncanny connection between Narayan and Greene. Both were boys with fathers who were headmasters, both were voracious readers in childhood and youth, both were terrified at childhood with strangers and shadows, both were also keen on travelling and savouring as many experiences as possible and both began their work of writing as journalists and both had even considered the profession of teaching, with the same level of apprehension. In the end, in the very final chapter, as Narayan brings his autobiography to a close, he muses that a book of this kind can only end on an abrupt note and this echoes wonderfully of the opening note to Greene's "A Sort of Life" - interestingly published only some years before "My Days". Perhaps being such close friends or kindred souls from the beginning, the two had influenced each other's imagination unconsciously as well. In either case, "My Days" is a simple, stirring yet profound little autobiography that helps us to know Mr. Narayan in an infinitely enjoyable way.