The first book that I tried in this Tamil+English genre was The Silent Raga by Ameen Merchant. It tried to pivot on the Tamil and Bombay connection, and to a certain degree it was alright, I guess, but it wasn't a mind opening experience, and neither was it flowery or a delight to read (from a plot or prose point of view).
There had been others, I later realized. For example: R. K. Narayan. His books were lucid and painted a barebones picture of southern India. His characters were affable and organically grew with the reader. But I craved a multisensory assault. Ameen Merchant wasn't that person.
So when I found As Sweet as Honey by Indira Ganesan, my interest was piquéd. Ganesan was as TamBram a name there was, and I knew instantly that this was yet another attempt to corner this sub-genre.
The single biggest gripe I had about the book was the name of the protagonist: Meterling
Let that sink in: Meterling.
Not something simple like Gita, Padma, Kavita etc. Neither something orchidaceous like Akhilandeshwari, Gajalakshmi, etc.
No! Meter-bloody-ling.
Why was she named Meterling? A vague one liner somewhere about the grandma explaining to the reader (a point of view of a child) why her son (reader's uncle) named his daughter (reader's aunt) Meterling. "Who knows? Maybe he was inspired by one of those German authors."
And that was that. The whole book read "My aunt Meterling was a lady..." "When she turned my aunt Meterling saw Godzilla.." "She jumped from the building and my aunt Meterling flew..." It ground in my head like sand in a gearbox and wore me down.
The next thing that annoyed me about the book was this haphazard point of view shift. I understand the need for many first time novelists to write from their own perspective as teenagers/children. It's the memories that are the most vivid. No harm there. But what's stupid is to not be able to switch from that perspective to another character's in a facile way. Either stick to the perspective or go for the omnipresent third person pov if you don't possess Roy's pov shifting gifts.
The book initially starts with the reader seeing through a little girl's perspective, the aunt of whom was the terribly named Meterling. Set on a lazy island of Pi (could not find this) near Tamil Nadu, it recreated some of the facets of a south Indian tropical maternal grandma's house with banana trees, mortar pestle, arranged marriages, etc. The reader has many cousins, as most of us did while growing up, and indulges in vapid dialogues to underscore her naïveté. All this while her attention is pointed to this incredibly tall Meterling. And without any concern for the struggling reader, the point of view abandons this kid and possesses Meterling's stratospheric head. Meterling's husband (some sickly British dude) dies on the wedding day (what a hook for an opening chapter). She discovers that she is pregnant a month or so later (if she wasn't Ganesan would have made a good writer for Kiarastomi's stupid flicks), falls in love with her husband's cousin, marries him, and emigrates to London.
So because there is some unwritten rule about colonial writers having to describe one Indian and one Western city in excruciating detail (They walked down Smith Avenue, turned right on Darling Street, bought soan papdi at the Brinkman's Tea and Toilet Supplies, and then ate them while watching the vultures swim in the nearby lava lake...or something) No concern that the reader is clueless about the addresses and street names of the whole world (unless it 10 Downing St, Baker St, or some such iconic place).
So the story, Meterling, and her baby move to London where they are shown to be uncomfortable and cold during winters. She makes random friends who are fascinated by her exotic height, skin color and other desi aspects (but never her stupid name apparently). She encounters a lesbian desi couple and her mind = blown. Her now-husband's family comes to visit and they have some issues because they can't believe two idiots in their family fell for the same honeytrap. Now one is dead, and the other is clueless why he is raising a bastard.
Indira Ganesan is too prude to write Meterling's lovemaking (or as I like to call it: sex) scenes with any serious fire, and thus meanders around it while still wanting to describe this character as a regular woman with needs. The few sentences are the literary equivalent of Bollywood's shots of two roses bouncing and touching each other in the wind to indicate that "stuff" happened.
The plot aches on, India fades away, and the characters are as transparent as ghosts (about that in a moment). But all of a sudden a sentence like this takes root like a wild fungus in a latrine: "The milkman knocked on the door, and my aunt Meterling opened the door..." Whose aunt who? Why did this stupid author's 9 year old point of view appear while she was still away on the island of Pi. It's this crappy pov execution that ruined the book.
Oh! There is a ghost. The dead husband starts showing up in her life, talking to her and generally freaking the crap out of her. Over time she accepts this (normal apparently) and communicates with him asking him why he is bothering her. And he gives some lame ass ghost-like response like "I want to see my son grow up." This stupid character starts haunting the reader for a few chapters.
Then for the climax the whole family returns to Pi where the reader is now all grown up, and is an NRI-return, presumably faking an accent, wearing an Abercombie tee, and bathed in perfume of Head and Shoulders. Meterling is a middle-aged woman, her son is some random twelve years old, and confused about his mother's side of the family. So he hops on a bus and goes on a ride, gets off at some stop, and finds himself lost. His father's ghost materializes and has a conversation with him, leads him home, and then disappears. He finally reappears in front of the gray haired Meterling who is probably standing in the backyard, her sari in a bunch around her knees, slamming wet tee shirts across a stone in some desperate need to connect to her Indian washerwoman's roots. The ghost is like, "Sup" and freaks her again. But this time he says, "I just wanted to see my son. kthxbai." And leaves. There is a sound of a door opening and closing and Meterling's cousin runs in to ask if everything is okay, and Meter-bloody-ling stares at infinity and says, "Yeah! Everything is okay."
Curtains.
If this appears to be a pretty shoddy rip off of Hamlet, it is.
(I paraphrased many of the above sentences from the book).
((Actually, all of them)).