Tales of Firozabad

by Rohinton Mistry

In these eleven intersecting stories, Rohinton Mistry opens our eyes and our hearts to the rich, complex patterns of life inside this Bombay apartment building. The occupants - from Jaakaylee, the ghost-seer, through Najamai, the only owner of a refrigerator in Firozsha Baag, to Rustomji the Curmudgeon and Kersi, the young boy whose life threads through the book - all express the tensions between the past and the present, between the old world and the new.

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, India, Indian Literature, Canada, Asia, Literature

Unknown Binding

First published January 1, 1987

About the author

Rohinton Mistry is an Indian-born Canadian writer. He has been the recipient of many awards including the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in 2012. Each of his first three novels was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. His novels to date have been set in India, told from the perspective of Parsis, and explore themes of family life, poverty, discrimination, and the corrupting influence of society.

Reviews

[Paul Bryant · Rating 3 out of 5]

The thing about Rohinton Mistry
That makes him unique in my reading history
Is that he wrote three long novels quite fast
Each one better than the last
And then in 2002 he stopped
As if these three just couldn’t be topped
And I have been waiting since then
I, the most patient of men
So finally I picked up these short stories
Alas, not a substitute for former glories
Not much of a feast, more a light snack
Rohinton Mistry – please come back!

[Cecily · Rating 4 out of 5]

A collection of stories set in a compound of three Mumbai apartment blocks in the 1980s, inhabited by middle-class Zoroastrian Parsi families and one Muslim man. Only three people have cars, fridges are rare, and vicarious prestige comes from one important man in each block: a “prominent priest” in block A, a chartered accountant in B, and a veterinarian in C.

Each story stands on its own, but characters drift in and out of each others' lives and homes. It is a vivid potpourri of sights, sounds, and smells, infused with joy, tragedy, generosity, envy, regret, satire, and humour, guided by a genuine fondness for the characters.

They are of all ages, varying affluence and ambitions, with different relationship status. However, very few girls feature: there are wives and widows, men everywhere, and boys playing out in the compound. But almost no mention of girls. The US and Canada are held up as far-off places of great opportunity: Mistry himself moved there in early adulthood, and these stories are inspired by memories of his childhood.

I first read The Ghost of Firozsha Baag, and enjoyed it so much I read the whole collection, so this is now a rolling review. It was Mistry’s first book, published in 1987.

1. Auspicious Occasion, 4*
This introduces the somewhat dilapidated blocks of flats, cheapskate trustees, and some of the inhabitants, focusing on devout Mehroo, who was married at 16 to a 36-year-old lawyer, now known as 'Rustomji the curmudgeon'. She's excited for an important Zorastrian festival and heads to the temple while her indifferent children are at school and her husband is not yet ready:
“He had decided long ago that this was no country for sorrow or compassion or pity.”
There is gentle satire, and nice and nasty aromas are important. A good cup of tea makes everything better.

2. One Sunday, 4*
Najamai lives alone (widowed a year after her fashionable daughters left to study abroad). When she locks up 17 cupboards and the flat to visit her sister for the day, the two neighbours who 'share' use of her fridge pop in, giving delightful, but unsentimental insight into their lives: the stresses, jealousies, boredom, and hierarchies. Teenager, Kersi, tends and oils his childhood cricket bat, which becomes an excellent metaphor. An incident occurs involving Kersi, a homeless odd-job man (Francis), and Tar Gully (a dodgy neighbourhood).

3. The Ghost of Firozsha Baag, 4*
From the start, I was charmed and captivated by Jacqueline’s rapid, stream-of-consciousness narration, full of wry observations in Indian English, with a smattering of words from local languages, and the odd cooking tip.

“Secret of good curry is not only what spices to put, but also what goes in first, what goes in second, and third, and so on. And never cook curry with lid on pot, always leave it open, stir it often, stir it to urge the flavour to come out.”

She’s a lonely outsider: a loyal servant of 49 years, devout Catholic, dark-skinned, and far from her family in Goa.
“Life as ayah means living close to floor. All work I do, I do on floors, like grinding masala, cutting vegetables, cleaning rice. Food also is eaten sitting on floor, after serving them at dining-table. And my bedding is rolled out at night in kitchen-passage, on floor.”

Nevertheless, she is snarky and pragmatic, rather than resentful or mean. She’s even resigned to the fact the family won’t get her name right, and call her Jaakaylee.


Image: Grinding masala by hand, as Jacqueline has to do because her bai (mistress) and seth (master) won’t buy a machine to do it. (Source)
“Busy eating, bai-seth are. Curry is hot, they are blowing whoosh-whoosh on their tongues but still eating, they love it hot.”

Returning after midnight mass in the small hours of Christmas Day, Jacqueline sees a “bhoot” (ghost) on the stairs - the first time since childhood. Word gets out, and she’s widely mocked, so she doesn’t tell anyone of subsequent… encounters. Her telling of this story is peppered with “Believe or don’t believe”, though she clearly wants to be believed.

The turn it takes towards the end was at first funny, and then sweet without being overly sentimental: a very unexpected connection that felt profound and believable.

Magically realistic fact and fiction
This particular story is apparently his only fantastical work. It’s based on a servant of a family he knew as a child who claimed she had seen a ghost.

But is it fantastical? Does Jacqueline really see a ghost? Or does she claim to have seen a ghost for other reasons (several possible motives and benefits are suggested)? Or is the ghost a metaphor for the near invisibility of lower-caste servants? Maybe it’s all of the above.


Image: Goan fish curry (Source)

“Yes, it is one thing I really enjoy, cooking my Goan curry, stirring and stirring, taking the aroma as it boils and cooks, stirring it again and again, watching it bubbling and steaming, stirring and stirring till it is ready to eat.”

Short story club
I read this in Black Water 2: More Tales of the Fantastic, by Alberto Manguel, from which I’m reading one story a week with The Short Story Club, starting 24 March 2025.

You can read this story HERE and in the group.

You can join the group here.

4. Condolence Visit, 5*
Heart-breaking, funny, and true, in gentle equilibrium, exposing the motives and consequences of those who visit the bereaved. Daulat and Minocher were childhood sweethearts; childless, but evidently devoted to each other. He recently died after an unpleasant illness, but with a brief recovery just before the end. Daulat wants to be alone with her memories, gazing into the oil lamp by her husband's bed, which she continues to burn beyond the prescribed four days.


Image: A modest oil lamp with a floating wick (Source)

She is reluctantly preparing for visitors “besieging her with sympathy and comfort” and likely to question her about Minocher's last days “tenderly but tenaciously”. She wishes she could record it once and just lend them a cassette tape, rather than go through it again and again. Meanwhile, experienced widow, Najamai, keeps pushing unwanted help and advice, as does her second-cousin, Moti.
“Daulat nodded, trying to look grateful for the sympathy Moti was so desperate to offer to fulfil her duties.”

Both express shock and disapproval at some of Daulat's choices, but she knows her mind and that of her husband, and mourns in the way that suits her. The symbolism of her moment of acceptance is perfect.

5. The Collectors, 4*
Dr Mody (a vet) and his wife have a teenage son, Pesi, whose shameful behaviour includes encouraging more biddable boys to stone cats.
“A perpetual grief entered to occupy the void left behind after the aspirations for his son were evicted.”

Mrs Mody blames her husband, especially when he takes a paternal interest in Jehangir: a shy, weedy, bookish boy, bullied by Pesi. Dr Mody shows Jehangir his stamp collection:
“The album on the desk, able to produce such changes in Dr Mody, now worked its magic through him upon the boy.”
A philatelic friendship blooms. How lovely.


Image: A Spanish stamp, picturing a woman in traditional dress (Source)

The narrative switches to Jehangir's school and takes a darker mood: a classmate sexually abuses him - and steals stamps for him in return . Time passes, and Mrs Mody's resentment of her husband increases. As foretold in the second paragraph of the story, her husband and Jehangir fall out.

It's a story of fate, disappointment, friendship, betrayal, and a double dose of karma: when Dr Mody dies, his wife gives Jehangir the stamp collection, but it doesn't reignite his passion, and they're destroyed by cockroaches and ants .

6. Of White Hairs and Cricket, 4*
The first first-person narrative is by cricket-fan, Kersi, from the second story. It's a painfully insightful look at the the conflicting emotions 14-year-olds face, but I don't think it works as a story, so only 4*.

Kersi and older brother, Percy, live with their parents and maternal grandmother. On Sundays, Kersi has to pluck “signposts of mortality” from his father's head, despite his grandmother's concerns that it's bad luck, and his own embarrassment and mild disgust. Kersi also ponders passing time by looking at lots of old calendars around his home and goes on reverie about his love of spinning things, starting with Mamaiji's spindle.

His father nurtured his love of cricket and used to take the boys of Firozsha Baag to the park early on Sundays to play, until he stopped doing so. He wants Kersi to go to the US because there's no future in India: he himself is always browsing the small ads for the job that will change the family's fortunes.

When the father of Viraf, Kersi's best friend, is seriously ill, Kersi doesn't know what to say, so slips out, without comforting his friend. Back home, he berates himself for his detachment from those he cares about.
“I wanted to cry for the way I had treated Viraf... I wanted to weep for myself, for not being able to hug Daddy when I wanted to, and for not ever saying thank you for cricket in the morning... and dreams; and for all the white hairs that I was powerless to stop.”

7. The Paying Guests, 5*
At 11am, for the last four weeks, Khorshebai has been sprinkling rotting food scraps and ripped newspaper on the veranda that she and her husband share with Kashmira, Boman and their two small children.
“Traces of prance and glee crept into her step; she became a little girl indulging in forbidden fun.”

It's puzzling: the backstory is gradually revealed, full of symbolism (especially birds, including a dead parrot, Pestonji), gently exploring marital and mental health issues, social and community obligation, and the inadequacy of courts:
“There are laws to protect the poor... and laws to protect the rich. But middle-class people like us get the bamboo, all the way.”

The tragi-comic denouement is an authorial triumph.

8. Squatter, 3*
Ironically, a story about a captivating storyteller is the weakest one for me. Nariman drives a 50-year-old Mercedes to and from the library where he works and likes to share snippets of erudition. When the mood takes him, he tells stories to the boys of the Baag, who hang on his every word, and know his style: when they should ask questions, and when remain silent. Bookish Jehangir is especially appreciative:
“Unpredictability was the brush he used to paint his tales with, and ambiguity the palette he mixed his colours in.”

Nariman tells two stories, unrelated to each other: one about Savukshaw, the best cricketer ever (who later has huge success at other things), and the other about Sarosh, who emigrated to Canada, but vowed to return to if he hadn't become fully Canadian after ten years. Cricket and lavatorial themes are not my thing, but I appreciate that Nariman knew his audience.

9. Lend Me Your Light, 4*
Another first-person account by Kersi, focusing on his emigration to Toronto, and thereby cementing the idea that Kersi is at least loosely based on Mistry himself.

In school, his older brother's best friend was Jamshed, whose lunch was delivered by his family chauffer, not one of the tiffin-wallahs. Raised in an air-conditioned “collection of hyphenated lavishness”, he moves to New York and becomes more snobbish and materialistic, while Percy chooses to work for a rural charity in India.

Kersi's values and choices are somewhere between the other two. When he returns to Bombay after two years in Toronto, he feels like a tourist and is shocked at how dirty it seems, but he is at least sadly aware of the fact - unlike Jamshed's “soul-sapping presence”, which he avoids.
“What would it take, I wondered, to light the lantern in his soul?”

Emigration is a complex experience, and whatever the benefits, perhaps there is always a degree of loss, whether acknowledged or not.

10. Exercisers, 3*
Jehangir is now 19 and in his third year at university, living at home, with an 8pm curfew. He's still bookish, shy, and lonely, with core memories of poverty, not experienced by many of his fellow students. After being at a boys' school, he enjoys the presence of girls and women (lusting after them when he can look up their skirts on the stairs, and undressing the few female staff with his eyes), but is wary of anything more for the first two years.

But he also enjoys covertly watching the sweaty, bulging muscles of the men who go to the children's playground at night and use the equipment as a free gym. He envies their camaraderie, too.

The other thread is his parents taking him by train to consult Bhagwan Baba about Jehangir's future:
“The heat began to strengthen rapidly now, seeming to feed on itself, growing more oppressive with every breath. From metal straps hung the standees, listless, upraised arms revealing identical damp patches under sleeves of shirts and blouses. Overhead, the fans turned ineffectively, whirring and rattling, their blades labouring with feeble rotations, trying to chop the air thick with heat and odour, scattering it around uselessly in the compartment... Hanging from the straps like drowsy trapeze artists... Occasionally a new set of people entered... the contagion of lethargy quickly subdued them. They fell silent under the spell of the whirring fans... Surrendering to the torridity of the air and the hypnotic drone of the fans.”

Image: A crowded carriage, Mumbai in the 1980s (Source)

Jehangir is sceptical and embarrassed, and the Bhagwan is unusually cryptic.

11. Swimming Lessons, 4*
This makes it plain that Kersi is based on Mistry. Kersi is a young man, living in a Toronto apartment block, with some similarities to the Baag, including an old man in a wheelchair who reminds him of his late grandfather.

Ironically, Kersi's narrations are the weakest in this collection, and his priapic obsession, along with striving to glimpse the curves, underwear, and pubes of women are boring, and become more icky the older he gets. He ponders on cause and effect and tries to learn to swim.He says, “water imagery in my life is recurring”, but I hadn't noticed.

However, his narrative is interspersed with glimpses of his parents, and how they respond to his frustratingly brief and uninformative letters.
“Ten thousand miles away there was nothing she could do but write a letter and hope for the best.”
Finally, this story frames itself when his parents receive a copy of his first book (this one), although they didn't even know he was writing. Their thoughts about how he's adapted his childhood memories for material are poignant, nuanced, and believable. That pushed it from 3* to 4*.

[Praj · Rating 5 out of 5]

It is said that when the British left India, they gifted their mannerism to the Parsis. I do not know the authenticity of such whimsical statements, although I have never seen any community with such great degree of clear-cut decorum. Parsi is a Persian Zoroastrian ethnic community; a minority in the Indian sub-continent. In a religion conscious environment Parsis are the most –mild-mannered and according to my adolescent psyche aromatic individuals. As a child my pleasant memories of experiencing Parsi culture were those pleasant Sundays spent with an elderly neighbor. Dhun Aunty, as we would address her, would serve our hungry mouths with the most delectable savory dishes of meat and eggs. The spicy curries and rice with caramelized onions were devoured amid the lingering aroma of sandalwood and eau de cologne. Bowls of warm bread pudding with afternoon tea while laughing your guts outs to the antics of Laurel and Hardy would see an end to a wonderful soiree. It is where I learned to differentiate between Mozart’s Symphony. 40 and ‘The Blue Danube’ (although I’m still a novice to ‘C’ major or ‘G Minor identification) and browsed Wren & Martin before it became mandatory in school. Things have drastically changed now with increase in western urbanization and vast immigration to foreign lands, yet the authenticity of the culture can be experienced in certain residential colonies strictly built for the respected community.

Firoza Baag is one such residential colony adorned by a three apartment buildings and filled with the quirkiest and amusing occupants one can come across. The 11 short stories brim with incidents that flatter the humdrum lives of its occupants or events taking place at a lazy hour that either might be life-changing or may just fade away into a speck of wistfulness. The stories trickle from hilarity to seriousness of bigotry and communalism that become a major part of a sub-culture. Subtle racism, cultural labeling and the insecurities prevailing over other influential communities can be seen throughout the book. This is quite a norm here in India where preference for “fair” skin tones and understated prejudices seep into daily life. The multifarious patterns of Bombay and its people through the lives of one community are comparable to listening to ‘Moonlight Sonata’ at a crowded train station. The concluding story “Swimming Lessons” sums up the entirety of this book as it juxtaposes facts and fictions and illuminates the brilliance of a writer called Rohinton Mistry.

Words fail me when it comes to Mistry’s scintillating mosaic of inconsequential lives that seem to get lost in the crowd. He captures the nitty-gritty of one of the strictest religious community in Bombay through an array of lucid emotions and gentle compassion. Through his books I breathe the sweet air of my nostalgia and observe the frowning faces of strangers wondering the tale behind the wrinkle of their middling life. Rohinton Mistry, which is why I love your words so very much.

[Garima · Rating 5 out of 5]

  "Patterns of life are selfish and unforgiving."

Reading this book was akin to watching Basu Chatterjee’s movie Khatta Meetha (sour and sweet) and just like the movie’s title, the Tales from Firozsha Baag are laced with a bittersweet taste, hence presenting us with a delectable feast to be savored and cherished for a long time. Rohinton Mistry is a reader’s writer and gives us a fiction that makes its course through ‘reality’ as its central theme, which further substantiate the fact about Mistry’s deep understanding and impeccable observation of everyday life.

It’s a collection of eleven interconnected short stories taking place over a period of time in Firozsha Baag Building, Bombay (now Mumbai ) having majority of residents from Parsi community and encapsulates the experience of one or more characters per story with exploration of recurring themes like alienation, escapism, coming of age, facing the challenges of migrant life, cultural diversity and coming to terms with the cycle of life & death, to name a few.

The book starts out with tracing the happenings of a single day in the life of a Parsi Couple, Rustomji & Mehroo in ‘Auspicious Occasion’ and how on occasion of Mehroo’s birthday, various uncalled events occurred with Rustom’s incessant badgering about leaked toilets, his disturbed bowel movements to the decayed apartment building and his permanent annoyance with his neighbors which earned him the title of ‘Rustomji- The curmudgeon’. Rustomji carries a sense of superiority in his ways but in no time comes to the realization of his standing w/r/t others in a rather ironic way.

One of my favorite stories ‘The Ghost of Firozsha Baag’ is narrated from the point of view of a Catholic house maid, Jacqueline, who hails from Goa but dwells in Bombay for almost 49 years but still a sense of being an ‘outsider’ lurks around her.

Never will I forget that first day in Bombay. I just stood in one place, not knowing what to do, till Joseph Uncle saw me. Now it has been forty-nine years in this house as ayah, believe or don’t believe. Forty-nine years in Firozsha Baag’s B Block and they still don’t say my name right. Is it so difficult to say Jacqueline? But they always say Jaakaylee. Or worse, Jaakayl.

The narration is carried out by using vernacular style in order to capture Jacqueline’s true mannerism, wherein she put across her opinions about the couple she works for and how everybody mispronounces her name, therefore snatching away an important aspect of her being. This focus on language can also be attributed to Mistry’s commentary on usage of English language in post-colonial India in general and cosmopolitan nature of Bombay city, in particular.

‘Condolence Visit’ is the best of the lot. A story about a recently widowed, Minocher Mirza, which examines her ordeal of carrying out various post death rituals for her late husband and her apprehension about handling all the visits by neighbors and relatives for condolence purpose, only the thought of which irritates her to no extent. Mistry skillfully captured Minocher’s emotional turmoil here and her strong persona is truly reflected when she takes a stand (in her own modest fashion) against the artificial world around her which is bound by age-old customs and traditions but she let a fact established that she has every right to live life on her own terms, just like she did when her husband was alive.

In the same way, ‘Exercisers’ treads its path through the teenage mind of Jehangir Bulsara, wherein the hard facts about life are causing unforeseen twists and turns in his life where he needs to make certain choices regarding his parents, the love of his life but most importantly he needs to find answers about his true self, his sexuality and the extent of control he can or should exercise on his life.

On the surface, these stories might appear simple and grounded, but when approached with a sense of continuity, the true brilliance of Mistry’s talent as story teller shines through. The hold he has on his characters and the subsequent events that take place in their lives along with the treatment he gives to them by employing metaphoric and ironic elements in right proportions, especially given the short story format, is what makes him a great writer. The final story ‘swimming lessons’ came as a pleasant surprise with its metafictional narrative, which although is not very experimental but the ease with which Mistry adapted this technique seems like a natural climax to the whole collection.

Moreover, this book carries an autobiographical element about Rohinton’s life in Bombay and later his migration to Canada, where he took along a whole bundle of memories which were waiting to find a place on paper, which they did and it’s pretty easy to identify that he remained true in telling about the various stories that born out of his life and the lives connected to him. A special mention about the objectivity he maintained throughout while describing the Parsi lifestyle. Being a Parsi himself, he could have exerted some prejudice but I found none in view. He is what we call a reliable narrator. This book is highly recommended, especially for those who feel that his other books are loaded with depressing stuff. I felt a deep connection with almost everything this book had to offer for obvious reasons, but at a basic level, it definitely has the ability to reach out the hearts of everyone who finds pleasure in simple things about life.

[zed · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rohinton Mistry’s A fine Balance is without the doubt the most depressing book I have ever read, but it was also hard not to admire the very good writing and the ability to tell the story exceptionally well.
This one, Tales from Firozaha Baag, is also very well written but also has the addition of humour as well as life events such as disappointments, fears and hopes. In a Bombay apartment block we are told 11 interconnected stories of the majority Parsee inhabitants within, how they lived, how they died and everything in-between.

It would be an understatement to say that I have enjoyed this read, and to use the old cliché, I have not been able to put it down. What I found profoundly superb was that as the 11 tales were told they got stronger and stronger and made one realise that the earlier stories had a part to play in the book as a whole. The interconnectedness of a tribe for good or for bad or for just indifference are played out by the inhabitants of the apartment block, where we get an initial death via murder through to a final start of a new life as a migrant with all the issues that go with that.
A triumph in style and substance by Rohinton Mistry and I will tuck this one away to reread.

Highly recommended.

[Bharath · Rating 4 out of 5]

‘A Fine Balance’ by Rohinton Misty is among my top 25 reads of all time. I also liked ‘Family Matters’ and ‘Such a Long Journey’. This one does not quite match up to the three books I have referred, but is still a nice little roundup of decent stories.

All the short stories are set around Firozsha Baag, a predominantly Parsi complex, and its inhabitants. The first story ‘Auspicious Occasion’ gets the book off to a good start – the writing is trademark Rohinton Mistry. Rustomji is a cranky man, who does not attend to any of the repairs in the flat or contribute to the external upkeep as he believes the trust is responsible for it. His wife Mehroo is patient with him, though she does try to nudge him along to be more practical. They are to visit the Fire Temple on Behram roje, but it is not a smooth ride.

There are 10 other stories in the book and the ones I liked the most are – ‘The Collectors’ where Dr Mody and a young boy Jehangir share a common interest in collecting stamps, ‘The Paying Guests’ where the owners turn to legal action to get their flat vacated, ‘Exercisers’ as Jehangir tries his best to follow his parents’ expectations. All the stories are easy to read.

Each of the stories provide prominence to different characters though many appear in multiple stories. The punch which his other books delivered though, does not quite come through in many of the stories in this book. One of the defining features of Mistry’s writing is the raw & unrelenting realism, quite unlike any author I have read. The stories in this book do carry that, but at times it descends into crudity and could have been better.

A book well worth the read if you like his writing. If you have not read any of his books, I would say - start with the others I have mentioned at the start of the review.

My rating: 3.5 / 5.

[Daren · Rating 3 out of 5]

Tales from Firozsha Baag is just that. Eleven stories, separate but interconnected and all concerning residents of Firozsha Baag, a run down middle class apartment complex in Bombay in the 80s. The residents are mostly Parsis, following the Zoroastrian religion, thus the stories involve the fire temple, prayers and practices unique to this community. It was also this authors debut publication, in 1987.

Each of the eleven chapters revolves around a person who lives on one of the three blocks, and the neighbours regularly feature so as each new character is introduced the reader sees them first from another perspective, and then their own. The stories are as varied as the characters - relationship issues, neighbour squabbles, the troubles of a lonely boy, immigrant tales, etc. The characters are well painted and interesting, and often set up a strong contrast to each other. Rustomji -the-curmudgeon, Dr Mody & Nariman Hansotia, Najami & Kashmira, Jehangir & Kersi.

Most of the eleven stories I found very good, there were a few which went on a bit long, but on the whole pretty enjoyable. There are more than likely autobiographical strains running through these stories with the author being Parsi, and also an emigrant to Canada. The final chapter makes the reader wonder all the more about character's parallels with Mistry himself.

3.5 stars rounded down.

[Cheryl · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Old bai took English words and made them Parsi words. Easy chair was igeechur, French beans was ferach beech, and Jacqueline became Jakaylee. Later I found out that all old Parsis did this, it was like they made their own private language.

I'll follow this language any day.

In these stories Firozsha Baag's language is pronounced in sharp, italicized, abbreviated tunes of the kind of laughter and pain that follows everyday life, of the fabric of life within a community, of the nuances of a people and culture, of those moments that may seem simple, and yet they deeply and meaningfully define a way of living.

Of White Hairs and Crickets -- one of my favorite stories in this book. As a young boy tweezes the grays out of his father's head daily, he thinks this is a meaningless and cruel task, until he is introduced to his friend's dying father and he realizes that if this is how he keeps his father younger and healthier looking, he'll never abandon his task again. This seemingly simple infusion of themes is one of a few things that lure; this stark storytelling with thematic layers that educate.

Lend Me Your Light is perhaps one of the most revelatory and layered stories, where characters stand in for cultures and a story centers around global interplay, where socialism and capitalism are in combat, where former best friends represent social classes and mindsets, where the need for integrity and respect for mankind is illuminated. This is one I longed to see become a novel.

I love reading great stories that inform, and this collection's riveting dialogue and paced storytelling transported me to a place of narrative authenticity that I haven't traveled to in while. Sure, the nuanced subtleties one expects in short stories didn't appear often, and the stories appear novelistic at times, with characters appearing across stories even without forwarding the plots; however, Mistry does for his community what Armah in The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born does for his, that is he brings stories about the honest, everyday life of people that sometimes seems dull, and he makes the world interested.

[notgettingenough · Rating 4 out of 5]

A paired look at Rohinton Mistry Tales from Firozsha Baag and Michael Chabon Werewolves in Their Youth.

I chanced upon these back to back, both short story collections, both by writers in their working youth – Mistry’s first book and an early one for Chabon. Both as much as anything nostalgic, bittersweet recollections of childhood, the middle class childhoods of their own existences.

Chabon: laugh out loud funny – you know…so that it gets almost irritating for those who are suffering through your pleasure. They start sounding snarky when they say they must read it too. The guy’s brilliant, this collection is splendid.

Mistry: the blurb says ‘extremely funny’. But the only good thing about the shit of his world – and I mean that literally, the shit on the street, the upstairs lavatory that leaks onto your head as you sit on the toilet, the filth, the water supply turned off at 6am because the city is without again, the monsoonal water running down the inside of your house – the good thing about it is that this is all happening to middle class educated people, the same ones who, had they lived in Chabon’s childhood, would have been clean and without want. This life he writes of is the relatively privileged existence one can have in India, that’s what I mean by ‘good’. I mean, there is a worse life. I couldn’t imagine anything less hilarious. I could not imagine anything, if it comes to that, less ‘compassionate’ – another promise of the blurb. I don’t know that Mistry is ever the victim of that sentiment, but certainly not in this book.

rest here: https://alittleteaalittlechat.wordpre...

[Himanshu · Rating 5 out of 5]

"World can be a bewildering place,and dreams and ambitions are often paths to the most pernicious of traps"

In the early decades of the post-independent India, Mistry here tells us about the lives and idiosyncrasies of certain residents in an apartment complex in Bombay. But, before I say any further, let me bore you with something I have to say:

My childhood was spent and cherished in a mohalla(colony, not an apartment complex) in a small city. There was no Parsi family in our neighborhood. The time was three or four decades after of what this book pertains to. YET, while reading these tales, I was filled with a bittersweet air of nostalgia. The smell of the school's lunch area, the nagging of a curmudgeon neighbor, the omnipresence of a meddling 'aunty', the gang of children and a pariah child, all seemed to be lived-in.

Having read A Fine Balance, I was prepared to cherish the excellent narration of the genius that Mistry is. But, I was again awestruck by this little gem because even the wonted lives of these residents penetrated and penetrated deep. There is a subtle sarcasm and a profound ponderance on some of the biggest social and cultural issues of all time: cultural and religious superstitions, caste and race bigotry, covetous western influences and corruption.

The luster of this book is that all the 11 stories are interweaved into one piece of cloth, the characters in the previous chapters are not forgotten or misplaced. The last chapter especially is a gem wherein Mistry more or less concludes all the stories and gives the reader an autobiographical essence.

Rohinton Mistry, you are a gem.

[Gorab · Rating 4 out of 5]

4+
Read these 11 stories over a couple of weeks and it was a blissful experience!

A great collection of short stories, because:
1. They are not very short (30-40 pages each)
2. Characters criss cross in each others stories.
So in effect, felt this was a good novel impersonating as short stories.

Mistry's story-telling techniques are at an altogether different level.
This one focuses on human emotions and observations from middle class Parsi families living in a building called Firozsha Baag.

This was my second book (first was AFB), and I've become a fan of the author.
Highly recommended.

[Paul · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a collection of short stories based around an apartment complex in Bombay occupied mostly by members of the Parsi community. The stories stand alone but are closely intertwined and set over a period of years, so children in the earlier stories are seen as adults later. Mistry picks out the idiosyncrasies and indelicacies of daily life; foibles and habits are laid bare. Neighbours fall out and get along. Birth and death take their place, faith, superstition and scepticism also. Ordinary life and its processes are laid bare with all its hopes and fears. This could have been banal, but was in fact brilliant with real compassion for the extraordinary ordinary people populating its pages. The nature of change, decay and aging are outlined in touching and thought provoking ways. Moving comic and thoroughly enjoyable.

[Jigar Brahmbhatt · Rating 4 out of 5]

Like John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row and V. S. Naipaul’s Miguel Street, Rohinton Mistry’s Tales from Firozsha Baag is a book about a particular time and place. The novelist’s dilemma to capture a people in a certain milieu can find a possible solution in this setup, to have all the characters live in a neighbourhood. So you can focus on one at the time, structure events in one story that can cross over to another with ease, create scenarios that though unique in their execution stay connected with the overall fabric of the narrative by the unchanging setting, resulting in an effect neater than but not different from a novel with similar goals, in which a singular conflict has the danger of getting exhausted by being carried along with little newness from one chapter to another.

What a skilled writer like Rohinton Mistry can achieve with such a luxury is treat each character like an island, so that no character is present in the tableaux just to provide a context or act as a punching bag for the main character. It is just that the focus is on A right now in one story, but should we shift the focus a little bit in another story, B can be given equal possibilities for piety, glee, or pathos – qualities that are the hallmark of time - tested storytelling.

There is hardly anything in the name of plot in these tales. What works are the everyday colours, the going-ons of a middle class Indian life, and mild, unhurried events that help Mistry keep the reader thoroughly invested, while he dives into the lives of the Parsi folks, his narratives ranging from inner monologue to richly detailed free indirect style to colloquial first-person. The deceptive simplicity of the narrative comes from observation and being honest to the content.

There are episodes of quarrel-some neighbours; of women hastily going through the daily chores during festival times, making sure their husbands have had enough tea to generate a bowel movement so that they can get ready on time; a local help who is annoyed by and secretly enjoys when a ghost wraps its body around her every night; of departures and difficulties with commodes.

The world building is so total, every spatial detail so lovingly described – the shades in the backyards where the children play, the WCs that are always leaking, the corridor near the stairs where the maid sleeps at night, the empty dwelling after a recent death where a candle has to be kept burning – one can simply step inside and live in this book.

The goal here is no less than that of Balzac, who attempted to comprehend the whole of contemporary society in a series of twelve volumes, only that Mistry’s endeavour is an example of economic grace and gleaming prose. People spend their days doing what they do in Firozsha Baag, their minor day to day comedies accumulate as months turn into years only to appear tragic in sum and effect, as with most of our lives. Because the way you spend your day is the way you spend your life, the stories end up capturing a microcosm of the banal, the un-heroic, the everyday, which rings with faint echoes of the universal when the reading is done with, so that later when you recline on your bed trying to sleep or take that ride through the public bus on a busy street, you remember observations such as these, placed by Mistry at correct moments in the narrative: “Undisturbed for years, the iron trunk had rusted peacefully under the bed.”

I have quoted the above from a story titled “The collectors”. Though “Swimming Lessons” is a much analogized story from the collection, I was particularly charmed by the former. I grew up in a small town in Gujarat, and though the days passed without much complain and holidays were spent playing cricket or going on long cycle rides in empty fields, a sense of pleasant boredom comes to me when I think of those childhood days, something I cannot put my finger on, because what is childhood if not a play of selective memory. It is this feeling the story made me relive.

More so because I fondly remember a neighbour whom I called Jay Uncle for the lack of a better address, whom I will forever be indebted to for introducing me to books. He would give me paperback whodunits to read, and had patience enough to explain things I did not understand at that age. In Mistry’s story, the “Bulsara boy” – who sat silent and brooding, every evening, watching the others at play – was treated a little unfairly by other kids who found him odd, but to Mr. Mody, a neighbour of particular standing in the building, the boy was “the observer of C block”. Their unlikely friendship centres around the meetings that take place at Mr. Mody’s house every Sunday morning. Off course, I will not rob the first time readers of the quiet narrative delights of the story by giving more details, but will just mention that the best kind of gift a human being can give to another, a hobby, is the focus of the story, and I couldn’t help think of Jay Uncle as I finished reading it.

In each story, you can smell and taste the setting. And as the backdrop is Bombay itself, always silent, not willing to interfere or prove its importance like in the work of lesser Indian writers, but just being there and lending firm detail to the whole structure. I am amused that good books like this can be produced that can enrich both the heart and the mind.

[Algernon · Rating 5 out of 5]

It is better to live in want among your family and your friends, who love you and care for you, than to be unhappy surrounded my vacuum cleaners and dish-washers and big shiny motor cars.

Poverty and the lack of of opportunity sends the narrator to a distant promised land (Canada) but his heart remains with his Parsi family and their colourful neighbors living in a rundown Mumbai tenement named Firozsa Baag. Despite being episodic in presentation and jumping from one point of view to another, there is a consistency and a continuity to the collection that makes me treat it as a whole and complete novel instead of a casual selection of short stories. And despite the strong ethnic flavour and local colour, I found a universal truth in the dignity, the humour, the quiet endurance, the dreams and the personal dramas of the tenement inhabitants that are not so different from those of the people I grew up with on my own street. For the evident love of the author towards his people and his home, for the joy of life even in the most trying circumstances, the ability to laugh at one’s misfortune and still look with hope towards the future, I would place this debut book by Rohinton Mistry on the same high esteem shelf I hold for the stories of Tortilla Flat or Cannery Row by Steinbeck, for the slums of London as described by Dickens or for the exuberant images of Fellini in Amarcord or I Vitelloni, for Kurosawa’s poetic rendering of a Tokyo slum in Do’Des Ka Den. Big names here, but I have no hesitation in adding Mistry to the list. He has a fine eye for detail, a wicked sense of humour, an elegant turn of phrase and what I believe an unpretentious and honest approach to the subject. I feel he speaks from experience, that he describes actual people he grew up with and not some imaginary characters engaged in fictional plots. Of course, every good writer tweaks and embelishes the truth to make it more presentable to the larger public, but I repeat myself, I feel like I have known these Firozsa Baag people all my life, in one disguise or another.

Nothing is certain in life. Only births, marriage and death.

The Parsi community puts great emphasis on preserving their traditional way of life, resisting the lure of a global culture that effaces identity and tries to turn us into zombie-like consummers of mass produced food, politics, music or movies, even of dreams of owning more products. Many of the episodes in the book look at the transition between the rigid older generation and the kids preparing to escape into the larger world. The Parsis are not exactly destitute, they belong more to the middle class and, from what I’ve read, they have the highest rate of literacy in all India. They define themselves more in terms of Zoroastrian religion than their Persian ethnic origins. And their population is dwindling due to low birth rates and sustained immigration. From this perspective, it can be said of Rohinton Mistry that he attempts to preserve his ancestral identity and reaffirm his beliefs before the whole Parsi culture is absorbed into the larger melting pot of a global uniformity. The journey was well worth it for me , adding new layers of information about this group of people after first meeting them in the works of John Irving (A Son of the Circus) or Salman Rushdie (Midnight Children).

Remind him he is a Zoroastrian: manashni, gavashni, kunashni, better write the translation also: good thoughts, good words, good deeds.

All very fine in theory, but in practice, the people of Firozsha Baag do sometimes err in the practice of their religious tenets, often with hilarious results. The tone is set in the first episode, as we get to meet Rustomji the Curmudgeon, preparing for a feast day only to be brought up short by dripping toilet tanks or tomatoes splashing on his impeccably white shirt. Later we learn about a Goan lady seeing ghosts, about the difficulties of evicting paying tenants from a sublet room and about the greatest cricket player from India. Most of the humour is earthy and toilet oriented, something I have also noticed with Rushdie, but the major tonality of the book is more sombre and melancholic. People grow old, children leave never to return, changes are often for the worst, good jobs are hard to find and death is always waiting for its cue in the wings to snatch a loved one away.

I wanted to cry for the way I have treated Viraf, and for his sick father with the long, cold needle in his arm and his rasping breath, for Mamaji and her tired, darkened eyes spinning thread for our kustis, and for Mummy growing old in the dingy kitchen smelling of kerosene, where the Primus roared and her dreams were extinguished; I wanted to weep for myself, for not being able to hug Daddy when I wanted to, and for not ever saying thank you for cricket in the morning, and pigeons and bycicles and dreams; and for all the white hairs that I was powerless to stop.

My favorite episode is probably the saddest of them all : Condolence Visit , about the strength of the marriage wovs and dealing with the loss of the loved one, about annoying neighbors who refuse to keep away and about the strength to live on, illustrated by a traditional marriage pugree ( an intricate type of head covering for the man). Every flat of Firozsha Baag has its history, its secret, its pain. Sometimes sharing is important to ease the burden, other times memories are too precious to be scattered away and will be selfishly guarded from intruders:

Daulat shut the door and withdrew into her flat. Into the silence of the flat. Where moments of life past and forgotten, moments lost, misplaced, hidden away, were all waiting to be remembered.

A recurring theme is the passing of tradition from one generation to the next. In The Collector Dr. Mody despairs of his own son getting interested in his passions and teaches a young boy from the court about stamp collecting. Jehangir watched, and listened to the euphonious voice hinting at wondrous things and promises of dreams.

In Squatter Nariman the storyteller enchants his young audience of wild boys with tall tales of cricket and hunting, slipping in one about an immigrant boy who returns home after a failed attempt to live in Canada (with yet another vivacious example of toilet humour). In Exercises parents impose a curfew on Jehangir falling for the first time in love and try to convince him the girl is not suitable by taking him to a guru outside of town.

With all the subtlety of a sixteenth-century morality play, a crowd clawed its way into a local train. All the players were there: Fate and Reality, and the latter’s offspring, the New Reality, and also Poverty and Hunger, Virtue and Vice, Apathy and Corruption.

The reader might be tempted to be discouraged by these failed attempts to preserve the past in a fast changing reality, but as the children grow up some wisdom and respect for their elders and their values find their ways into their hearts. I think this is illustrated by the wonderful quote selected by the author for one of the later stories. It’s about children immigrating away from Firozsha Baag, about three young men – one who tries to live in both worlds, one who despises his origins and criticizes everything about his home, and one who remains and fights poverty and corruption:

... your lights are all lit then where do you go with your lamp? My house is all dark and lonesome – lend me your light. (from Gitanjali)

The Parsi need their sons and daughters to remember where they come from and to keep the flames burning bright for future generations. The closing episode is the logical conclusion and probably the most autobiographic in the book. Swimming Lessons describes a Canadian tenement who gives shelter to old men abandoned by their children, to elderly spinsters on the prowl, to new immigrants from the Balkans and to a homesick Parsi boy. Firozsha Baag may have a dwindling population, but Jehangir is carrying its essence with him as he learns to live in his new country, reading the letters from home and observing his new neighbors. The tale continues in a new disguise.

The art of swimming has been trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. The devil was the money, always scarce, and kept the private swimming clubs out of reach; the deep blue sea of Chaupatty beach was grey and murky with garbage, too filthy to swim in.

As a metaphor for India and the social impediments of living there, the image works its purpose in explaining the exile. The rest of the story explains though that India is also the place Jehangir draws his strength from.

I will definitely be interested to read more from Rohinton Mistry.

[Connie G · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read the story "The Ghost of Firozsha Baag" from this collection of short stories by Rohinton Mistry. It's set in an apartment complex in Bombay (Mumbai), India where most of the residents are Parsi. The narrator is Jaakaylee, a darker-skinned Goan Christian older woman who started working as an ayah (domestic helper) when she was a poor teenage girl.

While this is a humorous ghost story, Jaakaylee's narration also tells about the racism, the economic disparity, and cultural differences between the Parsi and the Goan. Even though Jaakaylee has worked for the affluent family for forty-nine years, she still sleeps on the floor, and sits on the floor to grind the spices. Sometimes Jaakaylee does not want the ghost to visit, and other times he provides some companionship. There is finally a sense of connection between the wealthy wife and Jaakaylee when the employer thinks she saw the ghost too. I liked Rohinton Mistry's writing which had an easy conversational tone as Jaakaylee told her anecdotes.

[Selva · Rating 4 out of 5]

A fine collection (of stories)...the volume is informed by a tone of gentle compassion for seemingly insignificant lives.

Sounds very refined right? :) It is from the NY Times given on the back cover. But the point is I totally agree with the statement, so used it verbatim.
Firozsha Baag is an apartment building in early 1980s Bombay occupied by Parsi people. And this is a collection of loosely interconnected stories about its people.
'Poignant' is the word that comes to my mind when I think of most of the stories. But this book is lighter, I mean not too much tinged in sadness as Rohinton Mistry's other books like Family Matters and A Fine Balance. Stories didn't come across as dated either.
Rating: 4.5 stars

[Yoana · Rating 3 out of 5]

You can tell this is a debut. The collection is uneven, the author seems unsure - some stories don't have a clear direction, others explain too much (crime in the short genre IMO), as if anxious to not be misunderstood; the language is excessively rich, as if to make sure the reader knows this is literary fiction.

Even so, most stories are told from a deep need for storytelling - they're sincere, unafraid to tackle the humongous topic of the human condition and at times genuinely moving or reflective. There's a lot of comedy in these pages, but it's rather grim - like in A Fine Balance, Mistry looks misery unflinchingly in the eye, only this time it's mostly poverty of spirit rather than physical want he's dissecting. Much like the parents that are interwoven curiously into the last story - both a part of it and explicitly marked as being outside of it - you can't really tell how the author feels about this Parsi community or the memories of his childhood. If we go with his father's theory on writing, expressed in (or from the edges of) the last story, perhaps he started writing before he had achieved sufficient artistic distance. The emotional entanglement is tangible through the dispassionate tone, but not easy to parse.

One thing that irritated me through all the stories was how women (except for mothers) existed in a constant state of being ogled and used for sexual gratification by the male characters, including by the one who's clearly the author's younger self - in one story he even sniffs his neighbours' underwear and masturbates on it wile they're away. And it's all just passing remarks, not really a plot element or symbol or anything of artistic purpose, like it's just how things are generally, without any judgement or comment. In one story, there is a whole page dedicated to the way stray pubic hairs dance around the wearer's crotch while she's floating in the pool; in the same story he ogles some women while they're sun bathing and when later he sees they're older, he calls them "the two disappointments"; when one of them seems to show interest in him, she becomes a "horny old cow". This reminded me in a very unpleasant way of this particular experience of my time in India - being constantly ogled, stalked and groped. And it really bugged me that it was described so uncritically here, like it's harmless and normal. It isn't.

[Inderjit Sanghera · Rating 5 out of 5]

Mistry explores the mysteries of Firozsha Baag, a small apartment in Bombay home to a Parsi community. The tapestry which Mistry weaves around the apartment is rich and deep; from the superficially supercilious Jehangir, to the jocose Dr Mody and his mischievous son Pesi, or the protagonist who is intermittently haunted by a ghost. Indeed Mistry’s stories act as more than just a microcosm of India’s Parsi community, instead they are symbolic of India itself; from the corrupt money lenders who murder the idealistic Navjeet for seeking to free others from their shackles, to the love story between Jehangir and Behroze, whose relationship is doomed to failure due to the interjections of and over-bearing mother and the vague proclamations of a quack holy man. Indeed, Mistry’s greatest power is his ability to capture the essence of these characters in the smallest details, which also allows him to create a convincing world and set of characters around the small apartment block, as the reader gradually becomes engrossed in their interweaving lives and the name drops of otherwhich frequently occur.

Indeed if any character could be said to represent Mistry, outside of the lonely emigre writer who clearly act as a stand in for him, it would be the enigmatic wordsmith Nariman, whose entertaining if at times exaggerated stories capture Mistry’s wilder and more whimsical literary instincts. This is balanced by the aforementioned stand-in for Mistry, whose experiences in Canada are interwoven in the stories; his sobriety, cynicism and feeling of not belonging causing him to explore his past and recreate the world of his youth, centred around a nondescript apartment block in Bombay. In many ways ‘the nondescript coalesced with the magical’ would be an apt way of describing Mistry’s style;

“Mother said what she liked best was his remembering everything so well, how beautifully he wrote about it all, even the sad things, and though he changed some of it, and used his imagination, there was truth in it.”

[Sookie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Minus the obvious references to a specific community, the stories can belong to anyone who has lived a life in a (cramped) apartment complex. The dynamics between people is what makes this collection stand out. They all have couple of things in common - self actualization and a bittersweet ending.

Mistry has a wonderful way in transcending human nature into words. This wasn't a fun read. The stories are about people we have known in our lives. An uncle here, an aunty there, a friend's relative on the side...they are in our midst. And that's what makes this seemingly simplistic collection, achy in all the right places :)

[Jo · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance on my shelf but because of its size, I’ve hesitated to read it. This collection therefore was the perfect introduction to his work and has now made me want to read the former very soon whatever its size.

Tales from Firozsha Baag book hooked me so quickly that I sat and raced through most of the first story, Auspicious Occasion, soon after buying a copy. It had me smiling straight away with the story of Rustomoji being unable to go to the bathroom because of the water dripping on his head from a leak, while trying to get ready for an important Parsi ceremony. It sounds so small and silly but Mistry excels in the small details and moments of life while at the same time making comment on the larger world. Characters such as Rustimoji, are distinct, complex and engaging and you can’t help empathizing with them even when they are being ridiculous.

The stories are interlinked and portray the residents of an apartment complex called Firozsha Baag in the city of Bombay. Each story builds on the next with cameos or larger parts played by those who have already been introduced. Only two stories feature residents who have emigrated and only the latter, the very possibly autobiographical Swimming Lessons, is actually set in Toronto.
As the stories progress you get to know the inhabitants, you watch them age and die and move through life with this apartment complex at their center. The majority of residents are Parsi and proud of their standing in the community and their traditions. You see the bigotry and class snobbery that exists between those who are successful and rich such the chartered accountant Mr. Farani, those in the middle such as Najami the gossip and Boman who works in an office, to the lowest of the low, the Gungas or servants like Jaakaylee.

At the same time you see the closeness of the community and the love that exists in families and between couples. One of my favorite stories, Condolence Visits actually drew tears in its portrait of a woman who has lost her husband and looks back on their life while enduring visits from well-meaning strangers. Of White hairs and Cricket is another one where the pull at the heart by the end of the story is complete.

Each story is a masterclass in what a short story would be, finishing at the perfect point, containing the full range of emotions from comedy to pathos and painting a picture of a culture and country through one tiny microcosm of an apartment block. A five star read for my first book of the year and who can ask for more than that!

[Jim Puskas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rohinton Mistry brings to his writing the point of view of a person who grew up and was educated in India, but who has emigrated to Canada; thus, he is able to speak to the rest of us in ways we will understand, while still being able to authentically portray everyday aspects of India, its peoples and its multiple cultures. Whether he is presenting a big novel or, as in this case a collection of vignettes, his focus is always on the ordinary lives of individuals. He brings us very close to each character, how they act, how they think. Like any good dramatist, he freely mixes tragedies, great and small, with earthy humor. Several of the themes are familiar ones: the immigrant experience; the clash of cultures; grieving; inter-generational conflicts. And the everyday realities of just getting by, dealing with life’s disappointments.
But every one of these stories offers something unique, in each case made special by the personality of at least one of the characters.
For example, in “Of White Hairs and Cricket,” we learn of an old half-blind spinster Tehmina who is saying her prayers facing the rising sun; a simple enough, and potentially inspiring image. But what makes it all so memorable is the delight of the small boys in the neighborhood in overhearing Tehminal’s “stream of curses fouler than any filth in the garbage basket” that she hurls at a lowly servant “for committing the unspeakable crime of passing in front of her, thereby polluting her prayers and vitiating their efficacy.”

[Ananthu · Rating 5 out of 5]

Stellar. Mistry never disappoints. A book to be cherished, savored, and ravened forever.

A few thoughts hover around me, and once they alight and I make peace them, put some kind of end to their piffling, I'll write something down.

This book deserves it.

[Sandhya · Rating 3 out of 5]

This was my first introduction to an author who made it to the elite club of NRI writers in the 80s--- all of whom made a definite impression in the world of literature and gave Indian Writing In English the prestige it enjoys today.
Rohinton Mistry is primarily known for two of his works, Such a Long Journey and Family Matters. Yet, I'm glad I was introduced to his writing with Tales From Firozsha Baag - a book of short stories where Mistry recounts life in a Parsi colony in Bombay in the 80s. Reading it makes you believe many of these experiences are the author's own childhood memories, as many of the stories relate to young boys and their growing up days. The author describes inhabitants of Firozsha Baag in splendid details, letting us into their various quirks and living patterns.

There are eleven stories in the book, each one highlights one character or a family in the colony, but essentially all the stories are intertwined. So most of them making a passing appearance in every story. This is precisely what lends a lot of charm and uniqueness to the book. You get a complete sense of what these Parsi families are all about and there is instantly a feeling of connect established with the characters and their situation. There is such a lived-in feeling about the setting that you almost get the wafting smell the fish fry that is cooked in these homes.

The author does not spend too much time with any character or any one particular story, so as a reader you are not really invested in any one person. In that sense, the book offers a slice of life, more like glimpses. In this Bombay apartment, there are several colourful characters – and many of the anecdotes and incidents that the author narrates would be familiar to anyone who has lived in a co-operative society.

So in the first chapter, 'Auspicious Occasion', you are acquainted with the cranky, supercilious Rustamji, who won’t relent to contribute for the painting of the building. The chairman Nariman Hansotia decides to teach him a lesson by getting the workers to paint the rest of the building, leaving out the exterior or Rustamji’s flat alone.

'One Sunday' introduces you to other occupants of the colony. One of it is Najamai, who is the only proud owner of a refrigerator in the colony. Another fine story is 'The Collectors', that describes the reclusive, shy Jahangir who would rather sit alone with his books on the steps than join the colony’s rowdy boys gang headed by the notorious Pesi. Mistry describes Pesi’s character with great flair and irony.

Another very interesting story is 'Squatter' that talks about a boy from the colony, who goes to Canada and dreams of becoming a foreign citizen in every sense. Except that there is one small problem. He finds it impossible to perform his ablutions in the western manner in a commode. He has to squat on it, treating it like an Indian toilet, which frustrates him no end. It’s funny yet a poignant story of a man who cannot leave behind the baggage of who he really is – literally! The author does not hesitate from sharing extremely intimate details or habits of his characters. And he has a definite penchant for scatological humour, as can be observed from many of the stories.

read the rest of the stories here: http://sandyi.blogspot.com/2009/10/ro...

[Luke · Rating 2 out of 5]

This is what I get for trying to make up for past naively ignorant evaluations of an author with works that aren't my strong suit. Humor? Short stories? Character driven domestics with sensationalist sprinkles of tragedy? All have succeeded at some point, but in such rare and solitary moments that a work conquering through the use of each in tandem would more likely than not prove a favorite. I would have latched onto novel (to me) politics and history and cultural infusions had there been sufficient layers scattered through each of the stories, but alas, the last metafictional/self-absorbed piece which observed its own lack of such did nothing but increase my disappointment further. Since that didn't happen to a sufficient extent, I was left to make my way through characters that I would have taken a lot more seriously had my own demographic (age and genderwise, at any rate) had been represented by actual people instead of repeated panty shots.

It's ironic that my too-young reading of A Fine Balance was what provoked this one. Back then, I wrote my first review in the aftershock of witnessing a narrative switch from a steady climb to a steep and irreparable drop. I even accused it of being overly depressing, which in light of my having made depression my bread and butter since then, I can only chalk it up to a severe lack of self-awareness. In any case, the switch my sensibilities made in terms of what I aesthetically preferred meant that, rather than being wary of tragedy in these stories, I would have much preferred it to what I, on average, found. Pieces such as 'Condolence Visit' and 'Lend Me Your Light' came close, the first being my favorite of the collection, but the insistently juvenile treatment of women younger than 40 made the woe-is-me bookish bros at the forefront of the majority of the pieces insufferable rather than recognizable. Look, I like checking out women as much as the next bisexual person, but latching onto the same region of anatomy is pretty useless for me without the supplements of vocal range, intellectual interests, leisure preferences, political commitment, etc, etc. Besides, I've watched too many Japanese cartoons obsessed with panty shots to tolerate in my literature. Mistry didn't even throw me a bone in the form of boxer and/or tidy-whitey shots. Boring.

If nothing else, I can put my confusion over a white former colleague of mine confidently stating that Zorastrianism was dead for a time to rest with the fact that, once again, he was dead wrong. I'll still be returning to A Fine Balance at some point, but not at the moment. Now is the time to indulge in something that does not carry the label of "compassion, wit, and memorable flair" and thus will not make in promises it cannot keep.

[Robert · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although my view of short story collections is starting to change, I still can’t say that I actively seek them out. I’ve talked about my problems with the medium. HOWEVER I’m a huge fan of interlinked short stories. The idea of reoccurring characters or even cleverly putting in similar details makes me approach the book like a puzzle.

Rohinton Mistry Tales from Firozsha Baag was the very first interlinked short story collection I read. This was back in 2002. As I have stated before, I’m a big fan of rereading books as I discover new things or to see if time has been kind to a book.

Tales from Firozsha Baag is Mistry’s first book, he later went on to write three more novels, all excellent, with A Fine Balance slowly receiving classic status. As with all first works it has the problems that occur but more of that later.

Firozsha Baag is an apartment complex (and an unkempt one at that) and there’s a handful of eccentric tenants : there’s the lady who sees ghosts , the family who have problems with paying guests, the ringleader of a gang of boys and more. As I said, each of these characters meet with each other, with Mistry dropping hints about the character’s futures in most of the stories.

Usually in this situation there’s always a standout character and that’s Kesi. he appears in a lot of the stories and the narrative follows him out of Firozsha Baag and to Toronto, Canada.

Tales.. is rich and themes but the one that stuck out was social class. The inhabitants of the block are Parsis, according to the caste system Parsis are middle class, with doctors and accountants forming part of the caste (If I am wrong please correct me) so a lot of the stories feature different classes bonding or clashing. The Ghost of Firozsha Baag is about two classes seeing eye to eye. One Sunday is about attitudes towards lower castes.

Traditions are criticised. Condolence Visit is about death rites and how they go wrong. Exercisers is about dating within one’s caste and Squatter is a brilliant look at culture clashing.

Back in 2001 my favorite story was The Collectors, a piece about a vet and a loner bonding over stamps, while the vet’s delinquent son is pushed to the side. rereading it was still fun and made me laugh.

The concluding story, Swimming Lessons deals with Kesi’s adventures in Canada and is ,possibly, a new favorite. It’s a story about overcoming fears and contains a subplot with a meta element.

As these are early writings, Mistry’s style is not as refined as in his subsequent novels plus the toilet humor wears off a bit. Obviously as the book is about a culture I’m not sure about I’m sure a lot of the foreign language words had double meanings which I did not get (unfortunately Google was unhelpful in this case) but really this is nitpicking, Tales from Firozsha Baag is a confident first effort and definitely worth a read if you are starting with Mistry’s tiny but impressive output.

[Aditi Sharma · Rating 4 out of 5]

Finally, with Tales of Firozsha Baag, I’m done with Mistry’s all books. Having read his three novels prior to short-stories collection, this book came as a bit of surprise to me. Or maybe it was me who had quite high expectations than I should have had.

Having said that, I don’t want to send out a wrong signal saying that this anthology disappointed me (because it didn’t), it just didn’t turn out to be invaluable like ‘A Fine Balance’. Those who have read AFB would know what I am talking about.

What got the good of me is the interconnection that all the stories had. More than an anthology this book turned out to be a mini-version of Mistry’s novel. Only that with every new story, our protagonist changed. All the stories are of the residents of a society called ‘Firozsha Baag’, and, thus, that remains the main location throughout; though some stories do stray from the Baag, and instead take place in Canada, where the author himself currently resides.

Now the short-stories were good, nothing exceptional they held about or around them, except a few, namely- Condolence Visit, The Collectors, Of White Hairs and Cricket, The Paying Guests and Lend Me Your Light.
(Fun Fact: Condolence Visit has in fact been adapted into a short film, which I had seen a few months back. If interested, you can find it on Youtube. If you had loved the story, the short film will not disappoint you, that I can assure you.)

Mistry is a fine writer of our times, and that is a given; but, from whatever I’ve read, I can say that his mastery lies in weaving novels. Short-story- Yes, he certainly can write, but its impact is lesser on me than it was from his novel (be it Family Matters or AFB).

His writing was wonderful, as usual. My only concern was the depiction of obscene scenes, which were sprinkled here and there throughout the anthology. None of them seemed to have played any role in progressing the story; if they were supposed to serve any purpose, that I couldn’t decipher. For me, the only emotion (most of the times) they brought up was of disgust. Maybe, I missed the whole point of their presence in the plot. But, yes, that was my only serious, and, well, the only issue through this read. And, thus, deduction of 1 star from the rating.

After having read quite a few anthologies by now, one fact has straightened itself for me- Jhumpa Lahiri is an eminent, skillful veteran of short stories. Her ability to craft them has surpassed every short-story writer I’ve ever read. Be it a legend like RK Narayan, or our current focus- Rohinton Mistry, Lahiri does make everybody seem less.

Anyway, I hope Mistry writes something new soon. Otherwise, I will be left with no option but re-read this master’s novels.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a magical book about the Parsi families who inhabit a complex of apartment blocks called the Firozsha Baag in Bombay. The tales are interconnected, with recurring characters, one of whom is the author, Rohinton Mistry. Swimming Lessons and Other Stories from Firozsha Baag was published several years before his masterpiece novel A Fine Balance.

Of the eleven stories in the volume, it is difficult to say which I like the most. They seem to open into one another, and they tell marvellous stories about what it is like to be poor and powerless -- and yet at times triumphant. They cover youth, middle age, and even old age. The title story, "Swimming Lessons," is about Mistry's own attempt to come to terms with life in Canada, all the while communicating with his parents in Firozsha Baag.

A wonderful book, well worth reading.

[Doctor · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one book, of which I told to myself as I turned the last page; I should have read it much much earlier. At the end the stories give you the taste and smell of a novel. The stories tell you that one need not go about searching for a niche material to tell a story. The small things of life in the very surrounding around you have a lot of content for a good story. You have to capture the essence - the essential humor element,sufferings,joys man experiences in the mid of community life. Speaking the unspeakable without being vulgar while generating humor at the same time is an art Mistry has mastered. How easily, like a magician he convert's Sarosh's individual bowel problem into a huge 'immigration-related' metaphor. And how smoothly does he give a character his individuality - 'And now, Nariman allowed his low-pitched rumbles to turn into chuckles.' And how abstractions get concrete shapes! .And...so forth.
A GREAT read

[Vartika · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rohinton Mistry has a triad of unforgettable and deeply poignant Booker shortlisted novels to his name, and this — his first book, a collection of 11 interconnected short stories centered around a fictional Parsi housing complex in Bombay — is understandably seen as something of an outlier. Less understandable to me is how many people, certainly several reviewers on this platform, take issue with the stories being described as funny and compassionate. They are, in fact, both of these things (in addition to obviously poignant) to those who gather enough context for them, those who recognise the social reality these stories describe and gently unpeel for their intended readers. It is just so that these intended readers are neither white or western as the book's detractors tend to be — indeed, if the clues offered in the last story "Swimming Lessons" are to be believed, the author wrote Tales from Firozsha Baag specifically for the people he is writing about.

The occupants of the building — from Rustomji-the-curmudgeon and Najamai, the sole owner of a refrigerator in the complex; to Khorshedbai, the menacing paying guest; Jaakaylee, the ghost-seeing house help; and Kersi, the young buy whose life threads through the stories (and who serves, seemingly, as a stand-in for the author himself) — are all honed with raw and unrelenting realism, with more than the mere dash of authenticity to them, and so are those people and settings that appear only flickeringly, peripherially: the tiffinwallahs who deliver lunches to people all over the city, the Irani cafe from where ice and several delicacies may be procured, the poor Maharashtrians who are denigrated as "ghati" (a slur) by most members of the better-off and highly insular Parsi community.

It is clear that Mistry's stories are drawn from life, from memory: through their exploration of what may be considered banal, mundane events in several Firozsha Baag residents' lives emerges a lifelike and detailed portrait of what it was like to grow up as part of a privileged minority community in post-independence Bombay, and of the community itself: its practices, its prejudices, its quirks, and growing insecurities about its future in a time of great socio-cultural and economic flux. Relatedly, these stories are also about their aspirations regarding the West (the Parsis are the most westernised community in South Asia), their experiences of emigration, and an examination of the author's own 'failure' to assimilate, the lack of desire to giving up one's own culture and memory, those experiences accumulated over the span of a lifetime, for the sake of assimilation. This last theme is, too, most clearly seen in the metafictional "Swimming Lessons," where snapshots from the author's everyday comingle with asides from his parents wondering why he does not write more about his life in Canada.

Though Tales from Firozsha Baag may not be as dear to me as A Fine Balance or Such A Long Journey , it is a commendable collection all the same. I particularly liked "The Collectors", "The Paying Guests", "Lend Me Your Light," and, of course, the oft-anthologised "Swimming Lessons", all of which put Mistry's unmatched ability to observe and preserve on display. I would particularly recommend this book to those who prefer writing that is capable of expertly bottling the atmosphere of a city in time, and to South Asian readers and writers struggling between an overwhelming exposure to Western materials and the urge to be grounded and true to their own selves.

[Abhishek Pathak · Rating 5 out of 5]

First let me introduce the author to you guys who recently made an entry to MY elite list of prominent authors.Mr. Rohinton Mistry was born in Bombay in 1952 and then moved to Canada in 1975.Tales from Firozsha Baag is his first novel which was published in 1987 & was nominated for Booker prize in 1996.

What should i tell you about him to eulogize him,because i really fall short of words when i think about his work,his characters, the plot he creates,the narration he gives and the way he explores human psyche shows his profound knowledge of human nature.

Rarely does an author,that i have encountered till writes with so much finesse.The way he uses his language to ornate his plot and stories with so much profundity of human human psyche,makes a reader to ruminate about the character he has created or is talking about.

The situation & circumstances he carves out for his characters are so aesthetically placed in his stories that they effortlessly depict the elegance & style of his writing.

The delectation his characters provides, a reader with mixed feelings of wit,humour,sensitivity, love,care,concern,ambition,jealously,etc.All these 11 stories are based on different human emotions and each one is peculiar in its own way.As a reader many a times i felt to be one of his characters,which Mistry creates so effortlessly.

The plot is where, lies his Magic touch.I have given it a name of Mistry Magic,cuz you can never say what he's upto,the twist and turns he provides his stories with,will make your heart sway many a times before you can actually make out what the story is all about and on which human emotion it is based.The way he describes different human psyche and other human perspectives will definitely leave a mark over one's mind and heart.This Magic is so alluring that it keeps a reader mesmerized till the very last pages of the novel.This Magic works like a penchant for a reader and throughout the novel one would try to discover and unveil this Magic,which Mistry webs through his powerful words & narrations.

R.Mistry is very particular about his writing and that can be felt by the way his characters react in a given situation.They can make you feel pensive,poignant,stoical,tetchy and titter all at the same time or simultaneously.

All these 11 intersecting stories are based in and around a Bombay Apartment called Firozsha Baag,ranging from different decades (1950's to 1990's).The Bombay of that era was loved and adored by all.

I have enjoyed everything in this novel and last but not the least the parsi dishes like dhansak,mouth watering curries blended with different spices,the aroma and the smell of those dishes can be easily felt throughout the novel,your senses would awaken and one can find hard to concentrate on novel while lingering to the aroma of curries and spices.

The best way to really savour & enjoy reading this novel is to read 'a' story per day,and not whole novel at once,that way one would get absorbed by each story and the emotion it depicts,the pathos it describes and the hilarious situations it sets in.

Happy Reading.... :):)