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By:

Rupali Sethi

6 January 2026 at 8:01:30 pm

A Quiet Mirror of Life

Literature need not depend on extraordinary events to uncover extraordinary truths. A fleeting encounter, a childhood memory, a family ritual or an apparently insignificant incident can expose the deeper tensions of human nature. Sundar Viswam’s Mortal Remains and Other Stories, a collection of eleven stories, takes this route. Love, friendship, family, ambition, migration, morality, betrayal, prejudice and destiny emerge not through grand dramas but through ordinary lives. Viswam’s...

A Quiet Mirror of Life

Literature need not depend on extraordinary events to uncover extraordinary truths. A fleeting encounter, a childhood memory, a family ritual or an apparently insignificant incident can expose the deeper tensions of human nature. Sundar Viswam’s Mortal Remains and Other Stories, a collection of eleven stories, takes this route. Love, friendship, family, ambition, migration, morality, betrayal, prejudice and destiny emerge not through grand dramas but through ordinary lives. Viswam’s particular talent is to find the consequential in the commonplace: a kite, a wedding invitation, a rumour or a sudden turn of fate becomes a way into larger questions about how people behave. The title story, “Mortal Remains”, sets the reflective tone of the collection by asking what survives an experience in memory, in creativity and in the emotional lives of others. The stories repeatedly return to that question. What people carry with them, and what they leave behind in others, often matters more than the event itself. Characterisation is perhaps the collection’s greatest strength. Viswam does not arrange his people conveniently into heroes and villains. They are contradictory, ambitious, vulnerable and morally uncertain. In “Mortal Remains”, a writer’s compulsive attachment to his art becomes an exploration of creative obsession, loneliness and the uneasy relationship between life and artistic expression. “The Red Kite” turns childhood friendship and rivalry into a painful memory, showing how an apparently innocent episode can acquire significance over a lifetime. “Manda oh my Manda!” inhabits the uncertain territory between affection and self-interest, while “The Invitation” uses an ordinary social ritual to expose family bitterness. “Falling Out” examines the slow deterioration of friendship when concealed perceptions come to the surface; “Brother in Need” places adolescence against a backdrop of corruption and insecurity. The psychological force of these stories comes less from explanation than from behaviour. Fear, guilt, longing, jealousy and regret surface in dialogue, hesitation and silence. Viswam trusts such details to do much of the work, allowing his characters to reveal themselves rather than having the author explain them. The collection also acquires a wider social and philosophical dimension. “The God of Chance” considers the role of coincidence and destiny in human relationships. “Regrettably, Yours” offers a perceptive account of the immigrant experience, where professional achievement does not necessarily settle questions of identity and belonging. “A Matter of Principle” explores the uneasy distance between conviction and practical reality, while “Just Token” examines how moral compromise can begin with choices that appear too small to matter. In “Pleasanton”, the rumour of an Indian lottery winner unsettles a community and brings prejudice, aspiration, insecurity and curiosity to the surface. The common thread is consequence. Small incidents can produce disproportionate emotional effects; private compromises can reveal larger moral questions. Society, in Viswam’s hands, is not merely a backdrop but a mechanism for exposing character. His interest lies in the point at which chance becomes consequence and an everyday decision acquires moral weight. Viswam writes with clarity and restraint, moving comfortably between tenderness, irony, humour, social observation and introspection. His vocabulary serves the story rather than calling attention to itself. Carefully chosen details establish atmosphere without burdening the narrative with description. There is an appealing economy to the writing. That restraint is particularly effective in moments that might otherwise invite melodrama. Readers are consequently free to make their own judgments rather than being directed towards them. The result is prose that is accessible without being thin, and psychologically attentive without becoming ponderous. Ultimately, Mortal Remains and Other Stories succeeds because it treats human beings as complicated creatures rather than moral specimens. Its characters love, fear, desire, compromise, remember and regret, often simultaneously. Viswam does not hurry to judge them; circumstances and choices are allowed to expose their contradictions. The title therefore assumes a wider significance. What remains after an experience is rarely the experience itself. It is the memory, the emotional imprint and the alteration it leaves behind. Viswam finds these residues in ordinary lives and turns them into occasions for reflection. His stories suggest that profound literature need not search for exceptional lives. It can begin with ordinary people, provided the writer observes them with sufficient patience, empathy and curiosity. That is what makes the collection linger. Its stories do not offer easy moral conclusions. Instead, they encourage readers to recognise familiar emotions in unfamiliar lives — and perhaps to see their own lives a little differently. (The writer is a literary critic, book reviewer and scholar of Hindi and English literature.)

Bharat’s Jetson Cities, Light-years Away from Nature

Jan 18, 2025
5 min read

Updated: Jan 20, 2025

Jetson Cities

One thing is for certain: our Bharatiya cities, the big metros and towns, are fast becoming like the ‘Jetson’ cities. For those who are unaware of Jetson cities, these were first shown in the famous Hanna-Barbera cartoon series, the Jetsons, set in the 2100s, where cities are air-tight glass globules tethered to the ground, and the only way to get in and out are the flying cars. Yes, we, the city-dwellers, aspire to tall skyscrapers, spectacular bridges, world-class tunnels, swooshing metro trains, and we are building Jetson-like flying cars. A few HD drone images here and there, during the day and at night and around twilight, and we are content that our cities have become the cynosure of our own eyes. We want our cities to be brightly lit, with neon signs, laser shows, and large billboard videos. We would then fulfil our inner desire to have a city on par with Tokyo, New York, and Shanghai.


Our buildings, designed for the next 30 years, are well air-conditioned, shielding occupants from a soupy dust bowl of brown smog, soot, particulate matter, and fine dust. It is said that most new home buyers invest at least 10% of their property’s price in enhancing the interiors, soundproofing their homes, using air purifiers and conditioners, and disconnecting from the outside world for that much-needed solace. Indeed, large builders promote their projects as close to nature amidst tranquillity. However, there is always another builder eager to get one plot of land ahead of yours to enjoy that nature. To be truthful, access to nature now comes at a premium - even the skies.


Let’s assume the working-age population is occupied in the leisure of our Jetson cities, but how many of their young school and college-going kids have seen the long arm of the Milky Way galaxy from their cities? How many have witnessed a comet zooming by? How many know about endemic plants with medicinal properties? When did they last see a chirping house sparrow? How many know that the nearest sewage drain was once a freshwater stream? When did they last find their suburban beach prettier than the resort beaches of Maldives?


The intent to ask these questions is simple: Bharat is currently at a crossroads. Pundits are enthusiastic about a cultural renaissance on the horizon. Corporate leaders, on the other hand, want us to invest hundreds of hours each week to pay our dues to the growth of the national GDP. But no one asks, if a cultural renaissance is to occur, who will generate the new understandings and insights of nature that arise typically during such a period of human advancement? No one is actually asking, for whom are we building the nation if there is no time for children, or worse, if there is no time or intent to have children. In the process of growing rich, we are about to become old. By 2047, 65% of the population under the age of 35 will grow beyond 35 all at once, and we’d have an enormous population in advanced ages with a tapering young population, a graph that looks like a banyan tree. Unfortunately, that young population will have no access to the knowledge that nature has to offer, neither flora and fauna nor the seas and the skies.


Our urbane lifestyles need tempering. Such tempering can occur only if we ensure the revival of natural sciences during this period of cultural renaissance and nation-building. Let’s not rely solely on the educational system. With Indian Knowledge Systems, constructive changes are underway, and academic curricula are poised to improve for the greater good. However, true knowledge arises only when parents and grandparents introduce children to nature. Genuine understanding also develops from extracurricular activities in schools and colleges that encourage kids to observe, journal, and act on their discoveries. On the positive side, our country’s forest cover is increasing, as announced by the government. However, efforts must be made to ensure that every school or college, whether in Mumbai, Vijayawada, Gorakhpur, Ratlam, Thrissur, Bhuj, Faridabad, Imphal, Manali, Cuttack, or Ajmer, guarantees that their students are well aware of the endemic nature of their surroundings and are regularly observing and recording data on whatever interests them. Let kids observe rivers and understand the volume of water that flows through them. Let children learn about the decline of house sparrows in their cities and what steps should be taken to revive their populations. Let them study the bees in their nearby groves and recognise the vital role these bees play in nature.


Of course, you need to learn AI, robotics, fintech, the next generation of management courses, and all the engineering bells and whistles. However, we must not leave the next generation with inadequate comprehension and skills for understanding nature. We must ensure that nature conservation is not merely lip service or a tool for politicised green activists. This can be achieved if natural sciences are given the respect they deserve at the school, undergraduate, and postgraduate levels.


Indeed, I am a plebeian, and you might feel that you, too, could write a rant about the plight of our urban lives. Urban development and municipal experts have many solutions to propose, but few are willing to take action. However, that is not the issue I wish to highlight. I aim to illustrate a much larger concern—that Indian city dwellers are disoriented and devoid of nature, lacking a guiding star to lead them toward a brighter future. Our cities of Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, Ahmedabad, Kolkata, and Chennai have taken on characteristics reminiscent of Jetson-like cities. We show little regard for the Nagar Devata, Gram Devata, and Van Devata, who have protected the cities, towns, and forests that once surrounded us. We wait for formal governance to clean up our beaches, rivers, and ponds without making sufficient efforts to prevent pollution in the first place.


For those striving to grasp spirituality not through the Puranas and Aadi-Granth but through new-age podcasts, I recommend watching Vinay Varanasi’s podcast on Bhagavan Vishnu’s Dashavatar. If it is clear that Bhagavan Vishnu does not tolerate disregard for Bhudevi or Mother Earth, why do we, the devotees of Bhagavan Vishnu, continue to pollute our Mother Earth—her air, soil, waters, and sounds? Or have we taken Elon Musk's words at face value, assuming our next destination is Mars after destroying Earth, only to ruin Mars later, even worse than its current clinically sterile state? If that is the case, then bear with me when I say this: these Jetson cities stand on precarious pillars of ego, victimhood, apathy, and consumerism, waiting to be toppled either by the true harbingers of order or by false prophets. Therefore, teach the next generations to observe nature, appreciate our coexistence with other species, and venerate the forces of nature. By doing so, we humans will be good, at least for the next thousand years. If not, prepare for a bleak future by the end of this century.


(The author is a Space and Emerging Technology Fellow at the Centre for Security, Strategy and Technology, Observer Research Foundation, Mumbai. Views personal.)

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