I Dream of Rain
By Muhammad Ali Bandial
Liberty, Karachi
ISBN: 978-9698729448
254pp.

For the casual reader, a book within a particular genre is easy to identify, find and connect with. That is because, at a superficial level, most people can state exactly what it is that they want to read. For some, it can be thrillers or the supernatural that proves to be the greatest attraction, while others might find themselves hooked by the technological intricacies of science fiction, or the world-building that fantasy writers provide.

While writing a good plot based on the restrictions of a particular genre is something all authors grapple with, there is something that is, in fact, harder than navigating the limitations of genre conventions, and that is to write a story based solely on a character’s inner life.

Muhammad Ali Bandial sets out to do that exactly in his recently published I Dream of Rain, a tale about a young man in his 20s, whose past collides with his present when he gets a call informing him that his father has been fatally wounded and has been rushed to the hospital.

Shifting between the past and the present, the narrative tries to keep us guessing exactly why our hero, Babar — called Bunny because of the unfortunate resemblance of his large front teeth to the cartoon character Bugs Bunny — feels so much resentment towards his father, and how decisions in the past are influencing every moment of this family’s future.

A laudable attempt by a Pakistani writer to build a story based on a character’s inner life is let down by too many self-indulgent ruminations that frustrate the movement of the plot

To give credit to the author, he spends a significant amount of time deeply investigating Bunny’s inner turmoil, bringing us back again and again to how the young Bunny idolised his father growing up; how his father, as a member of the armed forces, was for him the epitome of masculine strength and wisdom; and how Bunny’s lost trust in his father tore a deep rift within him.

As we watch Bunny in the present grapple with his father’s health deteriorating because of the bullet wounds, we are simultaneously taken back to the past where Bunny’s abrupt departure to a boarding school causes first confusion, then grief and, eventually, anger at his parent’s betrayal.

Unable to understand why he went from being the eldest and most favoured of his parents’ children, to suddenly being abandoned at a boarding school, the teenaged Bunny of the past suffers humiliation, bullying and ostracisation at the hands of the other teenage boys at the hostel — a situation that exacerbates his feelings of isolation and compounding grief.

In all these situations, Bandial sketches a three-dimensional complexity to his characters, as he shows these same bullies — who so tormented our hero in the past — in the present as his father’s doctors. People can be both good and bad, the author seems to say, as those who so tortured Bunny earlier are now bringing him a measure of peace.

In shifting between the two timelines, it is also easier to see the collision between past and present more clearly, so that the reader does not miss any character amidst the multiple family members, servants, random acquaintances or friends that show up throughout the narrative.

Multiple references to Pakistani things are liberally sprinkled throughout the book, in what might yet be the most self-assured manner when compared to other local literature. This is because the author manages to avoid going overboard. He ensures that the reader understands exactly where each character is present in a scene without layering on the brand names, restaurant settings or food aromas too thickly.

We come across a Suzuki Mehran or a Pakola name-drop after every few pages, but the space between these is enough to give us some breathing room, so that it doesn’t feel too much in our face. So often for local authors, this is a balancing act that seems to throw them off their game, so it is a relief to see it done well.

Unfortunately, the effect is ruined not by the italicisation of the Urdu words — which, as an editorial decision, can be forgiven — but by the randomness of choice. Why are some words translated, and others left for the readers to decode on their own? Most of the Urdu text is obvious and easy enough to understand, but it does beg the question: why are the words that needed to be translated part of the story at all, taking up as they do space that could have been better used to move the story along?

In fact, moving the story along is an issue that lingers throughout the book, given how frequently the plot comes to a halt in order to allow the hero to ruminate over life’s deeper issues. Every time we hit some particularly interesting ground, the author spends the next two to three paragraphs suddenly veering off into fragmentary and ill-connected ramblings on philosophical issues or the nature of life, with Bunny’s disjointed thoughts on fate, predestination or some other equally heavy topic taking up unnecessary space.

Certainly, any character-based story needs to make space for its character’s thoughts, no matter how vapid or tedious they may be, but it is hard to forgive the repetitive navel-gazing that goes on for a significant part of I Dream of Rain. This causes interruptions at points where a continuation of the action could have served the story better. Allowing the hero of our tale to veer off into tangents whenever something important is happening creates a feeling of frustration, rather than helping us understand him better.

Overall, it’s good to see character-driven stories emerge amongst Pakistani writers. Given the nature of societal issues, and traumas that our past and present inflict on us, inter-family dramas provide a rich tapestry of possibilities for conflict and eventual resolution.

That being said, I Dream of Rain is a somewhat weak entry, inclined towards self-indulgent ruminations that lack the greater depth and complexity required of a tale that rests solely on its character’s history. With its longwinded digressions, its main character’s ridiculous nickname and the great possibilities of exploring divisions along ethnic lines that were left unexplored, this feels like a book that only almost could, but didn’t manage to cross over into the greats.

The reviewer is an editor of English course books.

She tweets @anumshaharyar

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, October 30th, 2022