To Love Is to Hurt

Saikat Majumdar, who has written about the feverish nature of sexual desire and the moral predicaments it poses, in novels like The Scent of God (2019) and The Middle Finger (2022), returns to these themes in his latest work of fiction titled The Remains of the Body (2024).

It is a love triangle, with each character trying desperately to claim the affection of someone who is unavailable. Avik wants to stay married to Sunetra, who feels too suffocated in that relationship. He finds her cold and distant. It is hard for him to accept that she does not need him any longer. She resents him because he forced her to settle for a financially secure but intellectually sterile life. Sunetra is drawn to Kaustav, who is her husband’s childhood friend. Kaustav dates and sleeps with women but longs for the warmth and intimacy of Avik’s body.

The narrative moves between San Diego, Toronto, Quebec City, Montreal, Santa Barbara and Calcutta. The plot is fairly straightforward; the juice is in the author’s exploration of each character’s mindscape. Instead of depicting them in a simplistic way as either good or evil, the novel shows us how they are enslaved by expectations that are incongruous with reality.

Their lives are marked by a profound, lingering disenchantment that makes it almost impossible for them to have a good time though they have the material comforts that many immigrants can only dream of. There is a gaping emotional void that cannot be filled by the dinner parties, the restless conversations, the heady flirting, and the alcohol. Even the forbidden sex that promises to be glorious reveals itself to be shallow and exhausting.

At one point, the narrator remarks, “To love is to hurt, to be disappointed.” This book invites readers to think about why humans want to possess the people they like, what makes them incapable of keeping their dignity intact when they get romantically involved, and how different their lives would be if they were not rendered so helpless by unrequited desire.

The only person who seems to be sheltered from this painful existence is the adorable eight-year-old Manan, who is Avik and Sunetra’s son. His life is undisturbed by the intense drama unfolding between his parents and Kaustav—his favourite uncle. This is believable but only to a certain extent. Adults are not so skilled at hiding, and children are not so clueless.

Moreover, Manan does not come across as a fully formed character. The novel provides hardly any access to his viewpoint. This is surprising because the same author has written with depth and insight about the inner worlds of children in his novel The Scent of God. There is more substance in his account of Avik and Kaustav’s childhoods, which captures the homoerotic contexts in which Indian boys often learn about their bodies and about desire.

Since the author is also a professor, he draws on his knowledge of academic settings to add humour to the novel but the robust worldbuilding seen in The Middle Finger is missing in The Remains of the Body. We are told that Kaustav is a post-doctoral scholar specialising in the sociology of urban housing, and that Sunetra’s work focuses on cancer cells but they are rarely shown doing what they are passionate about. They are usually stuck in their heads.

The narrator’s sympathies seem to lie with them rather than Avik, who is shamed for being an obese man-child, having middle class sensibilities, and leaving his partner unfulfilled.

At one point, Avik says, “I’ve been thinking of reading the Gita seriously. Join a temple group that reads it together.” Sadly, Kaustav shuts him up and turns the moment into a joke. We miss an opportunity to understand what makes him turn to religion. Is he looking for a sense of purpose, a community built around a Hindu identity, or a home away from home?

About The Author

Chintan Girish Modi

The reviewer is a writer, educator and researcher based in Mumbai

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