This is a review of The Colour of Gold, by Gita Aravamudan, published by HarperCollins. It’s a work of fiction centered around the accidental death of an Anglo-Indian in a quiet little mining town.
I was motivated to read it solely because it features my hometown, Kolar Gold Fields. But I was met with disappointment. The descriptions of the town are remarkable but also uninspiring. Remarkable, because this is a first, uninspiring because I failed to relate to the literature even though I have lived in the places that are described.
The greed and human cost of gold mining is brought out in the first chapter. But soon, that is left behind for some mystical sights of the ghost of Ponni, from 1903, that Sheila sees in 2003 and that Arati sees in 1953. The plot of the novel surrounds Ponni, who was an Indian girl that a top British officer at the mines sires and has three children with. He dies in the mine and the children are cruelly separated from Ponni by the wife of the Englishman. The story (actually a set of disconnected stories) is about how his great-great-grand children trace their family trees back to the love affair between him and Ponni. The fiction is okay at best. It is more like a story meant for a tabloid. With a weak plot, and too many characters that remained undeveloped, it ultimately is but a damp squib mystery. The murder/accident of the Anglo-Indian is mentioned in the first couple of chapters, relegated to the backdrop after that and easily forgotten in the interest of other trivia, until the very end when we’re reminded of it again, only to be met with a laughably arbitrary climax. The saving grace was Ponni’s story, but even that was unexciting when it took shelter under clichéd romances.
The literature is of a basic kind, rendering it to be a half day read. I read it because it was given by the writer to my father, an engineer at the mine when it was operating. My father’s markings on the margins of the book tell me that many of the details described in the book resemble the truth, such as the splendor of the clubs, libraries, parties, and the close knit community that was once called ‘Little England’. The open affection that the people in this township felt for the British, combined with the lingering British customs, has also been brought out in the book.
Part of the book is based on life in KGF in 2003, a year after mines in KGF were declared closed. There was a fair amount of thievery and crime in the place, owing to unenforced law and order and the vast amount of unguarded wealth of the mines. Colour of Gold, though, slips into being an exercise in drawing up a family tree, with scant amount of thrill and drama that a mystery novel ought to have. At least pictures from the bygone era could have saved the book. Why, I even think it would have fared better if had been a coffee table book with the well researched descriptions of the city from the book.
If you’ve lived in a mining town and enjoy tracing family trees, you might tolerate the book. Sadly, the colour of gold is all the book can be, not gold. 1.5/5.