Review of the book under the banaya tree and other stories by r.k narayan. In proper way please. Please tell of 2 page . plzz i will be highly obliged.
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Narayan hints at a foreboding of fatigue if his final story, Under A Banyan Tree, is in any way autobiographical. The hero is the village priest who has kept the village in a state of "perpetual enchantment" by his inspired story-telling for as long as anyone can remember.
"All through the day people came seeking Nambi's company and squatted under the tree. If he was in a mood for it he listened to their talk and entertained them When he was in no mood, he looked at visitors sourly and asked What do you think I am? Unless I meditate how can I give you a story? Do you think these stories float in the air?" Narayan's own form of meditation has been his perambulations in the market places and streets of his native Mysore: "At an early stage of my life I enjoyed a lot of freedom, no one in our family minding my non-economic style of living.
I read a little, also attempted to write, and went out on long walks along the tanks, parks and avenues, or climbed the hill which looms over our city: and during some part of the day I watched also the crowds at the market - not deliberately or consciously to pick up a subject but for the sheer pleasure of watching people."
It is this pleasure in human beings and their inexhaustible foibles that he has poured into these stories and those who have been following his work since the days when he wrote two stories a month for The Hindu to keep the wolf from the door and have taken pleasure in the establishment of his reputation from Mysore to New York to Stockholm, will be sad if he ever, like Nambi the story-teller, moves "out to the edge of the forest and squatted there, contemplating the trees" so that "the rest of his life was one great consummate silence."
"All through the day people came seeking Nambi's company and squatted under the tree. If he was in a mood for it he listened to their talk and entertained them When he was in no mood, he looked at visitors sourly and asked What do you think I am? Unless I meditate how can I give you a story? Do you think these stories float in the air?" Narayan's own form of meditation has been his perambulations in the market places and streets of his native Mysore: "At an early stage of my life I enjoyed a lot of freedom, no one in our family minding my non-economic style of living.
I read a little, also attempted to write, and went out on long walks along the tanks, parks and avenues, or climbed the hill which looms over our city: and during some part of the day I watched also the crowds at the market - not deliberately or consciously to pick up a subject but for the sheer pleasure of watching people."
It is this pleasure in human beings and their inexhaustible foibles that he has poured into these stories and those who have been following his work since the days when he wrote two stories a month for The Hindu to keep the wolf from the door and have taken pleasure in the establishment of his reputation from Mysore to New York to Stockholm, will be sad if he ever, like Nambi the story-teller, moves "out to the edge of the forest and squatted there, contemplating the trees" so that "the rest of his life was one great consummate silence."
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