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Miss Timmins’ School For Girls 

Nayana Currimbhoy

Harpercollins (2011)

Pages: 512 Rs. 399

Echoes of Blyton & Macbeth, but they’re much too faint

Nayana Currimbhoy’s novel hops from genre to genre, yet still has some things going for it. Despite high points, it fails to live up to expectations

AISHWARYA SUBRAMANIAN  8th Oct 2011

A still from the 2009 movie Cracks, set in a boarding school in 1930s Britain. Miss Timmins’ School shares a similar anglicised milieu, though set in 1970s India

harulata Apte's most noticeable feature is a prominent, disfiguring "blot" on her face. She's also from a seemingly-conservative Marathi family, has a strong "vernacular" accent and is the only Hindu on the staff – all qualities that make her something of an outsider at the very English Miss Timmins' School in Panchgani. She sets herself even further apart from the rest of the staff when she befriends the other outsider in the school, the games teacher Moira Prince, and her bohemian friends. Then one teacher from the school is thrown off a cliff and another disappears, and the residents of Panchgani find themselves drawn into a bizarre murder mystery.

The story is divided into sections narrated by Charu herself and Nandita, a student at Miss Timmins'. Nandita's sections have a familiarity to them that suggests that both the author and her narrator have been reading their Enid Blyton. Most of the time this is deftly done – there is breaking out of bounds, forming of clubs, nicknames for teachers; their crime-solving involves a lot of wild theorising and roaming around hunting for clues. This being boarding school, there are also attempts to use a planchette to find the real criminal. Yet all of this has the air of something vaguely alien, taken out of books, just as English isn't really the first language of either of the narrators. So the nicknames for teachers are never quite clever enough to suggest complete control of the language and Nandita in particular is often guilty of awkward phrasing: "Akhila, Ramona, and I, Nandita, decided to skinge together". Sometimes it's not entirely clear whether the awkwardness is that of the characters or that of Currimbhoy herself – but when the author occasionally comes up with the perfect metaphor ("we kissed each other like two penguins") one must give her the benefit of the doubt.But there is a lot more going on in the novel than an unsolved crime. Charu discovers unpleasant family secrets – concerning both her own family and those of her fellow teachers. Broken and dysfunctional families are something of a recurring theme here. Upon discovering that the avuncular local police inspector has marital problems of his own, Charu is forced to wonder if there are "deep dark secrets lodged in the laps of all...families". If the novel is to be believed, there are.

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Panchgani is the real star of this book. The town, with its scandals, rivalries, restaurants and local drug dealer, feels far more real than the school itself.

References to Shakespeare's Macbeth are another recurring event in the novel. Charulata is teaching the play to her students, and frequently the landscape of Panchgani is compared to the setting of the play, with one particular set of rocks called the "Witches' Needle", and lots of suitably eerie dark and stormy nights.

Much is made of the absurdity of Miss Timmins' School. It is an anachronism in the seventies, with its emphasis on Scottish dancing, elasticated bloomers and correct skirt length, as well as the preoccupation with 'proper' English. But while this is all true, the incongruity of such a school in such a context is lessened by the book's need to tell us why it is absurd.

Currimbhoy's Panchgani is the real star of this book. The town, with its scandals, rivalries, restaurants and local drug dealer, feels far more real than the school itself. Currimbhoy is gently funny in her depiction of the local inhabitants, for example Mr Blind Irani and Mr Dubash, elderly men who have long, polite arguments using the letters page of the Poona Herald as conduit. Or the local entrepreneur who decides to branch out into making honey and spends eight months trying to get an American magazine on the subject. When it arrives, the magazine Honey is not at all what he expects.

Currimbhoy never falls into the trap of making Charu too wide-eyed or innocent; her experiments with drugs are described in a matter-of-fact manner that is a relief. She chooses not to overplay the contrast between Charu's comparatively sheltered (from sex and drugs, if not from sordid family secrets) background and the world of her new friends. Perhaps the only moment where this portrayal falters is in the moment where she discovers that she is bisexual and rather tediously insists that she must be "a wanton woman".

Miss Timmins' School For Girls' one great failure is that it touches on multiple genres while failing to take advantage of them. Currimbhoy has all the weight of the mystery story, the boarding school novel and the coming-of-age novel to draw upon. There's even the considerable power of Macbeth, should she have chosen to strengthen that connection. The result is a novel that is almost one of many genres, but somehow falls in the middle to be nothing in particular. Currimbhoy is a good writer, and parts of her novel are fantastic. But a boarding school murder mystery with a lesbian love affair should never be in danger of becoming boring, and this one occasionally comes close.

 
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