There seems no sole perspective or simple read of the novel, no tidy uniting principle or moral to make it easily digestible excepting a kind of emotional realism. And, even confronting the ridiculous amount of suffering, the happenings are all plausible experiences slumdwellers and villagers have endured. Perhaps the sincerity of Mistry's attempts at describing how we try to find order in life, patterns, made this so. As with his quilt analogy, that suffering and joy are inextricably linked, also an experiential patchwork that does cohere into something meaningful. As this metaphor gives relief to readers and characters alike, it must also be lightly mocked reflecting the self-protective skepticism required to survive a world where you may construct your own meanings only to have them ripped apart. Or be unable to construct one which plunges Maneck into deeper despair and closer to suicide (his future becoming the past as rapidly as the scraps are sown together, all memory is sorrowful for him, 331). As Ishvar (293) believes he has discovered that life is not only suffering with a bit of "grain", that there are many roads and ways of walking, by the novel's end it seems Mistry has shown both to be true.
From the Miltonian rebel angel emerging from the sewer (suggesting the inevitable retribution for the inequity of all the poverty and greed), to the incredible spirit of Shankar's humility and gratitude-all the characters in between seem to be hanging in "a fine balance" between good and evil (and surviving it) but not in a pedantic way. Does Dina's attitude towards the tailors change out of guilt, fear of lost wages, or her growing compassion, or all three? When does she become forgivable? Does Beggarman not tell Shankar he is his brother only for monetary reasons or because it would destroy him to inevitably infer his own father crippled him for money?
I was sure Beggarmaster would torture Dina and the rest, exacting payment in gouged eyeballs for his protection (to suit his macabre drawings), yet he enjoyed their friendship, and did not harm them. Trying to reconcile his profession with his own bit of revealed humanity (or need for), is abruptly cut off by knowing he mutilated Monkey man's children. The balance here only appeared "fine" for a while, as this reality cannot be assuaged. Not everyone is explained comfortably away, and they inform upon the rest without guarantee. Would Nusswan still find extermination of slumdwellers acceptable if circumstance had forced him to learn, as Dina did, that they are hardworking people, enduring injustice daily? Mistry's idea of sailing under one flag requires this type of humanizing experience, which on a large scale he seems to be saying is impossible.
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I liked how you brought up the idea that joy and suffering are inextricably linked. It seems to ring true throughout the novel that the more suffering one has experienced the more joy one can find in the details or human relationships. It is interesting that Shankar seems to be the most joyful of all the characters, even though his situation seems the most hopeless. But Shankar has never known a life better than begging on the streets, so he takes pleasure in the people he meets and the simple fact that he is alive. Is this satisfaction disturbing in that Shankar is simply blind to the tragedy of his situation? Or can we assume that Shankar has discovered something about life that other people are blind to? Namely that your economic and social status does not define you as a human being and neither does your physical appearance.
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