Yann Martel has dedicated one whole chapter to the story of Francis Adirubasamy aka Mamaji. The life of Mamaji is an inspiring one. A free-spirited person who did his studies in Paris in a time ‘’when the French were still trying to make Pondicherry as Gallicas the British were trying to make the rest of the India Britannic’’(P#10). The character of Mamaji has a Ulyssean feature to it. ‘Mamaji was a champion competitive swimmer, the champion of all South India. Even in his sixties, when he was little stooped, Mamaji swam thirty lengths every morning at the pool of the Aurobindo Ashram’. Mamaji was a great teacher. He tried teaching Pi’s parents the art of swimming but he was unsuccessful in that. Even Pi’s brother was ‘unenthusiastic’. Like the Zen Koan saying – When the teacher is ready, the student will appear, Pi appeared as the perfect disciple. The relationship between Pi and Mamaji is a beautiful one. The day Pi appears on the beach to learn swimming Mamaji tells him - ‘This is my gift to you’. A gift which later saves Pi from the shipwreck. Water is a powerful symbol in Life of Pi. It destroys and preserves like the West Wind. Pi talks about his teacher as a ‘patient and encouraging’ one. He ‘remained faithful to his aquatic guru’. Apart from being a swimming champion, Mamaji was also a great story teller. (Story telling is one of the central themes of the novel) ‘All his stories had to do with swimming pools and swimming competitions’. One of his favourite hobbies was to recall the details about the different pools from around the world. His passionate and endless talk reminds me of the character in Forest Gump (authored by Winston Groom) known as Bubba Blue who continuously talks about shrimps. Mamaji and Bubba Blue shared a common trait – They were passionate about what they did and loved in life. The chapter ends with a beautiful one liner – ‘Mamaji remembered, Father dreamed’, which neatly summarizes the difference between doing and dreaming.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(Dylan Thomas, 1914 – 1953)