Book review 'Murder with Bengali Characteristics': Of pig ears and fish heads
If there is one flavour edging out all others, be it in cinema, theatre or literature, it is the Bengali one. Bong’s the way to go! Shovon Chowdhury’s new novel, Murder with Bengali Characteristics — a bit of a misnomer really, the predominant flavour being Chinese with a dash of Japanese and Marwari thrown in for good measure — is a hilarious spoof all the way through, right from the irreverent author profile on the book jacket to the easily recognisable caricatures.
The premise is futuristic Calcutta. Calcutta is under the rule of the Chinese and though relations are superficially cordial between the Bengalis and the Chinese, Bangla-Chini Bhai Bhai being the prevalent slogan, tremors of discord and potential eruptions are always lurking beneath the surface. There is a lot happening by way of Chinese technology and among these are cars that hover, talk and sprout retractable tentacles to ensnare potentially dangerous suspects, holograms that appear at the drop of a hat, telepathic communication, efficient ways of knowledge and information suppression that create a doctored reality, drones, remote controlled paintings and a firewall that suffers from emotional exhaustion. The political climate has changed and China now rules Asia. “The Japanese were the sons, the Koreans were the brothers and the Bengalis were the idiot cousins” is the general drift. The Maoist pocket officially known as the Liberated Zone of Junglemahal, continues to hold its own.
A senior clerk from the fisheries department, Barin Mondol, is found dead in a remote village in the heart of Maoist country, with a copy of The Complete Works of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee resting on his chest. Inspector An Li of Lal Bazaar arrives on the scene to investigate the murder. Mondol was known to be a gentle bookish man who taught children in the evenings for free and Li is flummoxed as to who would want to kill the old party member. The dead man’s thumbs are missing and he has been choked to death from the look of things. The last call made from Mondol’s mobile was to Bijli Bose, the head of the Communist Party of India and Li promptly sets off to meet the ageing patriarch. Enter a cast of sundry characters next, ranging from Governor Wen, the confused boss of the Protectorate, mining magnate Sanjeev Verma and his partner Agarwal, the trigger-happy General Zhou, members of the New Thug Society who are determined to free Bengal from Chinese oppression, Information Officer Crazy Wu and Li’s ex-wife Gao Yu who makes cryptic (electronic) appearances in his life from time to time. Inspector Li who has to mingle with the natives, is sensitive towards Bengalis. “Different people are different. They eat fish heads, we eat pig ears,” he explains to his subordinate.
Meanwhile, a fake fish shortage is being created in the city by devious minds and the Bengali populace has predictably erupted into frenzy. Caught in the crossfire between fish-deprived Bengali mobs, crafty politicians, effeminate Maoists with a penchant for dancing to Tagore’s songs and an unpredictable information officer who believes in suppressing not just reports and comments but paintings, photographs, novels, music, films, books and dance performances too, Inspector Li must track down the killer before he strikes again. Into this merry scene enters the dishevelled and easily identifiable Pishi (now white-haired) who has escaped from the Pandit Batra Institute for the Criminally Insane. Though allergic to the colour red, she has chosen to take refuge in the house of her old rival, Bijli Bose. As Pishi drifts from room to room in her host’s house switching from painting to poetry and speaking forcefully in her unique brand of Bonglish, her old adversary is shaken to see his house guest/loony-bin fugitive/old rival rapidly regain her lost mojo.
Governor Wen, plagued by the lack of suitable concubines has had a bucket-like cap jammed over his head by Crazy Wu to prevent the occurrence of discordant thoughts and though the Chinese and their freaky inventions run rampant in the city, traditional problems of mass inertia, processions, protests, rioting and graffiti keep rearing their heads on a regular basis. “Their day started at 11.30 with a cup of tea, followed by the newspaper, discussion of the newspaper, speculation regarding lunch, mental preparation for lunch, lunch, recovery from lunch, discreet naps, another cup of tea, rebuttals of points made earlier while discussing the newspaper and departure…” is the general schedule of the average Calcutta office-goer as observed by Big Chen. Sharma and his partner Varma tread convoluted paths of treachery while Li’s team comprising of Sexy Chen and Big Chen throw in their individual idiosyncrasies every now and then. The entire canvas is reminiscent of a Mario Miranda sketch where a zillion things are happening simultaneously and yet all of it adds up to a cohesive whole. It is in this lively shifting scenario that Inspector Li must achieve his mission. As the famous Kali temple of Kalighat burns and the novel races towards its cataclysmic end, Inspector Li finally experiences his “Eureka” moment.
Generously laced with slang and colloquial terms — chota-mota, bathe-shathe pangas, gadar — Chowdhury’s prose is delicious to read. There is many a reference to contemporary celebrities like Sourav Ganguly, Mithun Chakraborty and the Dalai Lama in a text rich with twisters (Sickulars, Kolkata Light Striders). Inspector Li is no Byomkesh Bakshi, his persona does not dwarf either the crime or the criminal/s. Rather, he is a strangely elusive personality, inconspicuous by choice, defined wholly by the obtuse thoughts and comments of his companions. All we learn is that Li has close cropped hair, a touch of grey here and there, is capable of being ruthless and is seriously dishy. The fictitious Pishi, in all her glorious madness, is an absolute delight, just like her real-life counterpart. Her bizarre behaviour, outrageous thoughts and flights of whimsy are the stuff great and goofy literature is made up of. More power to her tribe, the reader cheers, only as long as serious political power never lands in her hands! The etching of Maoists as sensitive and artistically inclined souls is a cunning ploy and the entire novel seems to take pervert pleasure in debunking accepted definitions.
This carefully architected city comprising of paradoxes is neither paradise nor dystopia; it is a skewed reflection of contemporary times viewed through a badly cracked mirror. Though laugh-out-loud funny most of the times, grains of truth give the novel its occasional harsh rub. Like all books revolving around a particular place, it is the city that takes precedence over the characters. The city of joy with its sights, sounds, aromas, moods and quirks is the unabashed protagonist and the zeitgeist permeates through the entire novel. The observer/author here, interestingly, comes across as both an insider and an outsider. It is not entirely a Bengali book, however, with international flavours wafting aggressively over the mustard oil and fishy ones. Chowdhury creates a far-fetched but not entirely implausible picture of the future, a future of colonisation, extreme control and contrasts, where the organic and technical aspects might fuse in mankind and gadgetry achieve unimaginable heights.
In the hands of a lesser writer, the huge doses of tongue-in-cheek humour might have worn down a reader but Chowdhury pulls off his brilliantly conceptualised idea with panache. A thoroughly enjoyable and rambunctious read.
Kankana Basu is an author, illustrator, columnist and travel writer
