No country for children of a lesser god

Aradhika Sharma

Deepa Anappara’s debut book is based in the bleakness of abject poverty, filth and hunger — yet there’s a joi de vivre that shines throughout the novel. This emanates basically, from the never say die spirit of the children — the protagonists of the book — who are frequently cuffed and knocked around by their parents and the neighborhood dadas as well as policemen. The book is about three young friends, Jai, the narrator, the bright-as-a-penny Pari and their friend Faiz, who wander into the most menacing areas of Delhi to search for their friend(s) who’ve gone missing. The juxtaposition of the wretched living conditions and the buoyancy of the bright young kids make this a significant debut novel.

Anappara authentically captures the sights, sounds and smells of a city that’s bursting at the seams with “people and dogs and cycle rickshaws and autorickshaws and e-rickshaws” and stalls selling food and tea. An unhealthy smog that won’t allow sunshine to penetrate its thickness encompasses it all. Greenery is rare in the Capital city that prefers concrete to grass. The denizens of the slums, or of the tin-roofed bastis, along the terminus of Delhi’s Purple Line train tracks live under the shadow of the menace of being bulldozed and homeless if the authorities so decree. These bastis teem with children. These are children who are around us all the time — washing cups at the tea stalls, foraging amongst gigantic rubbish heaps, selling roses at traffic lights — but most people stop looking at them. Anappara ensures that after reading her book, we do start seeing these little people, forced to mature far beyond their years even before they’ve reached their teens.

At the core of Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line is the horrific fact that hundreds of children go missing each month without a trace of their whereabouts. Neither are they seen or heard of again — as if they’ve disappeared from the face of the earth. Are they sold to slavery? Are their body parts removed for transplant? Are they made to beg? It’s anyone’s guess. The story starts when Bahadur, a friend and schoolmate of the three children, disappears from the basti. Jai, an avid watcher of crime shows on TV, decides to find the culprit to pick the child and with the help of his two friends — Pari and Faiz —identifies possible suspects and the places to be investigated.

Things become more and more complicated as other children start to disappear from the neighbourhood. A pervasive sense of doom and despair starts weighing down the novel as terrified parents and siblings of the missing children are plunged into a chasm of hopelessness. In addition is the looming presence of the police who refuse to listen to the basti dwellers’ woes (despite being bribed with a gold chain by Bahadur’s mother), bulldozers and the politically motivated and instigated religious divide. Young Faiz believes that it is soul-snatching djinns who are responsible for the missing children —this mythical rumour is easier to accept than the possible options.

A major strength of the book is Anappara’s grip on (vivid) detail and her masterful use of language. Effortlessly, she draws pictures of contrast — of poverty and richness; of squalor and spotlessness; of deprivation and plenty. Jai’s mother works as a house maid for a madam who lives in a ‘hi-fi building’, as do many of the women who work in the basti. Jai, the narrator, from whose vantage point the story is told, is still a robust lad, at ease with the cruelty and dangers of his circumstances but still secure in the protection of his family and space. But as the book progresses, the sense of space seems to shrink and the weight of despair, inhumanity and hopelessness presses upon the protagonists (and the reader), stretching the nerves to extreme tautness.

Anappara’s experience as a journalist, who reported extensively on human rights and education, has given her perceptive insights into details that have stood the book in good stead. Djinn Patrol on the Purple Line is a remarkable debut by a writer to watch out for.