Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree - book review by Ajay Singha, Raconteur Indica

The story line of this book is easy to sketch out but the story itself defies simplistic description. Tomb of Sand was awarded the international Booker, in addition to the many other accolades it received along with excellent reviews worldwide. As the story is based out of north India, perhaps the India-Pak setting provides all the situational props, possibly required by the author in order to 'show and not just tell' her story. What makes the Hindi to English translation by Daisy Rockwell of ‘Ret Samadhi’ to ‘Tomb of Sand’ truly enjoyable is the ease with which the author moves from the routine to the unexpected and on to the indefinable.

As the story commences, a staid family drama unfolds but soon the characters with some potential deflate while those with our least expectations bloom. The worldly confidence of the practical and influential ‘Bade’ and his wife start appearing commonplace after some time, especially as they prepare for retirement along with their aged and immobile ‘Ma’. Then the unexpected happens and ‘Ma’ like Rip van Winkle wakes up, moves in with her bohemian daughter ‘Beti’ and starts savoring every bit of her newfound life. As the tale unfolds, the life of the bohemian now starts appearing conventional in comparison to Ma’s antics. Ma intensifies her old friendship with Rosie, a transgender whose character escapes easy definition. As Ma’s life takes center stage, the action borders on the surreal and the story shifts into high octane overdrive. Locations and situations whirl around us, as do the observations around love, longing, relationships, nostalgia and other human emotions. The reader continues to dive deeper into the labyrinths of the author’s narrative as complex human sentiments are portrayed through the principal protagonist and other characters.

Summarizing the book or quoting some excerpts may not do justice to an outstanding effort by the author and the translator. In the last quarter of the book one does develop a feeling that the story should finally end and the whirlwind making us giddy must cease. As the story concludes one gets to appreciate the simple joys surrounding our lives and the complexities needlessly smothering individual existence. The author’s ability to wrap the mundane around the sublime, intertwining the experiential with the unreal may well lead some to identify this book with the genre of magical realism. Like a fine drink this one must be savored, sipped leisurely and not gulped down in a hurry.

Anti-Clock by VJ James-Review by Ajay Singha Raconteur Indica

In this somewhat allegorical work the author builds a story around fundamental life questions which has fascinated thinking minds from time immemorial. As individual characters play out their roles, the uncommon plot of this novel keeps the reader busy, chasing both the plot and what it helps unravel, namely the author’s views on death, life, fate and related issues surrounding the concept of time. The plot, I suspect is a mere ploy to hold together a series of very powerful views, as the author shares his deep understanding of complex questions plaguing our common appreciation of subjects mystifying humanity and our social existence.

From inside his coffin shop, Hendri the protagonist, a quintessential working class man watches the world go by as his tragic but eventful life unfolds. He develops an intense hatred for Loppo, the antagonist, a capitalist with an avowed disrespect for the law who among other acts also tries to defile Hendri’s most beloved wife. The guilt associated with seeking vengeance in place of piety and forgiveness weigh heavily on Hendri’s mind which is deeply influenced by the socio-religious mores he is born with. This novel is a great effort at trying to unravel lofty concepts while retaining the somewhat narrow and limited world view associated with the protagonist who belongs to and therefore represents a particular region and religion. He views and unravels his understanding of these lofty concepts surrounding our lives from this most interesting perspective. The story and the commentary around it may also sound familiar for the older generation of readers who often desire to travel back in time, reminisce and inadvertently relive the agony of past memories.

Hendri, the protagonist befriends his neighbor shop-owner Pandit, who explains his own concept of reversing time and develops the Anti-clock which promises to turn back time. This naturally fascinates Hendri but Loppo and later his daughter in law set their eyes on possessing the Anti-clock. Towards the finish the story takes some convoluted twists and turns and the concluding segments are a bit forced, making it a classic ‘Deus Ex-Machina’ ending.

The book has been excellently translated from the Malayalam by Ministhy S. who is an IAS officer from UP and had to read many reference books to complete this excellent work. Anti-clock received the Sahitya Academy award and was also short-listed for the JCB prize. The uncommon plot and the resultant worldview will keep the reader greatly entertained. The author VJ James commented that “Instead of plucking high sounding philosophies from thin air, showcasing such perspectives evolving naturally from a common man’s life was the toughest challenge while writing this book” No wonder this fast paced book has been a best seller in Malayalam and now in English. I for one thoroughly enjoyed it.

The Idol Thief by S. Vijay Kumar. Review by Ajay Singha - Raconteur Indica

“The Idol Thief” (Juggernaut) is a first-hand non-fiction account uncovering the theft and sale of priceless idols from India to overseas collectors. S. Vijay Kumar is a Singapore based shipping and finance expert who started a blog on art in 2007. This led him to discover the murky world of idol thieves operating in India and a chain of well entrenched middlemen and smugglers spread across the world. The book goes on to unmask the many influential people, the elite of the art collecting world, involved in this unsavory business. The villains who buy and trade in stolen art, specially idols of gods, reside overseas and comprise of private collectors and museums of international repute.

I met S. Vijay Kumar after he had spoken about his book at the Jaipur Literature Festival 2022. His deep understanding of the subject convinced me that the man was highly committed to what he preaches. What makes his book so meaningful is that Vijay Kumar is actively engaged in bringing to justice the full range of what he calls the unholy triumvirate “The Robber-smuggler, the Buyer and finally the Experts”. According to him, these three types drive a thriving trade involving millions of dollars and operating across continents. From a thousand-year old village temple, the author takes us on a riveting journey across countries, to posh hotels and museums in New York and Singapore. The author understands the iconography, style and methodology to date ancient idols and statues. Metal and stone images are imposiible to date as they have no carbon content, hence this is aformidable task for any expert. Unfortunately for India this book is not a piece of fiction and the theft of these priceless statues and idols is very much an ongoing reality. It appears that even today many continue to ply this reprehensible trade of looting India’s rich heritage.

Fearlessly the author names many individuals whose business of stealing, smuggling and selling ancient idols from India is brought to an unceremonious end with his active assistance. He is unsparing when it comes to unmasking the corrupt and lackadaisical approach of the Indian police, ASI and other departments. The famous museums and auction houses in UK, USA and Australia seem to be complict and almost hand in glove with the sellers of stolen idols. On the other hand the author praises overseas enforcement agencies especially in USA and Germany who are very committed to their work once they decide to take up the matter for investigation. He is deeply indebted to one “Indy” from the US enforcement agencies who actively assists in putting some of the key Indian and American criminals behind bars and returning many stolen idols back to India. The author describes the glamorous life of one Subhash Kapoor who is the king pin of this business. Some good investigative work and the revenge of a jilted lover helped, and he is finally locked up in jail.

From his childhood, the author developed a deep love and respect for idols of gods and goddesses of his village temples in Tamil Nadu. He writes about the unfathomable affection and regard of the priests and villagers as the temple idols are bathed, fed and taken for rest with lullabies. As Vijay Kumar puts it “They (idols) are meant to be seen when your senses are consumed by the smells of ghee and incense and fresh flowers and camphor. They are not meant to be seen behind cages of glass, inside sterile museums”. He pleads that collectively we must ensure that these “idols remain in their homes, in these temples. They belong to the village commune first and then to all of us”. It becomes quite apparent that individual efforts can yield noticeable results in the seizure of stolen idols. Between 2014 and 2018 twenty-seven artefacts were brought back to India, the author and his team played their part in this process. There were zero restitutions between 2000 and 2012.

The Rougue Subhash Kapoor

For S. Vijay Kumar this book is a product of his immeasurable love and affection for the idols of India’s temples. When one reads this detailed account one is shocked at the unimaginable level of greed human beings are capable of, for enriching themselves. The appendix and notes provide valuable information to support the author’s assertions and would be most useful if a reader wishes to get more involved in this subject. I am so glad to have met the author and introduced him to friends during the Jaipur Literature Festival. They could possibly assist him on his unfinished journey of putting a complete stop to this unholy and shameful business of looting idols from Indian temples and selling them to rich collectors overseas. I am confident that this book will be made into a film someday as it has all the elements of a successful Bollywood movie.

Songs of an Uncaged Parrot by Rajendra Shekhar IPS. Book Review by Ajay Singha Raconteur Indica

The book’s title shares some commonality of nomenclature with a 12th century compilation of stories narrated by a parrot. The book under review by Rajendra Shekhar sticks mostly to solving crime, more socially acceptable as opposed to semi-erotic themes of the Seventy Tales of a Parrot or the Tutinamah of yore. But I notice another similarity between the two, the format of a story within a story, concluding with a subtle lesson for the reader. The author Rajendra Shekhar is a Mayoite and a Stephanian who joined the IPS, rose to become Director CBI and later DG of Police, Rajasthan. He has written several books which contain incidents and anecdotes from a most eventful career.The personal touch and informal style of writing is what makes the stories in this book most enjoyable to read. The author starts by recollecting the very positive impressions a police officer in the district of Tonk made on his young and impressionable mind during the formative years.

In one of the first cases of his career the author nails the fake charge of a complainant on a technical point as the alleged victim claims he heard the “ping” of a bullet going past his ear. Shekhar notes that the weapon in question was a double barreled shotgun which would go off with a bang when discharging pellets but never produce a movie style “ping” which only a rifle or pistol firing a bullet could make. The complainant realizes that his false claim has been uncovered and settles for a compromise. He then moves to uncovering “A murder most foul” where a child has been killed in a case of kidnapping for ransom. With sustained investigation they are all in for a surprise only to discover that the most vociferous complainant is in fact the murderer.

In his stint in the CBI the author works on the famous Bofors case involving the high and mighty. He explains the twists and turns that such high profile cases take and when investigations are stymied he shares a quip from Shri Atal Behari Vajpayee : “Guru toh gud bane rahe, chela shakkar ban gaya” (the guru continues to be jaggery but the disciple has become as sweet as sugar). Obviously alluding to the soft and benign approach towards the case preferred by Prime Minister Chandrashekhar who was severely dependent on Congress support to continue in power. Shortly thereafter the author is posted back to his home cadre. Unravelling the daylight heist in a Ludhiana bank by terrorists and the Nirankari Baba murder case both require painstaking research and an eye for detail. In the unfortunate assassination of General Vaidya the terrorists leave a tell-tale clue scribbled unwittingly on the last page of a Ken Folllet novel. Then there is the LN Mishra murder case which has political undertones and requires deft handling as once again the high and mighty are involved. The author takes us through these and other cases, admitting that providence plays a role but only if combined with hard work and patience.

The author narrates a comical sequence of events during the Indo-Pak conflict which led citizens of the border district of Barmer to believe that enemy paratroopers had landed in the middle of the city. The incident ends leaving the citizens a bit embarrassed as the suspected paratrooper turns out to be dog whose head is stuck in an earthen pot and hence the unusual sounds. After a fair exchange of opinions with his spouse the author observes “There is a bit of a cat in every woman, just as there is a bit of a mouse in every man!”

“The Tunnel of God” is another true episode where a crafty Godman almost succeeds in cheating a village full of gullible believers but a series of funny events leads to the fellow getting caught at the last moment. “Catching up with greed” is another true story from his early career and some of us will be surprised by the level of reluctance exhibited by Shekhar’s superiors in allowing him to dutifully proceed against and catch a corrupt senior official.
He fondly recollects his tenure in Jhunjhunu with a District Collector who was called “Allaudin Khilji” and who was also a great non-vegetarian Chef. Before anyone new could comment on his name the Collector would invariably quip “Funny name isn’t it - Jhunjhunu”.
The book ends on a personal note describing how well he and his family appreciated the immediate staff from the police force who worked very closely with them over the years. Both the lay reader and the people who know or have heard of Mr. Shekhar as an upright police officer will greatly enjoy reading the book. Written in an easy going style and bereft of the usual bombast which accompanies famous crime cases, this is an account by a sensitive personality narrating some most interesting and well known cases in recent public memory.

Old Parr Gone Sour! by Ajay Singha - Raconteur Indica

Mirthful Vignettes from a Bygone Era !
Much after India’s independence and the merger of Rajputana’s Princely States into the State of Rajasthan, Ajmer-Merwara continued to be centrally administered from New Delhi till, as late as 1956. It was just a couple of years after India’s independence when Rai Bahadur Capt. Seth Sir Bhagchand Soni, who went by the sobriquet ‘Merchant Prince of Rajputana’ invited Mr Kriplani ICS, the new Chief Commissioner of Ajmer-Merwara for dinner. The top brass of the State’s administration and prominent citizens of the city, including my father were invited at this VIP banquet. The British Raj had ended some years ago but Kriplani, an ICS officer of the old school was, as they say, more English than the Queen and expected that the Merchant Prince would serve nothing less than his favourite Old Parr whisky. Much like in the days of the Raj their respective staff had exchanged notes about the Commissioner’s dietary preferences and confirmed that Old Parr would rule that evening. The evening commenced with the chief guest being served first and the host announced “Cheers – long live the Republic” instead of “To Her Majesty – Long live the Queen” in the years gone by. Chief Commissioner Kriplani sipped his favourite scotch and as Old Parr made its way into thirsty gullets, Kriplani made quite a sour face.

To everyone’s great surprise the chief guest, after taking a sip, put his glass aside and refused to imbibe any more of his favourite whisky. Out of politeness the other guests too put away their glasses. My father went up to the chief guest whose position was comparable to that of a Ruler of any Princely State of the past and quietly asked him if his drink was fine. Kriplani made another wry face, wrinkled his nose and whispered quite aloud ‘You see this Grand Old Parr is a sensitive scotch, it doesn’t sleep well in moth balled cupboards, but never mind, I will go home and have a drink.’ The whisky was moth balled. Seth Bhagchand who was a teetotaller didn't know better and his servants had dutifully stored his whisky in an outhouse, amongst woollen blankets along with insect repelling moth balls. Non-vegetarian food was absolutely prohibited from entering his palatial residence but over the years Sir Bhagchand had permitted serving alcohol to VIPs, as long as the whole exercise was carried out in the lawns and never inside his home.

(The palatial residence of Sir Bhagchand Soni as it stands today)

The host was dutifully informed by my father of these sudden developments. As conversation dwindled and guests exchanged nervous glances, Sir Bhagchand sensed that the evening was heading for a disaster. ‘What if the chief guest departs without having dinner? That would be the last time he would accept my invitation’ thought Sir Bhaghchand. He turned to my father requesting him to salvage the situation and urgently arrange some bottles of Old Parr whisky from someplace. No one present had any bottles of this particular brand at home and the Ajmer club’s well stocked bar from the British days was closed that day. It was the 15th of August and young India had decided to celebrate independence by declaring it a dry day. The entire top administration of Ajmer-Merwara was involved in the evolving fiasco and at risk was the impeccable reputation of the perfect host, Sir Bhagchand himself. My father told Sir Bhagchand to keep the chief guest busy for just fifteen minutes and he would be back with a solution. He rushed to the Ajmer Club, yanked open the bar lock and was back within no time with a few bottles of Old Parr.

With Kriplani’s favourite whisky flowing once again, jollifications quickly resumed and Sir Bhagchand’s reputation of being the perfect host, the ‘Merchant Prince of Rajputana’ continued unscathed. As it happened my father, in those days was an honorary office bearer of Ajmer club as well as a senior officer of the State Police. No one stopped him on his way in and out of the club. The Chief Commissioner and the select few of renown had an enjoyable evening and life in the small State of Ajmer-Merwara moved on.

Ajmer early 1950s: a private cocktail party in progress

The Ajmer Club as it stands today