When I met Somnath Batabyal earlier this year, I promised to read his first novel The Price You Pay but never got down to it. When I heard recently that the book’s rights had been bought by producer-director Ajay Bahl of BA Pass fame, I decided it was time to turn the pages. And I realised instantly why this pacy chor -police novel could, if made well, be quite a slick movie.
Set in Delhi, the story revolves around a crime reporter, a policeman, and a gangster newly arrived in town with a plot up his sleeve. Good guys, bad guys, and reporters take turns to clash and collaborate against a Delhi cityscape that is beautifully and lovingly etched. Batabyal’s biggest triumph lies in how affectionately he captures the city’s essence, from its manicured diplomatic enclaves to the chaotic underbelly of its markets and satta dens. From the bread-omelette vendor at the ITO intersection to the mayhem of Chandni Chowk to the affluent Panchsheel Enclave, Somnath’s neighbourhoods are real and alive. Equally real are his descriptions of police business and of the insides of newspaper and TV newsrooms (the writer was a crime reporter for 10 years). It proves how invaluable solid background research is, drawing you in for its own sake as much as for its contribution to plot.
Cub reporter Abhishek gets wind of what promises to become a mega scoop — dreaded kidnapper Babloo Shankar’s return. From that point, his personal career becomes as unstoppable as the nefarious Babloo’s plot. As he chases his ambition, he is pitched headfirst into the cauldron of Delhi’s crime beat, where cops and journos are all playing the big game, scratching each other’s backs while secretly trying to stay one step ahead. It’s intriguing, it’s insider stuff, and it’s delightfully amoral. Chief reporter Amir won’t hire anyone who is idealistic; Abhishek pursues his career with no signs of boring ethicality; everyone is imbued with the famous Indian trait of ruthless pragmatism, making the book scarily credible. And that’s the book’s triumph: its very real depiction of Delhi noir.
Batabyal’s strength is his cast — each person with back stories and impulses clearly etched, even when they aren’t central to the plot. But — and that’s the attendant danger — you can see the writer getting attracted to each interesting newcomer and wandering off with them down various by-lanes. This makes the narrative patchy, with too many messy strands that don’t really go anywhere. Supporting the strong characters is the rapid parallel editing technique that Batabyal uses, which is mostly rather effective, but becomes towards the end a bit distracting.
The surprise, perhaps, is Batabyal’s failure to make Abhishek an attractive or strong protagonist. He remains a hollow man, impossible to like or dislike. His attraction to his colleague is a timorous thing, his tastes non-committal, even the dilemma of choosing between print and television a damp squib. The novel’s ending too chooses not to be a grand resolution but a muted compromise, leading one to wonder if this hints at a sequel. I don’t mind.
The Price You Pay; Somnath Batabyal, HarperCollins, Rs. 350.
