A reflection of reality

Aradhika Sharma

The rape of Susan, a chubby tourist from Britain on New Year’s Eve, abruptly ended the tourist season for us”. The “us” in Sabin Iqbal’s debut novel are four Muslim youth, friends Usma, Thaha, Jahangir and Moosa (also the narrator), who live in a coastal village of Kerala and hang out with foreign tourists, ostensibly to learn English from them, but in fact to earn some money by acting as informal guides, which includes advice on where to source good Idukki weed. These four are the ‘Cliffhangers’, whom the villagers believe, have gone astray.

The plot is but a reflection of the reality that surrounds us — after a crime happens, the suspicion inevitably settles on youth of a particular community. Invariably, the simmering situation explodes into communal fires, with an uneasy calm kept in check by unwritten rules and unspoken code of conduct that allows no trespassing. “So far, the two communities in our village have lived in peace and harmony. It is a delicate peace, which any moment, could crumble like papadums.” This state sometimes gets challenged as when Thaha and Jahangir jump into the pond in the temple compound and the ‘tainted’ water has to be drained and purifying rituals performed.

The boys are considered kafirs by their own community because of their bohemian lifestyle, whereby they prefer to shed the visible symbols of their religion and dress in the ubiquitous ‘trainers, sweatpants or tracksuits’and befriend Hindus like Balannan and Vivekannan.

There is no ambiguity in the author’s scathing condemnation of indoctrination by any community. The boys’ resignation that it was, naturally, they who would be the primary targets of suspicions by both the police and the Hindu community, for committing the act of rape, only highlights the horrors that religious discrimination can foster.

As in many such cases, it results in unwarranted surveillance, unlawful profiling, and exclusion. “SI Devan would drive by, poke out his ugly face, and yell: ‘Beware, bastards!’ before driving away.” No matter that Moosa may claim: “This is my country. No one can come between us. Neither saffron nor green can come in our way,” the facts prove him wrong. The ominious shadow of the virulent Hindu Rasthra Sangh and the disturbing news from North India about the lynching of a man suspected of storing beef in his fridge makes the narrative more portentous.

In spite of the morbid premise of the book, Iqbal still manages to be funny. His skilful play with the language definitely evokes a laugh. Talking about his father’s retreat in the face of his mother’s wrath, Moosa says: “Father’s new survival skills have convinced me that the human race is still surviving… he has developed skills such as turning a deaf ear to Mother’s curses.”

It’s a fearless book, unafraid to talk of taboo topics and a dystrophic reality. The reader is left with the ominous memory of the words (reinforced daily by news reports) that SI Devan speaks to the boys: “Remember, we are living in strange times… and, your identity is your enemy!” The author thus furthers the conviction that there is an urgent need to create inclusive societies and eliminate the lack of trust and empathy.