By Deepti Kapoor
A hugely charged fiction debut a couple of younger lady in India, and the affection that either shatters and transforms her
She is twenty, stressed in New Delhi. Her mom has died; her father has left for Singapore.
He is some years older, simply again to India from New York.
When they meet in a café one afternoon, she—lonely, hungry for event, craving to damage freed from tradition—casts apart her fears and throws herself headlong right into a love affair, one who takes her the place she hasn't ever been before.
Told in a voice without delay gritty and lyrical, mournful and frank, a foul personality marks the coming of an astonishingly proficient new author. it really is an unforgettable hymn to a deadly, exhilarating urban, and a portrait of hope and its results as undying because it is common.
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Additional info for A Bad Character: A Novel
Spill on to the tablecloth. I ask where he lives, he says in Nizamuddin West, close to the dargah, the tomb of the saint, at the point where the neighbourhood goes from rich to poor—he can sometimes hear the singing in the night, the qawwalis, the voices, the harmonium, the devotion filling the alleyways from the inside out. He says he’ll show it to me some time. He lives there alone, it’s just him. No family, no flatmates, no maid, no cook, no servant. No prying eyes. No sentiments to offend. I’ve never met anyone who lives alone, not once in my life.
My mother’s not here. She’s dead. And your father? In Singapore. He nods to himself, smiles slightly, sympathetically. Lights his cigarette. Settles into the red booth. What’s it like in Singapore? I say I don’t know. He flags down the waiter and orders two beers. At home, Aunty would take me on her visits. For two years I’m dressed in my itchy salwar-kameez, sitting next to her juddering flesh, among the bags of clothes that are going somewhere, to be altered, to be gifted to someone else on the way, given away second-hand, untouched.
I can’t think of what it is. Instead he asks if I’m OK to drive. I say I’ll be all right. He nods and tells me to follow his car as far as Jor Bagh. Lodhi Road, opposite Safdarjung’s Tomb, at the entrance to Jor Bagh, he pulls into the service lane at the side. Nothing stirs beyond, inside the colony the gates of the small entry roads have been locked, the rich houses inside are packed up for the night, guards are in their cabins. A pack of stray dogs cross silently beyond us into Lodhi Gardens.
A Bad Character: A Novel by Deepti Kapoor