Which, of course, turns out to be Sonalal's undoing. Distracted by the currency downpour, his been strikes a false note. A split second that changes his destiny as Raju, his companion of 15 years, leap ups and bites him—an affront Sonalal repays in full measure by biting Raju into two. Even as Sonalal tries to make peace with this despicable act of fratricide, his quaint tale is instantly blown up on the front pages of newspapers. An uncomfortable hero, for the first time he is taken seriously by his nagging wife and kids as well as the paanwala down the road.
But Sonalal's five minutes of fame runs out fast, leaving him with little solace and a host of afflictions—impotence, seemingly permanent tone-deafness, nightmares, a bleeding tongue—that is, symptoms of guilt. What follows is a painstakingly documented quest through Delhi's cavernous and labyrinthine streets to brothels, quacks, magicians, scientists in search of a cure.
Unfortunately, this chronicle of a mid-life crisis never lives up to its promise. Delhi's colourful alleys never quite come alive, the dialogue is forced (especially the overdone analogies with politicians and Indo-Pak cricket matches) and the characterisation is, dare one say it, at times patronising. Having said that, The Snake Charmer has its moments. Nigam, a medical researcher on the Harvard faculty, is his most acerbic and witty while being blasphemous about medicine and his parodies on the men of science are bound to elicit a chuckle or two.
