"maro, kato"
This, then, is the Sahmat school of fiction—shrill, posters with slogans that translate the ’60s flower rhetoric into chi-chi Hindi, candlelight vigils, some slumming and then a hot shower with Bodyshop gel in mamma’s bathroom! However disarmingly displayed, the author and the protagonist’s political naivete are embarrassing. Violent encounters change Pervez’s life forever—a riot in Dharavi, a visit to the emergency ward. One has her cowering under a quilt, the other fainting. Pervez finally takes courage and performs the ultimate act of defiance, after the police rough her up. Promise not to laugh, and I’ll tell you: she spits into a gutter!
