Having anchored the plot in the '40s, Anant explores the subtle nuances of a fast-changing, superficially progressive but innately stagnant society. Well crafted, and see-sawing in time and place, Bombay first and Kerala's interiors thereafter.
In Bombay's cosmopolitan ambience, authoritarian sepoys let themselves loose at the mere suggestion of a revolt. At a cinema set, director Kardar walks up to his leading lady, the fearless Nadia, and makes obscenely explicit statements about what his potential viewer would like to see. Anant rarely pauses to mull over the proceedings in his narrative. On the contrary, he, a natural storyteller, lets the plot evolve and follow its predestined course.
Searching for an identity separate from his Brahminical tag, the disillusioned hero leaves Bombay for Kerala. At school, he is asked to abandon his trousers and wear a munddu instead. He bumps into an indigenous 'Kamoonest' who becomes his best friend and criticises his Brahminness. So does his English teacher who tries to make him understand what it means to be a "dreadful little Brahmin boy".
If Anant's character manages to deceive the odd parochial perspective—while compromising with the rest—he invariably hurtles towards another. Tackling conflicting sensibilities, the author's work is a minor triumph of clear imagination and creative foresight. There is the odd slipshod phrase, the stray slip into prosaic mundanity, but the charm of the plot has enough to sustain the interest for 200-plus pages.
