Animal's People

Indra Sinha

About twenty years ago, I remember sitting, reading in an aged armchair in a shabby student bedsit in the East End. It was January, about minus 12 outside and the snow was piled high in Stepney.

I was reading Brendan Behan’s Borstal Boy. It’s a long time ago now, but if I recall correctly, the passage described Behan, becoming more at ease in the borstal and with his fellow inmates, having a great, sociable, happy day in summer. He described the rural scene and the physical and social warmth beautifully and I was totally absorbed – so much so that I was surprised to “come round” again to the cold urban reality.

It’s part of what books are for, to take the reader away for a bit. And if you fancy a journey to a poisoned Bhopal, then Animal’s People is the book for you. Indra Sinha doesn’t call it Bhopal – “it’s Khaufpur” – but it’s an Indian city living with the effects of a massive industrial chemical disaster, forgotten by the world, save for the odd passing journalist, but still boiling with anger in itself.

The character through whose eyes we see life in the slums of this city is Animal: a teenager orphaned by the accident as a baby, and whose spine has subsequently contorted so much that he must walk on all fours. He lives on his wits though begging and fleecing tourists. He’s some creation: a post-apocalyptic Holden Caulfield with knobs on. Never craving sympathy for himself, yet regularly invoking it for others, his combination of abrasive self-reliance, contempt for authority and recurring delusions serve to paint an extraordinary picture.

The device Sinha uses is a series of tapes that Animal has recorded after stealing a cassette player from a gullible journalist. Using a warped “Inglis” language worthy of Anthony Burgess, these document the campaign, with a band of relatively well-off protesters who welcome him into their fold, to bring the “Kampani” responsible for the accident to justice. The language, difficult at first, is crucial to pulling you into this slum world – a labyrinth rich with characters.

Nisha is the pure, beautiful and unattainable object of Animal’s affections, who is committed to Zafar, the erudite, peaceful and attractive leader of the protesting pack. Farouq is the henchman Animal resents, but rubs along with. And Pandit Somraj, Nita’s father, a noble and statesmanlike, bearded presence (Tommy Doherty I hear you say?) who, though widowed by the accident and robbed of the famous singing voice with which he previously earned a living, refuses to sink anywhere near the level of the company or the state. And there is Ma Franci who taught Animal French in the orphanage before becoming so mad that she can only speak French and thinks that the rest of Khaufpur is babbling nonsensically.

Into this world parachutes Elli Barber an American doctor who opens a clinic offering free treatment to all. But is “Elli Doctress” for real, or just a company stooge sent to collect skewed evidence for a court case?

Ultimately, the plot cannot bear the weight of the language or the characters that Sinha creates. But hey, Shakespeare managed to make a fair career in spite of dodgier plots. And Animal’s network of ne’er-do-wells, individual saints and corporate sinners make this a corking excursion.

29.02.2008. 10:36

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