Murder melange

Bollywood Deception
Juggi Bhasin
Penguin
2016, pp 324, Rs 299

A girl, a starlet, is found murdered in Juggi Bhasin’s crime novel Bollywood Deception. Added to the gruesome crime are mysteries within mysteries, the implication of top movie stars, and one trail leading to another.

All of this the protagonists Kas Batterywala, a dejected and depressed detective, and his partner, Kasturi Pandey or Kassata, must solve. When the novel opens, there’s a terrorist on the run and a gun battle follows, all set in the rundown, seedy side of Mumbai.

The murder of Jennie is what brings Kas, who would rather be away from Mumbai, to the city in the first place. He’s also stuck with the fiery, unpredictable Kassata, a woman he’d rather avoid. But things being what they are, the duo find themselves in the thick of mystery — and a murder with a superstar apparently involved. There’s a trail of drugs, the victim’s autistic twin sister, and a serial killer who’s obsessed with ritualistic murders.

Kas Batterywala has a troubled past, and an addiction to a certain antidepressant. He is good at what he does, unconventional in his methods. And yet it is hard to identify with or sympathise with this character as he is presented. Kassata, on the other hand, is supposed to be feisty and bold. But her character too appears flat as the story progresses. Both Kas and Kassata are unconvincingly irrational and brash bordering on foolish as they tackle the case. Supporting characters in the book, and there are many of them, are equally peculiar. Not one of them seems sane, or consistent, and many of the superstars in the book speak with the same voice. The police are cast in the same mould. The drug dealers and other criminals, when they do make an appearance, are, again, similar.

There’s an attempt to bring to light the seamy side of Bollywood, the conceit of some, and the naiveté of newcomers, told from shifting points of view. Young hopefuls are drawn into the glitz and glamour of the world of films, some with offers of stardom and fame. Some find themselves trapped in Mumbai after paying lakhs at acting schools that give them nothing more than promises. But the acting school and the shenanigans that take place there are almost predictable, a two-dimensional representation of a sinister dream — crusher with two dimensional characters with shattered dreams and descent into debt.

Also, the story, despite being set in Mumbai, seems to have an overdose of peculiar references. There are private detectives with badges, a profusion of apartments, and characters beginning every dialogue with ‘Hey’. Added to that are movie quotes, film names, references to American sitcoms and the FBI, and Kas going around in disguise. He is, after all, an unconventional detective. What is strange is how easily his marks are hoodwinked into believing his disguises. Or maybe not every one of them, but still, as the scenes unfold, Kas’s deceptions are wild and not wholly realistic. The chapters on Kassata’s stint in the army as a doctor manage to make both the Indian army and its commanding officers look singularly unintelligent. The book is also dripping with profanity, and that makes the speakers sound juvenile.

The killer in question thinks there is a method to the madness of the killings, and Kas and Kassata manage to corner that individual through a series of improbable events. The killer is, and the story definitely indicates it, clever. The criminal’s actions though, are sloppy and careless, and it is surprising that it takes the police, or Kas, as much time as it does to solve the mystery. The twist in the tale could have used tighter writing. Not to mention that nearly everything is tied in with everything else, creating a tangled web. People are, as Kas discovers later in the book, paid to lie. By itself, that’s a plot angle that would have made a lot of sense. But not everybody is a convincing liar, and to think that Kas took them at face value the first time is strange.

The writing takes an odd turn as well. On page 73, a “...gargling sound of pleasure escaped his throat.” There is a “chest-high mirror hung somewhere...” on page 83, and “Kassata wearing a transparent T-shirt” on page 88. Someone’s “...teeth were rattling in their cage...” on page 310. Villains and the arrogant have one shared trait in Bollywood Deception — they call others names, excessively. To the point of immaturity. Characters are called “bitch” multiple times, “hotshot”, “bastard”, and a number of other names.

Too many elements are woven into the story to make the tale credible, right from ageing superstars, drug dealers, terrorists and bumbling policemen, to the Natyashastra. Better editing, smoother writing and better characterisation would have helped Bollywood Deception a great deal.