Monday, 30 August 2010

Vishwajyoti Ghosh, Delhi Calm

An edited version of the review below appeared in Delhi's Sunday Guardian a couple of weeks ago. I really liked the look of Vishwajyoti Ghosh's book. The artwork is fantastic; very intelligent, and full of references to things you can't not recognise if you've grown up in India. In contrast, the prose was merely adequate in most places, and in some was awkward enough to let the book down entirely.



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“Nothing like this ever happened. If it did, it doesn't matter any more, for it was of no interest or relevance even while it was happening. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. Self-censored.”
Vishwajyoti Ghosh's Delhi Calm opens with the above disclaimer. This is not, it implies, a graphic novel about the historical Emergency. Ghosh's character “Moon” has no connection whatsoever with Indira Gandhi. The figure of the “Prophet” is not based on Jayaprakash Narayan. But this rather overwrought disclaimer is in a speech bubble, and the speech bubble emerges from an illustration of a megaphone, and the megaphone is inside a larger panel... and therefore part of the (fictional) content of the novel itself. It's a lot more complex than it at first appears.

Delhi Calm traces the movements of three young men, all former members of a political music group and followers of “the Prophet”, a political figure clearly modelled on JP Narayan. The band eventually drifts apart, but “Master”, “VP” and Parvez find their lives intersecting once more in Delhi during the Emergency. What follows is a series of impressions of life in a city where Prime Minister Moon (along with her sons, the Prince and the Pilot) reigns supreme. There is an element of surrealism in the constant, sinister presence of the masked “Smiling Saviours” (who appear as an interesting visual tribute to Alan Moore, author of that great political graphic novel, V for Vendetta).

The Parvez-VP-Master story is rendered in sepia tones and uses a (mostly) traditional graphic novel format. The unusual colour palette contributes as much to the tone of the novel as the extremely strong artwork. These sections are interleaved with a more traditionally-structured, black-and-white history of Moon's life that reads as if it were from a newspaper or magazine. Occasional full-page spreads give Ghosh further opportunities to showcase his art. There is also a frequent use of pop-cultural imagery, particularly in the use of signs and posters.

Perhaps the best thing about Delhi Calm is the way in which Ghosh depicts propaganda and the construction of narratives by those in power. The megaphone that speaks the disclaimer is only one of many: the panels of this book are full of words. These may take the form of slogans, of street signs, banners, posters, advertisements. Newspapers are frequently depicted, and the title of the book itself is taken from one newspaper report. Delhi is only “calm”, of course, because it is not allowed to be anything else.

These narratives are created not just by bombarding citizens with posters and banners bearing the message, but also by curtailing what other people are allowed to say. One of the more chilling scenes in the book is an essay competition described by a schoolboy, one of Master's tuition pupils. The “essay” (extolling the virtues of Mother Moon) is dictated to the students by the teacher, and the students are judged on their handwriting and spelling skills.

Yet the deployment of words as weapons is not entirely one-sided, and Ghosh avoids the pitfall of turning this into a flat tale of state oppression by allowing his characters plenty of agency and showing that there's a lot going on under the city's “calm” exterior. At the beginning of his character's story arc, the importance of Parvez's linguistic skills is stressed. The Naya Savera band spread their message through song, and VP is a writer of songs as well as a journalist and copywriter.

Strangely, for a text that conveys so strongly the importance of narrative and the power of words, the writing is Delhi Calm's weakest point. Vishwajyoti Ghosh is both the writer and the artist of the book, and his skills in one area far outweigh his skills in the other. In one large panel, two children sit astride an elephant bearing the slogan “We Are Two, We Have Two”, while below them a woman is fleeing a man who wears a Smiling Saviour mask and carries a giant syringe. It's a powerful image, but it is ruined by the clumsy dialogue in the speech bubbles:
“Stop running after me. I am 48! That too, a widow... Pleeeease!”
“Who cares? I have targets to meet... One kilo Dalda, I promise, please! Get sterilised, you...”
While few moments in the book are quite this awkward, the prose is never quite as smooth as one would like. It's unfortunate, because it has the effect of jolting the reader out of what is in most respects a very fine book.

Delhi Calm is a fascinating commentary on the emergency. It has plenty of flaws, but there's also plenty to admire and to think about, and the familiarity of some of its imagery is distinctly uncomfortable.

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1 comment:

Harsha said...

Hi! Loved your blog really. Great work!:))