After a bunch of plotting, I’m back to writing the book. I still have issues with making the book a coherent narrative as opposed to a collection of anecdotes. There’s a lot of little events that are fun in themselves, but they add very little to the narrative. There’s also a lot of characters and I can’t possibly do justice to all of them, though it seems like everyone was a badass and a complex character. It’s also a little annoying that some of the most involved characters don’t show up until pretty late into the story.
But basically there’s three parts to the novel: Tatya comes to India House, Things escalate and there’s guns, bombs, and dead people, and The Aftermath.
I’m done with the first part. The second part is proving to be incredibly fun to write. The third part feels draggy. You expect that the story should end with the big bad villain dying. But there’s consequences, and some pretty interesting consequences. Gandhi shows up again, for one. And there’s an interesting escape sequence as well. I just need to convince myself that part 3 is interesting, because given the success of movies like Maqbool, which have a murder at the end of the second act, people do find it interesting.
Another reason for these three parts are that the cast changes between these parts. The first part had a bunch of moderate, happy, chilled out people. The second part is all the hardline, violent people. And the third part is spies and backstabbers and influential people who hate our main man.
This extract is at the beginning of the second part. VVS Aiyar turns out to be a prominent character in the second and third parts. Here’s our first impression of him. I particularly like this character because he reminds me of my uncles - nerdy profession, staunch vegetarian, physically imposing, and socially/emotionally intelligent.
On this particular Sunday morning, we were in the sitting room, playing chess, when Mrs. Carr brought us a visiting card and said a gentleman was in the drawing room, waiting to see us.
“VVS Aiyar. Pleader, Member, Lincoln’s Inn”
“What does he look like?”
“Indian. Dresses nice.” Mrs. Carr said.
“Does he look like he wants to spy on us, Mrs. Carr?” Tatya said, only half joking.
Mrs. Carr shrugged and opened the door to let the gentleman in.
A large bear of a man entered. He had on an exquisitely tailored suit and very nice, shiny black leather shoes. But it was easily ignored in the face of his large, bushy beard, and neck-length hair which was neatly combed with a center part. He was tall and imposing, and Tatya, with his teenager’s frame and delicate features, looked a pale little lizard next to him.
“I’m Mani Aiyar” he said, offering a swarthy, hairy hand. Tatya’s hand disappeared in what looked like an iron grip. “Strong handshake!” Aiyar said. Tatya made up for his small hands with a strong grip.
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Aiyar,” Tatya said, indicating the sofa. We introduced ourselves. Aiyar made himself at home.
“Tea?” I said, “I’m putting a kettle on. We just got some Darjeeling.”
“Yes, please, thank you,” He said.
“I was looking for a vegetarian mess hall,” Aiyar went on, “It seems incredibly difficult to find one. One of the fellows in my class at Lincoln Inn suggested this place.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” Tatya said, “It’s incredible how this is one area where the British haven’t made any progress.”
“Or the rest of the world, even,” Aiyar added. On the ship here from Rangoon, I maintained a fast for 21 days because there was no vegetarian food available anywhere!”
Tatya looked on in wonderment at this large, athletic man. It must have been a feat for him to have fasted for that long.
“I have been staying at this boarding house not far from Lincoln Inn, but it is expensive. How much does it cost here?”
“24 shillings a week.”
Aiyar’s eyes popped out in surprise, presumably at our low prices, but he hid it well. “I see,” he said plainly.
“We meet every Sunday evening, a gathering of mostly Indian students. Free vegetarian food! You should join us.”
“That sounds incredibly tempting,” Aiyar said, “What do you do, just dinner?”
“And socializing, and we usually have a speaker or two. We talk about issues relating to India.”
“Really! You boys have a great thing going!” Aiyar said.
We assumed right then that he was probably thirty or older. But he had assumed we were very young, presumably from Tatya’s youthful build. As it later turned out, he was only a couple of years older than Tatya.
“We try.” Tatya said, “Are you from Burma, Mr. Aiyar?”
“No, no, a small village near Trichinopoly in Madras Presidency. I was working as a junior lawyer in Rangoon for the Chettiar merchants from Madras who conduct business there. Mainly in teak and rubies. They didn’t know English very well, so there is a demand there for people who know the law as well as Tamil and English.”
“And now you’re here.”
“Yes, I wanted to learn more, and one of my good friends also moved here. He convinced me it would be a good idea for me to follow.”
“You like it here, Mr. Aiyar,” I said, offering him tea.
“Yes, it is definitely very interesting. There’s a lot to do! I have been to the opera, and the art museums. What lovely collections they have.”
“Absolutely. Have you seen the Edwin Long exhibit? Such beautiful paintings of the Middle-East. My Egyptian friends took me there.”
“I saw the fliers. I plan to go next week. Unless it clashes with my dancing lessons.”
“You’re taking dancing lessons? Why?” Tatya said.
“Because it’s fun!” Aiyar said. He seemed too confident to take offense. Besides, he probably thought Tatya was a young boy. “You boys should try it too. It makes you fun at parties. What’s the point of going to a gala and just hanging out at the bar and drinking? They like it better when you’re dancing.”
“You go to galas?”
“Yes! We get these invites all the time at our programs. It is great to meet other lawyers and see how they plan to run their practice and everything. I used to go to them more in Rangoon, where it’s hard to find things to do if you don’t speak Burmese well, and the Englishmen have their own events, but my senior lawyer would invite me to things. And then you get invited by people who’ve met you there, and then… you know the drill.”
It was dumbfounding that when we were absorbed in issues of life or death, this man, not very different from us in background and focus, found life in London light and enjoyable. We smiled and nodded.
“Alright then, I will take your leave for now. I am so glad to have made your acquaintance. I will come by tonight, and hopefully every now and then.” Aiyar said.
We saw him out.
“We’re never going to see him again, are we?” I said.
“What? No, he’s going to be here all the time.” Tatya said.
“How did you read that? He wants to have a good time. And he’s older. What would he want to do with us?”
“A man doesn’t leave a lucrative practice in Rangoon for nothing. And with that body and that mind, he isn’t someone to be reckoned with lightly. He is champing at the bit for something more in life.”
And Tatya had been right. Not only did Aiyar move into India House, he also brought his friend, Dr. Soundar Rajan with him.
“I think if we see more of him, it will be because of the vegetarian food.”
“Come for the food, stay for the revolution.” Tatya said.