Spooked by New Delhi

While what is commonly referred to as 8220;literary fiction8221; is often so intensely preoccupied with just being intense, it is what we ...

While what is commonly referred to as 8220;literary fiction8221; is often so intensely preoccupied with just being intense, it is what we call 8220;genre fiction8221;, especially crime fiction, that is relaxed enough, and unselfconscious enough, to take a good look at the landscape in which it is set. To give us, in short, the kind of 8220;pass-the-potatoes8221; prose for which literary fiction seems to have little time.

Jon Stock8217;s spy story, The Cardamom Club, gives us all this and more. Not only in the image of Sachin Tendulkar flickering to life across 16 TV screens, but also in the banner in the crowd that says, 8220;We failed the Tebbit test and we are proud of it8221;, and in the English fans playing table football as they watch, burnt-out and drunk, in the sports bar of a Radisson hotel out on National Highway 8, near the airport where, in the background, a Filipino band is singing Eleanor Rigby.

The novel is set mainly in the maze of Delhi8217;s 8220;Republic of Sainik Farms8221; and then down south in Cochin. The story proceeds at a leisurely pace as it tells us about the many delights of its settings, including BMW brats, expats in four-wheel drives, and an ugly blue castle, complete with parapets, drawbridge and moat.

Raj Nair, the narrator, is a doctor with the British High Commission. He admits to us soon enough that he is also a spook working for MI6; an attachment, he adds wryly, that has 8220;more than a little to do with ethnic quotas8221;. Nevertheless, he is quite flattered to have been chosen for this assignment, even though he knows little about what it is. Nor is he in a particular hurry to find out, for life in Delhi is exciting enough. 8220;The neighbours across the road had decided to throw a party for two thousand close friends, most of whom finished dancing to Daler Mehndi at five thirty in the morning. Tukatukatuk.8221;

First Nair tells us about his unresolved issues with his father, and then he falls in love. But the plot must unfold with more thrills. We are soon taken on a mysterious journey down to God8217;s Own Country. Not that we mind, nor does Nair. And Kerala is altogether a friendlier place: 8220;Less hustling8230; fewer people on the make.8221;

After a leisurely lunch at the Malabar, over a bottle of Kalyani Black Label 8212; it8217;s hard work, this spying business 8212; Nair decides to stroll down to the Cardamom Cafe, an Internet browsing centre where, as expected, he not only finds some beach-blond foreign tourists checking their mail, but also smells something fishy. And no, it8217;s not the Meen Molee.

As plots go, this one is a bit of a letdown. It8217;s nefarious and exotic enough, I suppose, but only if you8217;re willing to let go of your disbelief; and the ending is quite ridiculous. But read this book for a marvellous description of expat life in India in general, and Delhi in particular: 8220;There was so much background noise in India that I had become adept at ignoring it,8221; says Nair. This slim spy novel listens to the background noise and deciphers some of it for us.