 | What was a bomb, really? A means of separation, of opening. A factory of undoing. It took the violent forces of civilisation and applied them to the very opposite aims with a childlike glee. A bomb was like a child. A tantrum directed at all things. A wail of a being that hadn’t got its own way. |
A car bomb goes off in a crowded Delhi market, transforming shopkeepers and shoppers into the ranks of the injured, deceased and survivors, dividing those waiting at home into the relieved and the bereaved. Both the terrorists seeking political impact and the affected families awaiting compensation and retribution are concerned that such a small bomb lacks the impact of New York’s 9/11 yet, as the novel moves back and forth in time from the central event in May 1996, its physical and psychological significance proves nevertheless to be profound. We follow the fortunes of the disaffected youth preparing, plotting and planting the bomb; the young men imprisoned and tortured as guilty-until-proven-innocent of the crime; the middle-class Khuranas who lose both their children in the blast; the boys’ friend Mansoor Ahmed whose life is blighted by his survival. Although the bomb disperses them in different directions, their trajectories nevertheless intertwine, and reflect each other in their dislocation, resentment and a search for meaning.
Through the drama and symbolism of the bomb, Karan Mahajan examines both the aftermath of terror and the sociopolitics of contemporary middle-class Indian life. Amid the grand themes, the focus on the small details (especially the tedium of waiting both on the part of the activists awaiting orders from their superiors and the bereaved families awaiting the conclusion of a drawn-out court case) we are see the world through the diverse characters’ eyes. Although the topic is serious, the novel is not without humour, and I particularly enjoyed the description of shopping for the components of the bomb.
While the fight for Kashmiri independence, which motivates the terrorists, is only lightly sketched, the discrimination against Indian Muslims, the extent of which came as a surprise to me, is heavily underlined. The Hindu Khuranas, previously flaunting their friendship with the Ahmeds as testament to their liberal credentials, become more right wing after the bomb has taken their sons. Several of the characters explore religion both as a potential source of solace and sense-making in a meaningless world and as a kind of tribalism and a retreat from the challenges of diversity.
For Mansoor, aged twelve at the time of the blast, it proves difficult to untangle the physical from the psychological impact. His injured wrist, having recovered with physiotherapy, threatens his career as a computer programmer when he develops repetitive strain injury (the first time I’ve come across that in a novel) during his degree course in the USA. Later, he interprets this as having himself become the bomb.
The Association of Small Bombs is published by Chatto & Windus from whom I received my review copy.
With the multiple viewpoints on a controversial issue, I thought this review would be a good fit for the latest flash fiction challenge to write a 99-word story using a lens. Fresh from a Ganesh Chaturthi storytelling walk last weekend, I’ve stuck with the Hindu theme in a retelling of a traditional story:
The whole world
Through the drama and symbolism of the bomb, Karan Mahajan examines both the aftermath of terror and the sociopolitics of contemporary middle-class Indian life. Amid the grand themes, the focus on the small details (especially the tedium of waiting both on the part of the activists awaiting orders from their superiors and the bereaved families awaiting the conclusion of a drawn-out court case) we are see the world through the diverse characters’ eyes. Although the topic is serious, the novel is not without humour, and I particularly enjoyed the description of shopping for the components of the bomb.
While the fight for Kashmiri independence, which motivates the terrorists, is only lightly sketched, the discrimination against Indian Muslims, the extent of which came as a surprise to me, is heavily underlined. The Hindu Khuranas, previously flaunting their friendship with the Ahmeds as testament to their liberal credentials, become more right wing after the bomb has taken their sons. Several of the characters explore religion both as a potential source of solace and sense-making in a meaningless world and as a kind of tribalism and a retreat from the challenges of diversity.
For Mansoor, aged twelve at the time of the blast, it proves difficult to untangle the physical from the psychological impact. His injured wrist, having recovered with physiotherapy, threatens his career as a computer programmer when he develops repetitive strain injury (the first time I’ve come across that in a novel) during his degree course in the USA. Later, he interprets this as having himself become the bomb.
The Association of Small Bombs is published by Chatto & Windus from whom I received my review copy.
With the multiple viewpoints on a controversial issue, I thought this review would be a good fit for the latest flash fiction challenge to write a 99-word story using a lens. Fresh from a Ganesh Chaturthi storytelling walk last weekend, I’ve stuck with the Hindu theme in a retelling of a traditional story:
The whole world
| “Are you serious? Whoever’s first to circumnavigate the world gets everything?” “If you both agree,” said the Sage. My brother nodded. The crazy kid doesn’t even have a pilot’s licence. I like to win, but I’d rather it were more of a challenge. After twenty-three hours, my eyes stung. Rubbing them, blinking, nothing changed the view: my brother with a gold medal swinging from his neck. The Sage placed his hand on my shoulder. “You did well, but there are other ways of looking at the world.” My brother waved. And went back to running circles round our parents. |  |
You can watch a more authentic version of this story on YouTube. For another flash drawing on a story about the god Ganesh, see my post on food in fiction.
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