By Deepti Kapoor
A hugely charged fiction debut a couple of younger lady in India, and the affection that either shatters and transforms her
She is twenty, stressed in New Delhi. Her mom has died; her father has left for Singapore.
He is some years older, simply again to India from New York.
When they meet in a café one afternoon, she—lonely, hungry for event, craving to wreck freed from tradition—casts apart her fears and throws herself headlong right into a love affair, one who takes her the place she hasn't ever been before.
Told in a voice without delay gritty and lyrical, mournful and frank, a nasty personality marks the coming of an astonishingly talented new author. it really is an unforgettable hymn to a deadly, exhilarating urban, and a portrait of hope and its outcomes as undying because it is common.
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Extra resources for A Bad Character: A Novel
We fall quiet, he’s thinking about something. I say, Do you miss them? He looks at the table. Do I miss them, you mean my parents? He pauses, sketches a pattern quickly on the cloth. You know, when I heard they were dead it was evening in Manhattan. I was walking on Mulberry Street, north, through Little Italy, to Lafayette, up to Union Square, I had my set routes I liked to walk. There’s nothing like walking there, you never tire of it. I was just walking, it was very cold, damp, almost snowing, and all the Christmas decorations had started to be put up around the city.
She liked to bathe me in the old days, took great care with it, and one day she sat me down on the cold metal stool, opened my legs, and pointed between them, then said, If a man ever tries to touch you there, an uncle or a servant or a cousin, anyone at all, you fight him off and you scream. You run. You don’t let anybody touch you down there. That is the worst place in the world. I’m still in pigtails. I’m running through the fields in my tartan dress, the one brought back from Singapore, which he said was Scottish.
One in the middle cannot be contained. At any moment she might break away, fall forward to embrace the dead man’s face. It has a moustache, a balding head. It is laid on the crisscrossed wood, the fire is lowered on a stick, pressed in underneath. It takes hold and quickly begins to spread. The hysteria of the widow stops and it seems as if the whole universe has held its breath. I feel the heat of the flames against my skin, I cannot take my eyes away, I think that he’ll jump out at any moment and run.
A Bad Character: A Novel by Deepti Kapoor