Anatomy of a Murder

“Kitney tukde they?” is the question television channels would go hysterical with,and a newspaper,refusing to let facts come in the way of the figure,thought this would make a good headline: 300. Death in Mumbai opts out of that frenzy to concentrate on the lives and circumstances of three young men and women,before they became one-dimensional players in an episode of Sansani,the melodramatic crime show on Star News.

Neeraj,the good-looking man with a hunger for fame and the good life that his doting parents in Kanpur never quite understood. Mysore girl Maria,who used her vulnerability to charm men “out of her league”,but did not have the drive to make it in Mumbai. Emile remains the cipher of the lot,Baghel unable to show the transition from aspiring marine commando to besotted lover. They could be among millions of young Indians who,every year,check out of small towns and cities hollowed out of ambition and opportunity to embrace a modern,metropolitan life where no one quite knows the rules of engagement,sex,or love. They have left behind parents who they call twice a day but who never really know how disquietingly far their children have travelled. In their ordinariness is a portrait of our times.

In the backdrop,glittering like a nightmare one cannot forget,is the entertainment industry,with its divas and bit players. Baghel uses interviews with Ekta Kapoor and an aspiring item girl Moon Das to pan out of the limited material in her hands (though there is not much new in the chapter on Ram Gopal Varma and his film on the murder). It’s a portrait that gives her narrative heft,but more importantly,parallels the mystery at the heart of the web of relationships that led to the murder: in this hyper-real world,who is the player and the played? Did Neeraj use Maria,or did she delude herself and use Emile to get her revenge?

Death in Mumbai does not have the answers; in that sense,it is hamstrung by the lack of access to Emile and the few interviews with Maria. But it is smart,sensitive journalism. The indifferent editing of this book is disappointing,with phrases,words and conversations in Hindi inconsistently translated. Baghel is an unshowy writer,never aspiring to great leaps of thought and experimentation. But she has a talent for portraits,an eye for the telling detail—and an instinctive feel for the grid of desires and ambition that links a day in the life of Mumbai to a duffel bag filled with bones.