The telling starts with the Saxena father, Brahm, calling a family council. Mrs Saxena is right there, of course, and daughter Tara not far away, a lawyer living on her own in the same city
This is the story of two Delhi families, the Saxenas and the Chawlas, each of which consists of father and mother, daughter and son, and is told by the Saxena daughter, Tara.
The telling starts with the Saxena father, Brahm, calling a family council. Mrs Saxena is right there, of course, and daughter Tara not far away, a lawyer living on her own in the same city. Rohit, Tara’s younger brother, arrives from the US, where he is still studying for a future in film-making. Brahm tells his children about how he plans to dispose of his property after his death: that their mother will be taken care of in comfort for the rest of her life, but the two siblings will get nothing but their education.
This is a major bombshell for Rohit — his mother, as usual, says nothing, though it transpires over the following months that she feels for her boy — but Tara accepts it willingly enough. What the bombshell does, though, is separate the siblings, who were never close, further. Rohit, always insecure, begins to feel that Tara, through sheer proximity, has been able to get closer to their father.
Weeks after these meetings comes the death of the other father in the story, Mr Chawla. Mr Chawla’s daughter, Lila, is Tara’s almost friend: They’ve known each other since their school days. Lila is having trouble dealing with her younger brother Kunal, who seems to want to take over the family property.
But there’s a difference. Kunal, large, overfed, and under-exercised, is adopted, while Lila, some years older, is born to the Chawlas. Lila was an accident, claims Kunal, while he himself was “chosen”. Mrs Chawla’s — the lady has never been close enough for Tara to call her “Auntie” — treatment of Kunal seems to fit with this hypothesis.
Regardless of parentage, the brothers feel threatened by their sisters, and, in different ways, try to assert their closeness to their respective mothers. For Rohit, for example, it’s arriving at home without telling Tara, taking it over. For Kunal, it’s sacking the domestic staff without discussion with Lila. Then, at Lila’s behest, begins a little game of espionage. Tara plants an intern in Kunal’s NGO, and conceals a video camera in his home.
The espionage, though it does show that Kunal has some strange, even perverted, dietary habits, doesn’t end as Tara thinks it will: There’s a sting in the tale, for, as it turns out, Kunal has been spying on Lila, revealing some very dirty laundry.
Meanwhile, Saxena senior seems to be withdrawing into himself. Never a big talker, he rarely emerges from his room. It turns out he’s been reading up about what human beings are doing to the earth. He’s gone “full Greta”, as in Thunberg, and is examining his foundational values. The elder Saxena’s voyage on earth doesn’t end in any way the narrator can predict.
Guha’s writing is, for the most part, workmanlike but sanitised — it’s got too few swear words to represent Delhi — and food-focused, for it talks of the loo, the hot winds that “caramelise” Delhi. It’s also got stories within stories, some of which don’t really belong. Guha has talent, and good forceful editing and fact-checking could have transformed the book.
The Tiger’s Share
By Keshava Guha
Hachette
pp. 256; Rs 699
