Sneha Jaiswal (Twitter | Instagram)
Do you like walking? The answer to that might determine how much you like Sarnath Banerjee’s graphic novel Absolute Jafar, which is a meandering book about Brighu, the protagonist and narrator, who mostly talks about walking through the streets of Delhi, Berlin, and a few other cities. In between, he also lets us in on his cross-cultural romance with a Pakistani woman and the ever-increasing challenges of an Indo-Pak love story between people from neighboring countries that ‘hate’ each other, especially when they’re playing cricket.
‘Absolute Jafar’ is part fictional and partly inspired by Sarnath Banerjee’s own life. It’s a semi-autobiographical story about walking without an agenda, sort of like drifting through life without a goal, and managing to make some friends and a living along the way. The book opens with images of African cheetahs being translocated to India, becoming a symbol of someone being forced to live away from their homeland. Although in Brighu’s case, he moves voluntarily, for love and ease of living.
Aptly, Brighu is introduced through an illustration that shows him reading a J. M. Coetzee novel, leisurely stretching his arms and then setting off for a stroll, while listing reasons why people choose to walk. Like in my case, I walk every day because it’s usually the only time of the day I get to see the sky and not be glued to some form of screen. In my grandfather’s case, he started earnestly walking long distances when he was an engineering undergrad. His college didn’t have a campus dorm, so he simply had to walk four kilometers each way since public transport was abysmal and catching an auto was unaffordable.
Why does Brighu love to walk? To calm his restless soul and take in the sights, sounds, and smells of whichever city he is in, while also letting us live a little vicariously through his memories of Delhi and its galliyan. And you don’t ever have to have lived in Delhi to find Absolute Jafar relatable. As long as you have a fond attachment to a city, town, or village you were or still are in love with, this graphic novel might make you recall your own favorite alleys, chai shops, or local haunts.
Absolute Jafar also sprinkles in generous references to Indian cinema, like Brighu recalling the 1978 film Arvind Desai Ki Ajeeb Dastaan, which literally translates to Arvind Desai’s Strange Tale. It’s a leisurely paced story about an aimless wealthy young man who hates his work and revels in discussing art and politics with his friend. In some ways, this graphic novel too is a little like that film.
The titular Jafar doesn’t make an appearance until the climactic chapters of Absolute Jafar. He is Brighu’s only son, and even though Brighu doesn’t say it in words, the scenes from their domestic life are enough to indicate that the boy is the apple of his father’s eye. But before the book dives into this phase of his life, the graphic novel entertainingly depicts the bureaucratic hell Brighu and his Pakistani wife face once they’re married. As someone with my own share of visa nightmares, the section where the young couple navigate paperwork, babus, and long waits struck the strongest chord with me.
If it weren’t for my ambivalence towards the artwork in Absolute Jafar, maybe I’d have rated this book a whole 5 stars out of 5. Truthfully, I didn’t like the artwork much, so maybe ‘ambivalence’ isn’t even the right word. The illustrations are far too simple for my taste, almost like a child’s sketches or an artist’s hurried rough drafts. Which is weird, because I’ve read Sarnath Banerjee’s graphic novel ‘Doab Dil’ and recall savoring the art more than the content. But here, all the seemingly random threads from Brighu’s life, from attending soirées in Delhi to going swimming in Berlin, somehow come together wonderfully.
Rating for Absolute Jafar: 4 stars on 5.
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