Review: Tagore Never Ate Here by Mohammad Nazim Uddin

Translated by V Ramaswamy, this gothic-mystery romp deftly knits political events into a story that features an unusual villain

Tagore Never Ate Here begins with a dedication by the translator that celebrates pulp fiction. This is not just an act of sentimentality, though it could well be, but it also sets context. If the sensational title hadn’t alerted you, you now definitely know that what you are about to read is “pulp”. If you had other expectations, run along and read Eliot.

The novel’s villain lives in a home much like this one! (Shutterstock)

This gothic-mystery romp by Bangladeshi author Mohammad Nazim Uddin begins with the entry of Noore Chhafa, undercover detective; so undercover, in fact, that the reader finds out he is one only halfway into the book. It causes quite a stir in sleepy Sundarpur and would have been a surprise if the book blurb hadn’t alerted you already. He has sunglasses on, which he takes off to take a ‘proper look’ at the titular signboard of a highway restaurant. Also, he has stepped out of a taxi and not a jeep/ SUV/ fancy car. Nazim Uddin thus shifts the focus from Chhafa to the restaurant with the unusual signboard and a history that will not be mentioned for fear of giving away spoilers. The mystery of the restaurant is tied to its owner, the enigmatic Mushkan Zubeiri.

336pp, ₹269; HarperCollins

The author takes pains to tell the reader that it is unusual to have a woman restaurateur. He also writes of why the locals don’t support her. Clearly, it is not easy being Mushkan Zubeiri. She is called a witch and propositions of all sorts rain down on her. All of this recalls the witch trials in medieval England. Now we know that most of those women were just single, financially independent, and scared the establishment. Perhaps it is so with Mushkan too. She has nosy neighbours who trespass on her property and has been accused of being a man-eater. Poor, resilient woman, you think. Halfway into the novel, it appears that she is indeed a villain. However, she is humanized, even if not fully redeemed. Perhaps it is society that’s the villain.

Even the outlandish reasons for Zubeiri’s actions are explained by referencing a historical event. In that, the novel follows the rules of good pulp where fact and fiction are melded in a way that makes the actions of the villain believable but also larger than life. That happens here too. Zubeiri is a true-blue villain. People disappear from her restaurant. There are strange comings and goings in her house. She also lives in a mansion fortified by crocodiles that she breeds. Her origins are a mystery until she herself reveals them.

The hero, Chhafa, is no super-hero Rajnikant. Competent and thorough, he has never had an unsolved case before but trips and falls into a grave early on. He does not join all the dots or make all the discoveries either. In his first stupidly planned foray into the villain’s lair, he gets stuck there and has to be helped out by Aatar Ali, the police informer. He is constantly aided by his mentor, Khan. He does not orchestrate the denouement but lands in Zubeiri’s lair as a result of his cockiness. He does not even remember her full confession.

The masterstroke, however, is the epilogue, especially the last page that redeems Zubeiri, despite her bestial acts. It would seem that some of her actions stemmed from a desire to respect her late husband’s wishes, or perhaps because of her instinct for self-preservation. It is in these aspects that the novel is unusual and where it shines. All of Mushkan’s witchy acts are explained and rationalized. Even the reason why the supposedly divine Falu digs graves before deaths is explained in detail. The real mystery and the supernatural creeps in with Khan saying that he cracks cases when he gets fevers. He says he prays that he gets one every time he is stuck.

The title, which is the name of Zubeiri’s restaurant, has layers of backstories. In fact, it is the name that becomes the first lead in Chhafa’s cold case. To not spoil the fun, all I can say is that the woman comes across as an ardent Tagore fan who keeps humming his songs. Literary references are sprinkled across the book.

Nazim Uddin has done a brilliant job of knitting political events into his work. There are references to the language movement, to torture and the shooting of civilians. Rashed Zubeiri’s parents are killed while he is saved by his love for books. There is a mention of forced conversions, of nobody being around to worship at the Shiva temple anymore, of organ trafficking by hospitals, and the one big event that leads up to the climax, which, of course, is best not revealed here. This is definitely a fun read.

Priyanka Sarkar is an editor, translator and writer.