MATCHBOX

The word stray means to deviate—from the norm, from a path decided on, from limits imposed—for exploration, rebellion, curiosity, or even a sort of directionless boredom. This straying inevitably leads to a moment, or moments, of reckoning, in whatever form or intensity. But first, the journey, one that might at times meander more than we’d expect.

Anisha Lalvani’s debut, Girls Who Stray, juggles multiple interlaced meanings of the word, including “being a stray” as in lost. Her protagonist, whom we will know only as A, is a twenty-three-year-old recently returned from England after a master’s degree in an obscure field from an obscure university. The return isn’t planned, A has hoped that by moving abroad, she would be able to permanently escape the repercussions of her parents’ divorce. However, no job is forthcoming on graduation and return she must. But not before a chance meeting with a powerful stranger gives her a heady taste of the world of high-level escorting.

Back in her home country, A lives with her divorced father (a retired government official) and her dementia-afflicted paternal grandfather in Noida, in one of those fancy high-rise buildings and gated communities that are now as ubiquitous with India’s urban landscape as the stark and ever-deepening divide between the have, the have-nots, and the want-tos. Her future is uncertain, the student loan looms, she cannot dig her traumas out of her no matter how hard she tries, and what to do about the itchy restlessness invading every part of her body and mind? Increasingly adrift, anxious, and alienated as she navigates her new reality, A will find herself succumbing to her most impulsive and unhinged desires, which leads her to a romantic involvement with a big builder and a double murder (the inspiration for which was the Nithari murders in Delhi from two decades ago).

The blurb states that A’s only saving quality is that she is self-aware. This is a double-edged sword, because as refreshing as it is to own up to her choices, it can be frustrating to watch A barricade herself and her building guilt, anger, discontent, and self-loathing within a vicious cycle. She knows her choices will only make things worse, yet she is unable to wrench herself from the all-encompassing ennui. You can’t help but feel like a part of her actually finds comfort in this endless loop because it’s known—in a roundabout way, here she is in control more than out there, in the wild world. It is also true, however, that another part of her revels in the adrenaline-fuelled nature of her double life; the proximity to power and danger. The author presents these often contradictory impulses within a single individual without overarching judgement, though the narrative itself asks questions about, among other things, the definition of morality and who gets to shape it.

The narration by the author is sharp and energetic from the get go and never lets up in pace or intensity. And because you’re so focused on keeping up with A, her myriad streams of thought, and the everyday minutiae of her existence, you hardly notice the sneaking, ensnaring claustrophobia. By then, you’re already invested and cannot pull away. But after a while you stop feeling so stifled. Instead, there is a deceptive lull as the days, weeks, months blur into a numbing, bone-deep, repetitive weariness. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, as if even the narrative and A herself are surprised by it, everything slowly but surely starts to clear. A continues to wander the streets of her city at all hours, continues to grieve and mourn and grapple with her life and the realities of the world around her—from the Nirbhaya protests and its aftermath, from A joining an underground activist group, from the reality of a deep personal loss and the fallout of her involvement with the builder and the murder. The final third of the novel has more forward momentum, showcasing a shift towards possibility in multiple small steps that stack on top of each other and allow us and A a peek at the horizon, somewhere in the beyond. The open-ended finale is fitting, though one potential revelation feels a tad too scripted for it to belong in a story that has till then stuck to brash candour and avoided neatly tied threads or pat conclusions.

If you were to ask me what this novel was about, I would say that it was first about ideas. Ideas draped against the structure offered by the crime plot, and aided by Delhi-NCR itself being its own character as a city defined by its fragmented, fractured, layered history. Using an unnamed protagonist within this framework not only helps in making this a story about the condition of modern, urban women as a whole (though the keen interiority of the narration means that we’re intimately aware of A’s emotional and mental landscape), but it also allows the author to use her as the conduit for exploring various themes of concern—gender inequality; social inequality; the complicated nature of desire, free will, and independence; the illusion of choice and agency, especially as an Indian woman in a patriarchal society; a rapidly changing social and economic landscape; the resultant feelings of alienation and loneliness; the murky underbelly of a developing nation, and more.

This is a broad and ambitious canvas to traverse, even without the multiple intersections of genre, and in just 270 pages; not to mention in a debut novel. There are times when all the elements glide into perfect place, others where it falters, and others still which pull you in despite its jagged edges. As I see it, we will all find our own version of an anchor as a lost A journeys in search of purpose and belonging—and I will be keeping an eye out for this promising author’s next.