Review: Maximum City

By Sukhetu Mehta

What’s it like to be a member of an organized crime gang? Is it fun being a professional assassin? What’s it like to kill someone? Is the pay any good? Is there such a thing as a straight transsexual? What is it like to live on the footpath? To dance in a bar? To make a Bollywood movie? To get arrested and be “interrogated” by the bad cop? Or to be the cop doing the interrogation? To give all your money away and become a sadhu? If you’ve ever wondered about any of these things, Maximum City is a must read. Sukhetu Mehta’s answers to these questions and more are chilling, funny and devastatingly sad.

Maximum CityThis wasn’t an easy book to read. The first hurdle was to get over the jealousy I felt over Mehta’s feelings for Bombay, his unshakeable conviction that the city of his childhood is “home”, irrespective of the fact that he’d spent more time out of it than in it. I’m afraid I can’t claim his roots. Although I’ve spent more time in Madras than in any other city, I’ve always been a bit of an outsider, no matter where I’ve lived. Every childhood memory Mehta associates with Bombay reminded me of my own lack of such associations.

Once I got over that challenge, then came the moral dilemma of what to think about disturbing truths: a killer’s calm account of his murder routine – he takes a bath, prays to Hanuman, eats a vegetarian meal (he isn’t one normally – just turns into one after taking a human life), and finally takes a long and peaceful nap; an ultra-religious father who makes his ill babies drink the urine of a cow twenty-ones times a day in lieu of taking them to an allopathic doctor; a young and beautiful girl who’s slashed her wrists so many times that she no longer has any sensation in some of her fingers; corporate greed so insatiable that an entire city may be irreparably damaged, affecting the lives of millions and millions of people; a graphic description of a cow being slaughtered, listing every last twitch, and spurt of blood… The list goes on and on and on. When I was younger, my faith in the belief that all knowledge is good for you was unwavering. I don’t know about that any more. This book is one more reminder that perhaps there are many things in the world I have no wish to know about. Mehta’s simultaneously fascinating and repulsive account steam-rolls on and I clung on for dear life, literally reduced to watching a Cary Grant movie a day to keep at least some of my illusions about life and my cheer intact.

But what a ride it is. From the systemic rot in our country’s urban planning policies to the existence of God, there’s nothing that Mehta’s colorful friends and acquaintances don’t touch upon. For any one who grew up in India, this book is incredibly tangible, filled with people you’ve heard about (much of Bollywood is featured, including Sanjay Dutt, Vidhu Vinod Chopra and guest appearances by Hritik Roshan and Preity Zinta), or can very easily imagine being. All of which makes it very easy to care about these people. And makes you reach surprising realizations about your own life. Personally, I’ve never felt more grateful for having had a plain vanilla life or over-protective parents than when reading this book. If I had a dime every time I felt “there, but for the grace of sheer fucking luck go I”, I’d have at least a month’s rent money, if not more.

Mehta’s writing isn’t fantastic. There are no big “so whats”, despite his rather desperate attempts to wring out a message or two every now and then. And one certainly doesn’t want to think about what writing this book must’ve done to Mehta himself. What this book is (once you’re well stocked on self-cures for possible nightmares and bouts of depression) is refreshing. To hear real versions of these stories, as opposed to the Bollywood version is worth every gasp. And for once, it appears that Bollywood actually tones things down. Reality is way more melodramatic.

Ironically, the book that Maximum City reminded me the most of was Bill Buford’s Heat (reviewed here). If Buford’s attempts at becoming a professional chef made me fantasize about quitting my day job and following my own dreams, Mehta makes me realize just how good that day job and my boring life are. Every one of us is curious about at least some of the topics that Mehta digs into. I’m ever so grateful that the spade is in Mehta’s hands and not mine.

Comments (8 comments)

Nice!:)

” The first hurdle was to get over the jealousy I felt over Mehta’s feelings for Bombay, his unshakeable conviction that the city of his childhood is “home”, irrespective of the fact that he’d spent more time out of it than in it. I’m afraid I can’t claim his roots. Although I’ve spent more time in Madras than in any other city, I’ve always been a bit of an outsider, no matter where I’ve lived. Every childhood memory Mehta associates with Bombay reminded me of my own lack of such associations. “

That’s precisely how green with envy I go when all the mumbaikars go non-stop on their purrrfect-city. It’s heartening to see such loyalty and a little disappointing to feel that I could never match that as a whole.

rads / August 11th, 2007, 8:25 am / #

[...] reviews Suketu Mehta’s Maximum City. When I was younger, my faith in the belief that all knowledge is good for you was unwavering. I [...]

DesiPundit » Archives » Maximum City / August 13th, 2007, 10:03 pm / #

‘Ironically, the book that Maximum City reminded me the most of was Bill Buford’s Heat (reviewed here). If Buford’s attempts at becoming a professional chef made me fantasize about quitting my day job and following my own dreams, Mehta makes me realize just how good that day job and my boring life are. Every one of us is curious about at least some of the topics that Mehta digs into. I’m ever so grateful that the spade is in Mehta’s hands and not mine.’

Exactly what I feel! But you’ve said it much better.

I actually found Mehta’s account of his childhood associations with the city a bit tiresome. I guess you have to be an excellent writer to pull off nostalgia, and while Mehta is good, he’s not excellent.

Pooja / August 15th, 2007, 8:34 am / #

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Renie Ravin / August 17th, 2007, 5:07 pm / #

I am not very erudite. I am not even bookish. If there is one thing I enjoy reading, it is a good book review. It can never go wrong. Like a restaurant review. It is free, it doesn’t give you expensive diarrhea, and always looks and smells good. Quite unlike the real thing. Sometimes.
:-)

Rambodoc / August 22nd, 2007, 8:42 am / #

Read this post some time back, but didn’t post a comment then. Great post! Seems like you have been off blogging for a while…

Traveller / August 27th, 2007, 2:49 am / #

nicely done review!
I absolutely loved the book!

well heeled / August 31st, 2007, 1:54 am / #

[...] reviews here (1,2,3,4) aspirations, bollywood, bombay, bombings, Books, city, cliffs notes, dramatic events, film [...]

uber desi dot com » Blog Archive » Maximum City: A Review. / September 3rd, 2007, 9:57 pm / #

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