In Custody

by Anita Desai

Meek and self-effacing, Deven is resigned to his life as a lecturer in an obscure college in Mirpore. When, unexpectadely, an old friend Murad, invites him to go to Delhi to interview the greatest living Urdu poet, Deven sees a chance both to achieve fame and to fulfil his dreams.

Genres: Fiction, India, Indian Literature, Literary Fiction, Asia, Literature, Contemporary

204 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1984

About the author

Anita Desai was born in 1937. Her published works include adult novels, children's books and short stories. She is a member of the Advisory Board for English of the National Academy of Letters in Delhi and a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature in London. Anita Mazumdar Desai is an Indian novelist and Emeritus John E. Burchard Professor of Humanities at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She has been shortlisted for the Booker prize three times. Her daughter, the author Kiran Desai, is the winner of the 2006 Booker prize.

Reviews

[Seemita · Rating 3 out of 5]

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

It is befitting to quote Rumi to introduce the middle-aged protagonist of this book who sends swirls of a bruised dream into the air even while chugging along life with a rusted body. Deven, a teacher in the small town of Mirpore, finds his humdrum walk thrown off guard when his college buddy, Murad, a cunning fox and an accidental two-penny publisher, flummoxes him into interviewing Nur, a legendary poet of yesteryear and Deven’s idol in youth. Overwhelmed by the awarding of a chance so rare and fulfilling, his fan-heart heaves wild beats, that eventually begins sending tremors of discord and dislocation across his family, friends, circle and beyond.

His life suddenly becomes a series of road trips between Mirpore and Delhi, each carrying memories that ricochets off his present like belongings of irretrievable past.

The allure of Desai’s narrative was in her understanding and expressing of the Indian hinterland – the soil colors, the vernacular currents, the domestic conversations, the middle class longings, the dreams as refuges and the inevitable, occasionally lame, humor to cap off a day. The chapters highlighting the struggles of a fallen star were the most splendid etchings of this work – Nur was a delight to watch; his idiosyncrasies, in his typical nawaabi style, drew angst and empathy in such equal measure that one was almost forced to stand up and tell the old man to pull down the curtains for his own good.

“He realized that he loved poetry not because it made things immediate but because it removed them to a position where they became bearable.”

Deven did well for the first half of the book in his dilettante’s avataar but his repeated histrionics and monochromatic ruminations reduced him to a wobbly caricature by the end of the book. The other characters of the book, belonging to Deven’s and Nur’s family, served the purpose of plain, used furniture; they filled the space but evoked no reaction.

In the end, ‘In Custody’ managed to bind me till the climax, thanks to its refreshing premise, earthy language and grains of Urdu quotes. But it could not bind me any further; I left the theatre the moment the last page was enacted, without throwing a glance back.

[Vartika · Rating 4 out of 5]

I remember reading this book at the start of my undergraduate studies six years ago, and finding the writing to be awkwardly wanting, a strange blend of stunted and overtly descriptive at the same time. Revisiting it again today on a train journey from one crumbling stronghold of Urdu poetry to another made me realise that Desai's prose is, in fact, a superior linguistic imitation of the landscapes that she so masterfully evokes for the reader's eyes: it carries in each line the stifling heat and dusty decrepitude of the fictional Mirpore and the all-too-real lanes of Old Delhi in summertime, mimicking the sticky sense of restlessness they educe without taking it on as its own as I'd once thought. If the writing seems studded with uneasy bleakness like beads of condensation on a cold bottle it is only because it draws it from the plot that it seeks to serve, and the plot of In Custody is indeed an enveloping force of despondency as threateningly pregnant as a humid afternoon in late July.

The story revolves around Deven, a lifelong lover of Urdu poetry forced by circumstances to earn his living as a temporary lecturer in Hindi literature at a small-town college in North India. When Deven is approached by childhood 'friend' and small-time magazine editor Murad to interview the legendary Urdu poet Nur, he convinces himself that this mission to record the poet's light will bring him out of the stagnant backwaters of his life. However, his path is littered with hardship and deceit, and what awaits him is the realisation that

He had accepted the gift of Nur's poetry and that meant he was custodian of Nur's very soul and spirit. It was a great distinction. He could not deny or abandon that under any pressure.

In writing of Deven's encounter with this "soul and spirit," Desai addresses the rapid decline of the once-rich Urdu language and cultural tradition in post-partition India and its slow death at the feet of the newly tyrannous Hindi (ironically, this same fate is one that befalls Hindi, and indeed, other Indian languages today as they are being slapped into disuse by the globalising hand of English). She also paints a searingly true picture of the travails, aspirations, and grit of provincial life in the country a few decades past. Hers is a canvas on which daily concerns of everyman are painted and explored on the same plane as grander questions of cultural hegemony on the one hand, and pragmatism and the demise of the humanities on the other.

Though this is less pronounced, In Custody also offers a brilliant study of gender and patriarchal power dynamics, be it in Deven's neglect of his wife Sarla; the poet Nur's sense of insecurity regarding the intellectual powers of his second wife, Imtiaz Begum; and even the bitter, domestic competitiveness harboured by Nur's first wife, Safiya. While all of these characters—and any others in the book—are unlikeable, they are also realistic and undeniably, if also uninspiringly, human.

This latter fact is conceivably what makes this book so difficult to read at times—its fervent honesty about the state of things dashes most hopes and marks the narrative as unwaveringly dreary, and there is not beauty enough (in the world, and not just this novel) to mask or make up for it. As a reader, I was afraid to pursue this morosity further, and got the sense that Desai felt the same. Perhaps a little more courage from Desai—or Deven—would have made this tale less...exhausting. As things are, those uneasy drops run and collect in a puddle at the foot of the narrative, at that imagined boundary between fresh and stale.

3.5 stars

[Hugh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Another book borrowed from my parents, which means I have now read all three of the Anita Desai novels that made the Booker shortlist (the others being Clear Light of Day and Fasting, Feasting).

The protagonist Deven works as a Hindi teacher in Mirpore, a small town near Delhi, who aspires to be an Urdu poet. His life is unrewarding, but he is offered a form of escape by a former college friend Murad, who runs an Urdu magazine in Delhi and enlists Deven's help to arrange an interview with a great Urdu poet Nur. Nur is now an old man, who drinks too much and spends much of his life hosting sycophants and hangers-on, and Deven's attempts to get him to remember his poetry are largely frustrated, giving the book a tragicomic tone.

Another enjoyable read, but for me Clear Light of Day is still the best of the three.

[Bookish Indulgenges with b00k r3vi3ws · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is one of the few cases where I have watched the movie before reading the book. Having watched the amazing movie couple of years back and Anita Desai’s name raised my expectations really high.

Deven is a Hindi lecturer, living a modest life in a small town. But nothing is okay in his life. His wife is unhappy with him, his students do not listen to him or respect him and all those around him take advantage of him. Shadowing all these is his reminiscence of his dreams of becoming a poet that he had to give up in order to bring in money for his wife and son. When he gets a chance to interview Nur, a relatively famous Urdu poet, his enthusiasm knows no bounds. But as always, nothing is simple in Deven’s life… Starting with a faulty recorder, things only go downhill as Deven tries to hold on to his enthusiasm for the language, poetry and this opportunity.

Characters in this story have similar shades even though they have different background and Deven’s story really touches you. Throughout the story you wish that life would finally give him a break. You hope for a happy ending, at least for his sake right from the first half of the book. Nur is a character that again somehow will strike a sad chord in your heart. Deven’s wife is a character I could understand but not really sympathise with.

From downright comical situations to the absurdities of Nur’s life to Deven’s own sad little life, the story flourishes with each stroke of life’s different colours. I admit that it is not a happy-go-lucky or fun book. It accentuates the failures of a man’s life and that makes the pace of the story feel a bit slow. Yet it was difficult for me to put it down. Frankly, this book is not for everyone. It is for more matured readers who is okay with reading a bit of heavy material, understanding that life is not all roses and petals and that most people outside the world of fiction have a lot of thorns to pick up in their lives. Even then, not all can get to the rosy petal part of their lives.

This may not be Anita Desai’s best, at least to me, but it certainly lives up to her standard in prose. Loved it!

[Ravi Gangwani · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Before time crushes us into dust we must record our struggle against it. We must engrave our name in the sand before the wave comes to sweep it away and make it a part of the ocean"
"He sifted through alternatives like torn pieces of grey paper ... "

I think the mellifluousness of prose was beautifully sparkling its aroma in the pages. This book quickens its pace with very promising start. The story of Deven tricked from his astute, dishonest friend, Murad (Even I know some people like Murad in my real life) to interview the God of Urdu Poetry, Nur, the person who is lurking on the border of senility, squashed between quarrels of his two wives, old times, alcoholic habits.

Then as soon it crosses 100 pages, you will wait for Nur, you look through the openings from where will Nur appear in the story.
It crosses nearly 150 pages (More than 60%, still where is Nur ?) ... Doldrums spread a mat, where Deven in his crazy fancies crave for Nur ... Then Nur appears with slight disposition and as soon it comes it goes in some pages ... And you will say, what is the point in stretching the plot like a rubber-band?

But wait.
Was this book was all about Nur? No! it was all about Deven. I asked myself a question.
Q: who is favorite writer. Answer: Sir JM Coetzee, Sir Salman Rushie.

And what if I get a chance to interview them and does my reaction will change if I come across something like whimsical personal life from them. Had I gone this far as Deven went for Nur; sacrificing my family life, social life, monetary life, and extent of endurance just to pay the debt that I awe to the writer. I mean this question kept me in very serious circle. And what about the writer who has dissolved his entire life just to lift others?

What we read about a person, what we read from a person and what actually is the life of person.
Do we admire person for his work, or do our admiration deflates if his life comes as different from what we thought of ?
Then still is there any room for devotion ?
So I changed the gear and started again reading this book not for Nur's arrival but Deven's portrayal.

I re-gained my interest in book. And I also liked the way it was told in the book about corrosive state of literature is crippled more by heavy emphasis on Science.
In India this is actually a truth, a very minute section respects for literature and which in turn is very incapable of earning. And how in India, Universities are inundated with bulk enrollments on Science streams ...

As Sir Rushdie says in beginning of book ... it speaks so softly that it risks of being unheard.
I agree with him.

[Ian Laird · Rating 3 out of 5]

Grammatical tidying 2 November 2024

A weak-willed, poorly paid intellectual, Deven, gets put upon by almost everybody.

Well, up to a certain extent. There are moments, admittedly rare, when Deven looks as though he might assert himself, but generally he does not.

Deven is a teacher of Hindi in a small college in Mirpore, a dusty rural town not far from Delhi. The school has a small Urdu department, the result of a bequest from a minor Muslim noble forced to flee to the quite backwater when Delhi became too difficult at the time of Partition. At the behest of Murad, his pompous and pampered friend from school, Deven journeys to Delhi to interview the famous Urdu poet Nur. Deven finds the aged legend to be bibulous, avaricious and greedy, surrounded by shallow hangers on more interested in drinking and partying at the old man’s expense than yearning for his lyricism.

Admittedly Nur is much diminished - the rare times he spouts his own poems they are from his distant youthful past. He spends more time babbling about the biryani he wants for lunch. Any hopes Deven has for an interview suitable for Murad’s literary magazine are dashed in this noisy shambolic house, with two wives in place, the first illiterate but canny, the second ambitious for her own fame and fortune as a performer and poet.

Deven then tries to make a recorded interview, but this is a disaster: the purchase and operation of the machine is farcical and the subject poet is irresponsible and inconsiderate.

At home, Deven fares no better; his wife Sarla’s aspirations are focussed dangerously upon household goods:

‘She had dared to aspire towards a telephone, a refrigerator, even a car.’ (p67).

Others have written impressively about this story and its implications. I shall focus on the title of the tale, and what ‘In Custody’ might mean.

In no formal sense are any of the characters incarcerated. However, many are imprisoned metaphorically: most obviously Deven himself, but also his wife, his friend Murad and teaching colleagues especially Mr Siddiqui. The poet Nur and his wives are in custody as well.

More obliquely, the language itself, Urdu, may well be imprisoned. It is the main language of a neighbouring nation, with whom relations have been troubled, at best. The language has become marginalised in independent India.

Deven is in the most complex custody: constrained by a loveless marriage; teaching Hindi when his true calling is Urdu; but most profoundly he is limited by his own timidity and inertia. And his technological ineptitude. Sarla is locked into a life where she has no affinity with her intellectual husband who is low in the pecking order and poorly rewarded financially.

The poet Nur is in custody in several ways; a prisoner of his earlier fame; his loss of creativity, compromised by the need for money - poetry is never very lucrative in most cultures – Nur seeks to turn every opportunity into money or food and drink. Nur is even a more of a prisoner of his Urdu language than Deven.

Murad is a prisoner of his struggling literary magazine and his own laziness, a result, or by-product of his opportunities arising solely out of his father’s largesse.

So, what in the end does ‘in custody’ mean? To whom does it refer? I think it means that all of us are constrained or limited by the circumstances we find ourselves in, or are of our own making.

The ending is open to speculation – does Deven show signs of more resolve, more backbone or do we expect him to continue as we have seen hitherto? My feeling is that he will not change.

My favourite moment I have saved till last because I’d like to end on an upbeat note: it’s when Deven takes his boy for a walk through the town and talks with him affectionately rather than critically: the boy is at first wary and puzzled, then starts to relax. The matter of fact exchanges constitute a rare moment of happiness in a story otherwise full of dissatisfaction and friction. I quote it at some length because it is rather beautiful. Deven has just looked at his son’s grubby homework books:

'Rising from his chair, he stammered, “Let us go for a walk. Come Manu, come and walk with me.” He put out his hand blindly and the boy cautiously inserted one finger into his father’s fist and felt it tighten. Then they went down the steps and through the gate on to the road, the mother in the house watching in astonishment and coming as close to that mother in the glossy magazine as she was ever likely to come.

Deven and the boy walked down the road between the small yellow stucco houses that belonged to the same grade of lowly paid employees as he did and which were all waiting for a coat of paint some day when the funds were collected for such an unlikely project.’

Deven and Manu walk past pumpkin vines, broken furniture, scratching chickens and blaring radios, then…

‘Deven breathed it all in, finding it reassuring. For once he did not resent his 'circumstances'. Their meanness was transformed for him by his new experience and the still raw wounds that it had left. Also by the feel of his son’s thumb enclosed within his fist. He walked along with a light step, breathing in the close stuffy air of the small colony…He told himself how lucky he was to have exchanged the dangers of Nur’s poetry for the undemanding chatter of a child. The boy was telling one of his monotonous stories of school life that he often prattled to his parents, only they never listened. Now Deven looked down at the top of his head and smiled when Manu told him, “My teacher, he has hair growing out of his ears. Why does hair grow in his ears, Papa? He puts his pencil behind his ear – like this –" Deven laughed and swung the boy’s hand …He [Manu] rushed along at his father’s side instead of dragging behind as was more usual with him. The boy, who was often querulous with hunger and sleep by the time Deven came back from work, seemed quite unlike the protesting, whining creature he usually was; he too seemed to find something pleasant and acceptable in the uncommon experience of a walk with his father.’ (pp71-72).

[Solène · Rating 2 out of 5]

I find this quote particularly relevant in order to encapsulate the book's spirit:
"What is this all for? What is this about?"

[Yair · Rating 5 out of 5]

There aren't really specific words to describe this book's power. On the surface of it Anita Desai's work can be seen as overwrought, a tad pretentious, and even unsatisfying as to how it concludes. Additionally, Desai has, at least in this work, the somewhat dubious distinction of writing some of the most unpleasant characters in (relatively) recent fiction.

However under this scrim, this veneer of unpleasantness, there's a powerful mind presenting a challenging work. Maybe I've become too complacent in recent years. Though even after reading Calvino's If on a winter's night... I felt, at the bare minimum, slightly confident in my ability to consume a work of complexity. But maybe that was because Calvino's work was more a feat of structural dexterity. Hell, even Dostoyevsky in his Notes on the Underground was easier to take in. This is not to say that Desai is a less skilled writer than the aforementioned or that the pair are in anyway simplistic writers. It's just that what Desai gives us is neither a Byzantine riddle nor a psychological labyrinth; her book is instead an elegant work of craft showcasing a group of people shouldering the burden of their own very human weaknesses and that of the history of a much conflicted and complicated nation.

This is a definite recommendation to anyone though be warned that the picture of India here is not that of the affluent Western tourist. There is nothing kitsch or remotely stereotypical. It's an honest and bracing narrative encompassing happiness, despair, success, failure, and the nature and importance of art's necessary immortality to humanity.

[Rei ⭐ [TrulyBooked] · Rating 2 out of 5]

This story was billed as humorous, but I found it to be depressing at best. The only good part about it was that I could look at the story and go alright, my life sucks, but it's not as bad as Deven's. I did finish the book and in some ways enjoyed it, but it's a book that leaves you feeling depressed afterward and not in a profound way.

I'm glad I read it, but it's not a book I ever want to read again.

[Ritika · Rating 2 out of 5]

It's a well written story that dwells on the theme of 'existential crisis', but I felt much anguish at the characters' self pitying, helpless nature that it became arduous to finish it.

[Malvika Jaswal · Rating 2 out of 5]

Reading morose Indian fiction is extremely trying on my nerves. It pulls me down and keeps me there for weeks after I go through any such stories. I don't mean to say that human frailty and failings do not deserve an airing now and then. Its just that I have found that Indian authors have a knack for bringing out a deep well of hopelessness in their writings that are devoid of any stray ray of laughter or happiness to alleviate the sheer darkness of despair in the lives of their main protagonists. It is certainly a gift and definitely a souvenir of the society we grow up in but takes a strong stomach to digest when presented in all its naked, terrifying glory.

This is the story of Deven, a professor of Hindi in a private college in Mirpore, deeply dissatisfied by the 'stagnant backwaters' of his life and a devotee of the works of the Urdu poet Nur. Deven is the eternal victim of life's unfair vagaries from his viewpoint, is constantly cowed down by all and sundry and is in turn a tyrant towards the few people in his life who are under his thumb, namely his wife and son. He is a pessimist and overtly sensitive to all sorts of imagined and real slights coming his way and, yet, incapable of standing up for himself except in a whining and wheedling tone that seems to get on everybody's nerves. Deven is not a likable person. At no point in the book did I feel sorry for him or want to know him better. His obsequious hero-worship of the once demigod Nur, who has now dissolved into a shadow of his former life, and his quite unnecessary anger on his spoilt hero's behalf were a constant rub on my already frayed nerves (have I mentioned my nerves enough already?). The glowing foreword by one of the greatest writers of our times, Salman Rushdie, states that this is 'not at all a bitter book' but I most humbly disagree. It is bitter and sad and with the word 'despair' used repeatedly to describe Deven's state of mind, the condition of his life and that of Nur it just makes for an altogether deeply gloomy read.

It is also a story of the decline of a language whose beauty and lyrical prose seemed to elevate the most mundane of topics to mystical heights. I remember my Nanaji reading poems and novels in Urdu and having a love of that language that he never quite got over. Various members of my family still hum ghazals by famous Urdu poets and reminisce endlessly about the beauty of the language. Nur, the poet, is a metaphor for the dying language in his decrepit home and ungainly body, but his passion for the language, which he constantly harangues Deven about, seems to take a backseat to others things in his life, namely, his ego and his desire to be the centre for attention.

All in all, I was not a fan of the story at all. I see that the book was short-listed for the Man Booker Prize and I feel extremely guilty that I am unable to appreciate the gems hidden in the prose but also feel that I must be honest in putting down my views however simple-minded they may seem to a more discerning audience.

[Lea · Rating 2 out of 5]

I have not read much (any?) Indian literature, so I was curious when I picked this out of a book box somewhere in Berlin. Anita Desai clearly has a way with words, and this 1984 read like a very British cultural satire and I found a lot of the scenes memorable. Still, the novel dragged and I found myself not wanting to continue it, not being invested in the story of man trying to conduct an interview with an old poet.

[Val Penny · Rating 4 out of 5]

Anita Mazumdar Desai was born in Mussoorie, India in 1935.Her mother was German and her father was a Bengali businessman. She grew up speaking German at home and Bengali, Urdu, Hindi and English outside the house, but, did not visit Germany until later in life as an adult. She first learned to read and write in English at school and as a result English became her preferred language in which to write. She began to write in English at the age of seven and published her first story at the age of nine. She grew up surrounded by Western literature and music, not realizing until she was older that this was an anomaly in her world where she also learned the Eastern culture and customs. The author was educated at Queen Mary’s Higher Secondary School in Delhi, India and received her B.A. in English literature in 1957 from the Miranda House of the University of Delhi. The following year she married Ashvin Desai, the director of a computer software company and author of the book Between Eternities: Ideas on Life and The Cosmos. They have four children, including Booker Prize winning novelist Kiran Desai. The author taught for years at Mount Holyoke and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a private research university in Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA. She now spends most of the year outside of India.

In Custody is the only book by Anita Desai that I have read, to date. It was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1984.This is a novel about a small-town man, Deven, who leads a drab, impoverished existence teaching Hindi at a small town college in the north of India . His great love is Urdu poetry and he gets the opportunity to go interview his hero, the great poet Nur. Nur is the greatest living Urdu poet. Deven’s wife neither shares nor understands his interest, but he has always loved Urdu poetry and missed the chance to be an Urdu language professor, so Deven is charmed into going to Delhi the big city. He shrinks at the idea of being exploited by his sharp and selfish friend Murad but the dream of meeting Nur draws Deven on. So he sets off on a number of adventures on Sundays, the one free day that he should have spent with his wife and son. Some of these are quite funny.

What Deven finds at his hero’s house is misery and confusion. Having sunk into a senile old age, surrounded by fawning sycophants, married to a younger calculating wife who wants to use his glory to win herself fame, Nur is not what he once was: or perhaps he always was this. The saddest part is the result of the sessions. Drunk and encouraged by his admirers who follow him along to the sessions. To Deven’s disappointment, Nur offers nothing new or novel.

Deven, a shrinking and weak man, is somehow drawn to this old poet and wishes to help and protect him as he cannot defend himself. Perhaps it is the tie of Urdu poetry that Deven remembers from his treasured times as a child with his father. So, in order to save the name and works of Nur for posterity, Deven decides to record his voice on tape for his small-town university. In the process Deven is exploited monetarily and emotionally, where Nur’s family and hangers on demand money to keep themselves happy, Murad refuses to pay him for submissions to his self-proclaimed literary magazine. His wife Sarla is indignant at his time away, his fellow professors think he is having an affair in Delhi or push him to get a taping of Nur’s voice.

I found this book very interesting but increasingly depressing. As Deven’s world degenerated I kept hoping things would work well for him, but there is really no chance of that. In truth, Deven’s project that could only end in disaster. However, In Custody is a compelling read and I recommend the book.

[Pradeep E · Rating 5 out of 5]

Anita Desai’s splendid Booker Prize nomination ‘In Custody’ is set in contemporary India in the small town of Mirpore and centres on the world of Urdu poetry. The protagonist, Devan, is a pathetic, trapped man who looks to poetry as an escape from the sordid necessities of ordinary life. Devan is a many of deep disappointments; he is stuck in a loveless marriage. Although Urdu is his first language and his first love, Deven is forced to make his living as a temporary lecturer in Hindi literature, a field in which he has little interest and no discernible talent.

A shot at redemption from his decaying life comes in the form of a project with the renowned Urdu writer, Nur Shahjenahabad, in the city of Delhi. As time progresses, he however realises that his inherent nature is such that he cannot escape from the chains of helplessness he traps himself in – if earlier it was his meaningless job, now it is his slavery to the whims and fancies of his literary hero.

With every visit, Nur whom he reveres the most in his life as the God of Urdu poetry, comes across as physically, financially and academically bankrupt. The tragedy is not lost on Devan but he cannot get to abandon his hero. His unfulfilled academic ambitions, hero-worship and inability to stand up for himself propel him to whirlpool of indebtedness and misery that he keeps sinking to. He is bullied constantly by his friend Murad but the trapped animal he is, he allows himself to be caged by everyone who uses him.

There are so many areas that the book looks at - the decay of Urdu language in modern India, the hegemony (if one may call of) the Hindi language, the lack of value of an arts education in colleges, human helplessness and the dying spirit that is flagged on incessantly even when there is no aim in life. You cannot but feel angry and disappointed by Devan's capitulation but it is so real and tragic, you accept the inevitability of it.

Making a quick mental note to watch the Ismail Merchant full screen adaption of this work; with fantastic actors, it should be able to do justice to this excellent novel.

[Sanjukta · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have read one other novel by Anita Desai, so I was aware of the fine, detailed prose I would be served. The depth of the characters, their frailty and limitations etch an accurate portrait of small-town India in the 80s. It is difficult to hold on to a gut response in the matter of characters as almost each one is all too real in his/her varied hues that range from the pathetic to the the sincere. For instance, Sarla with her dream of matrimony as an entry into a life with a fridge, a television and the glamour of glossy-magazines, is painfully accurate, as is the petty politics of the small private college and air of miasma of the fictional Mirpore. The plot is simple but allows a cogent exploration of human drama and emotions, as well as as issues such as the Hindi-Urdu debate in post-independence India.
Having said this, there are parts where I felt so burdened by the despair and almost comically bleak situation of the characters, so weighed down by the relentless entropy that I had to stop and breathe and stop reading. The pessimism is only relieved at the very end when the idea of 'custody' is fully understood by Deven and the readers, but by then, I am lost among the hopeless of Mirpore and their dreary dusty existence. Perhaps time will afford better perspective, and perhaps the film will endow a fresher one.

[Neerja Joshi · Rating 4 out of 5]

In Custody is a novel by one of the most prolific Indian writers in English, Anita Desai. In 1984 the book was turned into a feature film starring Shashi Kapoor, Om Puri, and Shabana Azmi. The story revolves around Deven who is a Hindi Literature Professor at a college in Mirpore. Though Deven teaches Hindi, his heart lies in the Urdu language, especially in Urdu poetry. His friend Murad who is small time Urdu publisher asks him to interview Nur, Deven's favorite Urdu poet. And with this starts the new journey for Deven, to witness his idol, his untold poetry and be part of his world. This book showcases the emotion of an ardent admirer, how we think of our favorite authors and their work. And what happens if what we witness is not what we have envisioned their world to be and the illusion we have all this while, gets shattered. Read this book for the sheer pleasure of reading Anita Desai's work.

[Ananya · Rating 3 out of 5]

I've never read anything like this before ...I hated all the characters; especially the protagonist.. he's such a coward and meek person; so easily bullied, can't take control of his life, don't know who his real friends are... I had such a great urge to get inside the book and punch him in the face..!
Other than that, I think Anita Desai writes very well.

[Sakshi Gupta · Rating 2 out of 5]

I didn't enjoy reading it as much as I had anticipated. What happens when you meet that one writer or artist or actor whose work has influenced you to such extremes that meeting him or her blinds you to believe that life now would finally change, giving you a chance to show your untapped potential?

Such an interesting theme but a narrative which felt unexplored, as if there were a few more layers to be peeled off the main characters of Nur - the great Urdu poet, Deven - a Hindi professor teaching at a college in Mirpore living an invisible life and Murad - an obnoxious friend of Deven who with an unjustifiable authority orders him to interview Nur for his Urdu magazine. I didn't care for anyone by the end - specially Deven, who was clumsily irritating throughout without a shred of responsibility towards his family as he goes about spending all his savings on a poet he might not meet again.
The women characters were reserved to be mere props, hanging in the background with no clear intentions, sometimes coming out strong, but mostly mute.
What I loved is how brilliantly she creates settings - be it Mirpore, Delhi's Chandni Chowk or Nur's house.

[The Final Chapter · Rating 4 out of 5]

SJC Review: 4.73


In this novel, the author explores the vicissitudes of fortune which befall an individual when his intellectual conceit allows him to become blinded to the realities laid bare before him in being requested to assist his lifelong literary hero.

When the novel opens, our protagonist, Deven, is a provincial lecturer in a small college in Mirpore, northern India, desperate to escape the mundanity of his home and professional life. Our fallible and passive protagonist is afforded this opportunity to meet this eminent figure of Urdu literature by ex school-friend, and present editor of a literary magazine, Murad, for whom the former is an occasional contributor. The reader also learns that the relationship our protagonist shares with the editor is one of subservience, having assisted the much weather latter to obtain his necessary grades at school.

From the outset, Desai paints her principal character as a man of unfulfilled aspirations, cowed by all his struggles, and incapable of warranting respect from colleagues and students alike. Any ambition he had entertained of becoming a poet, not matched by his paucity of talent, had had to be abandoned to take up his post in this provincial backwater in order to support his wife and children. Thus, he struggles 'to reconcile the meanness of his physical existence with the purity and immensity of his literary yearnings'. A self-appointed defender of Urdu literature, Deven bemoans the plight of the former language of the royal court, which now 'languishes in the back lanes and gutters of the city. No palace for it to live in the style to which it is accustomed, no emperors and nawabs to act as it's patrons'. It is to such passions that Murad appeals, and such vanity he exploits, in proposing that Deven interview and prepare a piece on the aforementioned respected Urdu poet, and our protagonist's childhood hero, Nur Shahjehanabadi.

Not only would this opportunity assuage his former literary yearnings, but acceptance of the task held the further attraction of proffering an opportunity for Deven to escape Mirpore and its environs which 'became for him the impassable desert that lay between him and the capital with its lost treasures of friendships, entertainment, attractions and opportunities'.

The author provides her most vivid descriptions in the novel to capture the essence of the bleakness of this landscape, with its ubiquitous dust, and the ennui which infest its inhabitants. A staging post for travellers on longer journeys, Mirpore witnesses constant migration, and our protagonist melancholically reflects that all that remains behind is debris and litter. Yet, in spite of its apparent insignificance, this backwater encapsulates the history of the subcontinent. This is no more true than the history behind the Urdu department at the college where Deven is employed. It was founded on the substantial donation by a Muslim family, descendants of the nawab who had fled Delhi in the wake of the 1857 mutiny, whose own tiredness at being publicly slighted led to their abandonment of Mirpore to reside in the Muslim homeland of Pakistan.

Upon meeting his idol, Deven's obsequious and fawning attitude blinds him to the former's obvious character flaws, and the open discourtesy levelled at his own arrival. 'It was to him as if God had leaned over a cloud...and angels might have been drawing him up these ancient splintered stairs to meet the deity: so jubilantly, so timorously, so gratefully did he rise.' The great poet is evidently subsisting on the fame of his previous literary triumphs, and holding court to a band of 'admirers', or better-described,sycophants, more attracted by the offer of food and entertainment than by any true admiration for Nur's verse. As such, even Deven is able to detect their rehearsed responses to the great poet's entreaties to save the Urdu language.

Though he has been tasked to interview Nur, with its stated purpose of bringing the latter's great verse in that language to a wider readership, Deven questions the value of the project before it is even begun, seeing his own life's trajectory as evidence of its futility. Having been taught the beauty of Urdu by his scholar father, the latter's early demise had robbed him of his influence, and led to his subsequent education in Hindi. Worse, the pressures of sustaining a family had now led to his employment lecturing that language at the expense of his own linguistic roots. Such an attitude apprises the reader with first-hand experience of our protagonist's indecisiveness and lack of resolve. These failings are compounded by his inability to disassociate his lifelong idol from the 'warts and all' individual he is confronted with.

On witnessing Nur being berated by a female 'apparition of fury and vengeance' for his state of inebriation, Deven's only response is to take flight, with the inglorious image of the great poet prostrate on the vomit-strewn floor. However, despite his qualms, Deven's dispirited return to the mundanity of his daily life, only serves for him to be lured back by another opportunity to act as saviour to rescue his idol from such domestic banalities. In a sense, a return would also save him from his own loveless marriage, where his wife had become increasingly resentful at witnessing her hopes of a more comfortable lifestyle befitting the spouse of an academic gradually prove groundless. Indeed, their shared defeat drives them further apart, not wishing to share their despondency and compound their own misery.

With Murad's return to Nur's household, the reader learns that the 'female apparition' is the great poet's second wife, and that this former prostitute has literary pretensions of her own. In stark contrast to Deven, this forceful presence does not baulk at asserting her own rights, to a point where, to her husband's impotent rage, she has appropriated his 'circle' and 'spotlight' to gain public recognition for her own verse. In this first foray into a male-dominated theatre, Desai has, as she herself has acknowledged, created such a firebrand of female dissent that the reader can be left unsympathetic. However, no matter how limited the true merits of Begum's work are, the manner in which Deven discounts her work serves as the spur for the author to use Begum to pose the following question: 'Are you not guilty of assuming that because you are a male, you have a right to brains, talent, reputation and achievement, while I, because I was born female, am condemned to find what satisfaction I can in being maligned, mocked, ignored and neglected?'

One main theme of this work is an analysis of post-Partition India and its impact on culture and language. Nur's apparent descent into unfitting and coarse behaviour seems to reflect and embody the decline of that language which adorned his verse. This is never more apparent than during the taping sessions set up by Deven with the intention of creating a historical record of Nur's poetry for future generations. In spite of the latter's grandiose summing up of the significance of recording his memoirs, stating: 'Before Time crushes us into dust, we must record our struggles against it', all such efforts become valueless and fruitless, left to meander aimlessly, due to the great poet's constant digressions and demands to satisfy his cravings. Another character who embodies the ebb in fortunes of the Urdu community is Siddiqui, head of that language's minuscule department at Deven's college. He is forced to make ends meet by selling his ancestral home of past glories to a Delhi Hindu businessman intent on developing the site for commercial outlets. Yet, though similarly sidelined as Deven during college events, Siddiqui has the wherewithal to secure funds for the aforementioned recording sessions on behalf of his much more acquiescent colleague.

Our servile protagonist's inability to lead and organise the team deployed to assist in the recording sessions becomes increasingly tiresome. Moreover, there is his shameless opportunism at taking advantage of the offer of free board and meals from the pious mother of an absentee former schoolfriend. This observed misplaced sense of superiority and selfishness, therefore, leaves little empathy from any reader when it becomes apparent that Deven’s lack of quality end-product will cost him stern rebukes from those who have supported him, if not his job. Even the fury at the mounting bills and delays to publication of his manipulative and capricious employer, Murad, appears more than justifiable.

In the face of such stinging criticism, at the close of the novel, Deven comes to the realisation that he cannot abandon the honour inherent to the role he has taken on. As such, the reader is suddenly made aware of the exact meaning behind the novel’s title, in how it refers to the inability of Deven to extract himself from the task he has volunteered to take on. As he so eloquently summarises it: ‘'if he was to be the custodian of Nur's genius, then Nur would become his custodian'.

Overall, despite the quality of the prose, Deven's character is so shackled to his weaknesses that the reader finds it difficult to sympathise with his travails, and that this distancing between the protagonist and the reader eventually impacts on the enjoyment of the novel.

[Anil Nijhawan]

In Custody by Anita Desai

This book had been sitting hidden between two hardbacks on the top shelf in my study. And then last week in one of my book culling sessions it inadvertently came to my attention. I remember purchasing it from a charity shop some two years ago. Now that I have read it in three quick bouts lasting three days I am astonished I should have overlooked one of Anita Desai’s best book.
Written in an old fashioned traditional literary fashion it is about a meek and self-effacing lecturer in an obscure college in a small equally obscure town. He meets an old school friend Murad who invites him to go to Delhi to interview a famous poet, probably one of the best and arguably the last Urdu poet still alive, for it is feared that Urdu language is going to die rapidly in post independent India. He sees a chance to achieve fame and fulfil his dream. But the venture turns into a disaster when he finds the poet is an old weak man whose creative genius is no more. He finds himself getting sucked in deeper and deeper with no way out. What possessed him to leave his safe, mediocre world?
In Custody is a deft and savage comedy, resonant and realistic. It is a story related in a captivating way that brings alive the sight and sounds of poverty stricken recently independent India. It is no wonder the Ismail Merchant duo had turned it into a very successful art film.

[saman · Rating 5 out of 5]

A riveting tale of love, loss, and identity. This novel perfectly captures human emotions and it's nuances while narrating a tale of vanishing linguistic identity.

[Samidha; समिधा · Rating 3 out of 5]

” They sat there on the terrace, like a pair of nawabs stranded in the backwaters of time.”

In custody was a heavy read. There were bits in this novel that I liked and the other bits that I thought were stretched to the limit that it could put people to sleep.
Anita Desai, in her way, is trying to painting a picture of Delhi, the capital of India, in the 1990s but somehow gets carried off so much that she completely misses the point.
Our “antihero” Deven is a Hindi teacher at a college. He unexpectedly gets a request from his childhood friend Murad to interview a famous Urdu poet, Nur. Muard is a very exploitative friend and was a character that really put me off throughout the novel, which we will come to later.
Deven, our dear chap, who secretly always loved Urdu is elated at the prospect of meeting Nur, the poet who was a huge inspiration for his father. He agrees to the plan and is sent to Delhi where he is asked to talk to Nur and collect enough material to write an article for Murad’s magazine, which by the way is an Urdu journal.
So, this way the novel starts.
For starters there are a lot of metaphors used by Anita Desai which would’ve been difficult to pick out if it weren’t for the fact that this novel is also in my course.

” Good causes are lost causes, Sharma Sahib.”

The novel was engaging, it surely kept me reading. Some of the things that really bothered me where the fact that even when Deven knew that Murad was always face-bashing him why did he still sit at his feet, not literally though.
At numerous instances we see Murad humiliating Deven or tricking him into doing things he doesn’t like and yet Deven doesn’t speak up. Deven pissed me off a lot of times, he was a classic example of an A-LEVEL escapist and was such a shallow, grey character.
The same Deven who is quick to form an opinion about Nur’s second wife and treats his own wife as a piece of absolute nothing.
I felt like the author was deliberately trying to make Deven seem foolish in our eyes and if that is what she was aiming at,then she did a commendable job.
A scene where he finally gets to record the poet’s verse is riddled with so much idioticity in Deven’s part that it is hard to believe the multiple personalities that he has.
But in no way does all this folly of his make us less sympathetic towards him. Instead I understood a lot of view points and the pressure that he must be feeling as a teacher who is paid little to nothing.
The novel, though was very articulate and impressively written, didn’t do much to charm me.
There were lines which were beautiful

” We must engrave our name in the sand before the wave comes to sweep it away and make it a part of the ocean.”

And then there were times when I wanted to put the book down and not pick it up ever.
Even though it isn’t one of the best novels I’ve read,it certainly made me feel a lot of things and think about a lot of issues which will probably and hopefully stay.
In this case, I believe the novel did justice to itself.
Peace.

[Lynda · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is the subtle and charming story of the rather hapless lecturer Deven who dreams of escaping his humdrum limited impoverished position in a small college in a backwater town close to Delhi. He has the opportunity of interviewing the renowned Urdu poet Nur who lives in the glamorous squalor of the great Chandi Chowk bazaar in Old Delhi bullied by his wife and surrounded by sychophants.

From the first Deven"s mission is fraught with problems connected primarily with money and status and he falls victim to the scheming of others. Desai reflects in the tale the difficulty for Everyman of following one"s aspirations and her portrayal of both the ageing poet and the ineffectiual scholar is told in a gentle charming style. Being the custodian of the work of the greatest living Urdu poet is undoubtedly a tie that binds. The host of minor characters both female and male are fascinatingly portrayed.

[Krutika · Rating 3 out of 5]

In custody 🌼
.
.
"Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow" - Anita Desai.
.
.
I was thrilled to read my very first book of Anita Desai, but I admit that it was not up to the mark. The story is simple but has been dragged till the end. .
.
Deven is a Hindi lecturer in Mipore who loves writing poems in Urdu. When his friend Murad reaches out to him to interview a famous poet called Nur, Deven immediately accepts the offer. The story then revolves around Nur and Deven as they struggle to get the poems published. Deven takes loan from his college and even uses up his already dwindling savings account to meet Nur's demands. He reaches a stage of insanity when his entire work goes for a toss and Nur abandons him..
.
The book is probably a tad too overrated. It focusses on toxic friendship, greed, hopelessness and obsession. It could have been well drafted and executed. I would rate it 3.2/5. .

[Mahima · Rating 3 out of 5]

I don't know how to feel about this book. I did like it quite a lot, but something was just amiss. The question of poetry's place in life deeply resonated with me. I love poetry. But can poetry get me anywhere in life? I thought the book might answer the question in terms I hadn't thought of. But it didn't. And that was disappointing. What was also disappointing was Deven's character. He was puzzling, and while having anxiety myself I could understand his anxiety to an extent at times, the other times he was being plain stupid. Other than that, I did like the book. The setting of Chandni Chowk and Darya Ganj especially was nostalgic as I have spent around 15 years of my life there. Also, it was remarkable how poetic this prosaic text was at times. I'll probably see the book with some more clarity at a later time, but for now I think it's deserving of at least 3 stars.

[Akshay Dasgupta · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another gem by Anita Desai. Beautifully written.

Like most of her books, the story was tragic - though humorous on account of the Urdu poet and his outright hatred for the Hindi language. Like I have always said earlier, Anita Desai is an underrated write and has never received the kind of success and adulation which writes receive today.

This book was written i believe in 1984 when very few Indian authors ventured to write in the English language. 'In Custody' is the only book by Anita Desai that was made into a feature film. Recommended for the Urdu language loves.

[Natasha · Rating 4 out of 5]

A lament about a language that was once beautiful, but is now dying. A poet who was once brilliant, but is now decaying. This book has everything, yet didn't quite make the grade for me. Perhaps because the protagonist was too meek to carry the burden of the ideas.
The parts that I wish had been explored more were the women- the two wives of the poet Nur and Sarla. Each struggling to maintain her grip on her position by any means possible. Maybe the fact that they were all shortchanged by life and the narrative too worked against the book.

[Pascale · Rating 3 out of 5]

It can be harrowing to follow the tribulations of this teacher whose misconceived master-plan (to record for posterity the voice of a local poet of some repute who, predictably, turns out to be a bit of a con-artist) lays waste to his life. Of course it conveys a rather bitter message about corruption and greed in India - what else? But it is definitely among the best novels of one of India's best novelists.

[Vani · Rating 4 out of 5]

The book is written in the Anita Desai prosaic style, which is admirable and has a sense of humour. It points to the struggles of life, the funny characters hanging all around us and the peculiar situations we can get into. It's a must read for all the prose fans.

[Xenja · Rating 5 out of 5]

Deven è un modesto professore di hindi in un piccolo college di provincia. È un brav'uomo, mite e coscienzioso, sinceramente appassionato di poesia, ma un po' troppo timido, insicuro e pusillanime, che aspira ormai solo a una vita dignitosa e tranquilla. Ricorda certi personaggi di Dostoevskij e di Gogol', come l'impiegatuccio del Cappotto. Eppure in gioventù ha scritto poesie e sognato di diventare letterato. Poi gli anni sono passati, le delusioni si sono accumulate, e i suoi sogni e le sue illusioni sono rimaste a Dehli, dove si è laureato. Un giorno, però, da Dehli arriva il vecchio amico Murad, gagliardo farabutto, che dirige una rivista letteraria, e lo incarica di intervistare il grande poeta urdu Nur. Per Deven è l'occasione di una vita: tra mille problemi e mille paure, raccoglie tutto il suo coraggio e si avventura nell'impresa, sacrificando le sue domeniche e i suoi risparmi. Si ritrova così al cospetto dell'anziano e illustre poeta, il quale però è molto diverso da come lo immaginava. Verrà travolto da una situazione assolutamente kafkiana, simile a un incubo tragicomico in cui il nostro eroe si sforza disperatamente di cavare qualche parola di bocca al poeta che vive circondato da una corte di scrocconi e mascalzoni, e scroccone e mascalzone si rivela lui stesso, simile a un'allucinazione che invano Deven si sforza di dominare e comprendere, come quando in sogno non riusciamo a uscire da una situazione assurda. L'impresa di intervistarlo e raccogliere i suoi ultimi versi, con calma e con ordine, l'impresa di prendere in custodia la sua anima e il suo spirito, in una Dehli sempre più calda, sporca, caotica e desolata, diventa via via sempre più improbabile e disastrosa. Ma è proprio tutta colpa degli altri? É davvero una strega la moglie del poeta? È davvero una canaglia Murad? E che dire della misteriosa vedova che accoglie e sfama Deven a Dehli? L'esperienza cambierà la vita del professore e rimetterà in discussione le sue idee.

“Siddiqui Sahib” gridò Deven “non è stata colpa mia! Ho lavorato sodo, mi sono preparato e ho lavorato, ma sono stato preso in giro e imbrogliato da tutti – dall'uomo che mi ha venduto il registratore di seconda mano, dal tecnico che diceva di saper registrare ma era completamente inesperto, da Murad che aveva promesso di pagare e non l'ha fatto, da Nur che non mi ha mai spiegato di volere un compenso, e da sua moglie, dalle sue mogli, da tutti loro...”
“Oh” disse Siddiqui, scoccandogli un'occhiata gelida dall'alto della sua nuova prosperità,” e perché hai lasciato che tutti ti truffassero?”

Romanzo intensamente poetico, fantasmagorico, divertente e malinconico, sui pregiudizi, le illusioni e le incomprensioni in cui l'umanità, come formiche, si dibatte. Un altro capolavoro di Anita Desai, una dei maggiori scrittori viventi, ignorata da (quasi) tutti.