Read Online A Son Of The Circus by John Irving - Free Book Online Page A

own nastiness was extolled as a virtue (Dhar was routinely nastier than most villains) – and the peculiar sentimentality bordered on undergraduate existentialism (Dhar was beyond loneliness in that he appeared to enjoy being alienated from everyone). There were token gestures to the Hindi cinema, which Dr Daruwalla viewed with the mocking irony of an outsider: gods frequently descended from the heavens (usually to provide Inspector Dhar with inside information), and all the villains were demonic (if ineffectual). Villainy, in general, was represented by criminals and the majority of the police force; sexual conquest was reserved for Inspector Dhar, whose heroism operated both within and above the law. As for the women who provided the sexual conquests, Dhar remained largely indifferent to them, which was suspiciously European. There was music of the standard Hindi combination: choruses of girls oohing and aahing to the clamor of guitars, tablas, violins and vinas. And Inspector Dhar himself, despite his ingrained cynicism, would occasionally lip-sync a song. Although he lip-synced well, the lyrics are not worth repeating – he would snarl such poetry as, ‘Baby, I guarantee it, you’re gonna find me gratifying!’ Such songs, in the Hindi cinema, are in Hindi, but this was another instance of how the Inspector Dhar films were deliberately scripted against the grain. Dhar’s songs were in English, with his deplorable Hindi accent; even his theme song, which was sung by an all-girl chorus and repeated at least twice in every Inspector Dhar movie, was in English. It, too, was loathed; it was also a hit. Although he’d written it, it made Dr Daruwalla cringe to hear it.
    So you say Inspector Dhar is a mere mortal –
    so you say, so you say!
    He looks like a god to us!
    So you say this is a little rain shower —
    so you say, so you say!
    It looks like the monsoon to us!
    If Dhar was a good lip-syncer, he also demonstrated no enthusiasm for the much-maligned art. One critic had dubbed him ‘Lazy Lips.’ Another critic complained that nothing energized Dhar – he lacked enthusiasm for everything. As an actor, Dhar had mass appeal – possibly because he seemed constantly depressed, as if sordidness were a magnet to him, and his eventual triumph over evil were a perpetual curse. Therefore, a certain wistfulness was ascribed to every victim whom Inspector Dhar sought to rescue or avenge; a graphic violence attended Dhar’s punishment of each and every evildoer.
    As for sex, satire prevailed. In place of lovemaking, old newsreel footage of a rocking train would be substituted; ejaculation was characterized by listless waves breaking on shore. Furthermore, and in compliance with the rules of censorship in India, nudity, which was
not
permitted, was replaced by wetness; there was much fondling (fully clothed) in the rain, as if Inspector Dhar solved crimes only during the monsoon season. The occasional nipple could be glimpsed, or at least imagined, under a fully soaked sari; this was more titillating than erotic.
    Social relevance and ideology were similarly muted, if not altogether absent. (Both in Toronto
and
in Bombay, these latter instincts were similarly undeveloped in Dr Daruwalla.) Beyond the commonplace observation that the police were thoroughly corrupted by a system based on bribery, there was little preaching. Scenes of violent but maudlin death, followed by scenes of tearful mourning, were more important than messages intended to inspire a national conscience.
    The character of Inspector Dhar was brutally vindictive; he was also utterly incorruptible – except sexually. Women were easily and simplistically identified as good or bad; yet Dhar permitted himself the greatest liberties with both – indeed, with all. Well, with
almost
all. He wouldn’t indulge a Western woman, and in every Inspector Dhar movie there was always at least one Western, ultra-white woman who craved a sexual adventure with Inspector