The Loudest Firecracker by Arun Krishnan

This short book, of less than 200 pages, is Arun Krishnan’s debut novel, told through the eyes of Siddharth, a boy who loves cricket and whose father directs films. This is a book that is aimed both at young adults and the older reader.

The prologue introduces us to Siddharth and his father, at the point where Siddharth’s father has decided he’s had enough of making commercial Hindi cinema and walks out of a film set, abandoning a film before it is complete.

This decision means a move from Bombay to Pune, while Siddharth’s father works on his non-song and dance masterpeice. It also means an adjustment, for the whole family, to new circumstances in the quieter city. Siddharth’s mother is an expert reteller of myths; she uses these stories to help Siddharth answer the questions he has, and to reassure him, amidst the confusions and upsets the move brings.

Readers brought up in middle class homes in India, before the advent of liberalisation and channels other than Doordarshan, will recognise the familiar motifs of the eighties and the much slower pace of life that was common then. Some will also remember how it was a time of unease and violence, due to the presence of a certain brand of communal politics and the different shapes this took, from the anti-Sikh riots to Thackeray’s new vendettas.

This is a coming of age of tale, centred around key events that are triggered by the fact that Siddharth sets off a firecracker, a rare act of disobedience, on the day of a cricket match between India and Pakistan. The setting off of the firecracker results in events that cause Siddharth’s life to change irrevocably.

The consequences of setting off the firecracker are faced by Siddharth at home and at school. In addition, he faces changes outside-his best friend (who had given him the firecracker) is drawn to a local bully, who in turn is part of a right-wing party (the Narad Sena headed by Jajasaheb Baapre) that advocates the destruction and removal of Muslims from India. Siddharth is mostly repulsed, but also briefly attracted by the anti-Muslim rhetoric. How Siddharth deals with personal tragedy and the changes it brings, while simultaneously growing up and making sense of the world around him forms the gist of this book.

Krishnan is good at capturing the turbulence of growing up, weaving a tale that is at once humorous and tender. But one wishes he didn’t feel the need to spell things out so much-such as the thinly veiled reference to Bal Thackeray, motivated perhaps by the desire to clearly point him out as the villain in real life. Even children and young adults can be left to make up their own minds and don’t need everything explained to them. However, the meeting between Siddharth and Jajasaaheb and Jajasaaheb’s attempted manipulation of Siddharth’s tragedy to suit his own ends, realistically evokes how proponents of this brand of politics don’t actually care about the people they claim to represent.

The illustrations by Aditi Raychoudhary also suffer from being burdened by the need to spell things out. My only quibble about the drawings, which are otherwise sensitively executed, are the large titles they have emblazoned across them-one can surely guess, for example, that the illustration of the “man-lion,” is Narasimha (who is explicitly referred to and described in the text already) without the words telling us so? Ironically, the book’s website has this to say about the illustrations:

The Loudest Firecracker is sensitive to the needs of word-weary consumers of the information age. This is why The Loudest Firecracker includes beautiful illustrations that are a calming recipe for the tired mind.

The illustrations by Aditi Raychoudhury won’t wear you out by speaking a thousand words. They are content to remain silent so that you can bask in their exquisite detail.

Ultimately, Siddharth rejects the Narad Sena, his father makes a film without song and dance routines that does well, and he begins to overcome his tragedy: a game of tennis helps him to reach a decision of sorts and the sight of a dog brings back memories that give him hope for the future.

Monumental themes from mythology to Bollywood to communal riots have been tackled succintly and some may wish that Krishnan had developed some of these further, while others might simply accept the book as a description of life-changing vignettes recounted from a child’s perspective. Either way, one hopes that more Indian authors will write with young adults in mind and that this is just a beginning for Krishnan.

Note: The book’s official website with an excerpt can be found here. Thanks to Arun Krishnan for sending me the book, not once but twice, since it got lost in the mail the first time around.

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