Another 'Bludy' Desi?

Serve him right he got his muthafuckin face fuck'd, shudn't b callin me a Paki, innit. After spittin his words out Hardjit stopped for a second, like he expected us to write em down or someshit. Then he sticks in an exclamation mark by kickin the white kid in the face again.--Shudn't b callin us Pakis, innit, u dirrty gora.

This is, supposedly, the latest sensation in the book world, and made its British-born desi (South Asian) writer rich with a £300, 000 advance. Not bad for a first novel eh?

The book itself is actually very good. I read it from start to finish with barely a pause (excluding the time I was at work). The book starts in a manner similar to Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange with a group of teenagers viciously beating up another boy. Except this time the boys doing the beating are desis from Hounslow in South London and the poor chap getting beaten up is white--which is also his ’crime’ and the fact that he might have called one of them a ’Paki’ to which they object as they are British Indians! Like Burgess’ (and Irvine Welsh) Malkani writes the story in a language which is supposed to reflect the manner in which desi ’rudeboys’ (delinquents or wannabe gangsters) speak. It is quite accurate too, being a mixture of English, London slang, Jamaican Patois, phrases from Punjabi (and Urdu/Hindi) and a lot of gangster talk taken from rap music. Terms such as ’wikid’, ’safe’, ‘innit’, ’nigga’, ’crib’, ’muthafucker’,’blud’ abound.

The story is narrated by Jas, who is one of the gang of four young men around whom the story is centred. The others are Harjit--(nicknamed Hard-jit) a psychotic, body-building obsessed racist Sikh and the undisputed leader of the gang whom the others adulate and fear in equal measures, Ravi, and Amit. The other two are also real ’rudeboys’ whereas Jas was a former ’boffin’ aka a ’batty-boy’, who only has recently joined this crew to fit in. The story follows their day-to-day lives as they get into fights with equally braindead and obnoxious Muslim gangs, their obsession with bling-bling, their mobile phone scamming business and their total disconnect from the mainstream society which they envy and hate in equal measures as well as the eternal conflict with their parents. Into this volatile mixture we also get the story of Jas’ affection for Samira, a smart, independent sexy Muslim girl and therefore a ’no-no’ for him and his Sikh/Hindu friends. The politics of the Subcontinent continued in South West London.

But Amit is less willin to just roll with my comment bout wantin Samira to ride me.--Easy now, Jas, he goes. --Ravi here jus b chattin bout how fit she is. Da way you say it, it soundin like you onto her. Samira outta bounds for all a us bredrens an you know it. She Muslim, innit. We best all stick to our own kinds, boy, don't b playin wid fire. An you best not b chattin like dat in front a Hardjit.

Amit had a point a course. If any a us ever got with Samira, her mum an dad'd probly kill her and then try an kill us. That's if our own mums an dads din't kill us first. An then that's if Hardjit din't kill us before they did. Mr Ashwood had taught us bout the bloody partition a India an Pakistan during History lessons. What we din't learn though, was how some people who weren't even born when it happened or awake during History lessons remembered the bloodshed better than the people who were.

The story has a brilliant, totally unexpected twist at the very end which puts the rest of the book into perspective but, although it is an accurate reflection of a certain type of British Asian youth it is at times guilty of stereo-typing too. However, that said, it is probably the most accurate portrayal of British Asian youth so far penned.

Anyway, if you ask me, posters a Bollywood babes are better to look at than them poncey paintings. Matter a fact, I reckon they're better than posters a fit goris like Kate Moss or Capris or fit kaalis like Bwyonce Knowles or Halle Berry. Indian women (I know I should say bitches stead a women to keep things proper but I'm still workin on it) are different. Bollywood babes are obviously not black or white so in't bootylicious or waifs. They're somwhere in between.

It shows the shallowness and emptiness and obsession with material goods and the cultural confusion of second-generation Asians. The novel's flaw is that it only depicts this type of desi and ignores the, admittedly rarer, successful breed: those who have done well in life, gone to university, obtained a good job and generally fit well into British mainstream society. The book does have one such character (whom the others deride as a ’coconut’, an Uncle-Tom like figure) but it ruins the potential for balance and fairness by making him into the biggest crook of them all! Probably the most normal characters are Jas, the narrator, and Samira, the local Muslim beauty whom Jas has the hots for. She is bright and level-headed--but spoilt and not a stereotypical Muslim lady portrayed in most such novels.

Just look at Samira Ahmed. She was the reason guys round Hounslow'd bothered learnin how to spell the word Beautiful stead a just writin the word Fit inside their valentine cards. She was beautiful like them models in make-up ads, the ones where they're so fit they don't even look like they're wearin any make-up. Unlike any a the other desi girls that'd got off the bus before her, Samira Ahmed weren't even wearin no jewellery either. That's how fit she was. Honest to God.She made you realise how some desi princesses were lookin more an more like clowns dressed up like Christmas trees with all their bling-bling Tiffany tinsel an Mac masks[...]But not Samira Ahmed. No marketing, no make-up, no sodium benzoate, no jewellery, no aspartame an none a that potassium sorbate shit.

The ending is not too unpredictable as far as the plot goes but there is a nice twist to do with one of the characters which is brilliant and unexpected. A very good debut which explores the angst of being second-generation desis on the margins of British society.