Indulkar

It is possible to begin Indulkar’s story from anywhere. It could begin at his government office. It could begin at his home, amid his family. It could even begin directly from his bed at the precise moment he falls asleep. As Indulkar’s personal biography and his times converge to form his story, his bodily presence in all three sites becomes as indispensable as that of an eyewitness in the investigation of a complicated crime. Each location holds enormous importance in his life. Indulkar without the government office is like a patient deprived of medication, writhing in agony. Indulkar without home and family is like an itinerant fakir who has forgotten the way to the masjid. And Indulkar without sleep is like a man condemned to wander through a night of wide-eyed insomnia.

The three locations also matter because, within the self-created cycle of his days, time is divided equally among them. At home, sipping tea, he watches the rising and setting of day and night. At the office, his hours are governed by service rules. True, Indulkar enjoys occasional freedom in the dreamscapes of deep sleep. Yet even there, he encounters another Indulkar — one who conceals himself like…