Scandinavian Crime

If the number of successful writers of crime fiction is any indicator, one could be deceived into believing that Scandinavian countries top the crimes chart. The last week I finished reading all but one novel in the series of books written by Per Wahloo and Maj Sjowal- a husband & wife team that wrote a ten book crime fiction series. When they went to receive a prize in the US, someone quipped-‘ I can’t collaborate with my wife in making an Omelette. I don’t know how you guys collaborate:” True for many of us, I am sure.

What is interesting about the Martin Beck series is that they signified the early genre that is often categorized as “police Procedurals”. The plots are tightly weaved, they unfold realistically and the characters have many failings, which makes it altogether believable. The marriage of the protagonist, Inspector Martin Beck, crumbles through the series, a slow process which has a sense of inevitability to it. He often suffers from stomach ailments and the occasional killer cold. Mankell Henning’s Kurt Wallander series appears profoundly influenced by the series. If you count Jo Nesbo, Mankell and Steig Larsson, then it is a no-brainer that the Scandinavian countries have churned out the best quality of crime fiction per capita. The names and places are tongue-twisters. It is not easy to for the reader to build a sense of occasion in his mind when he reads “ Martin Beck walked along Kungsgatan and turned at Nortandsgatan.” The plot often gets submerged in the melee of unpronounceable names.

A nation of One billion ought to do better than that, don’t you think so? But police procedurals are not exactly something we are known for. Every day we watch crime scenes on TV where the actual scene is not cordoned off, leading to destruction of valuable evidence. Maybe a few years from now, our police would be better equipped to deal with evidence, DNA etc. from crime scenes. Here is an attempt at Indian crime fiction. A warning: this could be traumatic to the readers…
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Constable Ramlal navigated through the garbage dump and the little kids shitting by the wayside. The overnight rains had considerably worsened the overpowering stench that greeted him and all thoughts of having breakfast vanished. He walked towards the crowd assembled at one of the jhopdis. A huge gathering of curious onlookers had swelled close to the crime scene. The police wireless was dead and he got on the mobile phone to brief his DCP. After a long wait while the caller tune “ Om Jai Jagdish Hare” played, he picked up and grunted. It sounded like he was getting a massage at home from one of the prisoners in judicial custody for pick-pocketing and an important nerve just got seriously tweaked. Or was he labouring under the weight of the big bossomed, wide hipped mistress No 2 who lives in Janak Puri? Ramlal wondered as he explained the situation at the crime scene. “Has any politician turned up?” asked the DCP. “No” said Ramlal. “Dekh Lena. I will come in the afternoon”, the DCP lazily intoned and went back to whatever pastime he was indulged in. Ramlal couldn’t help but imagine bald, paunchy, hairy DCP Ratan Singh groaning under the undressed heaviness of mistress no.2 at her Janakpuri DDA flat.

The body of the 17 year old girl was lying in the bedroom. Rigor mortis has set in. The unemployed brother is missing. Another honour killing, thought Ramlal as he persuaded the onlookers to help move the body to the floor into a more comfortable position. This way the public could take a better peek, thought Ramlal. There ought to be another body somewhere; that of the victim’s lover from the same gotra, thought the dormant Sherlock Holmes lurking within Ramlal. And surely the Khap Panchayat must have ordered a hit on the unsuspecting babe and her impudent lover.

The missing brother was seen in the hooch shop drinking himself silly till early hours yesterday, said an onlooker, with five rings in each hand and pan stained teeth. He went on to helpfully add that the perpetrator might be a thousand miles away by now. Ramlal asked around if there was anyone from the family. The parents were away for a week and Ramlal was disappointed at the lost opportunity to threaten a couple of old fogies with dire consequences in full public view. He also missed the breakfast which is readily commandeered under similar circumstances for visiting cops from the nearby teashops. No point in calling the fingerprint experts since by now a hundred hands have touched the body, behenchod he swore, … almost with a touch of fatality.

(to be continued)
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My close friends and family know me as a gadget freak. I don’t spend much money on gadgets but I do have a layman’s superficial understanding of emerging technologies. I heard a movie-star-hunk in a TV interview some months ago. He was asked what kind of gadgets he would hope for the future. He said the appropriate favourite music ought to stream in from his personal media player depending on his moods and thoughts. I found the answer silly and self centred. Is that all he can dream of? A music player which intuitively recognizes the moods of the listener? It could be a very dangerous thing. Sex is constantly on the minds of many in our blessed nation. We could have “Shake your Body” kind of songs blaring out of a million ipods.

What do I seek from the future? Well many things. How about solar umbrellas and helmets that create a cool, comfortable field around the wearer under the scorching sun? Construction workers slaving away in the Delhi heat might be better off. Or have them create a similar warm field in cold countries. It could greatly relieve the burden of cops on winter-night-patrol in Moscow. Or have it installed on car tops so that the insides of parked cars remain cool/ warm? In Delhi I see many cars run by their drivers in idle mode with the engine running and the AC on, so that the fat posteriors of the VIPs remain cool when they get in.

How about magic pipes which spew clean drinking water in any remote location by mixing the necessary gases from the atmosphere. It could solve drinking water and irrigation problems. How about silent vehicles and refrigerated transporters for agricultural produce which run on cheap non polluting energy sources?

The thought of genetic solutions to failing body parts like hearts and kidneys sounds great but is not so great if you think deeper. One could save little kids from serious conditions. But soon we might end up with a lot of geriatrics walking around with replaced body parts, living eternally. And what if the more money one has, the more critical body parts one can afford? Like Warrant Buffet can afford a spare heart or two while Sharmaji next door can afford only a prosthetic palm. Weird, isn’t it? I gues it is better if one lives just as long as willed by nature.