THE TREASURE HUNTER
A different kind of tycoon flourishes in Yasmeen Premji’s Mumbai
It’s just as well the subtitle on the cover of Yasmeen Premji’s book says “A Novel”, because the first instinct after reading the absorbing tale of Lalljee Lakha is to Google the man and the remains of the empire he left behind. The man is fictional but the city of Mumbai that dominates Premji’s book is not. Her narrative takes us from the unforgiving desolation of Kutch where Lalljee is an illiterate goatherd to a new Bombay that is discovering its survivor’s streak. As Lalljee grows from a helper at a kirana shop to a textile mill owner, trader in opium, and landlord at large, the book chronicles the history of new India— spanning Bal Gangadhar Tilak’s call for swaraj to Muhammad Ali Jinnah’s fictional request to Lalljee to come to Pakistan. The story is told in flashback through Lalljee’s favourite granddaughter Shahina as his formidable mansion in Breach Candy is pulled down to make way for a builder’s apartment, but it is so elegant and simple that the crowd of characters who connect, separate, only to reconnect again, doesn’t interrupt the flow.
Everything about Lalljee seems so real: His unconsummated love for childhood sweetheart Reshma, his marriage to widow Sakina, his yearning for a son, and his dalliance with courtesan Kamala Bai. Premji has relied largely, or so we are told, on accounts of her mother and mother- in- law, but only someone who has truly lived in and loved Mumbai can weave so much of its rich history so seamlessly into the story. As she describes it: “Fortune lurked around the corner, a dream away, a scheme away. The city keeps their dreams alive and, in time. Bombay itself became the dream.” It also shows the birth and growth of a tycoon of a sort different from today’s Bollygarchs. They made their mistakes, dealing in armaments and opium, but their heart was where their wallets were and both were deep. They built institutions that continue to educate and enlighten India Shining today.
Surprisingly for a book dedicated to such an obviously macho man, there is a great wealth of understanding and compassion for the lives of women in pre- independent India, when a woman’s happiness was not a priority either for her or her family. There are several fascinating, and often thinly disguised cameos. Jay, the maharaja who let a tragic hunting accident reduce him to a life of decadence with the “queen of the can- can and the will- will”; Kamala Bai, the gorgeous courtesan with the even more beautiful 15- year- old daughter, Sitara; the magnificent Sultan of Zanzibar. There’s food, discreet sex, and lots of now very pricey real estate. When it ends, with Premji telling us of the footprints Lalljee left behind in the city, in a water tank here and a reading room there, in an akhada in a crowded basti and in a generous scholarship which helps many transform their lives, it’s almost with a shock that one realises it was just a tale. A truly fascinating tale.