Time and space, especially since the pandemic hit the world, seem to have held little stability along the way. The period witnessed an entire generation of pre-teens transitioning into teenage, develop a rabid technological dependence. In his latest novel Deviants (Tranquebar; ₹799), Santanu Bhattacharya brings in three generations of queer men in India who ‘deviate’, among whom stands 17-year-old Vivaan, a teenager grappling with his sexuality in the urban metropolis of Bengaluru.
Vivaan’s is one of the voices that Bhattacharya’s novel starts with, quite literally. His narration is in the form of voice notes, bringing in an epistolary medium that stays true to what a present-day teen’s actions would be; instead of writing as a form of journalling, Vivaan’s phone recordings ramble. As a teen living in Bengaluru, his narration and diction are very true to his context in terms of age and space.
It is easy to wonder about the process behind this; Bhattacharya’s response is one of modest accomplishment, “That was one of the biggest challenges in this novel. I’d never seen Gen Z lingo done right in adult fiction. It’s either a parody or a caricature. In fact, I think teens are portrayed very sloppily in adult fiction, in general. They’re always presented through an older person’s lens, which makes the depiction either dismissive, or patronising, or both. I’m lucky that I know a lot of young people, I hang out with some. And I don’t think I’m that old myself, ha! I also watched hours worth of Gen Z reels to understand their issues, their sense of humour, what excites them, etcetera. It didn’t feel like work at all. It was a lot of fun.”
There is also much to unearth about Vivaan’s relationship with India’s ‘Silicon Plateau’. It is natural for the reader to wonder what he derives out of his spatial context; what he would have had to do differently had he not been from urbanity. Bhattacharya concurs, “Every person’s context is different, so what each one of us is having to navigate and negotiate is unique. In novels, once we’ve placed a character in a certain time and geography, we build their world based on the wonders and constraints of what their surroundings will allow. I think there is an assumption that urban spaces are more queer-friendly, and though there is no data around any of this, we could make an informed guess.”
While gender and sexuality are avenues of perpetual query with oneself, it is evident that Vivaan’s journey has been kinder than most; that his openness is a consequence of the admitted openness of his parents. Moreover, his kinship with his gay uncle, Mambro, gives him a world of safety; this safety is contrasted by Mambro’s uncle Sukumar, who lived and died keeping his queerness a secret.
Bhattacharya agrees, “Creating a character like Vivaan was an experiment. I gave him all the privileges – money, class, education, English fluency, supportive family, a role model in his uncle. At that vantage point, I wanted to see what his queer journey is like and how he’s navigating it. I’m aware that Vivaan is not representative of most people of his generation, at least in terms of his external characteristics. But I hope that the internal conversations he’s having with himself will resonate, because those are probably not dissimilar to the ones we’re having with ourselves a lot.”