In the graphic novel Absolute Jafar, Sarnath Banerjee crafts a personal narrative that finds relevance in contemporary politics. Centering on Brighu, an Indian, and Pakistani Mahrukh’s relationship—“a marriage dependent on bilateral relations”—the narrative unfolds while the couple negotiate their relationship in Delhi amidst bureaucracy troubles of citizenship and visas, and are compelled to migrate to Berlin as cross-border relations turn harsher. What begins as an Indo-Pak love story goes on to inhabit spaces of migration, memory, and belonging and also explores the identity of their son Jafar. With Brighu as Banerjee’s own alter ego, the autobiographical nature of the novel barely limits it.
By interweaving Indian idiom within the narrative, it creates an amusing sense of relatability. With the narrator’s love for Delhi in the background across the book, it charts the lanes of the capital with a sense of familiarity—the Amar Colony’s furniture market and the Blue Line metro slicing across the Hanuman temple. On the other hand, Berlin landscapes with brick bridges, a river, and dry trees appear burdened with dense scribbles.
The illustrations are contemplative. The sketches adapt to the time and space—as the setting changes, the shapes change as well, with strokes becoming thicker and intense in India, thin in the United States, and wobbly in Germany. Even as the faces are instantly recognisable—given specific peculiarities to every nationality—what remains constant throughout is the blank expression on the narrator’s face.
Illustrations such as India-Pakistan soldiers raising their feet only for their boots to make a heart together represent the political background. Scenes unfold from multiple perspectives—the gaze of the narrator and that of people who see him. Imagined scenes that appear with curvy borders are rather sharp. Along with lines, colour changes with the tone of the narrative, becoming grim at times of the endless wait for bureaucracy.
Carrying a hint of satire, the novel lists the hypocrisies of the affluent, NRIs, real estate dealers, and the West. Migration, in all of this, remains the emotional core of the book. The idea of home is a silent deliberation with a single German word that goes untranslated throughout the text, Heimat, meaning hometown. Heimat is represented with a sketch of a rushing migrating family loaded with suitcases, a boy walking behind with his bag and a balloon in hand—a recurring motif. It is also shown with a part-humorous sketch of a guy half-hidden behind his Heimat that he has carried with him across borders—Rooh Afza bottles, Horlicks jars, Maggi and MDH masala packets.
Finally, Absolute Jafar is a simple reflection on how the political permeates the personal, uncontrollably shaping multiple aspects of life.