INVISIBLE MAN

THE PRESENT LOCKDOWN HAS MADE CONSPICUOUS THE PLIGHT OF THE INDIAN MIGRANT. IN HIS NEW NOVEL AMNESTY, ARAVIND ADIGA, TOO, IMAGINES WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE CAUGHT BETWEEN HOME AND AWAY

- SIDDHANT JUMDE AND SONAL SHAH

We use the word apocalypse—and these days frequently—to describe the end of the world. But its literal meaning, from ancient Greek, is “uncovering”. No one can say for sure whether Covid-19 is our omega, but there’s no doubt we’re living through a time of revelations—of the unseen becoming visible.

Since India went into lockdown, we’ve seen indelible images of migrant labourers on a trudging exodus towards distant homes. We’ve seen them beaten by lathis and sprayed with industrial chemicals, as if they were the unfeeling parts of some machine. The privileged—some dabbling in domestic labour for the first time—watch as the inequality of our society is laid bare, thrown into sharp relief at interstate borders. This inequality also sends people across international borders: on foot, in boats, on planes. The transport varies; the migrant may have more or less to his name. But while the work he does is invaluable, the world does not want to see him.

“Does it work like this?” wonders Danny, the Sri Lankan protagonist of Aravind Adiga’s fourth novel. “You’re not wanted to begin within your own home. Then illegal immigrants come to your country, take what little you have, and force you to go to Australia and become illegal there.” Amnesty explores what it means to live in society’s peripheral vision, while also constantly dodging the state’s surveilling eye.