broken glass By Sally Grindley
Bloomsbury

Sally Grindley’s book Broken Glass is actually not a children’s book — not one meant only for children, anyway. It’s one of those rare gems that can actually be enjoyed by people of all ages.

The story begins in a small village, where brothers Sandeep and Suresh, aged about nine and 11 respectively, live with their parents. Their father doesn’t have a high-flying job, but it’s enough to be comfortably off, while their mother keeps house. As such, they are a typical middle-class family. The brothers go to school, play cricket, go to town once a month to catch a movie with their mother, and generally do everything that a normal family does.

Trouble begins when the boys’ father loses his job. He rapidly becomes a different person altogether, becomes an alcohol abuser and even beats his wife up. The children start to believe that they are somehow at the root of all the unhappiness as they have become a burden on their parents. They think that life would be easier for their mother if they left home.

Suresh is confident that he would get a job in a big city. He dreams about sending his brother to school with his earnings and helping his mother. Little does he realise that the world that he’s chosen to inhabit is light years from his comfort zone. The brothers have only felt hunger till now, but it was never this constant gnawing at the pit of the stomach. They always had a roof above their heads, and never in their wildest dreams did they think that they would have to call a traffic island home. The biggest disappointment comes when they realise that they are just a couple of street children among hundreds, and that no one cares a jot for them in the city.

The brothers soon make friends with other street children, though some are of dubious character. Suresh and Sandeep find jobs as rag pickers, specialising in retrieving pieces of broken glass. It’s not exactly Suresh’s dream job, but he realises that it’s better than nothing, and though they get cheated almost every day, it ensures a few morsels.

Grindley paints a Dickensian portrait of a big city, warts and all, with a prose that’s tight and lucidly matter-of-fact. But the best part about her writing is that there is a stubborn optimism shining through every sentence, which makes it an absolute delight to read.

The novel has a near-perfect ending, ambiguous enough to keep readers wondering long after they’ve finished reading. By the same logic, it’s reason enough to call for a sequel, some would say. Let’s hope it’s not that ambiguous.