Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of Barkhurdar, Member of Parliament by Amitabh D. Sarwate

There’s a certain sound that belongs only to India during election season. It isn’t the speeches or the drumbeats, not even the loudspeakers strapped to auto-rickshaws blaring promises into the summer heat. It’s laughter — wry, exasperated, sometimes bitter, sometimes uncontrollable — the kind that erupts when reality feels too absurd to be real. That’s the sound Amitabh D. Sarwate bottles in Barkhurdar, Member of Parliament, a riotous political satire set in Pune that had me chuckling, sighing, and shaking my head with that familiar mix of amusement and disbelief.

Sarwate isn’t new to humour, but here he feels like a ringmaster setting loose a menagerie of misfits on the stage of Indian politics. His central character, Prem Sahasrabuddhe, better known as Barkhurdar, doesn’t dream of power or glory. He dreams of evenings at Deccan Gymkhana, of casual banter with friends, of a life where the loudest battle is a badminton match. Fate, of course, has other plans — the cruel trickster. And what a trick: Barkhurdar stumbles, almost unwillingly, into the seething circus of an election campaign, where every handshake hides a dagger and every promise carries the stench of satire.

What makes the book truly addictive isn’t just the premise but the prose. Sarwate writes with a breezy irreverence, like a stand-up comic with a poet’s ear. His sentences are sharp enough to slice through hypocrisy, yet playful enough to let you laugh even as you recognize the truth beneath the absurdity. The pacing is relentless — scenes tumble into each other with the giddy chaos of a crowded Indian street, yet never lose their rhythm. Just when you think you know where it’s heading, in walks a Bollywood strongman or a cricketing legend, and suddenly the narrative feels both outrageous and oddly believable.

The characters, of course, are the lifeblood. Panse, the slippery neta who could sell his shadow for votes. Dhartipakad Singh, whose very name makes you grin before he opens his mouth. Mathur and Kaka, the faithful sidekicks who shove Barkhurdar into battles he never wanted to fight. And in the middle of it all, Sara, his wife, whose quiet presence grounds the chaos. Each of them is exaggerated, yes, but never hollow; they are caricatures that somehow feel more real than the very real leaders we see on our news screens. One scene that lingers in my mind involves Barkhurdar trapped between musclemen and media flashbulbs, trying to deliver a speech that refuses to come out straight — a perfect metaphor for how truth gets twisted in public life.

Themes of corruption, idealism, betrayal, and resilience thread through the book, but Sarwate never preaches. Instead, he invites us to laugh — and in laughing, we recognize the bite. The humour isn’t escapist; it’s a mirror polished with wit, showing us the ridiculousness, we’ve learned to accept as normal. For me, it was impossible not to think of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro, that cult satire which taught us how comedy could sting harder than tragedy. Barkhurdar carries that same DNA, though rooted firmly in Pune’s lanes, canteens, and clubs.

Reading this, I often paused, not because the book faltered, but because I needed to savor the absurdity, to think of how close fiction comes to newsprint these days. The strength of the novel lies in its unfiltered humour, its madcap pacing, and its ability to juggle a large cast without losing the thread. If I had to nitpick, perhaps some of the digressions run a shade too long — but then, isn’t that also the charm of any Indian election? The chaos is the story.

I closed the book with that rare mix of joy and reflection. Joy because I had laughed — loudly, freely, unashamedly. Reflection because beneath the humour lay the truth of how politics bends ordinary lives into extraordinary messes. Barkhurdar reminded me that sometimes laughter isn’t a luxury, it’s survival.

If you’ve ever lived through an election, groaned at a politician’s promise, or found yourself bewildered by the theatre of democracy, this book will feel like home — a chaotic, noisy, hilarious home. Pick it up not just for the laughs, but for the sly wisdom tucked between them. And when you do, be prepared: the next time you hear election slogans on your street, you might just smile and think, Barkhurdar has already been here.

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