This stunning debut by Devika Rege explores contemporary Indian politics through a cast of characters at the end of their “quarterlife”: the soul-searching phase in one’s third decade between late-stage youth and genuine seniority.

Set against the tumultuous rise of Hindu nationalism in pre-pandemic Mumbai, Rege uses her protagonists’ internal struggles to illustrate India’s debate over its future progression. Should the country embrace Western liberal capitalism? Or, finally freed from both Mughal and British colonizers, strike out for a more credible form of governance based on its ancient civilization?

With the nationalist Bharat Party flush from winning a landslide victory, the right wing has the upper hand. The intellectual elite see this as a backward step: a way to uphold the caste system, dowries and other inequalities deriving from the traditional hierarchy. Muslims and other religious minorities are fearful; memories of Partition and recent sectarian riots are fresh. Meanwhile, a vast percentage of the poor support the new administration, believing its policies will lead to their betterment.

Into this simmering cauldron comes Naren, the oldest son of the well-heeled Agashe family. Far from being prodigal, he is ostensibly a success after studying in the US and a stint at Goldman Sachs. But the global financial crisis intervenes, along with a realisation that he may not have the stomach, or the skin colour, for a career in US banking. Aged 31, he is working an unfulfilling job in the insular backwater of Waverly, Nebraska. Much like the “jaguon” he sees at the zoo, a sterile hybrid of a jaguar and a lioness, he is “bewildered by a sudden cellular longing for a non-existent habitat” and decides to return to Mumbai.

Accompanying him on the flight is Amanda, a former roomie from UPenn. Now 27 and an aspiring photographer, she has reached out to Naren in a bid to escape both her small-town life and her smothering boyfriend. During her break in Mumbai, she will volunteer for the Ashray Foundation, helping the health and education charity with its media content. Naren thinks she is doing “the usual white thing, coming for the poverty” but Amanda’s mission is to find her purpose in life. Neither expects that she will end up in the arms of Naren’s much younger brother, Rohit, a playboy filmmaker. The shallow Rohit, always wanting to be in the centre of the action, quickly sees that his own quest for identity can be solved by tracing his ancestry, a project which handily aligns with the wider buzz about “authentic” Hindu culture and India’s final coming-of-age.

From these three perspectives, Rege drills deep into every sector of Mumbai society. The horror of the slums in Deonar is vividly captured through the eyes of the well-meaning, but naïve Amanda, who also gets a lesson in how applying American principles to Indian problems can backfire. Through Rohit’s flirtation with grass-roots politics, Rege illustrates the nuances of history, geography, caste and language which bear upon Mumbai today and the labyrinthine sub-divisions of political thought and allegiances they create. Finally, Naren’s endeavours to build a Wall Street career in his hometown show the intricate, and not always wholesome, connections between money and power which exist no matter what flavour of government is in place. In contrast to Amanda, who understands that the poor aren’t interested in esoteric political thought when they are starving, Naren can choose to ignore it, cushioned as he is by privilege because, as his boss tells him, “the corporates are the new maharajahs”. Indeed, Naren is one of the only characters to achieve his aim of freedom. He ends up, literally, where the grass is greenest.

At a party of Rohit’s friends, each with strong and differing political opinions, impassioned arguments expose hidden hypocrisies, ultimately leading to business and romantic breakups. How individual clashes might play out on a national level is demonstrated in the novel’s climax with its chaotic backdrop of the Ganeshotsav parades. Once a festival designed to muster anti-British spirit, its mood has now turned anti-Muslim. As idols of Ganesha are carried through the city to be cast into the sea, real blood is spilt in the streets while the rich and powerful watch the celebrations on TV in their penthouses.

What is so compelling about this novel is how its concerns reach way beyond India’s borders. While questions of identity have been a hot topic in Western societies for some time, Quarterlife foreshadows the impact of a lurch to the radical right which is only recently being felt in Europe and the US.

In an end note, Rege writes fluently about, among other subjects, her own quarterlife experience. She links her transition into full adulthood with the passing of her father.

Nothing marks the end of one’s quarterlife like the death of a parent, nothing announces as strongly that the world is left in your care.

With two thirds of the Indian population under 35, as Naren parrots from an economic report, this must be read as a rallying call. Previous generations have created this mess; the young must step up to sort it out, and not just in India.

Jane Wallace is a Hong Kong-born journalist and author living in London.