When readers first meet Kabir Joshi in Death in the Rain, he’s already burned. Burned by truth. Burned by institutions. Burned by the price you pay when you believe journalism still matters.
He didn’t start out that way.
Bombay Reckless tells the story of Kabir before the murder cases, before the betrayals. He’s younger, impulsive, trying to do something noble in a system that rewards silence and punishes questions. That novella was never supposed to exist — but I felt compelled to explore his origin. How does someone become the kind of man who digs up bodies no one else will admit are missing?
Kabir’s voice is sharp, dry, often self-deprecating. He doesn’t wear a cape. He carries a press badge and a lot of emotional baggage. He’s not fearless — he’s just someone who never learned how to walk away when something feels wrong.
And that’s why I love writing him.
There’s a reason he works so well in Mumbai: he understands that truth is messy, dangerous, and usually inconvenient. But he digs anyway. And that makes him dangerous too. In a city where everyone has something to hide, Kabir doesn’t pretend he can fix everything. He just refuses to stop asking the questions
