On the Other Side is March - Book Review

 

On The Other Side is March by Sólrún Michelsen, translated from the Faroese by Marita Thomsen ends with a postscript below.

“Where is the old lady?” 

“Which old lady?” 

“The old old one in the red house?” 

“You mean langomma?” 

“Yes. Langomma.” 

“She lives with Jesus now.” 

“Not in the red house?” “No.” The little one goes quiet for a moment. 

“She used to give us juice and vanilla cookies.”

Langomma means great grandmother and the little one in the above dialogue is the book's unnamed narrator's grandchild. The narrator of this slim novel (about 110 pages long) is a woman in her 60s who has just begun to fill the void left by her grown up children. Just as she finds freedom, gathers pieces of her lost self before her children colonized her life, she's made to care for her old mother whose memory is eroding gradually due to dementia. The narrator, at times, also takes care of her grandchildren, serving as a living bridge connecting generations of a family through the task of caregiving. There is the guilt of being able to do only so much interwoven with grief, grief of seeing one's mother reduced to an empty shell and there is shame of wanting to move away from all responsibilities without a care. Even as the narrator wishes for peace and closure with death and dignity for her mother, she knows that it will be the start of 'a longing that has no remedy'. 

On the Other Side is March is a novel of ruminations and dialogue, built on memories and moments - both fleeting and epiphanic. The prose flows like poetry, assumes hues of Danish hymns, Faroese ballads and folk songs. The rich oral tradition of singing and storytelling that has kept this language, spoken by about 75,000 worldwide, alive blossoms in the narrative structure. The novel, like a song, has its share of crescendos and decrescendos - there are lines and even paragraphs that are epitome of grace, intelligence and poignance and lines that just stay muted or even incomprehensible. On how women carry the burden of caregiving, on how old age mercilessly robs one of character, charisma and dignity that one carefully built over years, On the Other Side of March is deeply personal, yet plainly ubiquitous too. 

That the book is a first by a Faroese woman author to be translated into English itself earns it a lot of brownie points. The themes, though universal, have a strong sense of rootedness in the culture and language of the island that lies between Iceland and Scotland. While there are excerpts (some of them shared below) that touch an emotional chord, there are ones that slip quietly from our grasp as well. The highly fragmented narrative, the disjoint array of memories, is both stunning and sobre. Thanks to translation, this deeply humane novel is now available to many readers across the world.

Favourite passages from the book - 

"All women have been saddled with an excess of imagination. We all conjure up that biopic in our mind, intended for the big reel. Then when the tape breaks again and again, we are disappointed at first; yet continue to splice it back together. Women can’t see their own youthful beauty, until years later when by chance they come across a photo taken by someone else. Until they notice that they are looking at themselves in the picture. It is said that women are actually angels. When someone breaks off our wings we simply carry on flying. Just on broomsticks. We are nothing if not flexible." 

"When you throw a pebble in a pond, the ripples spread outward. For the old it goes in the opposite direction. The world contracts in steadily shrinking circles. Eat and sleep. Back to basics."

"Blood. Sweat. Tears. These lifelong female life fluids. Flowing and flowing. On and on, until all sources dry up. Until the last drop congeals and the last pearl is wrung out. The final tear drawn from the once overflowing beaker."

"There is something divine about gardens, just like there is something divine about words and music. This trinity, which enables us to survive in spite of everything. To watch plants sprout, grow, and flower is like observing and helping both life and yourself along the right path."

"I see my childhood, where the sun always shone. Youth with its dizzying ups and downs. Life in the middle with thunderstorms and summer breezes, where anything can happen and everything happens. It’s good to be here where I am now. I stand surrounded by my dearest of all ages. Just as the sooth-sayer in Oxford Street foretold. Out there lie countries which are now struck off my atlas. There is no revisiting them. Others I have yet to see. The sun has moved to the west. But dare anyone say that the sunset cannot also be dazzling? Youth and the dawn of life are vanity, according to Ecclesiastes. These are held to be wise words."

“As each ages so he rages,” the adage goes. But it leaves out why. Perhaps it isn’t just that they are disappointed with life. Perhaps they are waging a battle. Refusing to let others define them, when it isn’t how they feel themselves. Or at what point do you admit that you are old?

5 Stories : Kannada - Book Review

5 ‘long’ short stories depicting socio-political realities with characters that evolve slowly over time and space as the narrative unfurls make up this book. The stories are translated from Kannada by Susheela Punitha and the series (consisting of a selection of 5 stories translated from different languages of the Indian subcontinent) is edited by Mini Krishnan. 

Two women writers - Vaidehi and Banu Mushtaq take up as much space as their male counterparts. There are 1000s of stories that highlight the plight of women, now add the adjective ‘poor’ alongside, you will realise a dearth of words to write about their daily struggles. For those who have read Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp, her story ‘Not A Woman' is pretty predictable, but the fiery climax leaves a mark. ‘Worlds within Worlds’ by Vaidehi that nests stories within the story showcases through the lives of two women characters - Manji and Mankali how caste and gender biases are intricately ingrained in our system. While Manji who has a flair for all things ‘Brahminical’ is constantly shown her place as a Shudra; Mankali, a Brahmin woman married to a wastrel and dullard, wishes she was born a Shudra to escape the shackles of hollow, orthodox practices of her community. Both these stories reveal how women are often the worst enemies of women.

Bolwar Mahamad Kunhi’s ‘Worship’ redefines faith and reverence to the Almighty. It indicates service to humanity without worrying about personal gains and ego as the principal route to God.

‘The Spinning Top’ by Mogalli Ganesh is more about a shit hole dug by Chikkana than his son's spinning top. Cataloguing reactions of three generations of a family, the author shows how indelible caste markers are. While the grandfather has come to terms with his identity and prefers silence, his son is highly irate and rebellious, and the grandson simply wishes to get back in his mother's womb to not belong to this ruthless world. ‘This Heart Longs for More’ by Amaresh Nugadoni scales down the Kargil war and a World Cup cricket match between India and Pakistan on the same day to conflict in a small village tea shop. 

A singularly striking feature of Susheela Punitha’s lucid translation is her love for sounds as evident from the lines below - 

“When he sat chatting like the smooth running pata-pata of a sewing machine”. “He put the peanut brittle into his mouth and bit into it , katam, katam.” (from the story Worship)

“Then he attacked the pots lined up against the wall - chut ! Chut!” (From The Spinning Top)

“Nevertheless a two anna bit fell on her lap like spit from well to do, phichik” “raw jackfruit fell , pithick” (from Worlds within Worlds)

These lines made me wonder if they existed as is in the original, did the translator choose stories that highlighted sounds, is this ‘onomatopoeia’ her creative ingredient to enhance readability and interest in readers? 

It isn't an exaggeration if I say I wanted to read 5 stories - Kannada mainly because of the translator. It's thanks to her words I read Na D Souza’s Dweepa and Vaidehi (Krauncha Pakshigalu and other stories). Like the 5 Stories from Konkani, this collection too, is pretty rewarding!

5 Stories : Konkani - Book Review

 

I attribute my interest in Indian literature in translation, to a great extent, to Mini Krishnan. So when I chanced upon a series of collections titled 5 stories with her as the editor, I had to read it without delay. ,This book comprises 5 'long' short stories, translated from Konkani by Vidya Pai who has been my window to Konkani lit in English.

A collection of stories always allows its readers some randomness, something I crave for after after the drudgery of daily routine. So, I began with the last story first - Man of the Forest by Prakash Parienkar, set in the lush green forests bordering the Mhadei river. A man leaves his home, a civilized way of life and chooses to spend a fortnight in the forests with an earnest intent to become one with nature, not to harm or harness it but just to live in harmony with it. But can our greedy and malicious world understand his simple intent? No parent wishes to see their child dead during their lifetime but Damodar Mauzo (in story titled Cry Now) highlights a paradox by highlighting parents whose lives are crushed to a pulp by their only son. While I have read a novel and a few short stories by Damodar Mauzo (Tsunami Simon, stories from Teresa's Man and Mirage), Prakash Parienkar is a new to me author I would  definitely like to read more (I hope to pick his collection - The Bitter Fruit Tree). These two stories were hard-hitting. 

Pundalik Naik and Mahabaleshwar Sail are authors well known for their focus on socio-political realities. Their stories 'Victory' and 'Potter's Kiln' are no different. While the former highlights the plight of landless labourers, the latter shows how hard it is for widowed women to earn a living making pottery. The proposal to construct a dam near their village and social restrictions imposed on what kind of pots and pans widows can make jeopardize their survival.

Jayanti Naik's story captures the predicament of a marginalized community, the Thakars who go from door to door with the sacred performing bulls (Basavo). The tug of war between upholding traditions and the need to earn a decent income, the need to change with tide and time are portrayed sensitively. 

Lines from series editor note

All 5 stories have an element of irony that leaves a lasting impact. As 'long' short stories, these unfold gradually with ample space for the plot and characters to evolve and stay in our heads.The luminous notes by the series editor and translator at the start enrich the context for readers. The happy news - there are more titles in this series, more stories translated from different languages of the Indian subcontinent, waiting for us readers 

Sacred Talons - Book Review

Guruswamy, a 48 yr old bearded man with sharp and handsome features, is the protagonist of Sacred Talons by Aa Madhavan, translated from Tamil by V Ramakrishnan. Simple meals, temple visits, time well spent with books, observing people as they go about their activities, gazing at the sky, the Sun, the birds, the coconut grove and the market hidden in its copse make his daily routine. Reckless extravagance and excessive self-indulgence by his grandfather and father not only leave him with a lean inheritance but with a sense of revulsion for a rich and pompous lifestyle and petty pleasures. Sans issues and his wife dead for years, the joy of family life is also a distant and fuzzy memory for him.

The tenants who stay on his land truly care for him and constitute his adopted family. This family includes Parvathi, the maid, Ravi, the painter, Vengu the singer, Pappan the tinsmith and last but not the least Velappan, an employee at the dairy cooperative and his wife, Raani. For more than first one-third of the book, Guruswamy is at the centre, like the Sun and the other characters merely move around him like planets, basking in his benevolence. But times change, socio-political scenario shifts, suppressed desires resurface, morals crumble, vices win and people falter. How the lives of this ascetic-like Guruswamy and his acolytes are ruffled up unfolds at a steady pace in the book's latter half. 

Set against the backdrop of pre-independent and newly independent India, in the city of Trivandrum, the goings-on in Sacred Talons make us wonder about the opinions we hold, how our perspectives shift over time leaving us either enlightened or blindfolded. Should the brahminy kite be viewed as Lord Vishnu's mount as per and be revered or just be seen as a bird of prey? The denouement raises this question, clearly substantiating the choice of the title (not an exact equivalent of the Tamil original title, Krishna Parunthu). At its end, we are left with a question to tackle, something similar to the ‘what came first - chicken or egg?' - what changed first - man or his situation?

A special mention for the translation that is not just lucid and readable but intelligent too for giving us readers a title that beautifully mirrors the novel's crux. With a slow, meandering first half and an ‘up the ante’ second half, this layered novel with complex characters surprised me. I enjoyed reading this. 

A little about the author from the translator's note

The author inherited his father's business, a utensil shop at Chaalai bazaar in Trivandrum and wrote Tamil stories set against the backdrop of the market and its immediate neighborhood. His narratives focus on Tamil people in Trivandrum and his language is a curious mix of Malayalam and Tamil. 

Favorite Lines 

“How quickly days managed to bury past memories! Yesterday's heaviness cannot be found in the heart today. By tomorrow, its intensity will be completely gone until it can be found no more. Every passing day washes over us like a breeze. Perhaps days should be renamed as breeze.”

Endnotes

I read the author's novel On A River's Bank, translated by M Vijayalakshmi a few years back. I liked Sacred Talons more than this novel. The year 2026 began with reading a collection of stories by D Ravikumar translated by V Ramakrishnan, the translation left me happy as a reader there too. Here is hoping to read more works in Tamil translated by V Ramakrishnan. And a big shout out to TNTB & ESC initiative that ensures many important works in Tamil are translated and get a wider readership. I am always excited to see the Gopuram/temple tower symbol on covers of books and happy that many such books have a place in my bookshelf.

An Ocean in a Well - Book Review

 

An Ocean in a Well, a collection of 10 stories by D Ravikumar, translated from Tamil by V Ramakrishnan dwells on the personal and political, emotional and practical, straightforward and symbolic, ethereal and real with equal rigour. The opening story Thambi is about a young, homeless man who bites the hand that feeds him. Stories ‘Fact Finding’ and ‘A Death and Some More’ portray how caste-based violence is rife even today when ‘development’ is the loudest mantra. ‘Zha, the Unique letter’, a satirical take on today’s language wars shows how the state alters the definition of ‘sedition’ to further its agenda. The usage of Tamil letter ‘zha’ is banned in this story and the author subtly shows how this seemingly innocuous step thwarts the language itself.

Stories ‘An Ocean in a Well’, ‘Untimely’, ‘The Moon Pond’ that delve into man-woman relationship - of a mother who speaks to her son with her eyes, of lovers who meet briefly one last time before going opposite ways, of a man & a woman who share dreams and exchange poems are top favorites. The emotions in here wring your heart and the evocative descriptions of land, air and water elevate the reading experience. ‘The Word’, more like an essay, went over my head. On writers, avid readers, biblioklepts, the story ‘The Theory Concerning Theft’, pretty interesting, made me look up details of author Jean Genet.

Be it in dealing with a cultural innuendo in the story ‘Kulfi’ or in rendering a natural or emotional scape, the translation is excellent giving us readers pellucid prose. Just a comparison, a line and a poem from ‘The Moon Pond’ would suffice as proof -

“Hearing him speak always felt like reading a translated novel. The foreignness of his language was enchanting. It was impossible to fix his locale from his speech. It was a fusion of various dialects.

‘.. do not try to recollect, for you are your memory’.

‘All inventions have their origin in words;

We are but their tributaries.

They label us firmly as we label them.

Words of joy, words of misery,

Words of rejection, words of hope,

words for things, words for people,

Words for the universe, and words for nothing.

And behind it all, there is life, tranquil or tough,

with death waiting to spring on you anytime….’

Writing, both an act of resistance and catharsis, can assuage strong emotions on one hand & keep the inner fire burning on the other. That the written word can break boundaries and tackle reductionist ideas is what the author D Ravikumar firmly believes in. In his note at the start of this collection of ten of his stories, he writes ‘The stereotypes created about a race on social, political and cultural levels play an important role in keeping that race enslaved.’ He shares that the notion that Dalits couldn't create complex creative works and had only their life stories to tell, reinforced by what was written, translated and published until then, irked him and gave birth to these stories. The book, published under the aegis of TNTB & ESC, attempts to highlight voices and literary contributions of writers from Adi Dravidar & tribal communities. 

(Thanks to the publishers for providing a review copy in return for an honest opinion)

Books Read in Nov-Dec 2025

Here are the books I read during the months of November and December 2025. 

 

Books Read in Aug-Oct 2025

Books I read in the months of August, September and October 2025 - 

Favourite Stories (Part 3)

 

Sharing a few thoughts on a favorite story from this book. The story's titled Birdsong at Twilight. 

“I have never heard of this odd hobby for women. Do embroidery or baking, not this silly bird-watching. People will think you are strange. Don't start bird watching and forget about the children.”

Naina, mother to nine-year old twins Radha and Ravi, gets scolded by her mother as she tries hard to catch a glimpse of a verditer flycatcher. Naina loves to watch birds, and is always armed with a pair of binoculars. The orchards with plum and peach trees washed clean by the rain, the dense forest of deodars and pine beyond her home in the mountains are very inviting, so unlike their tiny apartment in Delhi. Naina decides to take her children for a walk into the forest before it gets dark. She hopes to spot a kalij pheasant that has constantly eluded her. Her friend, single and carefree, had managed to not only spot one but capture photographs of so many other birds. Oh! how she wished she had just a day for herself, all the time bird watching and doing nothing else!

Naina turns lucky that day for she spots a kalij pheasant. But as she turns around to share her excitement with her children who had been following her, she finds herself alone. Her children are missing. Where could they go when they were behind her all along whispering things to each other? Suddenly, the emerald fortress of the forest feels incarcerating. Did the kids fall in the ravine, was there a leopard or a bear around? Extremely anxious and drenched by a wave of panic, Naina sees a male kalij pheasant walking with a female and little chicks behind him in front of her, in her full view. It feels like the bird family was mocking her.

The Himalayan barbet and whistling thrush too make an appearance before her, the bird song gets louder. All this that would have given immense joy to Naina, only feel intimidating now. She wants her children safe and back, nothing else. Of course, she spots them after a few minutes, a period that feels like a lifetime,  eating juicy wild plums merrily by the stream. And, everything ends well.

How many times have we moms wanted to have some time for ourselves, yearned for it with all our heart to do something we like? And yet when stars align or luck favours, we wish against it and want nothing of that sort. We try to cling to our interests carefully as we know how difficult the path is that separates it from our responsibilities. How hard it is, to master this act of jugglery, right ?

Favourite Stories (Part 2)

 

Have you ever made a wish while blowing away a stray, fallen eyelash?

In Swimmer Among The Stars, a collection of stories by Kanishk Tharoor, the story ‘The Fall of an Eyelash’ has a protagonist Forough who leaves her country while she is a college student and reaches a foreign nation, her place of refuge, after a long journey of crossing many borders. 

“Most people were kind to Forough, but kindness is sometimes easier to give than to receive. They found the story of her voyage so courageous that they insisted she tell it over and over again. This exhausted her and offered further proof, as if she needed it, that while an exile can escape her country, she can never escape her exile.”

She studies and later teaches medieval poetry of her homeland, this makes her miss her home every single day until she marries Jonas and settles down to a predictable, comfortable and a nearly ‘no-complaints’ life in the foreign nation that embraces her. Going back to her homeland to visit her family wasn't just a distant dream but an impossible one, and she knew it. 

One day Jonas teaches her a little superstition - make a wish and blow away an eyelash when you spot a fallen one. Forough’s big dreams of seeing her family and homeland couldn't obviously rest upon an inconspicuously tiny, thin eyelash. But one day, after the superstition becomes a casual and routine affair, she wishes to meet her brother. And the next day she receives news that her younger brother would be sent by the desert route across the border and reach her eventually after a week's time. 

Can a small eyelash have so much power? Why didn't she realise this before, why did she waste many an eyelash wishing for insignificant things like a cloudless sky or a favourite football club win. Can the country that offered her asylum be her brother's too? Can wishes riding on fallen eyelashes unite families displaced and distanced by war and political turmoil? 

The Fall of an Eyelash is probably one of the most ordinary/very plain stories one would have read, nothing clearly gut wrenching or supremely tender about it that leaves a lasting impact. But as a person who practices this little superstition of blowing away fallen eyelashes and making wishes with closed eyes, convincing even family members to do the same, this story has stayed with me since I read it years back. 

Swimmer Among The Stars is a bundle of stories that boasts of elegant writing. At places, it runs the risk of getting tedious too. But what's undoubtedly impressive is the sheer range of topics/themes the collection encompasses, with each story offering something very different.

Favourite Stories (Part 1)

 

“In war, the strong make slaves of the weak, and in peace the rich make slaves of the poor. We must work to live, and they give us such mean wages that we die. We tread out the grapes, and another drinks the wine. We sow the corn and our own board is empty. We have chains, though no eye beholds them; and we are slaves, though men call us free. Misery wakes us in the morning, and Shame sits with us at night”. (from the story ‘The Young King’ in this collection).

On the night before the day fixed for his coronation, the young King, just a lad of sixteen whose birth and growing up years have given the whole country many tales to whisper about, dreams - not once but thrice. In his dreams, he sees pale, sickly and famished children, haggard women sitting at the table sewing, naked slaves in ragged loincloth chained to each other, diving into the waters again and again to retrieve pearls, Death and Avarice wreaking havoc in the woods.

And in one of the king's dreams, one of the weavers preparing the robe of tissued gold for the King’s coronation utters the above lines. Shattered at what he witnesses in his dreams, the young King refuses to wear the robe of tissued gold, crown studded with rubies waiting for him and carry the scepter with rows of pearls on it on the coronation day.

When the council arrives, says the king – “Take these things away, and hide them from me. For on the loom of sorrow, and by white hands of Pain, has this my robe been woven. There is Blood in the heart of the ruby, and Death in the heart of the pearl. Shall Joy wear what Grief has fashioned?” 

Instead, he wears a leather tunic and a rough sheepskin cloak, adorns his head making a circle out of a spray of wild briar. The young King is ridiculed and reprimanded by his advisors. Wise ones remark that the day of coronation is a special one, a day of enjoyment for the king and his subjects, not a day of abasement. Naïve is the king for he doesn’t understand that the world works in certain ways that cannot be changed, that the burden of the world is too great for one man to bear.

People mock at this dreamer of dreams, refuse to accept this king who’s appareled like a beggar. They deride him saying, “.. out of the luxury of rich cometh the life of the poor. By your pomp we are nurtured, and your vices give us bread. To toil for a master is bitter, but to have no master to toil for is more bitter still.” The young King quizzes naively, “Are not the rich and poor brothers?” They are eager to slay this king who they think is a fool.

What happens to the young King, a noble soul who believes in kindness and not in power, who wants to walk with the masses as one among them rather than rule over them? With a glowing and memorable climax, The Young King is one of my favorites in this collection of stories by Oscar Wilde. 

It is said that the author told these stories to his son at bedtime. Though the steady drizzle of thou and thee in the story may lend an archaic, classic feel, there couldn’t be a better instance of all-time relevant story. In a world where the rich are getting richer, the poor even poorer, the gnawing gap between have s and have  nots  widening like never before, this story makes us ponder if the rich and poor can be brothers, is an equitable distribution of wealth really feasible? 

So much to unpack, think and debate about in this story that's labelled meekly as a fairy tale or story for children. 

Fiction Reveals Truths that Reality Obscures

"Change is always occurring. In a slow, silent and beautiful way, change has been occurring and it will continue to do so. But you're all meddling with its process. And because of the interference of you nagariks, not just humans but every other being on the planet- the water bodies, the trees, the mountains  alike are suffering too. Everything and everyone is subjected to violence. I'm simply asking you to try and stop that intrusion. Thus far, nature has prospered only through collaboration. Instead, the civilised ways are driven by force and hostility, and everything integral to nature is being looted" . 

Sabari, an old tribal woman, born in the lap of forests who knows it like the back of her hand, says the above to Lord Rama when he visits her. The open and gentle dialogue between the two characters in Volga's On the Banks of the Pampa, translated from Telugu by Purnima Tammireddy, discusses many questions, all of which are both contemporary and urgent.

In the wake of all that has happened and is still happening in Jammu, Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Punjab - flash floods, landslides, cloud bursts, destruction and loss of life on an unprecedented scale - the toll of our unscientific development and mindless avarice is explicit. It's  immense and incalculable that we cannot turn a blind eye anymore. As rivers rage with a brown fury and logs of wood pile up and choke the gates of dams, it's time we stop and ask - Is this what we call 'being civilised'? What does urban or developed mean?  What's the cost at which we earns these tags?

"We forget the original sequence - observe, marvel, understand, respect, love. A new order has emerged in its place - observe, loathe, ridicule, attack, control". 

On environment, civilisation, development, the road to change and associated costs, on state and citizenship, borders and boundaries, this slim novel, an imagined extrapolation of a very ordinary event in the epic Ramayana portrayed with a bold feminist stroke, is a proof of how fiction mirrors reality closely, often unraveling truths that reality 'coyly' obscures.

Mina's Matchbox

 

Looking back at one’s life, recalling a special phase from it with the larger history of a city or country set in the backdrop, a little like James Hilton’s Goodbye Mr. Chips or Neela Padmanabhan’s Where the Lord Sleeps, that’s Mina’s Matchbox by Yoko Ogawa, translated by Stephen Snyder; I would tell a friend who asks me what the book is about. 

The book opens beautifully with Tomoko recalling the first vehicle she rode, an elegantly designed baby carriage sourced from Germany, trips on her father’s bicycle clinging to him tightly until he died from stomach cancer. As a 12 yr old she’s sent away from home to stay with her maternal aunt and begin middle school and Tomoko recollects all that happened during this period 1972-73 when she stayed with her cousin Mina and her family in a big mansion at Ashiya. Though 30 years back in time, her memories of this year stay fresh and clear.

Tomoko’s quiet aunt who corrected typos, her half-German uncle who owned a beverages company, her frail and asthmatic cousin Mina who collected matchboxes and had a pygmy hippopotamus named Pochiko for a pet are interesting characters. Along with grandmother Rosa who is German, Yoneda-san and Kobayashi-san who are more of family than mere caretakers, this endearing bunch gladly welcome Tomoko into their lives. Each one of them with their quirks, stories to share and secrets to safeguard make Mina’s Matchbox a character-driven, slice-of-life narrative marked by a sense of atmosphere and slow world build up.

Japanese author and Nobel laureate Yasunari Kawabata’s suicide, 1972 Munich Olympics and Giacobini meteor shower unravel in the backdrop. Quite a few reviews have lambasted the author’s treatment of the Munich Olympics massacre but from the viewpoint of two pre-teen girls who are passionate about volleyball and keen on seeing their national men’s team clinch Gold, I felt the references made here were in-place. 

The prose is lulling and the pacing remarkably slow in the first half but it turns incisive and agile respectively in the latter half. About two girls who are friends-for-life than cousins, not just their wallowing in nostalgia but as a coming-of-age journey, Mina’s Matchbox is both heartwarming and wholesome. 

Yoko Ogawa was born in Okayama and now resides in Ashiya (Tomoko shifts from Okayama to Ashiya for a year to stay with her cousin Mina's family) and would have been 10 yrs old during the 1972-73 period detailed in the book, so does the book tap a little into the memories of the author's childhood? 

Mina’s Matchbox is my first by Yoko Ogawa. I read a lot of reviews that stated how this book is different in terms of theme and tonality from the rest of her works. While a few who have read The Housekeeper and The Professor, Hotel Iris and The Memory Police have found this underwhelming, I felt it was a great starting point and I sure want to read the author more (And of course, the translator more). You may not highlight sentences and paragraphs as you read this book but the cumulative effect of the prose is gently illuminating. 

Sharing below a few favorite passages from the book - 

“If you wanted to describe Mina in a few words, you might say she was an asthmatic girl who loved books and rode a pygmy hippopotamus. But if you wanted to distinguish her from everyone else in the world, you’d say that she was a girl who could strike a match more beautifully than anyone.” 

“Mina would slide open the box and select a single match with her delicate fingers. Then she would close the box and hold the rounded, reddish-brown tip at a slightly odd angle against the striking surface. Up to this point, everything would happen in a relaxed, tranquil manner. Nothing forced or hurried. Her lips pressed together, her eyes lowered. Only the tips of the three fingers that held the match seemed animated with the knowledge of the deed they were about to do. Then, she would hold her breath for an instant and her fingertips would fly, followed by a sound so sharp that you wondered how such a frail girl could achieve this kind of velocity. I was captivated, realizing for the first time how transparent the flame of a match could be. If not for the slight odor of phosphorus, I might have been tempted to believe that Mina had produced the flame magically, out of thin air, or that, given the clarity of the light, it was her finger itself that was burning.”

Books Read in July 2025

 

Three collections of short stories 

Three novellas

Two short story singles

Giants

 

“The village—Ayito-phu—was located on the top western flanks of a mountain, a strategic choice that had made it virtually unassailable during the old days of headhunting. If one were to be completely factual, the days of headhunting were neither old nor gone, for in the areas that bordered Burma there were still tribes who took great delight in lopping off heads and stacking skulls like the macabre hoard of some unknown devil.”

It is in this village, far away from Kohima that our protagonist, a 12 yr old boy named Kato lives with his parents who till the land and labour hard. Kato’s mother, maternal grandmother, even his father at times, regale him with stories - of an uncle who saw a big giant in the forest, of Alhou who created the whole world and different spirits to guard different realms, of rivers that had a will of their own. Kato consumed these stories hungrily, remembered them but could not tell them to others for he was mute. What happens when a timi-ala (a forest giant) named Kene visits Kato on full moon nights, gifts him a voice for the night when they are together, tells him stories and convinces him that he is born to tell stories and save his clan?

‘The land is the oldest and it is very much alive. It is the land that sustains everything that lives.’

But, what when this very land is under the threat of a face-off between the British soldiers and Imperial Japanese army? For a people who had nothing to do with WW2 and were in awe of the simple rifle, the bombs, cannons, roaring fighter planes and endless machine guns sounded like the end of the world itself. How could a young, mute boy tell stories to avert disaster, save his clan and his land that now reeked of the smell of metal and blood? Read Giants by Huthuka Sumi to get the answers. 

Even though the story doesn’t offer crisp and straightforward answers, even when magic is overpowering, even confusing at places that the reality slips away, Giants offers an intimate and authentic portrayal of the way of life of people, the Sumis, a major ethnic group native to Nagaland. The clan’s reverence for nature and the land they live upon, their faith in traditions, skepticism to anything modern that may alter a natural order shine in the narrative that meanders, strays and moves languidly. Pork cooked in axone paste has an unmatched flavour, aqhumi, a shawl woven in a certain way has a special social status, description of farming seasons and tiger hunt, there is a lot to learn from Kato’s tale suffused with magic filled with spirits and witches that guard or abduct people. 

‘Memories are roots’.  Without stories we have no memories and without memories our roots shrivel and die'. The crux of the book - that stories on who we are, where we come need to be told and retold lest we forget our history or identity - though beautiful isn’t delivered in a crisp and convincing fashion, the storytelling never gathers steam and fails to deliver an impression. The illustrations by Canato Jimo are mere motifs alongside the chapters' titles, they don't supplement the storytelling or add detailing.  It is the portrayal of emotions that hold the fort - loyal friendship, love, loss, grief, guilt, shame, hope, standing tall with confidence and self-acceptance and redemption populate the book. Tighter editing could have cut it short by at least 50 pages and saved the read for us. Overall, a good read!

 

A Teashop in Kamalapura & Other Classic Kannada Stories

 A Teashop in Kamalapura & other classic Kannada stories, a collection of 18 stories, begins with the dedication - ‘To the many forgotten translators who forged the paths we tread.’  Luminous notes from the editor and translator that dissect complexities associated with the process of translation and detail the evolution of Kannada short story (sanna kathe) through its different phases of development - Navodaya, Pragatishila and Navya mark its beginning. That these notes don't analyze the stories that follow leave the pleasure of reading and comprehending them intact for the readers. 

Panje Mangesharaya’s story At a Teashop in Kamalapura set in a bustling harbour town, light-heartedly reveals the trouble that the owner of a tea shop runs into by serving his customers tea and coffee along with colorful tales of his travel adventures riddled with lies. The shortest story in the collection, The Child, A Teacher by Nanajangudu Thirumalamba packs a mighty punch, the writing strongly reminded me of Tamil author Jeyamohan.

Equations between man-woman assume the centre stage in many stories, these brim with love and desire but there’s restraint too. Passion doesn't break boundaries and there is an earnest happiness in staying selfless. Kodagina Gowramma’s ‘Vani’s Confusion’ and HV Savithramma’s ‘An Episode’ depict the above with an understated charm.

Who decides what's moral and immoral, that social reforms can have terrible side effects is highlighted in Ajampura Sitaram’s ‘The Girl I Killed’. Giribale’s ‘The Battered Heart’ opens with the murder of a compassionate yogi and his murderer, a young woman, has a different and chilling story to tell, but who will listen?

From the first Navodaya short story to be ever published to a story by the first woman writer and editor in Kannada, this collection reveals all that has changed over years and a little that hasn't. Reading these stories felt like looking at an infant's toothless grin with a sparkle reaching uptil the eyes - you know the smile is precious & timeless, but you also know that the simplicity and naivety at its core will definitely erode over the passage of time. A lovely collection!

Notes:

This series also boasts of collections of classic stories translated from Malayalam and Odia as well. I picked the collection of Kannada stories first as the translator is a favourite of mine. Without her efforts, I couldn't have read Vaidehi’s stories - Krauncha Pakshigalu and other stories or Na D Souza’s Dweepa, books that are firm favorites. Reading authors - Kodagina Gowramma, Triveni and Sara Aboobacker in this collection has rekindled my interest in looking for their works in translation. While Kodagina Gowramma’s collection of stories, translated by Deepa Bhasthi is available, Triveni’s Sharapanjara and Sara Aboobacker’s Chandragiri Theere remain unavailable/out of print.

It is the editor Mini Krishnan’s Oxford Novella series that significantly enhanced my interest in works translated from different Indian languages, so it's only befitting that I end the post sharing a few lines from her note - “Languages are like opposing reigning powers, and translators are the ambassadors who flit between two kingdoms. The encoding they pack at one end and unpack at the other for another language readership naturally calls for great skills. Translation is a deep reading of a text. Every story or poem has a voice , inward, human. It asks you to believe the feeling locked into the printed word, and it reaches you through your reader-ear. We read as listeners because the origin of stories is orality.”

Books Read in June 2025

Books I Read in June

Books Read in May 2025

 Books that I read in the month of May in pics. 

Short story singles 

War and Peace

 

I have been guzzling down news from different sources since May 6, 2025, more precisely since the Pahalgam terror attack that shook the nation on 22nd April. Reading fiction has taken a backseat for now but the bibliophile in me bought a copy of Ramacharitamanas, thanks to Air Marshal AK Bharti. Yes, only a book lover can turn the country's DGAO into a book influencer. 

In the press meet dated May 12, when a journalist shared lines penned by the famous poet Ramdhari Singh Dinkar in his question, the DGAO replied with a couplet from Ramacharitamanas (in pic shared above) adding that for the intelligent, a hint is enough. Cultural significance aside, what stood out  garnering applause from even journalists who were not at the venue to be wooed was how the Air Marshal explained the 'why' behind Operation Sindoor and our strategy using just two lines from Tulsidas’s epic poem. I still have copies of ACK Valmiki’s Ramayana and C Rajagopalachari’s Ramayana published by Bharathi Vidya Bhavan from my childhood days in the book shelf, but I couldn't resist my temptation to grab a copy of Ramacharitamanas (this copy published by Gita Press Gorakhpur) after listening to Air Marshal AK Bharti.  

No one wants war, everyone wants peace. And yet, they do appear together as in the title of Leo Tolstoy’s popular classic. For the considerable sample space in fiction I have explored from the genres - historical fiction/war fiction, I have a fair understanding of the environmental destruction, losses of all sorts - financial and emotional associated with a war. I don't have a family member serving in the Indian Armed Forces, I don't reside anywhere close to the border or conflict zone, but just the sound of the siren and visuals of blackout on my TV screen are enough to leave me with a churn in my stomach. 

Pakistan has been actively breeding and fomenting terror and religious fanaticism on its soil for decades, ‘a dirty work’ they themselves have admitted doing. There isn't an iota of doubt about this for what else can explain the country borrowing money 28 times in 35 years from the IMF and yet unable to improve its economic health earning itself the tag ‘a debtor too big to fail’.

Operation Sindoor isn’t a war on our neighbour Pakistan that we started or waged with an intent to threaten their sovereignty or territorial integrity, it's a fitting reply and resounding slap to the terror they unleashed on innocents in Baisaran Valley in Pahalgam on 22nd April. Even when Pak shelled Indian towns across the border and showered drones on our cities, we thwarted those attacks and struck their military bases in a highly calibrated and precise fashion. 

To me, this book will remain a token of memory of Operation Sindoor. It's my way of saluting the Indian Armed forces for all that they achieved, a humble expression of respect, gratitude and admiration for their efforts, grit, valour and precision in their successful mission to safeguard their countrymen and avenge the wrong done to them. The book will also remind me of how vulnerable people are in areas close to our border with Pakistan, always the first ones to bear the brunt of our enemy's actions. It's a way of remembering that the Prime Minister and his cabinet did not just stop with diplomatic measures/exchange of files and dossiers to tackle terror but resorted to firm retaliatory action by striking the terror establishments when the nation was  pushed to the corner, no mean feat given how tricky and difficult the political situation/equations between the nations in the subcontinent and world are. 

I am not one for blind adulation for an elected premier, it's clearly not a healthy attribute of a vigilant citizen in a democracy. I have been skeptical, even critical of our PM on many occasions, but there is no taking away credit here, where it’s due. Even as I write this post, there are grey areas and no clear cut answers for many questions, but whenever I pick this 1200 pages book/tome for a read, I will remember Operation Sindoor as a turning point, a successful one, in Indian response & its zero tolerance to terrorism.

(PS: I sincerely hope we don't make a movie out of this operation starring Vicky Kaushal, Ayushmann Khurrana and their likes)

Books Read in April 2025

 

Blackened

 

Blackened, by Vinoy Thomas, translated from Malayalam by Nandakumar K, the story of one man's fervent efforts to discover his roots and solve his identity crisis is also a fine study of history and anthropology. It details how ‘migration’ not only changed the circumstances in which human beings thrived but changed them as well, shaping our history. It highlights how the journey, a constant and a long one, added labels to us making us overlook the basic fact that we are all Homo sapiens, who evolved from apes, roamed lands as hunters and food gatherers before settling down to till the land.

The Adhikarathil family in Malabar, Kerala, a prosperous and venerated Christian family boasts of a rich history. Its origin traced to the union of a Persian man and an upper-caste Namboodri woman lent it an air of superiority and an honour that had to be safeguarded, apart from leaving its members fair-skinned. And, born into this family, Eranimose, the dark-skinned one, sticks out like a sore thumb. The humiliation he suffers due to his skin colour makes him suspect his parentage, wonder about his caste and sends him to Karikkottakkary (inhabited by dark-skinned, lower caste people/Pulayas newly converted to Christianity) for answers. On an arduous quest, he learns that ‘history is a collection of conjectures and beliefs’ before secrets his family hid from him to avoid shame are revealed.

Over the past few days, I have been mulling about how meaningless or hollow is the pride we take in our cultural identity and roots, our faith/religion, our caste identity, our complexion/racial superiority when we forget the primeval trait - humanity that defines and unifies us. There couldn't have been a better time to read this book, one that shows how a chain of migration, wave of conversion redefines who we are over years.

Sharing some lines from the book that will stay with me -

“What am I? Who is my God? Forefathers whose thirst is slaked by the blood of black fowl split on the sacrificial rock ? Or the taste of flour that dissolves on my tongue in the shape of a sanctified white disc, who is my God? Why this life? Offspring of an illicit relationship. Living as a parasite in a noble family, uncounted as a member of any clan, humiliated, how far was this life going to drag me on?” (from chapter 9)

“In the nights, as I lay beneath the mango tree, I had visions of the past, as vast and infinite as the sky. Like the stars, the lighted spots were few and far between. It was filled with darkness. Darkness was the truth-the moans and laments and clanking of the chains of those overlooked in the dark underbelly of history.” (From chapter 7)

A slim but dense read, Blackened packs a lot of Kerala’s social and political history, caste hierarchy and its belief systems. The traditions followed during the holy week starting from Palm Sunday to Easter, recipe for INRI appam, hunting fish in the Chaitra Vahini stream, hunting boars in hills of Sulya, the beauty of the land with its fauna and flora are all detailed with an astonishing clarity that the text doesn't feel like a translation. There’s a sizeable character set, each one with a role to play. There is free flow of sex and lust, some of it helps steer the story forward, some clearly feels unnecessary. The foreword by author S Hareesh is enlightening.

A thought-provoking read that highlights how one's past helps understand his/her present, a book that is as much about history as about the contemporary, Blackened deserves a wide readership and the translation so brilliantly done by Nandakumar K ensures just that.