Book Review: Children of the Hidden Land

 When you think YA, you think of a quick read. The best among them are perceptive, extremely well written, and draw attention to important issues. They linger long after you finish the book, but can normally be read in a couple of sittings. I started reading Mandira Shah's "Children of the Hidden Land" expecting to finish it fast, but after a single chapter, I realised it was a book that needed to be savoured.

In the first few pages, you meet Henthoiba, a tech whizz, who has built a drone that resembles an eagle to be used in wildlife conservation. While doing a test flight, he stumbles upon something so unexpected, he rushes to investigate… and disappears.

The story begins with his best friend April going through the contents of his bag hoping to find a clue that will lead her to him. April, who is from Manipur meets and befriends Shalini, the daughter of an army officer. Despite the ideological difference between the communities they come from, they form an strong partnership and complement the skills of each other as they gradually unravel the clues and make intuitive guesses in their investigation.

The book moves at a fast pace, with the two girls getting out of one situation only to fall into another. You are amazed at the tech skills of the teenagers, and how well they are able to leverage the internet to get what it takes to move ahead.

The book is set in Manipur, a state I know almost nothing about. By the end of the book, I learn a lot about the insurgency, of how the state falls in the route for smuggling drugs, of children kidnapped and trafficked, of how children forced to join the insurgents and the perception of the Indian Army among the locals. You realise how little of the situation in North-East is covered by mainstream media, and you are determined to read more about the place.

Perhaps what I loved about the book was the strong characterisation of the two girls. They come from very different backgrounds, have different attributes and skills, but they are essentially very similar people. Without saying so in as many words, the author draws attention to the intrinsic inequity of life- some people have to struggle to attain even a fraction of what others take as their due.

“Children of the Hidden Land” is a stunning debut, and I look forward to reading more from the author.

Book Review: Rumble in a Village

[Book review of ‘Rumble in a Village’ by Jean Drèze and Luc Leruth]

Jean Dreze is person I deeply admire, so when I saw his name on a work of fiction with an eye-catching cover, I had to pick it up. I am glad I did. Though the book is written by two academicians, and the themes are heavy, the book is an absolute delight to read.

Imagine a village in the middle of nowhere, with a railway tracks cutting past the landscape. A village demarcated along rigid caste lines. The people knowing their place, yet, striving to improve their lives with limited or no opportunities.

Into this village comes an NRI, accompanied with vague memories of a trip to the village when he was three, and the notes which his father intended to covert into a work of non-fiction, but didn't. With no knowledge of how caste works, he bumbles through, thinking he is making a difference, but actually being played along by virtually everyone.

The author(s) employ self deprecating humour to make a point about casteism, misogyny and corruption. The book is full of harsh truths, but put forward in a way that neither preaches nor accuses.

Palampur can be any village, anywhere. The cast of characters too.

Bhagyalakshmi, a Tale

 Her fingers gently trace the curls on her daughter’s head while she suckles noisily. Whatever the tempest raging in her mind, an unerring calm always descends over her when her daughter is latched onto her breast. Her Bhagyalakshmi. Her baby. Her innocent, defenseless baby. Did she even suspect her entire universe was about to collapse around her?

As long as Bhagya’s father was alive, there was hope. He would recover and come home from hospital. She would nurse him back to health. They would move back to the city. She would take up cooking jobs to support themselves. She could even do some embroidery work on the side to earn extra money to send home to the family. They would be happy together. Someday, Bhagya would get a younger brother. They would have his namkaran in the village.

But it hadn’t happened that way. Bhagya’s father didn’t recover. He was in hospital for a month. He was fighting. He seemed to be getting better. They said he would be released in a few days. Then he suddenly got worse. And today, he died. He was gone. Her anchor was gone. She was a widow with a baby girl. She had nowhere to go.

His family blamed her. Blamed her for seducing their son. Blamed her for bringing bad luck on the family. Blamed her for bringing the disease into the family. Blamed her for falling sick. Blamed her for infecting the entire family. Blamed her when people began to die; Sasurji, Devar, Sasuma, Jethani. She blamed herself too. But she hoped they would forgive her.

Now he was gone. What would happen to her?

Her baby opens her eyes and looks at her. She kisses her on the forehead and gently shifts her to the other breast. She latches on and started suckling. Her baby is constantly hungry. Her milk is no longer enough for her. Soon she would be ready for solids. How would she manage? Would things have been better if they had remained in the city. If they hadn’t come back when the cases started rising?

The memories of last year were still fresh. They were living together when Lockdown was announced. He had no money; he used to send all his savings home. They survived on her savings and the goodness of strangers. When lockdown was extended, he wanted to walk back home. But they knew his family would not accept her. He could not leave her behind, so they stayed. They begged their employers for money. Only one Madam obliged. On many days, they went to bed hungry. They didn’t think they would survive, but somehow they did.

They were ready to give up and go back to his village when one house she worked in called her back. She begged them to pay her in advance. They agreed. Gradually, she got a few more jobs. Her husband was not so lucky. He was a driver, but the family he worked for didn’t want him back. He couldn’t find another job. He drove an auto for two hours every day when the owner took a break. Sometimes, he was hired as a driver for half a day. Once, he drove a family to the mountains for a holiday. They had chicken when he returned.

Last year, it had been just the two of them, so they managed somehow. Now, with Bhagya, they knew they could not survive another Lockdown. Already, her husband’s earnings had started to come down. The old lady she had engaged to mind Bhagya while she went to work came down with COVID. Their neighbours were falling sick. They had no choice; they had to return to his village.

She looks down at her sleeping baby. Feels her soft palm pressed against her breast. Her tiny chest rises and falls with every breath. She gently caresses her baby’s fair cheeks; traces the curve of her long eyelashes. Her daughter is prefect in every way but one; she was not a boy.

He hadn’t been able to contain his joy when she told him she was pregnant. “When the child is born, my family will accept you”, he told her. They got married in the temple the very next day. She could not afford a new saree, but she felt like a bride when he draped the red chunni on her. “You look like a Rajput princess”, he told her when she gazed shyly at him from under the chunni. Who knew? Maybe she was a Princess; all they had told her was that she had been abandoned outside a temple. Orphans like her do not have a history.

If he was disappointed not to have a son, he didn’t show it. “She is Bhagyalakshmi. She will bring us luck”, he declared. He got the Punditji to cast her horoscope and sent it home to his family. They hadn’t even acknowledged it, but he continued to send them money every month.

“If I were not an orphan, your family would have accepted me”, I told him often. “They will when they get to know you”, he would assure her. But they hadn’t. And now they never would. She was on her own, with Bhagyalakshmi.

A wave of grief lashed over her. The anguish of losing her husband- the handsome man who had won her heart; the tender lover who encouraged her to move in with him, the kind hearted partner who refused to abandon her, the brave warrior who fought so hard to stay alive. She pushed it aside and surfaced. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. She had to think of staying alive and keeping Bhagya alive.

She couldn’t stay here any longer. She would have to return to the city. She was efficient, she was clean, she was honest. People would employ her. But what about Bhagya? Who would look after Bhagya while she was at work? How would a single woman with a child survive on her own in the city? How would she keep Bhagya safe when she grew up?

No, she wouldn’t be able to take Bhagya with her. She would need to secure her future before she left.

She holds her baby close. Then wraps her in her red wedding chunni. She kisses her on the eyes and lays her reverentially in the wooden chest. She places a Mata ki Tasweer and prays to her to watch over her baby. She takes one last look at her beautiful baby, slides the horoscope under her head and closes the lid of the chest.

With the moon as her witness, she will float the chest down the Ganga. When they finally find Bhagyalakshmi, they would know that she is the daughter of a Kshatriya family; she will not be a nameless orphan like her mother.

The next day, when the family wakes up, they will find that she is gone.

______

The next day:

"Go forth and sin no more"

 I was 14. My grandfather was after me as usual, berating me for wasting my time reading science fiction when I could be reading the Classics.

"How do you know it's a waste of time unless you read it?", I asked defiantly.

He conceded the point I was trying to make. We made a pact.

I would read a play by G.B. Shaw and he would read an Asimov novel.

The deal was that we would each choose the work we wanted to read.

I picked "Mrs Warren's Profession". In retrospect, a terrible choice, because I couldn't make head or tail of it.

But something about the characters charmed me and I continued onto "Arms and the Man", and finished Nine Plays that Summer.

'Caves of Steel' was the book he chose. A murder mystery set in a future where mankind is forced to live in underground cities, completely cut off from the outdoors.

I was convinced he would hate it. I was preparing my arguments to defend the genre.

"It has Biblical undertones", he commented when I asked him how it was going. "It's a little confusing, but he seems a smart chap."

"It's not Dickens, but it is not bad", he pronounced when he was done.

The reference to Dickens confused me. I had never claimed the book was great literature. But I still asked him to explain.

It was the story of the adulterous woman that he was referring to. Of how the robot grasped some part of 'he who is without sin cast the first stone'.

His praise of a genre I didn't think he would like, and his stamp of approval on my reading choice made me internalise the message.

"Go forth and sin no more", was what I would use in my mind when I forgave people for hurting me.

"Let he who is without sin" remains my philosophy.

 

I Like You

 It will not end well, they said. You are rich

she is not. She will marry you for your money.

I was besotted. I pursued her. She was not interested.

"Will you paint my front door", I asked. She agreed.

For the next week, she was with me everyday 

I’d pile her with food. She’d paint.

“I like you”, I finally confessed. “I like you too”, she replied.

“But not that way. There is too much I want to do.”

She won a scholarship and went off to study art

I still stand at the threshold, hoping she will return.

Dreams of my own

 My sister. My clever sister.

The smartest in the school.

Perhaps in the whole mandal.

Everyone’s hopes are on her

She is the one who will study

She will do the family proud.

Nobody even notices me.

The tiny bougainvillea flower

Eclipsed by my magenta sister.

She has to succeed.

I have to make sure she does;

I am expendable.

When the well dries

I drop out of school 

To fetch water. She studies.

She will achieve success

The family will prosper.

They will no longer be poor.

But what of me?

Am I not allowed 

Dreams of my own?

Z is for ..... Zephyr

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

The youngest of five sisters, Zainab was the only one who was not larger than life.

Her oldest sister was the National Discus Champion, the next played the cello in the University Orchestra. The third sister had won the Mathematics Olympiad three times in a row, and the fourth was a published author while still in her teens.

And Zainab? Zainab was normal, just normal. The only award she would have won was for being a Normal Teenager.

And yet, it was Zainab that everyone loved. Because while cyclones make headlines, it is a zephyr that people most long for.

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

Y is for ..... Young

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

“I can’t believe you are a grandmother”, Yelena was often told. “You just don’t look like one.”

“It is the hair dye”, she would retort. “The day I stop using it, every year of mine would show.”

But she knew it wasn’t the hair dye. Even without it, she knew she’d look much younger than she was, though nowhere near as young as she felt.

For in her mind, Yelena was still a child- curious about the world, constantly seeking new experiences. Her body might have aged, but she was still young because she retained the enthusiasm of a child.

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

X is for ..... Xerox

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

She always dreaded Parent Teacher Meetings- none of Xerxes’ teachers seemed to understand him.


“Xerxes is bright. He could do so well, if he only applied himself.”
“I asked Xerxes to write an essay, but he drew a cartoon strip. How is he going to score marks this way?”
“Can’t you tell Xerxes to stick to the topic? He gives the most complicated answers to the simplest questions.”
“At this rate, Xerxes will soon need remedial lessons.”

She knew she should have minded, but she didn’t. In a world populated by Xerox copies, she knew her son was an Original.

______  

A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

W is for ..... Winner

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

“Mamma, we had a chess tournament in school today, and I Won!”

“That’s wonderful”, said Winona, hugging her child. “Let me see your medal.”

“I didn’t get a medal, Mamma. Only the children who came first, second and third did.”

“But I thought you said you Won?”

“I did, Mamma”, explained her daughter patiently. “None of the children my age or younger beat me. I was the Winner among us.”

Her daughter taught Winona a very important lesson that day. It doesn’t matter if you come first or not. As long as you consider yourself a Winner, you are one.

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

V is for ..... Variety

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

“You seem to go out of your way to collect strange people”, Vera was often told.


It wasn’t strictly true- she didn’t go looking for people, but she had no inhibitions about striking up a conversation with people, and did end up with a wide circle of acquaintances.

The classical dancer who’d grown up in the same city. The corporate lawyer who shared her reading tastes. The rising football star who liked filter-coffee as much as her. None of them seemed to have anything in common with her, but they got along well.

And she was the richer for it.

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

U is for ..... Ugly

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

“You are the ugliest girl I have ever seen”, he spat.

Ujwala didn’t mind as much as she should have. She knew she was far from beautiful. But she also knew she had brains, and to her that was much more important.

They spend the remaining years in engineering college avoiding each other, and went their separate ways after graduation. They met again only at their Twentieth Reunion.

“Ujwala?! Is that really you?”, he exclaimed.

“Why? How can you forget the Ugly Duckling?”, she asked.

She knew he found her attractive. When a woman feels good about herself, it shows.

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.

T is for ..... Tourist

This is a work of fiction and forms a part of the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. I will attempt to write a new story based on the word for the day every day during the month of April.

It was one of the best holidays she’d ever had. Taking the ferry to an island, and spending the rest of the day exploring Medieval cave art. Watching the sun paint the sky in psychedelic hues, before sinking into the Arabian Sea. Getting her portrait painted by a street artist. Bargaining with travelling gypsies for beaded jewellery.

“Had a good vacation?”, her colleagues asked. “Where did you go?”

“I spent the week being a tourist in Bombay”, she replied. Tanya may not have been able to afford a holiday, but who says you need to travel to be a tourist?

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A Drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.