Do Names Really Matter?

 “Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing.”

- H. W. Longfellow

She glanced at her watch, looked at the restive crowd and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her flight should have taken off six hours back- who knew when it would finally take off, if it took off. She longed to get up, stretch her legs and loosen the knots in her back. But she dare not even think about it; if she did, her seat would be taken. She sighed and opened candy crush- anything to keep her mind off this senseless delay.

The lady seated next to her looked up. They exchanged looks, then a tentative smile. “How long do you think we will be here?”, the lady asked. She shrugged, “I hope not forever.”

“I know, right! It is so frustrating, this not knowing. I am traveling to Kolkata for my cousin sister’s wedding. If my flight is cancelled, I will just go back home. But they keep rescheduling and I keep hoping I will make it.”

“When is the wedding?”

“The wedding is on Saturday, but I want to spend some time with Ma, and also go shopping. I don’t even have matching petticoats for all my sarees.”

The two women exchanged wry glances. “Matching petticoats! I stopped wearing matching petticoats after I moved out of Calcutta. Now I make do with a black and a white!”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “Really! I can’t even think of not wearing matching petticoats. But did you also live in Kolkatta.”

“Yes, for thirteen years.”

“You aren’t a Bengali, are you?”

“No, I am not. But I did my high school and undergrad in Calcutta, so consider myself an honorary Bong.”

“Where did you stay?”

“Near Gariahat. You?”

“Me too. I lived near Gariahat too.”

“I spent hours in Gariahat. The second-hand book shops. The books you got there!”

“Yes, and the puchka guy in the corner near the second hand book stalls. The way he customised the filling just for you and never made a mistake.”

“And the aloo dum vendor at Gol Park. Is he still there?”

“I preferred the luchi aloo dum from the misti dukan at Gol Park.”

“Yes, divine. And all those block printing stalls where you could get anything printed exactly like you wanted.”

“Seriously! When people talk so much about customisation, I want to tell them how we designed every part of our wardrobe.”

“And got matching earrings for every outfit.”

The two women sighed, united as only memories can unite.

“Remember the little shop near Dover Lane where you got Archies cards.”

“Yes. Yes. Yes. I spent so many hours there going through all the cards to pick the perfect one for my friends.”

Hours would pass. The tsunami of memories would show no sign of abating. When their flights were finally called, they would both go their separate ways. Before saying goodbye, they would exchange Instagram handles. Only after sinking into their seats would they look at the name of the person they had been chatting with for yours. Do names really matter when you have memories in common?

[This work of fiction is written for Reubenna Dutta as a part of the end of the year ‘Gift a Story’ activity initiated by Suchita Agarwal. The volunteers were paired up, and encouraged to get to know each other better with the objective of penning a ‘gift’ for them.]

Grief

 ~Grief~

You feel rather than see something dart into the ixora bush. You look closer and spot a munia. No, a pair of munias. What are two munias doing there? Are they planning to build a nest? Your father would love to know about them. You want to call and tell him. But he is no longer here; hasn’t been for nearly two decades. Grief overwhelms you. You can barely function for the next few hours.

They tell you that time heals. That grief goes away. They lie.

Grief never goes away. Time doesn’t heal. All that happens is that you grow around the grief. You learn to copy. You learn to tuck away your memories in that closed room you barely enter. But sometimes, when you are least expecting it, the winds blows the door open and the memories come tumbling out. You are overcome with grief. All over again.

You wish that someday grief would leave you. But do you really wish that? Because what is grief if not the other side of love? You can only grieve someone who you have loved fiercely, and that love is always worthwhile.

Keep those you have loved close to your heart. Remember them. Grieve them. Let yourself be engulfed in sadness. They are you, you are them.

And perhaps someday someone will grieve you too.

For I am grief, and grief is you.

[Modified from a letter that Grief wrote to me as a part of a eleven day letter writing challenge.]

“More than just a cross between a classic whodunnit and a Gothic novel”

 [A review of ‘The Scratch and Sniff Chronicles’ by Hemangini Dutt Majumder]

‘The Scratch and Sniff Chronicles’ set in Neelbari, a crumbling mansion in Chandannagar. Basanti Chattergé (better known as Fishy), a top lawyer in Kolkata, has just won a protracted battle over her stepmother for control of the ancestral property, and has decided to relocate with her adopted daughter Laura, her niece Ollie and their cat Habey. Neither of the younger Chattergé women particularly wants to move out of the city, yet when strange and seemingly supernatural things start happening in the mansion, they dismiss the idea that the mansion is haunted by the ghost of their grandmother and resolve to get to the bottom of it.

The book is marketed as a cross between a classic whodunnit and a Gothic novel, but it is more than just that. The book paints a portrait of an upper caste, cultured Bengali family, filled all their attendant eccentricities. Even the family surname would sound pretentious to an outsider- Chattergé is a nod to the close multi-generational ties which the family had to France. Daknams (or nicknames) are common among Bengalis of a certain class, but these women have interesting names too- Ollie for instance is Olympia, so named “on her aunt’s suggestion. The inspiration was Edouard Manet’s Olympia, the controversial painting of a nude woman painting to look directly into the viewer’s eyes instead of coyly averting her gaze (as was the practice at the time).” Fishy’s stepmother was named Latika, but chose to call herself ‘Labanga Latika’ after the famous Bengali mishti!

Ollie has an uncanny sense of smell (which serves her well in her profession as a sommelier and beverage consultant because she can sniff out and create complex flavour profiles), and the narrative is punctuated by her olfactory observations. “Tiger Balm. Hibiscus hair oil. Shalimar perfume. Cigar.”, for instance, announces the presence of Fishy. These smell profiles not only add an unusual depth to the characterisations, they often also serve as a detective tool.

The book may be a cosy mystery set in a quaint household, but it tackles a topic that most authors shy away from. Ollie suffers from POCS, and she is subject to the same indifference and lack of empathy from the medical community as almost all other women with a similar condition are. Ollie, like thousands of other young women, had been repeatedly told by doctors that her menstrual problems will eventually right themselves and that in the meantime she should lose weight and adopt a different diet. While talking about this in a book may not itself lead to a change of attitude, it will at least give women who go through this every month feel seen.

The book is also unusual in the choice of narrator. For the first couple of chapters, you are left guessing the identity of the almost omnipresent narrator, but once you know who it is, you start to appreciate the tone of concern and sarcasm she employs. The pace of the book is slow, and it could potentially get exasperating if you are expecting a whodunnit. But if, you allow yourself to read it as a comedy of manners, the book will grow on you.

If you are looking for the gentle humour of a PG Wodehouse, set in modern day West Bengal, with a cast of quirky and formidable women and detailed descriptions of scrumptious meals, look no further than this. You will not be disappointed.

[I received a review copy of the book, and the views are my own.]

A Tender Love Story for Mature Adults

 For the Love of Apricots, by Madhulika Liddle

When did you last love a character so much that you wanted to race through the book because I couldn’t have enough of her, and yet, you consciously slowed down because you knew you didn’t want the book to end? Nandini Mathur, the 40 year old protagonist of “For the Love of Apricots” is exactly that character. She is clumsy, accident prone and impulsive. Yet, she is also efficient, hard working and resourceful. She can be brusque, but she will do anything for the people she cares about. She pads about in a shapeless jacket and well worn trousers, but finds time for the moments of beauty that take your breath away.

Nandini’s father chose to move to the hills post retirement, but it is not clear why a young woman who clearly grew up in the city would choose to bury herself in a hill station where she doesn’t even have anyone to talk to. Yes, she has set up a women’s cooperative that manufactures pickles. Yes, she goes for long walks in the hills and has a beautiful garden. But one would normally picture someone like her living in a city apartment with a balcony garden, dreaming of the hills while she goes about her daily chores.

When Vikas Joshi, Negi Sahib’s distant relative, purchases his apricot orchard, he and Nandini keep running into each other. Far from being love at first sight, in fact, their relationship got off on a bad note and they maintained what could at best be called an uneasy truce. But they gradually grew to understand and respect each other, and from that grew a tentative affection.

This book is a refreshing change from most romances- it is a love story between two mature adults who have seen enough of life to be skeptical of romantic love. Sparks do not fly when they their hands accidentally brush against each other (in fact, their hands do not brush against each other at all), but they each see the other for what they truly are, and that is more precious than sparks flying.

I also loved the way the author describes the relationship between Nandini and her father- they live in the same house, but lead their own lives. Would her father even notice if she goes away, Nandini often wonders, or will life go on just the same for him.

The book is rich in sensory detail- you can taste the various jams, chutneys and pickles, you smell the pine needles and the flowers dripping with nectar, you can be dazzled by the variety of flowers, you can even be stung by the bicchu grass. Reading this book literally transports you to the hills and makes you forget everything else.

Fictionalised Account of the youngest member of the Azad Hind Fauj

 Laxmi Panda: The Story of Netaji’s Youngest Spy, Savie Karnal

I first heard about Netaji’s Youngest Spy in P. Sainath’s book “The Lost Heros” on the forgotten foot-soldiers of the Independence Movement. He described the zesty old lady and her struggle to have herself acknowledged as a freedom fighter, but one remained curious about what led a young girl to join the Resistance. Savie Karnel’s book addresses just that.

Laxmi was born in Burma to Odiya parents who moved there in search of a livelihood. When both parents died during the air raids, Laxmi had to take on the responsibility of keeping herself and her younger brother alive.

This is fascinating account of how a precocious young lady convinces the Azad Hind Fauj to let her join the women’s battalion. Her extraordinary power of observation, her integrity and her ability to connect the dots is responsible for her being chosen to get trained as a spy. While based on a true story, the author has presented it in a fictionalised form, which lends itself perfect to the topic. It was fascinating reading about the women in the Azad Hind Fauj, and I particularly loved the way Laxmi’s character was developed.

I am quite sure the book will appeal to a younger reader as much as it did for me. It will certainly be a great book tp present to the young women in your life.

“The Perfect Cup of Chai”: small acts of gender empowerment

 

“The Perfect Cup of Chai” is necessarily subjective, but I am convinced that it is my son who makes the perfect cup of chai. Just the right balance of water and milk, brewed to the right strength and served in my favourite mug. When he returns home from for the holidays, I give him a day or two to recover before asking him to brew me evening tea!
I didn’t actively set out to teach him to brew tea, though. It was something he picked up on his own, when he realised that I liked to relax with a mug tea right after getting home from work. It started with him rescuing the water I had put onto boil and forgotten about, and before long, I got into the habit of giving him a call when I was almost home so the tea would be ready by the time I finished cuddling the dog after getting home!
It was, however, just sometime he did for me, till I started noticing a trend whenever I had an interaction with mothers’ groups. All of them were bursting with dreams for their daughters. They were willing to make sacrifices to ensure the girls went to college. They were determined to defy society if it demanded that the girls be married off before they were ready to get married. It was easy to get caught up in their excitement- wasn’t that exactly the women’s empowerment that we all hoped for?
But was this really empowerment? By focussing only on empowering the girls, weren’t we actually making it harder for them? Were we pushing them towards a life where they were expected to have a full-time job and also manage the household? While empowering the girls, shouldn’t we also be looking at enabling boys to support the empowered women?
I started telling the women about how my son made chai for me every evening. “Allow your daughters to dream”, I would say, “but also teach your sons to do their share of the work at home.” Because it is only when men and boys learn to do their share of the chores at home that we can move towards a gender equitable society.
[I wrote this as a part of the #BlogchatterFoodFest]

A Crumbling Mansion, A Dysfunctional Family: ‘The Magnificent Ruins’ — Review

 A crumbling mansion which houses a family which is both victim and perpetrator of intergenerational trauma. First published in Youth Ki Awaaz

Summary

After spending her childhood in her divorced mother’s ancestral home, at 16, Lila De moved to the United States to live with her father and stepmother. On her 29th birthday, at a point where her career in a New York based publishing house is poised to take off, she comes to hear of her grandfather’s death and that he has bequeathed the family home to her. Lila takes eight weeks leave to return to the city she grew up in, hoping that would be sufficient time to sort out any issues arising due to the inheritance.

A crumbling mansion, a dysfunctional family

The five story crumbling mansion in Calcutta is home to her extended family. Her newly widowed grandmother, two uncles and their wives, one cousin and her mother all live together in the house- notionally on different floors, but in reality with open doors which anyone can walk through at any time. Her relatives all treat her as a young and immature child- they love her, but do not take her seriously. They try desperately to smother her in their love, yet, are secretly plotting to disinherit her. They vie with each other for her attention, yet each of them keeps secrets from her. Each of them in different ways conveys to her that even though they are legally challenging her right to inherit the property, it is not personal and that they still love her as much as they always did!

At the advice of her lawyer and because she herself wants to, Lila attempts to restore the neglected mansion to its former glory. However, while it is easy to change the wiring and install an elevator, it is much harder to confront her past and to untangle the complex relationships with her relatives. Lila’s mother had been emotionally and physically abusive and as a child she had sought comfort from her grandmother. She now finds that the two women still use her to score points against each other. As she digs deeper, she realises that everything is not as it seems- that the people who abused Lila had themselves been victims of abuse.

The author is at her best when she describes the generational trauma that defines almost every relationship within the family. Many of the characters display multiple behaviours, and you are alternately angry with them for their behaviour and sympathetic towards them because of what they faced. While some of the younger members try to escape the toxicity of the family, you see them falling into the same patterns that plagued older members of the family.

The side plots

While the main strand of the novel Lila trying to make sense of the entanglements within the family residing in the crumbling mansion, her complicated romantic life is also a major plot element. She was in a casual relationship with a one of her writers, but once back in Calcutta she runs into her first boyfriend who though married shows that he is still available. When her writer friend makes a “grand gesture” and follows her to Calcutta, she is torn between the two men. Though not central to the book, this strand sums up much of what makes up modern dating.

The book is set in Calcutta 2015, and the city comes alive through Lila’s gaze. The crumbling mansions, the new apartment blocks, the markets and the nosy neighbours. The book is set against an upcoming election where the ruling Left front is challenged by the rising Right wing, which threatens to disrupt the social order. There are also growing protests against Section 377, and rising fear among the Muslims. While there is an attempt to talk about classism, especially with how the old families treat the household help, not enough was done here, and the book itself might have benefited if it had been left out completely.

I particularly enjoyed how food is recurring motif throughout the book. Whether it is Lila’s American step mother who shows her affection through food, to how Lila’s mother and grandmother compete with each other to server her favourite dishes, food remains the love language through which most people seem to express themselves. Whether it is haggling for fish at the market or guarding recipes, the book evokes memories in anyone who cares about food.

Conclusion

It is tempting to compare the book to the masterpiece of intergenerational trauma- Arundhati Roy’s God of Small Things. While both books deal with inherited trauma and of how young people attempt to cope with it, The Magnificent Ruins is told through the perspective of someone who has now escaped the family home, and who therefore is able to confront her family history through the distance of time and space.

Overall, this is a powerful debut from the author and one certainly looks forward to reading her next.

AN: I thank Hachette India for sending me a review copy of the book. The views are my own.

Do We Need So Many Statues?

 

When the world’s largest statue of Dr. BR Ambedkar was still under construction, I would be awed by the scale. Yet, like most other well-meaning savarnas, I would wonder if the money being spent on the statue could not have been better spent in setting up the infrastructure to deliver better education, meaningful livelihood opportunities and quality healthcare to the people who need it the most. Wouldn’t that create a more equitable world, I thought.

When I started reading Dalit authors, I came to realise that the statues of Dr. Ambedkar instil a sense of pride and confidence in people. They symbolise the aspiration to break free from the clutches of casteism, and to take their rightful place in the world.

A few weeks back, a public intellectual asked a rather provocative question- “There are more Ambedkar statues in India than Gandhi’s. Is that because he gave us a country which Gandhi could never have conceptualised.” This question sidesteps the fact that Dr. Ambedkar is directly linked to Dalit and Bahujan pride, and it is by erecting statues that the community asserts itself and it is also the easiest way for politicians to appease the community.

Ironically, if the nation had succeeded in removing the bane of caste, and there was genuine social, economic and political equity, then we might have fewer statues of Ambedkar. Till such a day arrives, we need to educate, agitate and organise. It will not be easy, because that would mean acknowledging our privileges and unlearning things we took for granted. But we must.

Review: Girls Who Said Nothing & Everything

 [Review of a book of essays by Meera Vijayann on growing up as a young woman from a small town in India]

‘Girls Who Said Nothing and Everything’ is a collection of eleven autobiographical essays on growing up as a young woman in India.

“In the Tamil Nadar community”, the author Meera Vijayann writes, “speaking the truth about your family is a great betrayal. You are raised to feel indebted to your parents.” The eldest of four daughters, the author was born in a small town in Tamil Nadu to parents who wanted “the best” for their children, but didn’t really know what “the best” really was. While fstill in school, the author maintained a journal as a way to process her feelings, and it was while revisiting these journals decades later that she thought about compiling them into the essays that made up this book. The author, however does not consider these essays to be betrayal, and instead sees them as “a refusal to continue the oppressive culture of silence that I was raised in.”

The book begins with an incident where the young Meera is inadvertently held responsible for a classroom accident she did not intend to cause. After bearing the punishment in silence for a few days, Meera confides in her mother, who takes it up with the school authorities. While her mother stood up for her, and displayed righteous anger at how she was wrongfully blamed, this was not what Meera wanted. In her words, “I didn’t want her to stand up for me but to say something sweet and motherly.” She is almost angry with herself for confiding in her mother. Meera’s relationship with her mother continues to follow the same pattern. Her mother, who was forced to sacrifice her dreams at the altar of marriage wanted a different life for her daughters. Yet, she wanted her daughters to fulfil their dreams within the constraints imposed by a patriarchal society.

The book follows a chronological sequence, but more than that each successive essay marks different constraints the author has to overcome before she can achieve the personal, social and financial freedom she craves. She deals with issues which were relevant three decades back, and unfortunately continue to be relevant even today. She talks about casteism, classism and nepotism- the many ways in which society conspires to break down the spirit of ambitious young people. She speaks a lot about financial independence, and of how parents fail to prepare their children for the outside world by excluding them from conversations involving money.

Her essays expose the hypocrisy of society which looks away when young girls are sexually abused by older men, but are quick blame women for “tempting” the men with whom they are in a consensual relationship. All the institutions which are supposed to protect women, the author soon realises, do so only if the women grant blind obedience. She speaks about the power of role models, and of how hearing Barkha Dutt say “Oh girls, you’ll do great” served as a talisman for her. As she says, “All week, I couldn’t stop thinking about those words. I wish my parents had said something that kind and simple.”

While the author bemoans the fact that her parents didn’t provide the emotional support she needed while growing up, she also grows to recognise the fact that they themselves were victims of generational trauma. It was eventually her parents who took a loan to send her to UK to study so she could have the life that was denied to them.

‘Girls Who Said Nothing & Everything’ documents the coming of age of a woman who has to challenge social expectations and create opportunities for herself in a land where “every living thing but a girl has freedom.” It is a testament to fact that generational trauma can be overcome, and healing is possible. It is also the story of female solidarity, and of how women can uplift other women.

Read this book if you are interested in reading a personal memoir which also serves as a social commentary on how family, community, educational opportunities and caste come together to stunt the growth of young women.

[AN: I received a review copy of the book through the Blogchatter Book Review Program. You can buy the book on Amazon or wherever books are sold. The views are my own.]

The Inspirational Story of Daktarin Jamini Sen

 [Book Review first published in YouthKiAwaaz]

“In 1912, when most women in British India were still denied formal medical education, an Indian woman entered the global medical establishment. Jamini Sen became the first woman Fellow of the Royal Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow, and then gradually disappeared from India’s public memory.”

When I read these lines, I immediately knew that I wanted to know more about Daktarin Jamini Sen. Most of us know the names of the three pioneering women doctors from India- Anandibai Joshi (the first Indian woman to quality as a doctor), Rukhmabai Raut (the first Indian woman to practice Western medicine in India) and Kadambini Ganguly (the first woman to qualify as a doctor in India)- the names and stories of the women doctors who followed them are largely forgotten. Yet, each of them would have had to overcome immense obstacles in the course of getting qualified and then while actually practicing medicine. What made this particular story even more intriguing was the fact that Jamini Sen was not just the first Indian woman to become a Fellow of the RFPSG, but the first woman regardless of nationality!

Nothing, however, prepared me for the inspirational story of Daktarin Jamini Sen!

The story begins in a village in what is now Bangaldesh. A young mother of two daughters is left destitute after her father-in-law passed away. While her husband is still alive, the villagers want her to forget about him since he ‘left the faith’ after joining the Brahmo Samaj movement. The lady, however has a mind of her own, and follows her husband to the city after first laying down the condition that she will remain true to the religious faith she grew up with. Both the daughters were given an education, and the younger of the two qualified as a doctor.

Then, instead of practicing medicine from the safety of her home, Daktarin Jamini Sen relocated to Katmandu to take up the position of the physician to the royal family. She was more than just a medical doctor- she became a confidant to the members of the royal family, and she worked closely with the local administration to introduce public health measures. Many of these sanitation and cleanliness measures were incorporated as a part of religious ritual, and as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter who took credit as long as health standards improved.

When she returned to India following political turmoil, she decided to go abroad to acquire further qualifications, after which she joined the Indian Women’s Medical Service and served in many remote outposts of British India. In many of these postings, she was responsible for setting up or modernising the local hospital, and she commanded much respect from the people she treated.

The book does not, however, only deal with Daktarin Jamini Sen’s professional triumphs. It goes into the effort she had to put into maintaining her “virtue”, of the discrimination she faced from both men and women, of the baseless gossip that followed her wherever she went, and of how the system tried to browbeat her. The book also describes her spiritual experiences, and tries to understand some of the choices she made. There is also a diversion into how the saree drape evolved and of the particular style adopted by Daktarin Jamini Sen.

The book is written by the great-grand niece of Jamini Sen, and draws upon oral family lore. However, it is also the product of meticulous research and the writer gives precise citations wherever possible.

I would recommend the book to anyone who is curious to hear the stories of the female pioneers who helped pave the way for greater gender parity. It would also be of interest to people who are interested in learning about the Brahmo community in Calcutta and about the politics within the Royal Family of Nepal.

I received a review copy from Penguin India, and this review reflects my unbiased opinion.

“The Wrong Way Home”- For Fans Of Nora Ephron And Liane Moriarty

 [I reviewed the book for YouthKiAwaaz]

Summary
On the first anniversary of her divorce, 40 year old Nayantara’s social media feed exploded with the news of her ex-husband’s marriage to a young influencer. The divorce had been hard on her- she’d walked away without an alimony, been shunned by mutual friends who chose to align themselves with her ex-husband, and found her PR business foundering because the divorce closed her off from certain circles. Her confidence which was at an all-time low was further dented when she found herself referred to as “his ex-wife is in PR”, instead of as “the glamorous head of a boutique PR firm” which is how she thought of herself. When she lost an important client because she was busy doomscrolling instead of attending an event, and was asked to vacate her apartment because the housing society decides to revoke the tenancy of unmarried women, she realised she had to turn things around.
She takes on some questionable clients, and allows herself to get emotionally involved with a suave and rich man- anything to convey to her ex-husband that she is over him! But will her conscience allow her to keep those clients, and should she ignore all the red flags her romantic interest sets off? More importantly, will she learn to stop wanting to impress her ex-husband, in the hope of making him regret leaving her?

The book is full of well etched characters.
There is also Vikram, a Silicon Valley techie who chose to return to home with his daughter to set up schools in inaccessible Himalayan villages. He is thoughtful and kind, and Nayantara’s mother adores him, but do the bright lights of Mumbai blind her to his obvious interest in her.
Rohit is the best friend every young (or not so young) woman can want. He understands her needs, knows exactly which wine to pair with every crying session, is kind and compassionate, yet, never shies away from telling her exactly what he believes. It is Rohit who makes her realise that she should stop caring about what her ex-husband thinks and start living for herself, thereby setting her off on the journey towards recovery.
Nayantara’s mother is a force of nature. An environmental activist, she was too busy saving the world to be a doting mother to her child, but it is her common sense and compassion which is the cushion that her adult daughter desperately craves.

But the real star of the book is Nayantara. Though she comes across as lacking confidence in herself, and is constantly evaluating herself through the eyes of her ex-husband, it is clear that she is brilliant in her profession. She is thrown into a desperate situation more than once and each time is able to avert a disaster because of her quick thinking, her contacts and her intuitive understanding of PR.

Told with wit and humour, this is a deeply feminist book
On the face of it, ‘The Wrong Way Home’ is a book about the swish set of Mumbai, but below the gloss, it is a gritty book on the reality of being a single woman in the city. The book is about how the city treats single women and the presumptions made about them. It is about how difficult it is to be a female divorcee- of how men treat you as prey and women as potential predators. The author talks about how hard it is for middle aged women to enter the dating pool, and of the compromises many women make to preserve their public personas.
As we accompany Nayantara on her journey towards healing, we perhaps anticipate the choices she will finally make- but what sets this book apart from many others is that these choices are not explicitly stated. This is a deeply feminist book, but one where the message is buried under humour, and an engaging storyline. If you like Liane Moriarty and Nora Ephron, you will love this book.

Author’s Note: I received a review copy from the publisher. The views are my own.