Reading recommendations.

I am not one of those amazing people who read 100 books a year. I got into reading pretty late in my life but over the past few years I have read more than I had in all the years combined before that. A lot of people lately have been asking me to suggest them some  books to read. So if you are a person who wants to get into reading or, reads but,doesn’t know what to read next or you’re just here to see what I’d have on my list then here I have ten reading recommendations listed below.

These books don’t belong to the same genre and the list is pretty random but these are some good books that I have really enjoyed. Also, they are arranged randomly.

  1. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger
  2. A handful of nuts by Ruskin Bond
  3. Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel
  4. Perks of Being a wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
  5. Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri
  6. To kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
  7. Gently falls the Bakula by Sudha Murthy
  8. The curious incident of the dog in the night-time by Mark Haddon
  9. Ghachar Ghochar by Vivek Shanbhag
  10. Aristotle and Dante discover the secrets of the Universe Benjamin Alire Saenz

Happy Reading!

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PASSWORD #2

Note: Me and friends started this project a few days back where one of us would decide a title or word and then each of us had to write on that title. ‘Salt’ was a title suggested by me. Password was suggested by another friend. I hope you enjoy the second and final part of ‘password’. If you haven’t read the first one yet, here is the link-  password-1 


Rama had been waiting for three hours now. She was supposed to go out with Biju for dinner tonight. A plan they had made after several cancelled plans. In her Pink saree she sat on the ‘deewan’ of the living room.

“He’s not going to come home tonight. As usual.”, she thought to herself.

Rama had grown tired of this usual routine. She got ready and waited for Biju. He came home late in the night or sometimes never at all.

“It’s too much work. My boss will kill me if that sheet is not ready by tomorrow.”, he’d say.

The phone calls never ended. One after the other a different matter had to be discussed. Rama had been happy when Biju had been promoted. Their son was just two then. More money would mean better things for Ravi. The increment in salary had come with a lot of additional work. It wasn’t easy but Rama hadn’t gone back to work after her pregnancy so it was expected that she’d look after the house henceforth.

Rama had always believed she would work, even after marriage. She loved the independence that came along with it. However, the sickness after pregnancy had paralyzed her will to work and physically weakened her. Eventually, she couldn’t keep up and had to give up her job. Now it was difficult to find a new one because of the gap. She had given several interviews but nothing good had come out of them. Biju was earning well so the house was working smoothly but she missed work. The happiness of getting a salary, completing her work and going home to Biju, discussing each other’s work along with other things. Somehow amidst all the money and pretty things something still felt incomplete.

Ravi was four now. She would cook for Ravi and Biju in the morning. Ready Ravi for Kindergarten and pick him up after he was done. She’d then sit with him, make sure he did his homework. At night, she would cook again. On most nights, Biju ate outside. She’d message Biju but the reply would come hours later. She felt frustrated because she knew he was working but it had gotten so lonely that she felt pathetic. Sometimes she’d send him a flirty message and the reply would come quicker but Biju soon got busy and the frequency diminished and the conversation eventually died out.

At 2 am, which had become Biju’s standard sleeping time he’d climb in bed. He’d try to grab Rama and pull her closer but she’d be fast asleep by that time and he didn’t want to wake her up. He’d then take her phone from the nightstand. Rama was not much for technology. Her phone did not have a password. Just a swipe, and you could access everything. At night before going to bed, Biju would go through her phone. Just scroll through things.

He lay there wondering how his wife’s day was. He realized he was missing out on things but felt helpless like there was nothing that he could do except work. He’d see Rama’s whatsapp messages and read her chats with her school and college friends. Some memes, some stupid good morning messages some Hindi forwards. He’d then turn off the night lamp and go to sleep. Biju felt that somehow Rama was aware of this routine. As the night descended, Rama would be up before Biju swimming in her pool of activities that needed to be done to get Ravi ready for school and make lunch.

In the month of monsoon that year,Rama joined a school as a teacher. She was teaching grade X. Every morning now, she’d get ready along with Ravi and left for work. She travelled by a local train,as Biju would take the car. She didn’t mind. She could drive really well but she enjoyed not having that responsibility and looking out of the window. She was soon becoming a regular and even made a few friends in the local. Teaching was fun. It was easy. Not a challenging job. She hated mundane activities like checking journals. What was the point?

There were several staff rooms. Each staff room had separate desks for every teacher. There were four teachers in Rama’s room including herself. Mrs Lata was a widowed women. She was quite senior in age and experience and a favourite amongst the students. Mrs Singh who had joined recently just as Rama. And there was Deepak Jain. Every day in the lunch break the four of them would eat lunch together and discuss all sorts of things. Kids in school, kids at home, daily soap and other things that went around in the world.

Rama was happy. She felt she finally had something to look forward to. A world of her own, she thought. They soon made a whatsapp group. The four of them became good friends. Rama was happier. There was a lift in her spirit. Biju could feel it. She was happy,so,he was happy. She wouldn’t feel disappointed if her plans with Biju didn’t work out. She’d call her friends and ask them if they’d like to go out. On such days, Ravi would stay at his maternal grandparents house and Rama would pick him up later.

The routine continued. Biju was still swamped at work and came home late. He’d go through Rama’s phone. Sometimes,he felt bad like he was snooping through something private. He knew Rama wouldn’t approve of it if she knew.

One August evening,on a public holiday Rama woke up and did her usual chores. She then played temple run on her phone. A game that was introduced to her by Deepak. Deepak was the most tech-savvy person Rama had met. The previous day he was telling Rama how ridiculous it was that her phone didn’t have a password.

“Oh what’s the use of all this?”, she had said carelessly which had been followed by a lecture from Deepak about how dangerous it was to let your phone be without a lock. Mrs Lata and Mrs Singh had agreed. Rama felt he might be right. Mrs Lata was much older than her and still knew so much about these things. She decided she’d learn some stuff herself.

That morning Lata carefully set a password to her phone. She kept it simple so she wouldn’t forget it.

Biju woke up. Rama made coffee for him. Strong. Biju used to drink tea when Rama had met him but over the years the corporate world had turned him into a caffeine junkie. They had breakfast together,all three of them.

“I’m going out for lunch today with my friends.”, Rama informed.

“Oh. I thought we could go out today since I’m home.”, Biju said slightly hurt.

Rama had been looking forward to go out with her friends but she realized that Biju didn’t get as many holidays so she decided that she would cancel her plans with her friends.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ll go out with my friends later. Where should we go? I heard that new movie of Kareena is quite good.”

Biju felt bad that he’d flattened out Rama’s pre planned outing.

“You go with friends today. You’ve already made plans. I’ll catch up on my work. We can go out on Sunday.”, he said.

Rama got ready. She wore a red salwar suit.Her favourite.  Biju gawked at her from the corner of his eye while working on his laptop.

“You look ravishing today Mrs Biju. Are you trying to kill me?”

Rama stood there stunned. It had been so many years since Biju had called her that. He would always tease her with all these traditional names. Mrs Biju, Mrs Rama and so on.

“I’ll drop you.”, Biju said.

They sat in their new car. A gift from the office. Rama suddenly remembered the old days. How they couldn’t afford a car so they’d go to Khandala by train. Suddenly she missed everything. Today even though she was sitting with Biju, she missed him. She wished he’d come home sooner. She wished they could go for a walk together.

They reached the restaurant. It had started to rain.

“I’ll call you before I leave.”,she said. She looked at him one last time. She’d talk to him tonight she thought. Tell him that she missed him. Ask him if it was possible to reduce some work and delegate it to others.

She got out of the car and started jogging to escape the rain. Biju sat in the car to wait till she was inside. From inside the restaurant,Deepak emerged out with an umbrella. He caught her midway and took her inside the umbrella. Biju felt a sting in his chest. He wasn’t the jealous types but he knew he had a beautiful wife who he hadn’t been able to give much time lately. He drove home with a heavy heart and drowned himself in his work and a bottle of whiskey.

When Rama came home,she saw Biju sprawled across the floor asleep.She saw the laptop was switched off and assumed he must be done with his work. She would not be able to lift him and put him to bed so she ran inside and got a cushion and a blanket for him.

When she tried to lift his neck, “I love you Rama”, Biju moaned in his drunken stupor.

She then proceeded to do some school work. Eventually she went to sleep,earlier than most days. Biju woke up not long after that. He noticed the cushion and blanket and smiled. He knew Rama had put them there. He started walking towards the bedroom. He knew what he had to do. He had decided to quit his job. Nothing was as important as Rama. No job, no amount of money could make him feel the way she did. On reaching the bedroom, he saw Rama was fast asleep. He would tell her the first thing in the morning, he thought.He climbed in bed beside her. He grabbed her phone. He was surprised.

“PASSWORD?”, it asked.

6 letters. He wondered what the password was. He kept thinking why Rama had put a password on her phone all of a sudden. He tried to think all night. He tried various words. Letters with numbers. Symbols. Nothing worked. He suddenly remembered Deepak. His mind raced around. Is that why she had kept a password on the phone. Did she like this guy? Did he like her? Were they talking to each other? He felt angered. He tried to type in Deepak’s name in the phone. He thought this was it. The phone would unlock but, it didn’t. Biju felt helpless like he had lost everything. He couldn’t ask Rama for the password. She would know he had been rummaging through it all along. He closed his eyes and tried to contemplate where things had gone so wrong.

——————————————- The End ———————————————————————–

 

Password.

Note- Password is short story(It is kind of long). So it will come out in parts. Also,this story doesn’t include a maid.

Biju had been twenty nine when he’d first met Rama. Dressed in a peacock blue salwar suit she had emerged out with a tray. She started serving him and his parents tea. This was the custom. Arranged marriages were the norm then. Anyone who had done a love marriage in that era was looked at with bewilderment today for having taken such a bold step.

Rama wasn’t the first girl Biju had wanted to marry. During his engineering days, Biju, a young boy of twenty had dreamt of marrying Shreya. Shreya was the most popular girl in class. Dark hair, hazel brown eyes and her laugh would paralyze the entire lot of boys in the class. Biju had started liking her in the 2nd semester. In the 4th semester he managed to gather up some courage and tell her about his feelings. It didn’t go well. She ran out of the room and pretended it never happened. Biju told no one about this. In the 8th semester,Biju found out that Shreya was set to marry a guy. He was older than her, had a job in reputed bank. The girls in the class would endlessly tease her and she’d blush. Biju felt angry. He was not the kind of guy who kept grudges but this,hurt. Biju forgave Shreya on her wedding day when he saw her husband to be. He chuckled in his head. “This is the guy she chose?”, he wanted to say out loud.

He remembered this when he saw Rama. She was exactly opposite of Shreya. She had curly hair. He couldn’t wrap his head around the directions it flew in. She had long curled eyelashes and she looked at him softly but with confidence. Rama wasn’t an engineer. She had finished her M.A in sociology. There wasn’t much age gap between them. They were allowed some time alone to decide if they liked each other. They said yes.

Their marriage in it’s initial run was fun. Like any newly wed they would look forward for their day to end,so they could be with each other. Rama would go to the office in the morning after she had cooked for both of them. She would return by 5pm. Biju would come home soon after that. They’d go for a walk together and talk about their favourite Jagjit Singh and the books they had read before they had met. Sometimes dinner was followed by a round of ice-cream that Rama would make and freeze in the fridge from a store bought pack. They would take trips to Khandala and stay there for the entire weekend. They’d go by train as they couldn’t afford a car yet. Occasionally both of their parents would come to visit. On such days, they would give the bedroom to their parents and sleep on the living room floor  by arranging an extra mattress. The flat they were living in was bought by pitching in money from both the sides so there were no fights about money as such.

Life was going faster than they had planned when Rama found out she was pregnant. She was already a month in. Rama was excited. She hoped Biju would be excited too. That night Rama waited in bed for Biju. There was a different vibe in the house. It seemed so full of memories. Memories they had made in a short span of two years. She looked around their bedroom. Suddenly, she imagined a toddler walking around the house. The walls dirty with random sketches. Wondering what her son would grow up to be. An IAS she thought. Then she decided that she would let her son be whatever he wanted to. “What if he wants to be a rock band player with long hair?”, she said out loud. She realized she was all alone and patiently waited. Biju came home. Rama was blushing.

“What?”, he asked.

“Nothing.”, she blushed.

Biju climbed into the bed and approached her. “Something funny Mrs. Biju?”

Before she could reply, Biju had started tickling her. The house was full of happy screams. “Stop it Biju!” As the laughter died down slowly they both chuckled sporadically for a few minutes. They both lay side by side.

“I’m pregnant”,Rama whispered.


To read part 2- click here.

 

 

SALT.

Shalu was 65. She lived in a small house two miles south of her workplace. A small figure of five ft. she seemed even shorter because of her age.

Every morning she started her day with a cup of ‘chai’. She preferred one spoon of sugar usually and none when she fell short of money to make ends meet. She then went on to take a quick bath and dressed in ‘saree’. She tied her hair into a long braid. Personally,she preferred a bun but her husband had always found her prettier in a braid.

She walked to work. On the way she liked to take in the scent of a new day. The smell of fresh ‘jalebis’ at Kaka Halwai, the sweet smell of mogra at Manthan’s flower stall beside the ‘newspaperwala’ slamming stacks of various newspapers on his counter. She reached Ashwin’s house by 7:15 am. On her arrival, Ashwin usually ran to her to show her a new painting he had made. She would always smile excitedly,narrow her eyes so the painting became clearer and blurt out,”Chhaan”. Ashwin would then get busy getting ready for school and Shalu went to the kitchen and started cooking.

She did her usual routine that day and made Lady’s finger bhaji with Rotis. She would pack Ashwin’s tiffin box before he left for school with his father,who was a businessman. She then went on to dust the house. Her frail arms could manage only this much. Her knees weren’t strong enough to sweep the floor or stand for long to wash the utensils.

She would wipe the bookshelf first. Carefully removing each book wiping it and putting it back. Then went on to do the tables and couches. Ashwin’s mother liked collecting antiques and she was very particular about them. The rule was to wipe them and keep them in the exact same place. No furniture was to be moved. Everything in the house had been arranged according to it’s color,size and aesthetic.

By 1 pm,Shalu would be done with her work and sit down in a corner of the kitchen to eat one roti and Bhaji from the meal that she had prepared. On this particular day she was about to do the same when Rupali called her.

“Kya hua Ashwin ki mummy?”,she asked.

“Dekho Shalu,tum kal se mat ana. Tumhari umar ho chuki hai. Ab tum apne pati ke sath aram karo.”, she said.

Shalu was struck. She could not afford to lose her job. It was her only source of income.

“Mein kaam kar sakti hu.”,she politely replied.

“Tumhare khane mein bilkul salt nahi hota Shalu. Tum bohot dheere kaam karti ho. Ye kuch paise le lo aur kisi cheez ki zarurat pade toh call me”.

Rupali handed Shalu a wad of cash and went inside to continue with her work.

Crestfallen,Shalu left the house and went to a park nearby. She sat on a pink bench. Had she done something wrong? She knew it wasn’t Rupali’s fault. They needed a younger maid. Someone who would work faster and more efficiently. She would miss Ashwin. His paintings. The hustle and bustle of the house in the morning. She saw two kids playing with a balloon in the park and her eyes welled up with tears. She untucked her ‘pallu’ from her waist and brought it to her eyes and wiped them. She sat there for a while.

It must have been a few hours because the sky was turning Orange. The kind of Orange that slowly turned black and welcomed the night. She started walking back towards her house. The evening was coming to an end. The ‘newspaperwala’ was putting all the unsold newspapers in his large bag. Manthan was throwing away some flowers and Kaka Halwai was crowded with people. She quickened her pace and reached home. She bolted the door from inside and took in her surroundings. An empty house.

She lay down on her small cot. Shalu thought of her life. The small village she had grown up in. Her childhood friend Medha who used to get her ‘chana masala’ at the end of the month when she got a rupee. How she had to stop going to school at the age of ten because it was time to help around the house. The boy she had married at 18. How scared she was for her new life. Her husband had been 10 years elder to her. He was a factory worker in Bangalore and she had left her small village to make a life with him. They never had kids but life never seemed dull. On the darkest days when food was meager they filled their lives with gratitude. A few years back her husband had to go to the hospital. The doctors said he shouldn’t have salt. It is not good for his heart.

The next day, a concerned Shalu stopped putting salt in the food. She quit salt herself. Her husband passing away had been a challenge she was still coping up with 2 years later. She was uneducated. Old. All she had was her morning work to look forward to and the dog which would come to her doorstep every evening. She had no job left now.

As she closed her eyes for the night she could hear barks outside her door. A teardrop trickled down her cheek and entered her mouth. SALT.

A different party.

Seven year old Kiya was excited when her maid, Manju, invited her for her daughter’s birthday party.

Kiya loved birthday parties. Everyone got together and had fun. On her own birthday party she had called ten friends from her block and three friends from her school.  Kiya wore a pink dress upto her knees. Her mother had insisted on buying something else for her birthday party but Kiya had insisted on this dress. At last her mother had given up and bought her daughter the dress.

Everyone arrived at seven pm. The music system was booming with all the latest songs. The house was decorated with balloons. The cake came in. It was a 2 kg chocolate cake and everyone looked at it greedily.It was adorned with fancy sparkly candles that kept lighting up despite blowing your lungs out on them. Kiya’s friend Shantanu licked the chocolate from the side when he thought no one was looking. The ritual of singing Happy Birthday with the cake being cut was performed. All the kids started dancing while Kiya’s mother went inside to cut the cake in several pieces and get the food. Everyone sat in a circle and ate. An hour into the birthday party,the doorbell rang . Manju’s kids had come. Manju had four kids.Two boys and two girls. Her younger daughter Mani, was two years elder to Kiya and her younger son Mahesh, was Kiya’s age. They had both been called to Kiya’s party by her mother,Sonal. Towards the end of the party everyone sat close to open the gifts. Kiya was overjoyed by the amount of gifts she had received.She thanked everyone. The party ended with the distribution of a return gift to every single person. On giving the return gift to Mani and Mahesh,Kiya could feel their hesitance. After everybody left,Kiya gathered all the wrapping paper and folded it neatly. She loved collecting pretty things and the sparkly wrapping papers from the gifts she had received were one of them.

On the day of Mani’s birthday party, Sonal called her daughter from the office. She gave her daughter instructions. Two were to be followed very strictly. One of them was to take everything that she needed before going out of the house as once she stepped out she wouldn’t be able to get back in. Kiya was going to go for the party along with her maid after the maid finished all her work. The second instruction was to wear something simple for the birthday.

It was six pm and time for Manju and Kiya to leave. Kiya wore a white t-shirt with a rose design on the front and a pastel yellow plain skirt. A combination that she had put together herself. She remembered to take the present which was a necklace with a tiny pendant. It was wrapped in one of the papers from her wrapping paper collection. The walk from her house to the maid’s was quite long in Kiya’s opinion. She was surprised that Manju had to walk this long twice everyday.

The maid’s house was a collection of two tiny rooms. The house itself was part of a collection of several similar houses in that area. Kiya wished Mani. She thought she would give Mani her present after the cake was cut. She was surprised that no one had arrived for the party yet. She assumed she had come first as she had come with Manju.

The rest of the evening went quite differently than what Kiya had imagined it would be. No cake was cut. There were no other guests. It was her and Manju with her husband and four kids. The room they sat in was small. It had one bed which served as a bed and a sofa altogether. They all sat down together for dinner. The dinner comprised of Chickpeas served with Roti. As Manju cooked at Kiya’s house the food was similar but the taste wasn’t quite the same and it felt a little less cleaner.All four of Manju’s kids were delighted. Every now and then people passing by would peek inside and yell asking Manju who the girl was.

She would proudly tell them that Kiya was the daughter of the people at whose house she worked in.

Everybody had already finished eating and sat on the bed. Kiya was the only one who was still finishing. At Kiya’s house leaving food on the plate was considered rude and something that simply wasn’t allowed. In a different household she still felt the need to live by these rules. After finishing her meal she got up with her plate in the hand and walked to the other small room to keep the plate in the sink. She had assumed it was the kitchen. She was right. The other room served as a kitchen. The sink wasn’t on the kitchen platform. In the corner of the room on the ground was a small area with a raised perimeter that served as the sink. Manju ran frantically behind Kiya and snatched the plate from her hand. She was shocked and stunned. “You can’t keep the plates in the sink. I’ll take them from you.”,she said as though something unspeakable had been done. Seven year old Kiya felt confused. At her house everyone took their own plates to the kitchen.

After dinner, Kiya gave Mani her gift. Mani was thrilled. She couldn’t stop beaming. It was time to go back home. Manju would drop Kiya all the way home and then return.

On her way back,Kiya thought of how Manju and her family lived. She thought of the little house and wondered how all of them slept. She wondered if all birthdays at Manju’s house were celebrated in this fashion. Kiya was reminded of how her parents had told her that they didn’t always have as much money as they did now and their parents had to struggle to make ends meet. Kiya wondered if they had struggled like Manju did now. She wondered if her birthday party had felt weird to Manju and Mahesh.The world seemed so full and overwhelming to Kiya at the moment .She felt there were so many things that she hadn’t seen in her life.For the first time she realized how young she was.

On reaching home,there was one thing that she finally understood. Which was why her mother had asked her to dress simpler today.

 

SEX NO BAR.

While India now brags about not caring if it’s a baby boy or baby girl, the reality seems to be an anti-parallel. The fight to get rights for the LGBT (Lesbian,Gay,Bisexual,Transgender) community rages on but it seems like a far away dream considering the fact that we don’t understand gender at all.

 

This is something I read in Humans of New York some time back.

I remember taking an anthropology class in college and the professor was explaining that there is little sexual dimorphism in humans. He meant that there are few outward,observable differences between males and females.At that time I was confused,so I raised my hand. ‘I feel like it’s very easy to tell a man and woman apart.’, I said.

‘That’s due to culture.’, he answered.

Really though, If you think about the outward appearance of a XY(male) and XX(female) human, you will find not more than 2-3 differences at maximum. Those too may vary;becoming less, but never more.

 

It all starts with a room. Pink if it’s a girl. Blue if it’s a boy. Then the toys; a kitchen set for a girl and hot wheels for a boy. A jewelry making set for a girl and a football for a boy. Girls have a nice handwriting. Girls are good at art, more meticulous, more organised. Boys are more logical.

Why do we still hear these things despite there being evidences against the same?

 

Why is it so important for us for a man and woman to look a certain way?

In this article I want to particularly stress and highlight upon two of the things we have been doing wrong when it comes to our annual shows in school/colleges.

The taller you are, the closer you become to looking like a man.

In a dance, whenever there is a deficit of boys, the taller girl becomes a boy and the shorter girl becomes a girl. This would seem appropriate if you were dancing to a song in the Stone age era where men used to be taller considering their role in the society.

Our childhood revolves around Complan, Bournvita, Horlicks. We compete with each other as kids boasting about our heights but ,why does puberty hitting us send our brains into a frenzy? Suddenly being taller than a guy becomes an awkward thing for a girl.

If we think realistically, people come in different heights and it doesn’t seem right for someone tall to play a guy and someone short to play a girl when a class has  short boys, short girls, tall boys and tall girls.

The girl becomes the boy but the boy never becomes the girl.

Being someone who has become a guy several times for a role in a play, I speak from my experience when I say this. I have never, ever, ever seen a guy become a girl for a role. As girls we don’t feel that embarrassed to look like a man as a guy would probably feel to look like a lady. No one teased me when I drew a mustache on my face to play a man but If a guy puts on some lipstick or make up for his role even as a man he will get teased endlessly. It doesn’t seem like a big deal when it is taking place but if you really think about it, What message are we sending out? Is looking like a girl (even when it is just pretense) something to be embarrassed about? What is wrong with looking like a girl? It doesn’t change your gender. It does not change your identity.

 

The topic of gender, seems like a very small problem when you look at all the problems in the world. However, these are the problems which we don’t seem to notice that get filtered down into the thoughts of people. What we think of our gender and our sexuality becomes a part of our identity, something that is the very basis of our thoughts and existence.

 

What we must start realizing is that the world is changing. Everyday men and women both break barriers. Barriers that were set for their genders.

‘You can’t do that. Only a guy does that.’

‘What are you doing? Are you a girl?’

Let us stop using phrases like these.

We, as the developed human beings that we are, need to break beyond the shackles of stereotypical gender roles and develop skill sets not according to our genitals but according to our needs and talents.

To achieve that, we must change the way we portray ideas related to gender and teach our kids that sex is not a bar to take up a hobby that the opposite sex mostly engages in.

It is okay to look like the opposite gender. You are not what you look like. You are what you decide to become.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Review: The Inability of Words by Harnidh Kaur.

“Every word you say has

been coloured by the pain

and injustices you’ve felt”

 

Harnidh Kaur says her journey with poetry began when she started writing angst-ridden teenage pieces to her mother. I have never read those pieces but I have read the outcome of the blood, sweat and sinew bundled up in this beautiful book. A poetess who claims that creativity is something you need to work upon every single day, released her first book- ‘The Inability of Words’,a must read, in July.

The book is draped in a beautiful cloth material with the title in golden. It is available in a variety of colors such as Green, Purple, Pink, Orange, Brown, Peach and a few more. Gone are the days when we were told not to judge a book by it’s cover. The cover,in my opinion, speaks a lot about the writer’s style, adding a little extra to the content and making the experience of reading a lot better.

The book is an amalgam of various things explored by the poetess throughout her life yet. The major themes I personally observed in the book were about Relationships and Life Lessons that we can only learn from experience.Love and Family also occupy a large chunk of the book making it beautifully relatable.

The poem ‘Halfways’ was a clear show of how Harnidh often sees things that others don’t. The beautiful imagery  painted in the poems( My favourite being Stained) is just enough to make you feel warm and fuzzy.

My personal favorites are  Gesture , Reorganizing , Doubt, Relativity, Halfways, Underwhelmed, Mediums, A letter to someone, Punctuation Bonfires, Retrouvailles ,Kintsukuroi, Cursive, Connections and Of Aunts.

Her goal is to make poetry sexy and relevant again and we hope to see more of her in the years to come.


Rated 5/5 on Goodreads.