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Everything is different pandemic time around – by Paro Anand

In her timely masterpiece Unmasked, Paro Anand writes of despair, courage and hope. Through eighteen short stories, she introduces us to characters who feel familiar and their stories intimate.

Here’s a glimpse into the author’s mind as she delves into the subject that inspired the book.

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Unmasked FC
Unmasked||Paro Anand

Remember the song from the TV series – Orange is the New Black? Could well reflect our lives right now. Trapped, trapped, trapped…

For me, as for many, the pandemic has been a test, a trial and in some cases, a triumph.

So how did it change me as a writer? For one, I realised that I probably can never be a writer who hides away for long periods to write in glorious isolation. No. I need the excitement of beating hearts around me. I need the furious curiosity of young minds shooting questions and testing me to the limit. I need the fear I feel that teenagers will reject me and my work and words outright. I need to hear the twang and slang of young people to get their voices and language spot on. Otherwise, I am just an old-ish aunty pretending to be groovy. (see, there’s one word that is a dead giveaway.) I realised that social distancing just isn’t my thing.

So pandemic time around, where do I go, as a writer? Where do I find the life force to draw my words from?

And of course, there is only one answer. Virtually. It meant thinking, not out of the box – but differently inside the box, or the four walls of your room. To write about the outside people while being kept away from them.

 

For a while, I was totally trapped into inaction. And I am a writer who writes compulsively. Every day. yes, every single day. But with the world closing in on itself – and a sudden load of housework – I found myself distanced from my work. If I don’t write, the creativity tap shuts off, the muscle atrophies. Pulling myself out of ditches of real despair wasn’t easy, but it was greatly helped by the excitement mounting in my personal life. I had grandchildren coming. Three of them! The anticipation spurred me on to writing two picture books – Babies in my Heart (Dil Mein Bacha Hai ji – in Hindi) and RooRoo.

Both books are published by Ektara who had also given me a fellowship just prior to the pandemic. While having the fellowship was great – I mean, to be paid to sit home and write is every writer’s dream, but it also meant that there was tremendous pressure.

While the distractions of Nani and Dadi hood were wonderful, I was being eaten up by the need to write. Especially to write the kind of brutally honest young adult reality fiction that I am better known for and love. I need to write this genre like I need to breathe. The world was choking because of the pandemic and so was I.

There was a brutal reality taking place right outside and I wasn’t being able to come to grips with it in my writing. I realised it was because of two things that I was stuck. Firstly, I need to let a feeling, a thought ‘cook’ for a while before I can jump in. the second is the I always have a need to empower my young reader to do better, be better. Not in a moralizing way, but simply because, through my interactions, I have come to sincerely believe that if anyone can make a difference, it is young people.

But in this locked down world, how were children or anyone going to do any better when we were all trying to save our own arses?

My own children, soon to be parents, meanwhile, just pressed on. My daughter becoming very involved in relief programs for the Dharavi slums and that is what unlocked and unmasked my creative flow. The image of the high-rise, high-end flats of Mumbai with the world of shanties and chawls at their feet. Yet each was bound by a common enemy and it was coming to get us all. No one, no matter how rich or powerful was being left untouched. The help was flowing both ways, no matter who you were. There was a one-ness to the world even though we were socially distanced as never before.

It was when my three grandsons were actually safely home that I had this ah ha moment that – simply – life goes on.

 

I started to write stories on the pandemic – nineteen of them to signify COVID’S 19. Because of my staunch belief in young people, I placed a young girl’s poem as chapter 1. It is called “What would you do?” and it asks, no, demands positive action. The poem came from a young girl who was part of a virtual writer’s workshop I was conducting.

The stories all reflect the connectedness of us all.

 

The funny thing was, I was working on the manuscript during the first wave. As my agent tied up with Penguin RandomHouse and work began in earnest, the editor on the book disagreed with the title. She and the marketing team felt that, because the book was still some months away, the pandemic would be a bad memory that no one would want to remember. So we had to elude to it, but not have the dreaded word in the title. She, in fact, came up with the lovely title, Unmasked, hoping that’s how we would all be. But…well, we know that is one big BUT. With at least 3 waves.

I had my 19 stories of horror and hope and going in my mind. The way different people were responding and coping and stepping up, or going into hiding. Priya Kuriyan, the illustrator too, didn’t merely illustrate the stories, she depicted her own visions of the times. The cover, I just love for the way it ties the two worlds of the stories together.  The sheer variety of experience made the subject of each story easy. And that’s when it struck me….well there is a surprise ending to the book that will make each copy of it unique and different.

Because everything in this moment in history is different pandemic time around. And though it is something we may never want to remember, this is a time that we will never be able to forget.

 

 

 

 

Dhoni and Raina’s special bond

In his book Believe, Suresh Raina takes us through the challenges he faced as a young cricketer. He was bullied in school and at cricket camps, but he always punched above his weight, overcoming every adversity life threw at him and never giving up. This is the story of the lessons he learnt and the friendships he built.

Peppered with invaluable insights – about the game and about life – that Raina acquired from senior colleagues like M.S. Dhoni, Rahul Dravid, Anil Kumble, Sachin Tendulkar and Sourav Ganguly, among others, this book will make you believe in the power of hard work, love, luck, hope and camaraderie. It is a journey through the highs and lows in the cricketing career of a man who saw his world fall apart and yet became one of the most influential white-ball cricketers India has ever seen.

Enjoy this little excerpt that explores his relationship with the legend M.S. Dhoni.

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Believe
Believe||Suresh Raina, Bharat Sundaresan

Mahi Bhai always makes fun of me for being clumsy. I’ve seen him talk about how if I am around in his room, I would end up dropping something or walking into something. ‘Tu rahega toh kuch na kuch hoga,’ he likes to say. Maybe there’s some truth there. I am just a very energetic person, and I am always up and about as you might have seen me on the field.

There’s another thing that he is amused by. He’ll talk about how I would saunter into his room, order a lot of food over room service and not even wait for it to arrive. I’ll tell you why I am always keen on ordering my own food. What happens with a lot of them is that they would order nothing but chicken and roti. I, on the other hand, am a vegetarian. Moreover, I never have maida, because back home, I was used to having rotis made of ragi atta. My eating habits are pretty desi, so I need a good number of vegetable dishes and can’t do without a dal.

So, Mahi would ask me to order my own food. But often, after ordering, I would remember that I had a gym session and end up not eating that food. But I made it a point to not waste it and would go back later for it, even if by then the food had gone cold.

Talking of room service always reminds me of the times Robin Uthappa and I would order food on Mahi Bhai’s tab. And of that time in Pakistan when Rahul Bhai was captain and said, ‘Boys, order whatever you want. It’s on me.’ We made him pay for that reckless statement.

It involved, me, Irfan, Robin and Mahi Bhai. It was Dhoni’s idea. He just called up room service and asked for a double of everything we had ordered. Two milkshakes, an extra biryani, two extra rotis, two more dals, two more sabzis. Rahul Bhai couldn’t stop laughing at us. He eventually admitted that he’d learnt his lesson and that he would never give us a free hand again with room service. We did end up finishing everything we’d ordered, though.

That’s the kind of fun Mahi Bhai and I would have at other people’s expense all the time. We are like partners in crime when it comes to pulling someone else’s leg. I’ve been at the receiving end too at times, when he decides to turn on me. We’ve had an interesting relationship over the years.

I have also gone through so much because of our friendship. Like the whole bias angle. People would say, ‘Oh, Raina gets picked because he is Dhoni’s friend.’ But people forget the contributions I have made for teams captained by him—India as well as CSK. That’s how you build trust in a player as captain.

For us, it was like how when you have a neighbour over at your place all the time. You can take liberties with that person, saying yeh toh ghar ki baat hai. I played so much of my career down the order, and he would say let some of the others play at the top. At times I would say, ‘Humein bhi upar khelna hai.’ But he would respond, ‘Nahi, tu at will chhakke marta hai . . .’ and say that the others, be it Rohit or Virat or Ajju (Ajinkya Rahane), were better off at the top of the order. I was more reliable in those situations. He knew my mindset. He knew what brought the best out of me. And I trusted him. It would hurt when people kept linking our friendship to my being part of the team. I don’t think the numbers lie. I’ve always earned my spot in the team, just like I earned Mahi Bhai’s trust and respect. I was there for him. He always made me feel special. Nobody can take away from that. And it doesn’t matter what people say . . .

We grew closer and closer, and even got to know a lot about each other’s personal lives and families. I went to his house and met his family. After meeting them, I realized why he is so sorted. Sakshi and he came to meet my parents soon after their wedding. A UP–Bihar cultural connection there as well.

There’s always a lot of talk about Mahi Bhai being Captain Cool. But I can tell you that is not his greatest strength as captain. He will never compromise on the game. That’s what I like about him the most. That’s what I think makes him such a legendary captain and a fantastic leader.

 

 

 

Watch out for a book flood this July

One thing that’s really difficult to do in the humid heat of July even as an adult, is to not run outside the moment so much as a drizzle becomes imminent. How then are we to keep our little ones dry, safe and away from the virus that prowls outside the doors? The answer is rather simple. Give them one of our exciting July releases and a comfy spot near a window, on a porch or anywhere they can enjoy the weather as well as a thrilling literary adventure.

There are so many to choose from!

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My Little Book Series

My Little Book of Krishna FC
My Little Book of Krishna||

Let’s dive into the vast and wonderful world of Hindu mythology! 

Naughty little Krishna’s search for butter leads to an unexpected adventure.
With charming illustrations and simple language, this short tale about Krishna will entertain and delight.

This series of charmingly illustrated board books introduces kids to some of the best known and best loved gods from popular Hindu mythology, including Krishna, Ganesha, Lakshmi, Hanuman, Shiva and Durga. Dotted with interesting facts about each god as well as an interactive seek-and-find activity, this book offers a fun and enjoyable introduction to timeless myths and festivals for modern kids.

A must have to impart important life lessons from various gods and goddesses.

 

Age: 3+ years

 

 

My Little Book of Lakshmi FC
My Little Book of Lakshmi||

Lovely Lakshmi comes to Earth once a year. Will she have a good time here?
With charming illustrations and simple language, this short tale about Lakshmi will entertain and delight.

The perfect way to familiarise babies with India’s rich cultural fabric, this book is a must have to impart important life lessons from various gods and goddesses. My Little Book of Lakshmi makes for a great gift for every preschooler for a holistic learning experience

 

Age: 3+ years

 

 

My Little Book of Ganesha
My Little Book of Ganesha||

Clever Ganesha’s got something on his mind, but what that is you’ll have to read on to find.

With charming illustrations and simple language, this short tale about Ganesha will entertain and delight.

 

Collect all books in the series!

 

Age: 3+ years

 

The Book of Cultures FC
The Book of Cultures||Evi Triantafyllides and Nefeli Malekou

The Book of Cultures

Explore the cultures of the world!

Meet buddies from different parts of our planet and go on adventures near and far with 30 stories bursting with intrigue, curiosity and wonder! Travel from Japan to Peru and South Africa to Denmark, and learn about diverse cultures, customs, traditions and more in one handy, charmingly illustrated volume.

A magical, educational experience for young readers to discover the differences that make our planet so special, but also to uncover the similarities we often overlook. Fictional plots of kids from different countries capture the imagination of little readers and allow them to experience the world beyond themselves, developing compassion and empathy. Every story is accompanied by a 2-page snapshot of that country’s culture, filled with fun facts and engaging activities, such as puzzles, songs and recipes

 

Age: 4+ years

 

Spaceship to the Universe FC
Spaceship to the Universe||Shruthi Rao, Anuradha Jagalur

Spaceship to the Universe

‘A great library is freedom. And that freedom must not be compromised. It must be available to all who need it, and that’s everyone, when they need it, and that’s always.’–Ursula le Guin

Libraries. We love them. Tyrants tremble before them. There are children in the world desperate for them, and people who are willing to put their own lives at risk to save them.

In this book, you’ll discover the oldest libraries, and the largest ones. You’ll find libraries in battlefields, in Antarctica and even in space. You’ll come across libraries in boats, on the backs of donkeys and elephants, and in telephone booths. And you will meet amazing people who will do almost anything to take libraries to people who need them

In this celebration of libraries, Shruthi Rao and Anuradha Jagalur bring together inspiring and fascinating stories to delight all those who love books and libraries.

 

Age: 10+ years

 

How the Earth Got Its Beauty FC
How the Earth Got Its Beauty||Sudha Murty

How the Earth Got Its Beauty|

After the huge success of How the Sea Became Salty and How the Onion Got Its Layers, Sudha Murty brings to you a brand new tale as part of her gorgeous chapter book series for young readers.

Excellent artwork that helps expand a child’s imagination, easy to read and understand.

A remarkable story narrated simply and endearingly for young readers.

Have you ever stopped to marvel at the earth’s beauty: at snow-capped mountains and oceans so deep; at colourful flowers and extraordinary animals? The tale of how such beauty came into existence is a curious one indeed.
India’s favourite storyteller brings alive this timeless tale with her inimitable wit and simplicity. Tricked out with enchanting illustrations, this gorgeous chapter book is the ideal introduction for beginners to the world of Sudha Murty.

 

Age: 5-8 years

 

The Great Big Lion FC
The Great Big Lion||Chryseis Knight

The Great Big Lion

Drawn and written by a 3-year-old Mensa prodigy

Long, long ago, there was a Great Big Lion. Tom and Lily were fascinated by him. They loved to hear him ROAR! But one day, the lion vanished without a trace. And so, off went Tom and Lily to find and bring back their friend, the Great Big Lion.

Written by one of the youngest writers in the world, this board book will connect to your child and make them think about empathy, friendship, nature and conservation. Dive into this fun read that combines storytelling and learning through patterns and numbers.

 

Age: 1-4  years

 

Topi Rockets from Thumba FC
Topi Rockets from Thumba||Menaka Raman

Topi Rockets from Thumba

A charmingly illustrated and colourful book to inculcate interest in STEM subjects for young readers.

Join Vikram Sarabhai and his scientists as they try to launch a sounding rocket in Kerala, with a little help from young Mary!

The year is 1963 and India is about to embark on an audacious adventure – launching its first ever rocket into space. After much searching, a team of scientists led by the visionary Dr Vikram Sarabhai zero in on Thumba, a tiny fishing village off the coast of Kerala as the place to launch the rocket and India’s dreams of space exploration.
Mary is all of 10 years old and bored of life in sleepy Thumba. Nothing ever happens here but fishing. That is, of course, until Dr Sarabhai and team arrive

Topi Rockets from Thumba is an imagined account of the weeks and months leading up to the launch of India’s first ever rocket, told through the eyes of the inquisitive Mary.

 

Age: 6+ years

 

Smash It, Butterfingers! FC
Smash It, Butterfingers!||Khyrunnisa A.

Smash It, Butterfingers!

Look out! It’s Butterfingers again, and in smashing form!

There’s a lot going on in Green Park School. Ozymandias, a black cat, walks into classrooms and there’s a buzz about a badminton tournament that is to be played on Friday the thirteenth.

Sponsored by Brijesh K. Singh, an eccentric multimillionaire who loves badminton and hates superstitions, this tournament is good news for sports-crazy Amar Kishen, aka Butterfingers, and his friends.

Badminton practice begins, but can it be smooth sailing with talk of scams, superstitions and suspicions? Butterfingers sure has a lot on his hands!

Join Amar on his hilarious adventures as he defies luck with his madcap schemes. Let the game begin!

 

Age: 9 years

 

The Boy Who Played with Light: Satyajit Ray (Dreamers Series) FC
The Boy Who Played with Light||Lavanya Karthik

The Boy Who Played with Light

Before Satyajit Ray became a world-famous film maker, he was a little boy who saw many things in the shadows.

A delightfully illustrated short biography that will inspire young readers.

 

Age: 7+ years

 

 

 

 

 

The Girl Who Loved to Sing: Teejan Bai (Dreamers Series) FC
The Girl Who Loved to Sing||Lavanya Karthik

The Girl Who Loved to Sing

Before Teejan Bai became a world-renowned singer, she was a little girl who had to fight for her freedom to sing.

A delightfully illustrated short biography that will inspire young readers.

 

Age: 7+ years

 

Plan your next holiday (or at least read about it!)

With the world opening up slowly, it seems that travel might be a possibility in the near future, especially if you’re fully vaccinated. Does this mean it’s time to really think about where to go, once we can?

 

Here is a list of books by authors who’ve written about different places and their experiences. You’re sure to get some inspiration. If you’re not planning to travel at all, these books will help you leave your daily routine to travel to someplace far, through the comfort and safety of your home.

 

Don’t Ask Any Old Bloke For Directions

After twenty years in the Indian Administrative Service, P.G. Tenzing throws off the staid life of a bureaucrat to roar across India on an Enfield Thunderbird, travelling light with his possessions strapped on the back of his bike. On the nine-month motorcycle journey without a pre-planned route or direction, he encounters acquaintances who appear to be from his karmic past: from the roadside barber to numerous waiters and mechanics― fleeting human interactions and connections that seem pre-ordained. Life on the road is full of pot holes in more ways than one, but Tenzing acquires a wheelie’s sixth sense.

 

Kathmandu

 

Kathmandu is the greatest city of the Himalayas a unique survival of cultural practices that died out in India 1000 years ago. It is a carnival of sexual license and hypocrisy, a jewel of world art, a hotbed of communist revolution, a paradigm of failed democracy, a case study in bungled Western intervention and an environmental catastrophe.
Kathmandu follows the author’s story over a decade in the city and unravels the city’s history through successive reinventions of itself. Erudite, entertaining and accessible, this is the distinctive chronicle of a fascinating city.

 

Tales of the Open Road

 

Ruskin Bond’s travel writing is unlike what is found in most travelogues, because he will take you to the smaller, lesser-known corners of the country, acquaint you with the least-famous locals there, and describe the flora and fauna that others would have missed. And if the place is well known, Ruskin leaves the common tourist spots to find a small alley or shop where he finds colourful characters to engage in conversation. Tales of the Open Road is a collection of Ruskin Bond’s travel writing over fifty years.

 

The Other Side of the Divide

 

Pegged on journalist Sameer Arshad Khatlani’s visit to Pakistan, this book provides insights into the country beyond what we already know about it. These include details on the impact of India’s soft power, thanks to Bollywood, and the remnants of Pakistan’s multireligious past, and how it frittered away advantages of impressive growth in the first three decades of its existence by embracing religious conservatism.

 

Dare Eat That

 

From using sign language to haggle over ant eggs in Bangkok to being hungry enough to eat a horse in Luxembourg, from finding out the perfect eel to barbecue to discovering the best place to source emu eggs in India, Dare Eat That explores their journey to eat every species on earth, at least once!

 

Invisible Cities

In Invisible Cities Marco Polo conjures up cities of magical times for his host, the Chinese ruler Kublai Khan, but gradually it becomes clear that he is actually describing one city: Venice. As Gore Vidal wrote ‘Of all tasks, describing the contents of a book is the most difficult and in the case of a marvellous invention like Invisible Cities, perfectly irrelevant.’

 

A Moveable Feast

 

Hemingway’s classic memoir of Paris in the 1920s, published for the first time as he intended – from the Nobel Prize-winning author of A Farewell To Arms.
Published posthumously in 1964, A Moveable Feast remains one of Ernest Hemingway’s most beloved works. Since Hemingway’s personal papers were released in 1979, scholars have examined and debated the changes made to the text before publication. Now this new special restored edition presents the original manuscript as the author prepared it to be published.

S.P. Balasubrahmanyam’s music: What makes a great voice?

The Spirit of Enquiry by Carnatic vocalist and writer T.M. Krishna has a spectacular piece on the legendary singer S.P. Balasubrahmanyam that highlights the range and depth in SP’s music and how his brilliance came from being musically selfless. Read on for a glimpse!

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SPB happens!

SPB was in love, surprised, joyous, excited, fearful, sad, contemptuous and disgusted. He was the father, son, lover, brother, friend, villain and hero. He was the voice of the privileged and the questioning voice of the oppressed and marginalized. He was an urbanite, a villager and could belong to any era. In his voice we found every social, cultural and aesthetic possibility. This allowed every individual, irrespective of their sociopolitical location, to find himself/herself within his voice at one time or another. This self identification gave SPB a universalism that has eluded every other Indian playback singer. And I would like to stress with extra emphasis that no other ‘voice’ in Indian film history has belonged to such a diverse cross-section of Indian society.

SPB came from a certain social construction and to be able to debaggage that in his work would have been impossible, unless he was able to leave S.P. Balasubrahmanyam the person behind the moment

he stood in front of the mike. SPB had an instinctive way of tapping into various cultures and demographics. This is emotional insight of the highest order and difficult to explain. For all other singers, there was and is a social-range limit to their voice.

There is one possible answer to this mystery. Great musicians are those who listen carefully, attentively and receive with respect. Listening is not limited to music; it is as much about accent, dialect and pronunciation. It is beyond listening in the sonic sense; it includes learning varied body languages, internalizing social contexts and realities. SPB seems to have been able to absorb this from all that he witnessed in life. In other words, he let life imbue his musicality. Therefore, when he sang a song, it had a larger story to tell; not just the one being communicated by the director, music director, cinematographer or actor. SPB’s voice became the voice of the idea. He abstracted the song from the specificity of the film and made it a human calling.

If there is one indicator of the nuance in his listening, it is in the way he enunciated the words in a song. Most people do not realize that pronouncing a word is entirely different from singing it. As a part of music, the word becomes a musical body and its highs, lows, elongation and emphasis undergo a subtle but crucial transformation. Only if these happen will the music flow. Added to this complication is the fact that these alterations are language-, dialect- and culture specific. In other words, depending on the character SPB was singing for, the musical word had a specific etched acoustic form. And SPB gave every musical word, phrase and line the social, political and aesthetic identity it demanded.

Front cover of The Spirit of Enquiry
The Spirit of Enquiry || T.M. Krishna

Such a person had to be selfless, musically. This comes from a realization of one’s role that as a musician, one is a catalyst and not an originator. When you are a bridge between people, ideas and feelings, ‘I’—the individual identity—has to become invisible. This sounds very close to an actor’s reality, but is actually much harder to accomplish. The actor enters the secondary reality of the film using the character he is playing, separating himself from the role. The two realities are clearly demarcated.

On the other hand, the playback singer comes in momentarily to lend his voice. In the studio, away from any semblance of the cinematic reality, he needs to give life to an idea, keeping in mind the described context, the actor’s image and the music director’s composition. And while adhering to all these requirements, he needs to somehow find his own bearings.

SPB lived selflessly, transcending the imagination of all these people but yet put aside the craving for the ‘spotlight’. He realized that the ‘self’ is established when it forgets its own presence.

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For the first time, T.M. Krishna’s key writings have been put together in this extraordinary collection. The Spirit of Enquiry: Dissent as an Art Form draws from his rich body of work, thematically divided into five key sections: art and artistes; the nation state; the theatre of secularism; savage inequalities; and in memoriam.

 

Getting to know A.A. Jafri

A.A. Jafri was born and raised in Karachi, Pakistan. He is an economist by day and a writer by night. Of Smokeless Fire is his first novel.

We caught up with him and asked him a few questions that really intrigued us. Keep reading to find out his answers.

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Of Smokeless Fire FC
Of Smokeless Fire||A.A. Jafri

Of Smokeless Fire was your first published book, was it also your first attempt at writing one?

I started writing from a very early age, first with poetry and then short stories in Urdu. Initially, I think it was an exercise in self-discovery, a stream of consciousness experience without much structure or order. This novel was the first time I wrote in a serious, sustained way. So, yes, this is my first attempt at writing with the hope of getting my work published.

 

How was writing this book as an experience for you? Do you plan on writing and publishing more works in the future?

For me, writing Of Smokeless Fire has been a joyous journey. It has given me a sense of perspective, a place to give voice to my thoughts, memories, and reflections. Writing this novel has also been an incredibly cathartic experience, providing me with the means to revisit Pakistan’s complicated history and delve into the aftermath of the partition of India that my parents’ generation experienced. By creating and recreating characters and situations, it has helped me frame some uncomfortable questions.

As for the future, I’m writing a prequel to Of Smokeless Fire, imagining the life Noor ul Haq, one of the novel’s protagonists in the story, led in pre-partition India. What made him who he was? And why was the sense of belonging and displacement so pronounced in his life? While my present novel, among other things, explores the relationship between Noor and his son Mansoor, the prequel examines Noor’s relationship with his father.

 

You’re an economist who deals with facts and figures all day, what compelled you to write fiction?

Behind facts and figures, there are always stories of human beings—how people live, how they scrape a living, and how they die. I have always questioned the way professional economists have dealt with human problems. My interest in economics has always been related to issues of poverty and economic development. John Steinbeck wrote The Grapes of Wrath about how families got uprooted by the Great Depression. Charles Dickens’s Hard Times is about the social and economic conditions of the early industrial age and how it dehumanized workers. Fiction sometimes explains economics better than professional economists. I often imagine the “what-ifs” of policies. Although my novel raises questions about alienation and belonging, I hope it also reveals deep-seated economic issues and issues of class and gender in our society. I’m compelled to write the human interest behind these issues.

 

Is the story in fact, purely fiction, or are there bits and pieces drawn from life and experience? 

I can’t envision any story as solely fiction; it has to emulate lived experiences and invent replications. My novel is, of course, a fabrication, but it also draws from people I met or knew or heard about, the conversations I eavesdropped on, the fleeting encounters with strangers, the myths I grew up with, the rumors that circulated. I have tried to retrieve all those memories—real or fantastic—and applied them to a concocted reality, imagining the what-ifs and trying the why-not. The change of fortunes in Joseph’s and Mehrun’s lives—the servants’ children—in Of Smokeless Fire is fictitious but inspired by stories of real people who broke out of the cycle of grinding poverty.

 

The lines from the Qur’an that serve as an epigraph to Part I of the book are rather significant. What made the ‘djinn’ so central to your plot while you conceptualised your story?

I grew up listening to stories about djinns and reading about their existence in the Qur’an. I knew many who believed in a literal interpretation of djinns, while others explained them metaphorically. Opinions about the sacred often become such a steadfast belief that no amount of fact or logic can shake that certainty. Even followers from the same faith have conflicting views about such beliefs. It is like you are speaking a different language in the chaos of contrasting opinions. I felt that such disjunctions needed to be told in a story. So often, disparate explanations create an interesting plot, bringing in contradictions, contempt, and cruelty. I wanted to capture all that in my novel.

In my story, Noor explains what the word djinn means. It is something hidden, the part of everyone’s self that’s concealed, even from our own selves. According to him, one needs to discover that reality. He tells his son that if he finds his inner djinn, he will find his true self. My book explores the internal struggle that one has with oneself.

Read product labels like a pro

At present, there are hundreds of skin-care products promising effective results and miraculous changes. With a wide range of ingredients packed and presented on a platter, to judge and choose the ones that are truly beneficial for your skin is a task. How do you figure out which product is ideal for your skin type and which one is an absolute no-no?

Dr Anupriya Goel, an aesthetic dermatologist and a leading expert in non-surgical aesthetic medicine, shares some ways to help you understand the different elements of a product label. So, before you stock your shelves with random skin-care products, consider the given markers and know what all they offer.

Here’s an excerpt from her book on how one can read a product label like a pro.

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How to Get Glass Skin || Dr Anupriya Goel

A Louis Vuitton and a Hidesign bag are both made of leather. Yet the price difference is a world apart. It’s up to you, the consumer, to choose the price point. A Hidesign bag is a really good-value leather bag. It’s the same for skincare. Expensive does not necessarily mean good. Not all that glitters is gold. Especially when it comes to skincare products. In fact, especially with skincare products, what’s inside a bottle or jar counts more than the packaging. But there’s a catch. How do you really know if the product you want to buy will deliver all that it claims to? After all, you do want value for every buck you spend.

The best way to know if a product is worth your money is to be able to understand the ingredients it contains. You already know what active ingredients you need to look out for that work best for your skin type and skin condition. Now let’s learn how to read a product label, so you are guaranteed those ingredients for what you are paying.

The elements of a product label

Even though the outer packaging of every product seems different, the story behind every label is rather similar. Every product that is legitimate needs to follow the FDA guidelines and state the following:
1. Brand name and product name
2. Description of the product/product type
3. List of ingredients
4. Net quantity of the product
5. Contact details of manufacturer

For example, in the picture, the brand name of the product is ‘Berkowits’ and the product name is ‘Nourish’. The product type is a conditioning shampoo. The net quantity of the product is 1 litre. The details of the
manufacturer are mentioned on the right hand side of the label (behind the bottle). It is extremely important to know the quantity of the product before you pay the bill, so check whether it’s giving you value for money.

Now, other than the information above, it is vital to understand the list of ingredients and the meaning of the symbols on every product.

What is an INCI List?

An INCI (International Nomenclature for Cosmetic Ingredients) list is simply the ingredients mentioned on the back of the product in their chemical and Latin forms.
For example, the chemical name for water is aqua.

Below are some INCI list names of common ingredients:

1. Aqua: water

2. Caprylic/capric triglyceride: liquid fraction of coconut oil

3. Glycerine: humectant

4. Cetearyl alcohol: emulsifier

5. Sodium stearoyl lactylate: solubilizer, emulsifier

6. Sucrose stearate: emulsifier

7. Aloe barbadensis leaf juice powder: aloe vera

8. Tocopherol: vitamin E

9. Xanthan gum: naturally derived thickener

10. Parfum: fragrance

11. Linalool: fragrance component/allergen

12. Hexyl cinnamal: fragrance component/allergen

Some preservatives commonly used for natural cosmetics and skincare products: Benzyl alcohol, dehydroacetic acid, potassium sorbate, sodium benzoate.

You can find the complete list of preservatives and perfume agents on the INCI decoder website (www.incidecoder.com).

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To know more about the ingredients in products, what the symbols on the packaging of products mean, and how does one read an INCI List, dive into the informative pages of Dr Anupriya Goel’s book How to Get Glass Skin.

Of cockfights, royalty, power, and politics

This is a narrative about the clash within the royal family which traces the arc of gory violence and brutal bloodshed. In all of Raja Ratan Shah’s life, nobody had made him feel more insecure than his own bastard son, Teja. With no heir in sight, Teja felt entitled to usurp the power. This marked the beginning of a series of cockfights and conflicts.

Here’s an excerpt from the book which gives a glimpse of one of the many cockfights.

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Fighter Cock || Sidharth Singh

One of Teja’s men brought a fierce-looking Aseel into the pit. The raja picked one of his Karianaths, a young battle stag that was taken inside the pit by its handler. The cocks were pitted by a touch of beaks, and the fight began. The Karianath was aggressive from the get-go, circling the Aseel in top spinner style, using quick footwork. The Aseel, a battle cock of some repute, stood its ground, weaving and bobbing, looking for an opening. As the Karianath tried to take the Aseel head-on, the Aseel jumped up in the air and came crashing down on its head, slashing its neck with a short-blade fitted on its left foot, killing it instantly. Half the crowd ‘ooh’ed in pity while the other half ‘aah’ed in joy. A lot of money exchanged hands. This was Teja’s sixth straight win of the night, and he was jubilant.

An old Bollywood hit played shrilly on loudspeakers installed around the arena. Teja and his henchmen danced wildly to the song, rousing the crowd to join in, and turned the arena into a rave. The raja plied Sheru with more mahua as he moved on to another ganja chillum, blowing smoke like a steam engine and descending further into the grip of lunacy. By now, Sheru was also drunk and had no choice but to drop his guard and enjoy this insane spectacle. The raja signalled for the music to stop and for the next fight to begin. Teja decided to field the winning cock once again while the raja entered his top fighter, the champion battle cock ‘Toofani’, in this bout.

As earlier, the cocks were pitted beak to beak and the fight began. Teja’s Aseel, overconfident from the previous bout, went for the kill immediately, attacking the Karianath from all angles, in a departure from its earlier bob-and-weave style. Toofani circled around in a slinky top-spinning style, its quick hopping reminiscent of B-grade kung fu films. The Aseel took a few quick jabs at the Karianath, who warded them off with ease. Then the Aseel charged down the pit and took a giant leap. The Karianath countered with a massive on-the-spot jump, and, in a gory mid-air collision, kicked the Aseel in the eyes with both its long-bladed feet and blinded it completely.

Blood gushed out of the Aseel’s eyes and the crowd went berserk, shouting with bloodlust. The raja jumped up from his seat and screamed, ‘Kill the bastard! Kill the motherfucker!’ The Aseel hopped around the pit in panic. Toofani strutted to the far end for a long run-up and, then, charging down the pit, leapt into the air and pounced on the helpless Aseel, pinning it to the ground. It then proceeded to kill its foe with repeated machine-gun pecks to its head and neck in a crazed quick-beak style. By the end of the fight, Toofani was drenched in the blood of its victim. It walked up, as if drunk on its gory victory, towards the cheering spectators and fanned its wings violently, splashing blood on the crowd, and making them ecstatic.

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To know more about the conflicts and cockfights in the royal household of Shikargarh dive into the pages of Sidharth Singh’s rough and ready noir titled Fighter Cock.

A lyrical tale of resurrection, return and redemption

Banaras, Varanasi, Kashi. India’s holy city on the banks of the Ganges has many names but holds one ultimate promise for Hindus. It is the place where pilgrims come for a good death, to be released from the cycle of reincarnation by purifying fire.

As the dutiful manager of a death hostel in Kashi, Pramesh welcomes the dying and assists the families bound for the funeral pyres that burn constantly on the ghats. He lives contentedly with his wife, Shobha, their young daughter, Rani, the hostel priests, his hapless but winning assistant, and the constant flow of families with their dying.

But one day the past arrives in the lifeless form of a man pulled from the river-a man with an uncanny resemblance to Pramesh. Called ‘twins’ in their childhood village, he and his cousin Sagar were inseparable until Pramesh left to see the world and Sagar stayed back to look after the land. For Shobha, Sagar’s reemergence casts a shadow over the life she’s built for her family. Soon, an unwelcome guest takes up residence in the death hostel, the dying mysteriously continue to live and Pramesh is forced to confront his own ideas about death, rebirth and redemption.

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Front Cover The City Of Good Death
The City Of Good Death||Priyanka Champaneri

As the sun broke free from the horizon like a balloon slipping from a child’s grasp, the light lift ed the veil of fog from Kashi and beyond. The white sands of Magadha winked with the allure of crushed pearls. Birds skated along the air above, traveling in perfect circles over the land, dipping toward a pair of dogs that snarled and fought, spiraling above a tented barge that trundled along the river on an aimless journey. The Ganges, calm and composed in the absence of the monsoon, gathered the early morning pink over its expanse like a sari laid out to dry in the sun, the edges curling against the many carved stone steps leading up to the city . The buildings towering above the ghats gleamed iridescent in the halo of light washing over the water. The bells rang in the temples; the monkeys watched with indifferent faces from their perches atop the roofs. Men bobbed in the water, dunking themselves once, twice, holding their noses closed with one hand while the other directed the holy river over heads, arms, bellies. Women wrung out their wet saris and crowded near each other as they changed into fresh clothing. The ghaatiye—priests who sat on snug platforms with large umbrellas fanning behind them like cobra hoods—collected coins from the bathers, passed a cracked mirror to one man, said a blessing for another, listened to the dilemma of a third. A perpetual stream of people flowed down to the river and back up the steps, hurried feet sidestepping the drunk stretched out with an earthenware pot clutched in his arms. Funeral pyres crowded a stone platform at the bottom of the steps, Flames crackling, the surrounding men looking like cotton spindles from a distance with their shaved heads and sheer white dhotis. Chants laced the air, each word crisp and new as if emerging for the first time from the lips of red-eyed priests. Black smoke spangled with the occasional swirling orange spark rose up and over the stairs, where the walls bordering the alleyways and lanes drew closer, cinching all who passed through in a concrete embrace that blocked out all light and sense of direction. Four men shouldering a bier navigated tight corners

and crowded alleys. Wrapped in coarse white fabric that rose in crisp lines over the nose, the shoulders, the knobby toes, the body had become nameless, an insect tucked and tightly wound with spider’s silk. Their voices, frozen in a monotone chant, echoed in the lanes. Rama Nam Satya Hai. Rama Nam Satya Hai. Rama is truth. God is truth. The chant chased after the feet of a delivery boy, an old woman walking with quick steps, a white dog trotting out of the open mouth of an alley. The dog sniffed at a discarded tobacco wrapper and paused to scratch behind its ear. It looked back and then raised its nose into the air and disappeared into the alley, its tail held upward like a sail, intent on an errand whispered by the breeze. The news traveled quickly, and speculation trailed after to fill the holes that remained. The note found in the dead man’s pocket could have pointed to suicide . . . but the rope tied around the wrist suggested an accidental drowning. And what of the two boatmen who dragged the body back, who certainly could have been murderers? All the other boatmen at Lalita ghat stuck up for the pair except for Raman. Annoyed that his craft required exorcizing and purification by priests, who insisted that it would take an entire day and a hefty sum of rupees, Raman sat on the topmost steps of the ghat cursing his luck and smoking beedi after mango-flavored beedi. The others sat around gossiping or shouted theories as they passed each other on trips up and down the river. All focused on one detail. “They found a note, didn’t they? Has anyone read it?” “A love letter, most probably,” a priest called out from the middle of the ghat as he scratched his chest. “Always a woman to blame,” he added to no one in particular as he labored up the stairs. “Debts, more likely.”

“Perhaps he had a curse on his head.”

“Or he was looking for Yamraj—see how close he was to Magadha?” “Nonsense. He was drunk and fell over.” “That Raman should have secured things better. What kind of duffer leaves his boat free for anyone to take?” “Well, he died in Kashi, so at least he will find peace.”

“What fool would call that a good death, Kashi or no?”

*

Priyanka Champaneri’s novel is an exquisitely lyrical ode to Banaras where where death is so blatantly placed alongside everyday life.

Childhood, the country to which we once belonged

A storyteller of the highest order, illuminating truths about our society and culture through his gorgeous, often searing prose. In his latest collection of nonfiction, Salman Rushdie brings together insightful and inspiring essays, criticism, and speeches, written between 2003 and 2020, that focus on his relationship with the written word and solidify his place as one of the most original thinkers of our time.

Languages of Truth chronicles Rushdie’s intellectual engagement with a period of momentous cultural shifts. Immersing the reader in a wide variety of subjects, he delves into the nature of storytelling as a human need. He explores what the work of authors from Shakespeare and Cervantes to Samuel Beckett, Eudora Welty, and Toni Morrison mean to him.

Here us a taste of Rushdie’s signature wit and dazzling voice in Languages of Truth:

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Languages of Truth FC
Languages of Truth||Salman Rushdie

Before there were books, there were stories. At first the stories weren’t written down. Sometimes they were even sung. Children were born, and before they could speak, their parents sang them songs, a song about an egg that fell off a wall, perhaps, or about a boy and a girl who went up a hill and fell down it. As the children grew older, they asked for stories almost as often as they asked for food. Now there was a goose that laid golden eggs, or a boy who sold the family cow for a handful of magic beans, or a naughty rabbit trespassing on a dangerous farmer’s land. The children fell in love with these stories and wanted to hear them over and over again. Then they grew older and found those stories in books. And other stories that they had never heard before, about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole, or a silly old bear and an easily scared piglet and a gloomy donkey, or a phantom tollbooth, or a place where wild things were. They heard and read stories and they fell in love with them, Mickey in the night kitchen with magic bakers who all looked like Oliver Hardy, and Peter Pan, who thought death would be an awfully big adventure, and Bilbo Baggins under a mountain winning a riddle contest against a strange creature who had lost his precious, and the act of falling in love with stories awakened something in the children that would nourish them all their lives: their imagination.

The children fell in love with stories easily and lived in stories too; they made up play stories every day, they stormed castles and conquered nations and sailed the ocean blue, and at night their dreams were full of dragons. They were all storytellers now, makers of stories as well as receivers of stories. But they went on growing up and slowly the stories fell away from them, the stories were packed away in boxes in the attic, and it became harder for the former children to tell and receive stories, harder for them, sadly, to fall in love. For some of them, stories began to seem irrelevant, unnecessary: kids’ stuff. These were sad people, and we must pity them and try not to think of them as stupid boring philistine losers.

I believe that the books and stories we fall in love with make us who we are, or, not to claim too much, that the act of falling in love with a book or story changes us in some way, and the beloved tale becomes a part of our picture of the world, a part of the way in which we understand things and make judgements and choices in our daily lives. As adults, falling in love less easily, we may end up with only a handful of books that we can truly say we love. Maybe this is why we make so many bad judgements.

Nor is this love unconditional or eternal. A book may cease to speak to us as we grow older, and our feeling for it will fade. Or we may suddenly, as our lives shape and hopefully increase our understanding, be able to appreciate a book we dismissed earlier; we may suddenly be able to hear its music, to be enraptured by its song. When, as a college student, I first read Günter Grass’s great novel The Tin Drum, I was unable to finish it. It languished on a shelf for fully ten years before I gave it a second chance, whereupon it became one of my favourite novels of all time: one of the books I would say that I love. It is an interesting question to ask oneself: Which are the books that you truly love? Try it. The answer will tell you a lot about who you presently are.

I grew up in Bombay, India, a city that is no longer, today, at all like the city it once was and has even changed its name to the much less euphonious Mumbai, in a time so unlike the present that it feels impossibly remote, even fantastic: a real- life version of the mythic golden age. Childhood, as A. E. Housman reminds us in ‘The Land of Lost Content’, often also called ‘Blue Remembered Hills’, is the country to which we all once belonged and will all eventually lose: Into my heart an air that kills

From yon far country blows:

What are those blue remembered hills,

What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,

I see it shining plain,

The happy highways where I went

And cannot come again.

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