Anita Desai Books

It was heartening to see C Sengoopta take on David Foley with some uncharacteristic vim - despite the fanciful spelling of his surname I presume he is a Bengali. We have let the world malign our fair city for too long - we are meek and we are reluctant/afraid to challenge the west. Ashutosh Chatterji says falteringly 'perhaps unwittingly' the perpetrators have heaped insult on Calcutta. He knows as well as I do it was Mother Teresa and her extra-ordinary propaganda machinery that caused Calcutta to have become a metaphor for extreme degradation and squalor. It is the likes of David Foley that seek only poverty in Calcutta who are dispppointed to find a book which talks about a different aspect of the city. Shock, Horror! If this book gets to be known what would the Foleys of this world do? What would happen to the billion dollar Catholic charity industry which feeds like vultures on other people's misery - real and supposed?

David Foley's response is typical of the self-important, know-it-all Westerner. Tell any amount of lies about Calcutta to these people (as the charity industry does all the time) and they'll believe it. Some of them will send money to Mother Teresa with tears flowing from their eyes; a few might even pack their bags and go out to save the poor heathens from themselves. (As Foley seems to have done.) But say one good thing about Calcutta and the Foleys of the world will condemn you for being 'nationalistic' or worse. Judge Krishna Dutta's book on its merits, not on the basis of what some self-appointed Western pundit thinks.

The book starts off with a short but very enjoyable foreward by Anita Desai. And then Ms. Dutta takes over. It is obvious Ms. Dutta, does not live in Calcutta any more (she is a resident of London). For she has that detached enjoyment given to those who look back and decide what is enjoyable while the unpleasant parts fade into memory.
She has done extensive research and the results are gratifying. Her writing is erudite as well as down to earth. That is not surprising, as we read when Macaulay introduced English as the official language, it was embraced the City's intelligentsia. Calcutta also produced some of the most virulent opposition to the British Raj as spirit of Independence took hold of the country. Of course the City is famous for its Literary figures and of the Performance Artistes. The author gives us a good review of those. A book worthy of being read by Indians and non-Indians but it will be specially cherished by Bengalis. For them, I would make it a must read.

One of the best aspects of this book, in my opinion, is that it is definitely not a celebration of the city and its ways. In fact, at times, Dutta is blatantly unsympathetic towards what has been - but by and large, it is an unbiased work, grand in its scope, addresses intangibles like culture, and threads together events, perhaps inconsequential in terms of political history, but definitely meaningful in making the city a little bit more than the sum of its history and people.

The book is well organized, and the text is lucid. The book spans the history of the city since it was a small village to Satyajit Ray - the Oscar winning film maker from the city. And though, throughout, the book is about people and events that shaped the city into what it is today, the author never losses sight of the fact that the book is not about any of them in particular, but what they meant to the city they lived in.

It is also a book of strife and struggle, of fascination with a foreign culture, of assimilation, of unlikely but not untimely great men. It is a book of nuances, of idiosyncrasies and of little forgotten by lanes in a big city. It is a book, too, of cowardice and indifference, and of hatred.

The details that the book captures can definitely be captured about any other place in any other part of of the world. However, the particular combination and degree to which these commonalities apply in the context of a place make that place a differentiated, not necessarily special - for that requires a personal identification - place, & this book, in my opinion, captures the 'flavour' of the city.

And, just by the way, I do not like the city myself so much, fascinated as I was by its cultural and literary history.

S!

Unfortunately, this book, and the review of it offered by Ashutosh Chatterji, is more about defending Calcutta from the western view of it than it is about the "cultural and literary history" that is the title of the book. I bought this book in Calcutta so that I might have a more in-depth history of the place I was visiting. Instead, I got a book full of opinions and one-sided propaganda. This is definitely an Indian's nationalistic view of the city of Calcutta and not an objective history lesson, as the book's title advertises. Whereas Krishna Dutta is indeed a gifter writer, she, or her publishing company, should have come up with a less-misleading title. Next time, pick up the "History of the Republican Party" by Rush Limbaugh or "The Cultural History of Russia" by Josef Stalin - just kidding of course.

This book is largely a parable about the conflicts in Bengal in the early twentieth century. Tagore uses a triangle of husband and wife and outside suitor. Bimala, the wife is a sort of central figure as the novel largely revolves around her conflicting feelings towards both her husband Nikhil and Sandip. She feels excited by Sandip's passion but also has a bond with her husband. Nikhil is the reserved and dignified religious man who is not swayed by the mob mentality that was sweeping through the Bengal state. Sandip is the passionate, xenophobic leader pushing for the immediate gain. The narrative is written threefold. All three characters take turns telling the story from their own point of view. This is an interesting effect that adds dimension to the tale. Tagore obviously feels empathy towards Nikhil but he refrains from being too judgmental toward Sandip. Bimala becomes the most sympathetic character simply because she faces the most ambivalence in the book. There are many blatant political overtures in this book but I find that it works well as human drama as well. You needn't be knowledgeable about the conflicts in India to appreciate the moral dilemmas presented in this tale. Reading this book made it easy to understand why Tagore was awarded a Nobel Prize.

A prolific Bengalese writer, Tagore structured this novel such that three main characters represent the turbulence of the Partition that was yet to come to India in 1947. Nikhil is married to Bimala, living in the traditional domestic manner; for herself, Bimala has no expectation of her life ever deviating from her wifely path. The concept of "Swadeshi", a renewed appreciation of everything Indian, and a denial of everything British, particularly British imported goods and grains, rages throughout the country. The egocentric Sandip, a guest in Nikhil's home, is a fierce proponant of Swadeshi. Sandip finds himself passionately attracted to Bimala; he idealizes her as the epitome of "Mother" India, and pursues Bimala without reservation. Flattered by Sandip's attention, Bimala begins to question the nature of her marriage, and the three embark upon an emotional journey that will forever alter their lives, just as India begins a lengthy period of upheaval and unrest. Of the three, Sandip is transparantly shallow, while Nikhil thoughtfully considers every aspect before embarking on a course of action. Both men indulge in lengthy discourses, but the introduction by Anita Desai does much to frame this novel in the appropriate perspective. The allegorical nature of this tale is evident as the characters plunge headlong into the future.

My heading for this review is a quote from this engaging novel. In some ways I now understand that indeed the greater truth may exist in the things that haven't happened, where the actions of people are imposed upon by their personal constraints - often to the detriment of all. But what a sentence for the writer to produce!!

This novel is told from the perspective of three people - Nikhil, his wife Bimala, and the activist (in the name of national India) Sandip. By hearing the story from each of them we understand their individual constraints and the drives they have, or lack, to realise their ambitions and desires. Rabindranath Tagore has not written this novel from the perspective of an all-seeing observer and this leads us - the readers - to be deeply entrenched in the individual characters' drives, passions, doubts, uncertainities and failures.

For me this is a very personal expose of my own drives, passions, doubts and failures. If only I could have the views of those around me similarly exposed - if I had some indication of their drives, passions, doubts and sense of failure I am sure that I could respond to them with greater confidence. But, of course, Nikhil, Bimala and Sandip do not have knowlege of each other's innermost thoughts (unlike we, the readers) so their struggle - all three of them - is just as difficult for them as mine is for me.

Did I end up liking any of these characters? Did I admire any of them? Was I appalled by any of them? These are questions I will not answer - read the book for yourself and you will develop your own views which may be as different for you as my constraints are as different from yours.

Here is another quote:

'What harm if you did have a wholesome fear of me? Does anybody know anybody else in this world?'

This book is terrific. Although written with the idea of a parallel to the problems of Bengal and her people at the time of Swadeshi, in my opinion this book is a masterpiece in the depiction of human nature and its contradictions; as depicted in the characters of Bimala, Nikhil and Sandip. The push and pull between a sense of righteousness and the equally compelling force of passion is brilliantly portrayed. It will endure as a classic for a long time to come.

One aspect that non-Indian readers will completely fail to realise is the boldness with which Tagore used to weave his imagination based on stark solid reality. Tagore was socially ostracised for his depiction of the passion (always cloaked and shrouded in the garbs of the civilsation, norms of the society) of an honourable aristrocatic married lady, which acts as the metaphor for the passions the society was undergoing in those turbulent days of political upheaval against the British Empire. A brilliant picture of the torment of the human character caught in the web of desire of ecstacy and quest for contentment, peace and bliss, this narrative draws a beautiful parallel to the miopic frenzy of the mob in its quest for subversion with the destructive consequences of unbridled passion, and an individual's attempt to bring harmony and order in the chaos, attaining salvation. Technically brilliant, this disturbingly beautiful tale is another of Tagore's timeless creation.

"The Zigzag Way" is a short book, almost novella size, without a great deal of character development. It does have a shifting cast of characters unified by the willingness to change the familiar for something new, Em being the exception, and also the one character with no real connection to Mexico. At the end the protagonist, unlike his father, still has not found what that something new will be. For a slim book, there was an historical dimension which was valuable, but it almost seems like Desai was also seeking a spiritual experience in Mexico which turned out to be disappointing. The concluding scene has some emotional power, but just doesn't add up to anything really significant. While Desai can create fine metaphors, there were times I felt they were inserted when no metaphor was called for, so that they simply brought attention to themselves. On a personal note, I was better able to visualize Em because I had recently seen the movie "Kinky Boots", and pictured the fiancée.

Eric O'Brien is an uncertain and awkward young man, a would-be writer and a traveller in spite of himself. Happy to follow his more confident girlfriend Em to Mexico, he is overwhelmed with sensory overload and gradually seduced by the strangeness, the colour, the mysteries of an older world and its celebrations of the Dia de los Muertos. He finds himself in a curious quest for his own family in a ghost mining town, now barely inhabited, where almost a hundred years earlier young Cornish miners worked the rich seams in the earth. Until Pancho Villa and revolution came to Mexico.
A recording of this novel is available from BBC Audiobooks and Eleanor Bron's reading is truly breathtaking. Highly recommended.

My reading has declined by 75% this past year for the lack of finding books like this one. I learned more about Mexico in 160 pages than in 4 visits there. The author has an incredible ability to focus with lightning pace on both the thrust of plot and smallest details, but never through use of excess words. We start in an East Coast college where a young guy follows his scientist girl friend to Mexico and as they separate for her to do her work, the young man goes deeper into the mountains of Mexico and almost loses himself in the history he trudges up in the pursuit of the story of his Mexican grandfather. Many readers will say, Oh Yuck! and ignore books like this, turning to another James Petterson re-hash. Too bad, but that's freedom.

Eric is drifting in his chosen career path, writing a book on immigration with the help of a grant, an extension of his thesis, daily losing focus, caught up in an aimless cycle of wasted days. His highly motivated girlfriend is another matter, focused and engaged in her own work, soon to travel to Yucatan for extensive research with her fellow scientists. Clinging to the relationship and his angst, an ambivalent Eric grabs the opportunity to travel to Mexico with Emily, certain that a change of scene will invigorate his sagging self-discipline and commitment to his project. When they arrive in Mexico, Eric is stunned by the color and beauty of the area, the unflinching brightness of the days a sharp contrast to his native Boston. With Emily soon to leave for the interior, Eric walks the streets of the city, drinking up local culture and attending lectures he cannot understand with his limited knowledge of Spanish.

Yet in one lecture the names of places stimulate his unconscious, releasing barely remembered stories told in his childhood in Cornwall, England, tales of mining in exotic places, of hardship, revolution and loss. With little to go on but the fragments of his grandfather's tales of life as a miner in Mexico, Eric learns, albeit tangentially, that his familial ties to the region have remained dormant all these years, waiting to be rediscovered in this time, in this place. Left to his own devices, Eric uncovers a legacy that changes his definition of himself and the direction of his life. As the annual celebration of the Day of the Day approaches, Eric struggles with what he has learned in the Sierra Madre and his connection to the enigmatic Dona Vera, the Australian wife of a mining baron, who holds the key to Eric's past.

Desai's prose is evocative, the shy and unobtrusive East Coast scholar contrasted with the brilliant local color and lore of the Sierra Madre, a subtle intimation of darker personal histories buried beneath the veneer of modern civilization, the past powerful in the words of the eccentric widow who speaks the mellifluous names of Eric's memory. Stories buried in stories, the layers of years mute the voices that would tell of brutality and injustice; with Eric as her unwitting vehicle, Desai uncovers a time of turmoil and violence where turn-of-the-century Cornwall meets the harsh world of mining under the impossibly blue skies of Mexico, where sacred peyote grows at the surface of the earth's rich ores, all made real on Dia de los Muertos. Luan Gaines/ 2006.

THE ZIGZAG WAY by Anita Desai is a success in several ways, most notably in delivering to the reader a Mexico of vivid sights, sounds and smells. The feel of the place -- its mountains, animals, flowers, foods -- is captured with a keen eye (and ear, and nose). Secondly, the structure, going back and forth in time and making connections along the way, is irresistible. Where she has not succeeded so well is in creating characters that achieve verisimilitude. The sometimes stilted dialogue doesn't help. And the story itself, for all its exoticism, doesn't rise much beyond the mundane. Still, THE ZIGZAG WAY is a quick, entertaining read worthly of a recommendation, though not an emphatic one.

This book is boring. The book is character driven, but it never gets deep enough into the characters to make them interesting. It's overly wordy and too descriptive to the point that it is excessive and overloaded beyond the point of being able to draw an accurate image of what is being described. I only finished the book because it was pretty short, but even that took me a while because it was so slow and boring.

Nanda Kaul, an elderly lady, decides to live a secluded life in Carignano in Kausali. All she wishes to entertain is stillness and calm in this period of her life. All her life the care of others, her 3 daughters and her husband the vice-consul has been a religious calling she has believed in, a vocation that one day went dull as though its life-spring had dried up. She suffered from nimiety, the disorder caused by the fluctuating and unpredictable excess of the presence of family members, friends and acquaintances.
When one day Nanda receives a letter from her daughter Asha asking her to take care of her great-granddaughter Raka, a feeling of anger, disappointment and loathing arises in her. She doesn't feel like conversing again, she doesn't want to make sure of another's life and comfort, she doesn't want to get involved anymore.
Upon Raka's arrival they work out means by which they can live together and each feels she is doing her best at avoiding the other. Nanda is a recluse out of vengeance for a long life of duty and obligation, Rak is a recluse by nature and instinct. Her parents have long given up to try to socialise her. But slowly the child has the capacity to change things and Nanda discovers new needs within herself. When finally violence explodes, she has to face the truth.
An original novel full of delicate observations about human nature and parental relationships.

like nanda kaul, every one of us tries to cope with life, its reality, its horrors, the best way we know. but a human being can do, can PRETEND only as far as life, as far as FAITH will let her/him. once the lies we pretend are our life go up in flames, it is only appropriate that the rest of the world goes up in flames as well. i think that a very 'nice', rather ironic touch is given by the fact that the 'world' (the mountain) is set on fire by nanda kaul's own flesh and blood, the one from her family who is most like herself.

for ME this was an excellent book, which doesnt mean u will necesseraly like it. if ur looking for some meaning, maybe this book could help u find some. it surely helped me.

Set in contemporary India; Nanda Kaul has finished raising her family - children, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren - and seems to want nothing more than to be left alone in her remote hillside home to finish out her days in isolation, peace and quiet. That is until her greatgranddaughter Raka is unexpectedly left with her while the child's mother is ill. Raka is even more remote and independent in nature than Nanda Kaul. The style of writing is poetic; that is, there is no excess of words, and what words are there create vivid images. The story is character-driven, thus proceeding at a slow pace. And it is sad. I would definitely not recommend this book to readers who prefer their stories to wrap up neatly and with happily-ever-after endings.

The Home and the World has been variously praised and criticized for reasons having little to do with its literary merit. To my mind, the praise comes largely from reviewers' admiration for the author and the totality of his life and works, rather than this particular work. The criticism comes largely from reviewers' disagreement with his political views, or what they think were his political views.

It is, of course, always hard to judge the literary value of a work in translation. Many subtleties of language and reference are necessarily lost. Some reviewers have found the language ponderous. I did not. This is a short book and very readable. I would consider this book as a good introduction to Tagore's thought and style.

Some have said that the main character Nikhil is too good to be believable. I think it is true that Nikhil represents a philosophy of life more than a real flesh-and-blood person. However, a main point of the book is that Nikhil's "goodness" also appears to be weakness. Certainly his wife, Bimala, reacts that way to him at certain points. If Tagore wants to explore the relation between goodness and weakness, then creating a character such as Nikhil seems entirely appropriate, even if it makes the book more a novel of ideas than a novel about real people. There is room in this world for many types of novels.

There is no doubt that Tagore's life work as a whole is monumental. His religious poem, Gitanjali, is more widely recognized than this novel as an expression of his views and writing skill. But poetry is even harder to translate than prose and probably not as accessible to the average reader.

Regarding Tagore's political views, some critics felt that The Home and the World pandered to the British because he did not show support for all elements of the anti-British Swadeshi movement. Tagore was definitely not pro-British. But neither did he support intimidation or terrorism against fellow-Indians as means of fighting British dominance in India.

Tagore had a long and public debate with his friend Gandhi regarding India's future. This correspondence is available in book form (The Mahatma and the Poet: Letters and Debates between Gandhi and Tagore 1915-1941). Those who would judge a person for his political views should learn them first-hand and not just through the opinions of others.

Rabindranath Tagore did very well to choose the structure he did for this short dramatic novel. It is successfully written from the three points of view of the protaganists, the chapters interlocked as "Bimala's Story", "Nikhil's Story" and "Sandip's Story". It is a powerful drama of awakening, ideology, courage and tragedy. It would make a terrific opera!
The language has an unfamiliar, florid quality that takes a bit of adjustment but I quickly adapted to the Bengali lushness. It is a very poignant tale of three people enmeshed in the intolerable situation of the British partition of Bengal and foreign occupation. Written early in the 20th Century Tagore foreshadows the Indian independence movement that will come later in the century and the idea of the liberation of women.
The unintended consequenses that result from the relationship of the three main players is predictable and tumultuous and a suitable metaphor for the terrible circumstances that were tearing through Bengal and other parts of India at that time. I was deeply moved by the work in spite of the harsh criticism it received at the time of it's original publication.

Ok ok... I know that Tagore is such an important figure in the literature and the history of India's independence struggle. And I recognize that he is a fantastic poet. Thing is, I prefer poets writing poems, not whole novels. Perhaps it is a flaw with my personality, but I found reading The Home and The World and exhaustive experience. The fluffy, poetic language throughout interrupted the flow of the intense drama that Tagore describes. I found this book, thus, incredibly difficult to read. Still, it provides an important metaphor for the struggles of india's independence movement and a good vein for familiarizing oneself with that time and place. Still, approach this book with a lot of patience.

A prolific Bengalese writer, Tagore structured this novel such that three main characters represent the turbulence of the Partition that was yet to come to India in 1947. Nikhil is married to Bimala, living in the traditional domestic manner; for herself, Bimala has no expectation of her life ever deviating from her wifely path. The concept of "Swadeshi", a renewed appreciation of everything Indian, and a denial of everything British, particularly British imported goods and grains, rages throughout the country.

The egocentric Sandip, a guest in Nikhil's home, is a fierce proponent of Swadeshi. Sandip finds himself passionately attracted to Bimala; he idealizes her as the epitome of "Mother" India, and pursues Bimala without reservation. Flattered by Sandip's attention, Bimala begins to question the nature of her marriage, and the three embark upon an emotional journey that will forever alter their lives, just as India begins a lengthy period of upheaval and unrest.

Of the three, Sandip is transparently shallow, while Nikhil thoughtfully considers every aspect before embarking on a course of action. Both men indulge in lengthy discourses, but the introduction by Anita Desai does much to frame this novel in the appropriate perspective. The allegorical nature of this tale is evident as the characters plunge headlong into the future. (pp)Luan Gaines/2005.

A good, poetic book which evokes feminine fancy and reality with a blend of silky smoothness and coarse roughness. Maya is smooth and silky whereas Gautam is rough and coarse. This book makes you feel, perceive and then act. Anita Desai has a tragic vision of woman's life, and she has combined an intricate and sensitive style of her own with the quintessence of reality. The book explores the turbulent and emotional life of Maya, the character, and 'Maya' the illusion itself. Maya the character bends and breaks whereas illusion stays.

This author is really good. She is a highly skilled narrator with a keen sensitivity to detail. It is, in fact, that detail which makes warrants the 4-star rating. It must be said, however, that this is not Ms. Desai's best work. The character development in this book is not up to par. Of the two characters in this book, Maya and Gautama, only that of Maya has been adequately developed. While it is true that the book is a study of Maya, - her self-absorption, her weakness, her narrow perspectives, her dependence on her husband and her father, her delusions about her love of life - Gautama's character needs to be better defined if only as a point of juxtaposition, to better describe Maya as it were. Desai does other things in the book very well though. It is a good trip through Maya's life and her mind, however shallow her character, because Desai alternately draws the reader into a complicity with Maya and also a distance from her.

A touching story of how the little kids in a poor family in India work together towards a better future.Definitely worth a read...

This book elaborates the difficulties that children from poor Indian families face in their struggle for survival. More so if they have a drunkyard as thier father.Further one gets a closer peep into the problem of migration from villages towards cities in search of prosperity and enhanced employment opportunities.The challenges,brutal struggle for survival of a city life has been clearly elucidated herein. In all its a very satisfying reading experience which promises economic salvation of India in the form of industrialization.

If Anita Desai's novels revolve around the theme of alienation and lonliness, then this book is certainly no exception. When the protagonist feels the impact of yet another pregnancy, both the minor irritations and the frank grittiness of life become too much to bear. She shuts down emotionally and escapes physically to the island of her childhood where she hopes to remain pregnant with the baby forever since bringing another child into the world is more that she can handle. Though seemingly fantastical in nature, Anita Desai paints a very vivd portrait of a woman who seems alienated by the very air that she breathes. Readers will be gripped by the storyline though the English may seem somewhat stilted and artificial to the American reader. The tidy summation , as well, seemed a bit simplistic and not exactly what the reader may have hoped for. All in all, a great little book embracing the universal themes of a woman's life.

Okay, this is an opinion but I didn't like this book. This was not a book for me. I read it, at every step I was caught between what I interpreted to be either dither pretentiousness or elevated lierary pedestrianism, but as I wrote, this is my opinion only. But, as far as I was conerned, worse still I liked it so little that I was virtually compelled to tell someone. To say that this is a brilliant set of observations of humanity would be like saying that a photocopier is capable of seeing into the soul of man, analyzing it, making it extremely and tediously dull, and them making double sided copies of it, in black, gray and white.

Sorry to be so jaundiced but I really don't see what all the fuss is about...

I enjoyed reading Desai's Diamond Dust and other Stories due to the wide range of themes she explores in these stories, ranging from insensitivity to others as in" Royalty" , human obsessions as in the title story ,the need for privacy in " Underground " ,sibling and filial relationships in a cross-cultural framework as in "Winterscape" , a nostalgia for the bygone days and times as in " Tepoztlan Tomorrow " .The sense of place is very strong in these stories , bringing about a confluence of cultures ,and casts an undeniable influence onthe characters ,moulding their perceptions and affecting their choices . The stories are memorable due to the powerful delineation of characters reflecting the subtle shades of the complex human personality .The stories stir up the feelings of the reader through the psychological depth and the perceptive tone .The element of drama and climactic conflict seems to be lacking in these stories , yet it is the imaginative vitality and the poetic vision of the author which becomes the tour de force of these stories .

These colorful stories show people in diverse locales having similar attitudes and behaviors. The metaphor for spiritual nourishment runs through them in the status of food served. Desai's writing is vivid and subtly humorous. A highly recommended collection.

Some of these stories are excellent, some just good. Winterscape was one of the best stories I've read. I found the collection to be an excellent observation of "East" meets "West." "Underground" had an especially excellent exploration of this theme.

Like that enticing assortment of your favourite chocolates laid out invitingly in a tray, each with its own flavour and aroma but broadly speaking, all from the same family, these stories sparkle with life and dazzle you with their charm. They are utterly delightful and exuberant pieces of craft, with a lingering aftertaste. Although each stands distinctly apart from the other, they all have in common the aim to capture the most exquisite and unspeakable moments of human life (and for a majority of stories, Indian life ). These snatches of Indian life, a sister to ours, remind us that the subcontinent is one big cultural brotherhood, in fact if not in spirit.

Bypassing the obvious to capture the evasive is a quality particular to the short story, whose genre is ideally suited to treat the ephemeral. Its constraints allow to expand only sufficiently what the leniency of the novel would lose in all its space. A genre more purely aesthetic and much less moral-bound than its counterparts in prose, it's all about conveying impressions and creating impact. Its constraints rule out indulgence and superfluousness, making it the ideal genre to tackle the subtle.

It is exactly this attribute that Anita Desai capitalizes on. She captures moments and emotions high in delicacy and measures an exact number of words to draw them up - one word less and the sketch is left wanting, one word more and it's already redundant. Her expression is the language of fragility itself and she tackles the most discreet of subjects with effortless poise. Her stories move between a whole range of moods; from exuberant to mellow, from exultant to creastfallen, from delight to ennui, from expectant to disappointed. Her word, like the stroke of the seasoned artist, is sure of itself, it never wavers or falters and fits in its place like a jewel.

In some stories, characters try to grapple with figments of their past which surface unexpectedly, This is the case in `Royalty', `Underground', `T Tomorrow' and `Winterscape'. Characters from the past reappear after long absences and are incompatible with the present. Efforts to accommodate them are slowly swallowed by the demands of routine and changed priorities. This causes disappointments, regrets and sadness. Sometimes, this visit by an `appariton of the past' can momentarily relieve the monotony of life. And it is this moment in time that the story freezes - this strange relief before life resumes its regular drone.

On the lines of James Joyce's `Araby', only a lot more fathomable is `The Artist's Life' - about youth's disillusion...that fraction of a second in which by the slightest jolt an idol falls and an icon breaks. The intensity of this moment in youth, so ridiculously melodramatic and absurd in retrospect - that is the story.

`Five hours to Simla' sketches a colourful, entertaining and exasperating interlude in a family's drive to Simla. Animated by spashes of local colour - Indian sights, Indian sounds and some very Indian loonies.

In a clear Kafkaesque vein, with all its brooding mood is the freaky `The Man Who Saw Himself Drown'. As intriguing as it is irresistible, the story mingles absurdity with sorrow. Very floutingly Sarterian. Less brooding but as tragic, `Diamond Dust' probes the limits of human devotion.

The last and my favourite, `Rooftop Dwellers' is about a young girl embracing the odds of independent life in pursuit of her goals. Her new lodging is her dream house but is not without its inconveniences. This newfound freedom is an exhilarating feeling, one she chooses over everything else.

Much short of grandiloquence but not the least embarrassed of it, these stories appeal to you with all the miniature beauty of trinkets. Surrender to them and let them seduce u with their dainty appeal.

Anita Desai's short stories reflect the kaleidoscope of modern Indian life. They are set in contemporary Bombay and other cities and they evoke the colours, sounds, smells and white-hot heat of Indian cities. The stories are peopled with intensely individual characters: there is a painter living in a slum who fills his paintings with landscapes, birds and flowers he has never seen. There is an American woman who turns to the hippies in the Indian hills because she is unhappy with her life in the verdant countryside of Vermont. There is a man spiritually transformed by the surface texture of a melon. And many more. It is a finely written, atmospheric, memorable collection of short stories. As always with Anita Desai, her work is warm, perceptive, both funny and touched with sadness.

Anita Desai is a very famous author from India. In her story, "Games at Twilight," a peaceful game of hide & seek turns into an unforgettable nightmare for one boy.