Just finished reading ‘ Inheritance of loss” by Kiran Desai. Yes loss, loss she depicts here….loss of identity,relations,bonding, roots, security, the bygone time, pride,dignity and she does it with aplomb.

Kiran’s meticulous detailing of scenes, characters and her deft usage of language makes the reader creep into her characters skin and feel every emotions rising or quelled in their heart.

The book opens with the lines,” All day, the colours had been of dusk, mist moving like water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depth.” and the Kachenjunga peaks wrapped in mist and clouds beckon us like mystique Shangari-la, then in the same breath she makes us creep in crumbling house of old judge where ‘inside the cavernous kitchen,” the cook ”was trying to light the damp wood. He fingered the kindling gingerly for fear of the community of scorpions living, loving, reproducing in the pile, once he found a mother plump with poison, fourteen babies on her back” and involuntarily we take a step back to move out of kitchen.

The story runs simultaneously in two continents. The diversity of races, culture and class has been handled very well, Despite these outward gaping differences there is this common thread of human insecurities and complexities laid bare in such way that it makes sneaking through those semi dark corridors an endearing experience.

From aftermaths of colonial rule to Nepali insurgency for Gorkha land, from economic divide to religious conflicts,from political exploitation of the sentiments of common man to the corruption rampant in system, Kiran has touched almost every relevant issue of our time.

In the beginning of the book are these lines, voicing the thoughts of Sai, the grand daughter of judge,” could fulfillment be felt as deeply as loss? Romantically she decided that love must surely reside in the gap between desire and fulfillment, in the lack, not contentment. Love was the ache, the anticipation, the retreat, everything around it but the emotion itself.” such beautiful glorification of loss in love that one almost start desiring that loss.

And the book ends on perfect note with the meeting of the cook and his son……” all you need to do was to reach out and pluck it.”

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