What happens when a place stops producing gold but refuses to stop carrying its history? That question stayed with me while reading Rabi Samuel’s Cold Mine. Set against the history of Kolar Gold Fields, the novel takes us into abandoned mine shafts, forgotten records, unfinished maps and old legends. But beneath the thriller machinery, Samuel is interested in something larger: what happens to people when the place that gave meaning to their lives also takes something from

Why does a young woman avoid buying a personal product from the family grocer? Why can a Sunday breakfast table in an Indian home look like a tour of the world? And why can a retailer with a deceptively simple business model understand Indian consumers better than companies with far larger resources? These questions are more interesting than they first appear because they point to something businesses often forget: consumers don't always behave as logically as market re

Why do intelligent people make simple problems complicated? Sometimes because the problem really is complicated. But sometimes because complexity makes us feel that we are doing serious thinking. That distinction stayed with me while reading Mukesh Sud's Simple Thinking. The book begins with an idea that sounds almost obvious: when we are surrounded by information, opinions and noise, finding a simple way forward can be more useful than adding another layer of complexit

We thought we knew the result. The pollsters thought they knew. The television studios thought they knew. The political class thought they knew. Then the voters spoke. And suddenly, almost everyone had to explain why they had been wrong. That is where Rajdeep Sardesai’s 2024: The Election That Surprised India becomes fascinating. Because this isn't merely a book about an election. It is a book about how narratives are created, amplified—and sometimes shattered

A crown is supposed to be a symbol of power. But what if it is actually a debt? That was the thought I kept returning to while reading Rajesh Mehta’s Bleeding Crown: Protector of Sivi. Set in 726 BC, long before the familiar chapters of Indian history that most of us encounter in school, the novel takes us into the kingdom of Sivi, where a young prince is expected to inherit not merely a throne, but everything that comes with it—promises made by those before him, politi

We often think we know a place because we know its address. We know the roads. We know the buildings. We know where to get tea. We know which corner is crowded in the evening. We know where people walk, where children play and where politicians once stood behind microphones. But knowing a place is not the same as knowing its memory. That distinction is at the heart of Shanta Gokhale’s Shivaji Park – Dadar 28: History, Places, People. And perhaps that is why this book

There is a strange contradiction in the way we look at doctors. When a doctor saves a life, we call it a miracle. When treatment fails, we sometimes call it negligence. Somewhere between those two extremes, we forget something rather obvious. The person standing in the white coat is a human being. Doctors Are Not Murderers by Dr. Debraj Shome and Dr. Aarti Heda comes from that uncomfortable space between medical responsibility and public judgment. It is a collection

There are some books you finish. And there are some books you escape from. Not Without My Daughter belongs to the second category. Because while reading Betty Mahmoody's account, I kept thinking about one frightening question: What happens when the person you trusted most becomes the person you have to protect your child from? Betty travels from America to Iran with her Iranian-American husband, Moody, and their four-year-old daughter, Mahtob. It is supposed to be a

There is a particular kind of guilt that doesn't arrive with an accusation. It arrives disguised as concern. “Are you eating too much?” “You should lose some weight.” “You're getting too ambitious.” “Don't you think you should spend more time with the family?” “Why are you so sensitive?” And because the person saying it is often an aunt, a parent, a colleague, a friend—or simply someone who believes they are entitled to an opinion—we are expected to accept it as

Some of us spend a surprising amount of our lives trying to become easier to understand. We adjust how we speak. We soften our opinions. We hide the things that make us unusual. We learn which parts of ourselves are acceptable in a particular room—and which parts should probably stay outside it. And sometimes, without even realising it, we start confusing belonging with becoming someone else. That is the territory Kris Ferraro enters in Your Difference Is Your Strength.

There is something almost irresistible about a young person who refuses to give up on a dream everyone else considers unrealistic. Especially when that dream involves Bollywood. Because Bollywood has spent decades teaching us to believe that somewhere between struggle and success, there will be a turning point. A phone call. An audition. A lucky break. A stranger who notices us. A game show with a life-changing prize. And perhaps that is why Bejoy Chowdhury—Joy—feels so

There are conversations we avoid because we don't know what to say. And then there are conversations we avoid because we know exactly what we want to say. The second kind is often harder. We rehearse the words in our heads. We imagine how the other person might react. We worry about sounding rude, confrontational, insensitive, or simply being misunderstood. So we wait. Tomorrow becomes next week. Next week becomes never. And sometimes silence costs us more than an

I have always found something slightly unsettling about telephone calls. Maybe it is because you cannot see the person on the other end. You hear a voice, but you don't know what the face behind it looks like. You cannot tell whether someone is speaking calmly because they are genuinely calm, or because they are trying very hard not to fall apart. Sometimes there is a pause. Sometimes there is silence. And sometimes, you realise that the person on the other end may

I have a confession. I like books that make me stop reading. Not because they are boring. Quite the opposite. Because sometimes I am reading a page and suddenly I have to look up and say, “Wait. What?” That happened quite a few times with What the What?! And, honestly, that is probably the best possible reaction to this book. I came to it expecting a book of strange facts, trivia and questions. I got that. But somewhere between one bizarre fact and another

There are some questions that are asked because we don't know the answer. And then there are questions we ask because we are afraid of what the answer might mean. Am I a Dalit? belongs to the second category. Vijhay Sundar K.G.'s novel begins in a world where caste is not an abstract idea discussed in textbooks. It is present in families, relationships, social behaviour, humiliation and the choices people are allowed to make. But what makes the novel interesting is that

There is a strange problem with legends. We meet them too late. By the time we hear their names, the transformation has already happened. The doubts have disappeared. The mistakes have been edited out. The person has become a symbol. Parashurama is one of those figures. We know the axe.We know the anger.We know the warrior. But who was Rama before he became Parashurama? That is where Kevin Missal's Parashurama: The Axe of Rudra caught my attention. The book begi

There is something deeply comforting about certainty. We like knowing why things happen. We like clear answers, predictable outcomes and explanations that neatly close the conversation. We live in a time that makes this even easier. Algorithms predict what we might want next. Search engines find answers in seconds. Experts speak with enormous confidence. Even social media has turned complicated questions into simple opinions. And then comes a book with the rather mischiev

Some love stories end. Some simply learn to exist differently. That is what stayed with me after reading Ashritta Saran’s Parallel Heartbeats. Ash and Aaryan find each other when they are young enough to believe that loving someone deeply should be enough. But growing up has a way of complicating even the purest emotions. Ambition enters. Distance enters. Circumstances enter. And eventually, two people who once felt like each other’s entire world have to discover who they

We know how the story ends. That is perhaps the biggest problem with reading about someone like Lionel Messi. We already know the boy from Rosario becomes one of the greatest footballers the world has ever seen. We know about Barcelona. We know the goals, the trophies, the records. We know the heartbreak with Argentina. We know the World Cup finally arrives. We know Paris, and then Miami. We know the images. We know the ending. And when we know the ending, we tend to

We often imagine that the most dangerous secrets in a relationship are the ones someone tells us. Perhaps they aren't. Perhaps the more dangerous ones are the secrets someone successfully keeps from us. That thought stayed with me while reading Anubha Gupta's The Almost Perfect Wife. Because beneath the murder mystery, the twists and the ancestral house in Mashobra, this is really a story about something much more uncomfortable: how little we may actually know about the