I remember the exact moment I discovered The God of Small Things—the air sticky with monsoon humidity, the smell of old paper, the faint clatter of a train in the distance—and how the world Roy created felt impossibly alive in my hands. Until then, the Booker Prize was just a shiny emblem, a distant flag waving over literature’s vast plains. But Roy made it pulse with heartbeat, heartbreak, and mischief. Picking up Mother Mary Comes to Me decades later, I felt that same elect
There are books that entertain you, and then there are books that quietly sit beside you — like an old friend, gently reminding you who you really are. Bonds by Tirtho Banerjee belongs to the latter. It doesn’t shout for attention. It lingers. It breathes. It listens. And somewhere between its ten short stories, it holds up a mirror — not to the extraordinary, but to the heartbreakingly ordinary moments that make us human.  I first picked up Bonds expecting to read about peo
There’s a peculiar kind of madness that only Mumbai can offer — the kind that smells like rain on asphalt, sounds like a thousand horns arguing at once, and feels like hope stubbornly pushing through chaos. Vrushali Samant’s Madness in Mumbai: When Forty Gets Naughty bottles that madness, shakes it up with heartbreak, humour, and heat — and hands it to you with a wink. It’s fizzy, messy, and utterly intoxicating.  Vrushali Samant, who’s known for her sharp wit and eye for em
