Sameer Gudhate Presents the Book Review of Tales Between Tastes by Karan Puri

Last night, I found myself grinning at a plate of hot chapatis on the dinner table, and I’ll tell you why. I had just finished Tales Between Tastes by Karan Puri, and suddenly even that humble chapati looked like it might be plotting an adventure of its own. That’s the sort of mischief this book leaves you with—it sneaks into your everyday and makes the ordinary shimmer with possibility.

Puri, who has dabbled in fiction before, brings us something fresh here: a collection of stories that feel like bedtime fables but carry the wisdom of folklore, the flavor of Indian kitchens, and the unstoppable energy of childhood. Imagine mangoes sparking royal rivalries, chapatis passing secret messages across villages, elephants learning the meaning of loyalty, and ghosts who are more playful than frightening. Each tale is like a little pocket of joy that mixes history, food, and friendship into something both nourishing and mischievous.

The writing itself is deceptively simple. It’s not ornate, not heavy—it flows the way stories do when told aloud, with a rhythm that makes you want to lean in closer. There’s humour tucked in the corners, warmth in the sentences, and an undercurrent of cultural memory that makes you feel connected even if you’ve never stood in a mango orchard or sung chutney songs across the seas. The pacing is breezy, perfect for quick reading sessions, but every story leaves behind a lingering aftertaste, like the sweetness of a ripe fruit.

And oh, the characters! Montu, Bhombole, Sonu, Bhola, Bidesia—they aren’t just names on a page, they’re companions in mischief. Brave, curious, sometimes foolish, but always full of life. What struck me is how these kids carry the kind of courage we often lose as adults: the courage to question, to play, to imagine. Even the animals and ghosts are rendered with such affection that they feel like part of the gang, rather than side notes.

Structurally, the book works like a patchwork quilt—each story is self-contained but together they form a tapestry of flavors, cultures, and emotions. The short length of the stories makes them perfect for reading aloud, which I can imagine becoming a nightly ritual in many homes. Yet, they aren’t just for kids. Adults will catch the sly nods to history, the gentle metaphors about kindness and cleverness, and the nostalgic tug of childhood curiosity.

The themes are as layered as the spices in a good curry. On the surface, you get laughter, food fights, and ghostly pranks. Beneath, you sense lessons about courage, cleverness, community, and the simple power of sharing. Food becomes a metaphor here—not just something to eat, but a vessel for memory, love, rebellion, and even history itself. It made me think about how many of my own life’s moments are tied to tastes: the smell of my mother’s mango pickle, the comfort of fresh rotis on a tired night, the joy of breaking into a shared sweet with friends.

Emotionally, this book is light, but not shallow. I found myself laughing, yes, but also pausing. There’s a quiet tenderness beneath the jokes, a reminder that even mischief has meaning. One story about elephants left me oddly reflective about loyalty in my own friendships, while another about ghosts had me smiling at how fear can turn into play when looked at differently.

What Puri does brilliantly is make the book feel alive. The humor lands, the cultural roots run deep, and the characters sparkle. If there’s a weakness, it might be that some stories end a little too quickly—I wanted just a bit more time with Montu and the gang. But perhaps that’s the trick: leaving you hungry for another bite, another tale.

Personally, this book tapped into both my love for folklore and my nostalgia for childhood storytelling. It reminded me of evenings when elders spun tales around food, where the line between kitchen and imagination was beautifully blurred. I’d recommend Tales Between Tastes to families looking for a warm read-aloud, to adults who enjoy whimsical storytelling rooted in culture, and frankly to anyone who believes stories should taste as good as they sound. It’s playful like Ruskin Bond, yet deeply Indian in flavor, like a platter that serves both laughter and lessons.

By the time I closed the last page, I felt lighter, like I’d just come back from a village fair with sticky fingers and a happy heart. Books like this remind us that wonder can be found in the simplest of places—in mangoes, chapatis, elephants, and even in the whispers of ghosts. I’d call it a 4.8 out of 5, simply because perfection in storytelling is best left a little unfinished, like the last bite of a meal you save for tomorrow.

So, if you’re craving a read that will tickle your taste buds and warm your heart, this one’s a feast. Trust me, you’ll never look at a chapati the same way again.

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