Sameer Gudhate presents the Book Review of The Gorkha Grief by Tim I. Gurung

What happens when a community known for its unmatched bravery, loyalty, and resilience is left fighting an invisible war — one not of bullets, but of identity, dignity, and belonging? The Gorkha Grief by Tim I. Gurung is a soul-searching sequel to Ayo Gorkhali: A History of the Gorkhas. Gurung, a former British Gurkha soldier turned author, has dedicated his literary life to amplifying the voices of his people — a tribe of warriors often forgotten in the modern-day narrative of progress. After giving us a historical glimpse in his first book, he now holds up a mirror to the present-day struggles of the Gorkha community across India and Nepal, demanding that we, the readers, finally listen.

Spanning 21 chapters, The Gorkha Grief is a layered, non-fiction narrative that blends history, memoir, and socio-political commentary. Gurung walks us through the lives of Gorkhas settled in India, the wounds of British colonialism, the betrayal of political leadership in Nepal, and the overlooked sacrifices of a community that’s bled for nations that never fully embraced them. From the Bhutanese refugee crisis to the Indo-Nepal Treaty of 1950, and the ramifications of the Agnipath scheme, Gurung lays bare the issues that compound Gorkha identity today.

Gurung writes with the sincerity of someone who has lived what he pens. His prose is straightforward and unembellished, making the book accessible to readers regardless of their background in South Asian geopolitics. However, there are moments when repetition and polemics slow the momentum, and some arguments feel less researched than others. Still, his passion is unmistakable and his storytelling — especially when grounded in personal or community anecdotes — hits home.

Although a non-fiction work, the “characters” in this book are the collective Gorkha people — proud, stoic, and time and again, wronged. Gurung deftly humanizes their pain, especially when recounting tales from Indian foothills, refugee camps in eastern Nepal, or the barracks of forgotten soldiers. The ideas he brings forward — particularly around identity, displacement, and historical amnesia — are powerful and long overdue in public discourse.

The book follows a thematic structure rather than a chronological one. While this approach allows for depth in each topic, it does lead to overlaps and a lack of flow at times. Some chapters stand out more than others (such as those on the refugee crisis and Gorkhaland), while a few — like the treaty discussion — feel underdeveloped. Inclusion of annexures or primary documents could’ve added heft to his arguments.

At its core, The Gorkha Grief is about erasure — of identity, of contribution, of pain. Gurung challenges us to look at systemic neglect and political indifference not as isolated incidents but as part of a sustained pattern. The book’s most urgent message is this: for the Gorkhas, soldiering has been both a lifeline and a cage, and unless society helps them diversify and dignify their existence beyond the battlefield, the cycle of grief will continue.

This book doesn’t just inform — it aches. Reading it, I found myself pausing often, especially during passages about communities uprooted, soldiers discarded, and voices unheard. Gurung’s hope, tucked quietly in his final chapter, is perhaps the most moving — that the Gorkhas may one day be known not just for war, but for greatness in other fields.

The book’s strength lies in its purpose. Gurung doesn’t write for accolades; he writes for change. His ability to weave historical insight with lived experience makes the grief tangible. The interviews, travel-based research, and emotional honesty make this a compelling read.

At times, the book leans too heavily on emotional appeal without sufficient data or documentation. The treatment of the Indo-Nepal treaty, for instance, could’ve been more balanced. Repetitions between this book and Ayo Gorkhali might also disengage readers familiar with his previous work.

As someone who deeply values stories of overlooked communities, The Gorkha Grief felt personal. It challenged my assumptions and made me rethink the cost of patriotism for those who wear it as a second skin. While I wished for tighter editing and more citations, I cannot fault Gurung’s heart — and ultimately, that’s what connects us to this narrative.

The Gorkha Grief is not just a book — it’s a reckoning. Gurung has given the Gorkhas what they’ve long deserved: not just a chapter in history, but a voice in the present. It’s not perfect, but it’s urgent, necessary, and brave. I recommend it to anyone who believes that stories can right wrongs — even if only one page at a time.

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