GARNETS UNDER MY GULMOHAR - A SUSPENSE SAGA BY CHETNA KEER - BOOK REVIEW

-

Chetna Keer’s writing is never predictable. It does not flow like a serene river from one point to another; instead, it leaps from crag to crag leading to sudden dips that make the readers hold their breath. It meanders across the plain for a split second, and once again, takes an unexpected turn into the unknown.

The unforgettable Lollita aka Laasyanga Mansingh makes an appearance once again in Garnets Under My Gulmohar, the sequel to Giddha on My Gulmohar, published by Readomania. While the latter was more of a satire, Chetna’s latest offering is more on the lines of a suspense novel even though its exquisite crimson cover screams of romance.  

The Reading Room at Kussowlie Club is the backdrop for the Strolley Storylovers’ Book Club consisting of six steady bibliophiles, along with a mysterious seventh member. The Book Club is suddenly thrown into mayhem as a woman is found dead in a bathtub and the news channels run amok trying to conjure up the most bizarre reasons for the death.

Lollita’s palatial ancestral mansion, Ekaanth, that boasts of a resplendent Gulmohar tree in its courtyard, holds its own secrets within its depths. The nonagenarian matriarch, Bade Beeji, gets the family together to narrate her history “from the diary called Life wherein the binding of buried memories had got unglued.”

 What is the curse that nestles within the mansion so aptly named Ekaanth, the curse borne by the daughters of the haveli? Did the wise Gulmohar hide it within its heart? 

“A blight returns season after season. A curse generation after generation.”

What is the mysterious bespoke legacy that turns into Lollita’s mission, a treasure that she needs to hunt down by sifting through the past and the present? The saga ends in true-Christie style at the masquerade where masks slip and the stunning truth is revealed.

Chetna’s forte lies in her colourful use of idioms, figures of speech and the variation of the length of her sentences. She also waxes eloquent about her equally colourful characters like Bhopa Singh and his black umbrella, Bholi Punjabban, the Grande Dame’s cat, the Seventh Bibliophile and his Gucci fetish and even inanimate objects like the haveli’s roshandaan, the Banana Rack and the telescopic table in whose “blemished, scratched visage she saw etched chapters from the days gone by.”

There is a great deal of craftsmanship that goes into Chetna’s writing… her need to fashion the most appropriate word or phrase comes through in her narrative. She also takes care to pepper her writing with literary allusions to the greats like Sahir Ludhianvi, Kahlil Gibran, Rumi (the book is replete with his quotes) and Amrita Pritam. Besides being a prolific writer, Chetna also reveals herself as a chronicler bridging the past and the present, the Partition and the pandemic, blending these references with the flamboyant modern style that is so uniquely her own. Climate change is another aspect that she touches upon even as she pinpoints her protagonist as a climate warrior with a “citizen conscience and climate consciousness”. Above all, a strong mystical element runs through the fibre of the book, one that reflects her own persona as deeply spiritual.

Thus, Garnets Under my Gulmohar comes across as a melange of many diverse elements coming together in a harmonious blend. This is a book that boasts of many layers hidden under a veneer of sophistication and modernity.

Buying Links: 

https://www.amazon.in/Garnets-Under-Gulmohar-Chetna-Keer/dp/9391800505



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

THE STRANGE CASE OF THE MISSING TEETH

-
Image
                                                                            Clipart.com I cannot forget the shocked expression on the young dentist’s face. “Where are all your teeth?” “Uhh… in my mouth, where they should be?” I mumbled, perched on the leather chair as he peered into my mouth. His eyes widened with bewilderment as he leant forward, almost falling into the gaping cavern in front of him. “Three missing here… three on the other side! Two more here and a broken tooth!” I was quite shocked out of my wits. Where had all my teeth disappeared to? I did recall a few sittings earlier where some of my wisdom had been yanked out, but eight and a half teeth? I was a walking miracle! More importantly, an ‘eating’ miracle! When my better half agonised over one painful grinder that made lif...
Read more

Clouds and Waves by Rabindrananth Tagore - Poetry: The Best Words in the Best Order - #BlogchatterA2ZChallenge2021

-
Image
     CLOUDS AND WAVES Rabindranath Tagore Amazon.com Serenity in the Garden Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me - "We play from the time we wake till the day ends. We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon." I ask, "But how am I to get up to you?" They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds." "My mother is waiting for me at home," I say, "How can I leave her and come?" Then they smile and float away.    But I know a nicer game than that, mother. I shall be the cloud and you the moon.  I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will be the blue sky.  The folk who live in the waves call out to me - "We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know not where we pass.            Sunaina Coelho I ask, "But how am I to join you? They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand wit...
Read more

The Miracle of Love - Fiction - Post Number 8: #MyFriendAlexa

-
Image
Credits: Col. Gopinath Menon The waves crashed on the rocks, a sound that Sudesh loved, as he sat feeling the freshness of the spray on his face. Voices echoed around him, and he could feel the vibration as people jogged along the beach, and his sightless eyes turned towards the movement. He had been coming to this spot for many months now, ever since he had shifted to Mumbai, after his mother had passed away.  The sound of the sea evoked a vision that he could only feel, not see. He could smell the delicious puris that Ram Prasad was frying, very near to where he sat. Every day the cheerful proprietor would look for a moment when there were few customers, and hand over a plate of piping hot puris and delicious potato curry to the gentle blind man who sat there, so young and so uncomplaining!                                                 ...
Read more