Weaving of Arachne

“You love only once, live once, and die once,” read the last line of the novel. Closing the book, Mayank wondered, “Does true lo ve really happens only once? And what if we lose that one chance? Are we doomed to suffer eternally? Does life never gives us a second chance?” Mayank sighed; the novel which he had been reading since the beginning of his Sikkim trip had raised so many unanswered questions in his mind. It would be preposterous to call it Mayank’s Sikkim trip, for Mayank had hardly played any role in the planning or the execution of the trip. In fact, Mayank had initially declined the offer of his friend, Ayush to accompany him on his Sikkim trip. But ultimately Ayush had prevailed upon Mayank to join him on this trip, and successfully dragged him out of his Mumbai apartment to let him breath in the fresh, pristine Himalayan air. Though it may seem that Mayank is a morose, fun-averse person but this is not his innate personality. In fact, even a few years ago Mayank had b

I experienced a rollercoaster ride of emotions while reading this novel, ranging from annoyance, frustration to admiration. At times I felt like throwing away this novel but somehow I managed to labour through it and I was pleasantly surprised to see that I actually liked the ending, which I have not expected at all. As the title explicitly suggests, the novel is about Karna’s second wife Uruvi. Karna is one of the most intriguing characters of Mahabharata and much have been written and continues to be written about him. However, endowing a voice to his wife is a unique concept, though Uruvi, the protagonist is Kavita Kané’s imaginative creation, i.e. the character is not mentioned in the original Vyasa Mahabharata. In this novel, the author brings forth the story of Mahabharata through the eyes of Uruvi, where Karna becomes one of the central characters while the Pandavas are relegated to the background. However, Uruvi does not narrate the story in her own voice rather it is narr

Mahabharata, one of the most ancient epic in the world continues to hold its relevance even today. It is a cultural heritage of the Indians and has intrigued billions of Indians spanning generations. One of the most unique aspects of this epic is that each person reads it differently. There have been countless interpretations of it which have been quite often contradictory to each other. Mahabharata is an inexhaustible source of inspiration and thus even in the modern 21 st  century it compels authors to tell their own versions of the story. Mythology is the current favourite genre of Indian authors and thus the market is inundated with various re-tellings of the ancient epics and myths. There are several imaginative re-tellings of Mahabharata however The Mahabharata  by Shiv K. Kumar is not exactly an imaginative re-telling, it is at best a condensed re-telling of the epic with the inevitable authorial interventions. This book gives a general idea of the plot of the original Maha

Five years ago an awe-struck teenager read The Palace of Illusions  and was absolutely swept off her feet. After the lapse of five years she, now an adult in her early twenties, once again picks her one time favourite book up only to realize it isn’t her favourite book any longer. That once awe-struck teenager and present disappointed woman is me. I picked this book again as it happened to be a mandatory reading of a course in my post-graduate program. However, it would be wrong to say that I am utterly disappointed by the book and it had lost all its charm which once so mesmerised me. As I was reading it I couldn’t stop admiring the enchanting writing style of Chitra Divakaruni. It is still one of my favourite imaginative re-tellings of the ancient Indian epic, Mahabharata mostly because it gives voice to the female protagonist, Draupadi and gives her the liberty to tell the story of the Great War as she saw it. Female voices in ancient epics are either absent or very feeble, if

Until a few days ago Raghunathpur was an unknown, God-forsaken village. But today it was swarming with news vans, and news reporters scuttled to ferret out heart-wrenching tales from the desolate villagers. Some villagers were indeed relishing the attention bestowed on them; hence they themselves went ahead to deluge the news reporters with their tragic stories. It seemed as if they were competing against each other to give the most excruciatingly painful account of their lives. However, Suryakant sat brooding on the bank of the brook, a little away from the hub-bub of the village. He was disgusted by the limelight shone unsolicited on their sorrows and the obnoxious way in which the news reporters as well as the politicians were capitalising on their grief. He wondered, “Why do we, the poor, voiceless people always have to bear the brunt of the carelessness of others?” Perhaps, in answer to his query a silent tear rolled down his cheek.  Having lost the track of time, he sat motionl