Ranjit Lal’s The Crow Chronicles

Penguin Publications

Year of publication: 1996

Type: Paperback

Colonial rule, one would expect, is long over in most nations. However, the harsh reality is that independence has often been achieved only at a political level. Instead of true liberation, many countries now grapple with internal tyranny. Literary theories such as postcolonialism refer to this phenomenon as neocolonialism—a system that, while no longer relying on direct political control, still exerts dominance and hegemony over nations that once suffered under colonial rule. Most postcolonial countries continue to experience this lingering effect.

A brilliant satirical take on this neocolonial mentality can be found in Ranjit Lal’s novel, The Crow Chronicles. An avid bird watcher and nature enthusiast, Lal uses the common crow as a powerful metaphor for the political power struggles that plague many nations. The story serves as an allegory for Indian society, with the megalomaniacal white crow, Shri Katarnak Kala Kaloota Kawa Kaw-Kaw, symbolizing the corruption, manipulation, and deceit entrenched in political systems. His white feathers subtly highlight the deep-rooted slave mentality in India—where fair skin has historically been associated with superiority.

Born in Bombay (now Mumbai), Kala Kaloota migrates to Keoladeo National Park to establish his authoritarian rule over its crow population. Through this allegory, the novel explores how minorities are often subjugated by dominant forces. Much like Orwell’s Animal Farm, which critiques totalitarianism and communism, The Crow Chronicles serves as a biting commentary on monarchy. Lal demonstrates how unchecked monarchy can be just as oppressive, curtailing both individual and collective freedoms.

Structure and Characters

The novel is divided into four parts with a total of 37 chapters:

Part 1 (4 chapters) introduces the setting of Keoladeo Park, its various characters—including Achanak, Doodhraj Tandoori Totaji (the weak prime minister), Pinky Stink Tainted Storkji, and the Royal Highness Badshah. This section also immerses readers in the Festival of Birds, showcasing the beauty of the avian world.

Part 2 (7 chapters) takes place in Mumbai, depicting Kala Kaloota’s birth and his rise to power through ruthless psychological tactics. One memorable moment describes how he brainwashes his followers:
“Within days, the group had been completely shattered psychologically. They were reduced to a shaking mass of feathers who could do nothing without Kaw’s permission… They obeyed him blindly.” (Pg 70)

Kaw builds his empire by eliminating enemies, recruiting loyal followers like Craven Raven, and molding an army obsessed with greed and control. His rise culminates in a dramatic plundering of a party at Willingdon Sports Club in Mahalaxmi. Meanwhile, ornithologists from the Bombay Natural Society take notice of Kaw, leading to a tense chase as he narrowly escapes their clutches. Faced with a precarious existence in Mumbai, Kaw eventually relocates to Keoladeo.

Part 3 (10 chapters) and Part 4 (15 chapters) chronicle Kaw’s domination of Keoladeo. Here, he enters an arranged marriage with Kumari Surmasundari Kalibundi, a poignant reflection on marital traditions that prioritize lineage over love. Surmasundari, trapped in a loveless relationship, is valued only for her ability to produce offspring. Meanwhile, Kaw strengthens his grip on Keoladeo, making political alliances with Budhboo Bundicoot (chief of intelligence), Lt. Gen Chakumar Jungli Billi (the feral tomcat and chief of security), and others. He ousts the army, consolidates power, and enters an illicit relationship with Ms. Gulabhi Nakhone, growing increasingly infatuated with her.

The Revolution

The final section highlights the resistance movement against Kaw, led by Aachanak the hawk and Ghughuji the owl. They are joined by Phutki the tailorbird, Titri the red-wattled lapwing, Phuljari the white-breasted kingfisher, and the daring duo Koylas. Together, they plot a revolution against tyranny. Lal’s portrayal of their struggle is both witty and thought-provoking, using animal behavior to expose political realities that would put any totalitarian government to shame.

This novel is a must-read for any Indian, offering a unique and humorous take on governance, oppression, and societal hierarchy. Its clever use of satire and allegory makes it an eye-opening exploration of political power.

Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones

 

Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones

 

Publisher: Little, Brown and Company, New York, Boston

Year of Publication: 2002

Price: $7.50 US/$9.50 Canada

Paper Back. 372 pages.

 

Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones I thought was one of those mesmerising books as the blurb promised. It also assured to be a ‘whodunnit’, by the way I am a great admirer of ‘whodunnits’ . So with great excitement I took the book along with me when I travelled to Bhubaneshwar Well,  I managed to finish reading The Lovely Bones but I must say it was disappointing. The story is set in the year 1973 in a small town in US. Susie Salmon on her way from school at the age of 14 is killed by a neighbour, Mr. Harvey. Susie then goes to heaven where she befriends Holly and also learns that heaven is not such a perfect place. The story is narrated from her position of an onlooker who watches what is happening on earth. She is also able to come to earth now and then which we readers can expect to be a ghostly visit. Her eerie presence is only felt by another young girl –Ruth–in the town.

On earth, her family is totally devastated by her death and her father goes into shock and starts neglecting his family. Due to this Susie’s mother leaves the family and goes away. Len the police officer wishes to catch the murderer but is unable to do so. The story then proceeds to unravel the trajectory of Susie’s sister, Lindsey and brother, Buckley’s lives. The novel ends by Harvey been indicted not for Susie’s death but for other murders he had committed earlier. Susie’s parents reunite and Lindsey gets married. The birth of Lindsey’s daughter, Abigail Suzanne is the note of hope and regeneration in the novel.

What really put me off about the novel is its pathetic slow narrative movement, maybe that is the reason reviews have called it captivating and gripping. It may be emotional drama but definitely not my cup of tea. Also the fact that Mr. Harvey gets off with all the crime that too in a nation like US of A is somehow a bit too much to gulp down. Added to this is the fact that the police seem ineffectual and useless. Personally I was disenchanted by the novel. Maybe it may appeal to some.

Chris Cleave's Little Bee

 

                                Ski Path in Stowe                                Mount Mansfield view from a farm

                            

Review of Chris Cleave’s Little Bee (2008)

 

 

Knowing my love for books, my son and my husband always try to delight me by buying books whenever they get the chance. One such memorable occasion was during our trip to Thiruvananthapuram, where we stayed at a downtown hotel. Right across from the hotel stood a bookshop—if I remember correctly, it was DC Books. That evening, we leisurely wandered into the store, and, as if on cue, my two enthusiastic supporters quickly spotted Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things. It had just won the Booker Prize, making it an especially cherished gift for me.

Years later, while visiting my son in Stowe, Vermont, we went window shopping in the quaint little town. Stowe, with its picturesque charm, has a population of about 6,000 and lies near the towering Mount Mansfield (see the images above). Vermont, the 14th state of the U.S., joined the Union in 1791. Initially known for its lumber industry, Stowe later transitioned to agriculture and farming. It is home to the Vermont Ski Museum, which was founded in 1988 and later relocated to Stowe in 2000. Interestingly, the town has a connection to The Sound of Music, as the original von Trapp family settled there after their tours as the Von Trapp Singers.

Beyond skiing, Stowe is also a destination for trekking and climbing. The Mount Mansfield Trail is a favourite among climbers, while the Long Trail—a challenging 272-mile hike along the Green Mountains’ main ridge—is considered the oldest continuous footpath in the U.S. Completing this trek is regarded as a remarkable achievement, and yes, Nikhil did it! The trail was envisioned by James P. Taylor and constructed between 1910 and 1930.

But I digress—Stowe just has a way of lingering in my thoughts. Returning to books, while strolling through the town, my son Nikhil discovered Little Bee in a charming, tucked-away bookstore. As with many of the books I collect, I started reading it but soon set it aside as academic obligations pulled me back into my busy world. It rested on my bookshelf for quite some time, until a year or so ago, when I finally finished it. Once again, as always, I found myself struck by the powerful relationship between two women from different worlds.

For those unfamiliar with Little Bee, it was written by Chris Cleave, a columnist for The Guardian in London. His first novel, Incendiary, won the Somerset Maugham Award and was later adapted into a film.

The narrative revolves around two women—Little Bee from Nigeria and Sarah O’Rourke from England. After being released from an immigration detention centre, Little Bee traces Sarah’s home and arrives there on the day of her husband Andrew’s funeral. Their connection had begun two years earlier in Nigeria, where Sarah and Andrew had vacationed near a resort. There, they faced a harrowing decision when Little Bee and her sister, fleeing a group of oil company men responsible for a village massacre, begged them for help. In a horrifying exchange, one of the men severed Sarah’s finger as payment for Little Bee’s life.

As the story unfolds, the tragedies Little Bee endured come to light—suicide, rape, and the brutal realities of migration. Sarah, too, navigates personal conflicts, while her young son Charlie refuses to leave his Batman costume. Toward the novel’s end, a police investigation into Charlie’s disappearance triggers an emotional collision of Little Bee’s memories—both in Nigeria and in England.

The novel opens with the epigraph: “Britain is proud of its tradition of providing a safe haven for people fleeing persecution and conflict.” It closes with a Nigerian proverb: “If your face is swollen from the severe beatings of life, smile and pretend to be a fat man.”

While the book offers intriguing insights into women, relationships, and immigration, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Cleave was deliberately painting asylum seekers in an overly positive light. At times, it seemed as if the novel carried an underlying agenda—one that left me somewhat unsettled. I appreciate a compelling story, but I prefer narratives that unfold organically rather than within a predetermined framework.

Another moment that lingered in my mind was the reflection on globalization near the novel’s end:

I smiled down at Charlie, and I understood that he would be free now even if I would not. In this way the life that was in me would find its home in him now. It was not a sad feeling. I felt my heart take off lightly like a butterfly and I thought, yes, this is it, something has survived in me, something that does not need to run anymore, because it is worth more than all the money in the world and its currency, its true home; is the living. And not just the living in this particular country or in that country, but the secret, irresistible heart of the living. I smiled back at Charlie and I knew that the hopes of this whole human world could fit inside one soul. This is a good trick. This is called globalization. (p. 264)

Reading Little Bee inevitably stirred memories of my son’s own immigrant journey and the endless search for a true sense of home and belonging—one that so many of us continue to navigate.

 

Magda Szabó’s The Door

 

 

 

 

Magda Szabó’s The Door

I have had a househelp for the past fifteen years, and in many ways, she seems to run the household more than I do. She is always available, at any hour of the day, much like Emerence in The Door—fiercely possessive and convinced that she owns me. She constantly tries to interfere in my life, and despite the challenges she brings, I often find myself siding with her. The fact that she has two dependents—a son and a mother—adds to her burdens, and although she carries herself with pride, her illiteracy and circumstances often compel her to rely on my kindness.

Her immense love for animals extends beyond her home and into the streets she walks daily to reach my house. The stray dogs on her route look up to her as their savior and protector. Her earlier pets included two roosters that lived with her for twelve years, and now, she cares for numerous cats descended from a single female feline, Tiger.

In many ways, The Door reflected my life and my househelp’s experiences. The book’s circumstances and relationships mirrored my own.

Magda Szabó’s The Door was originally published in 1987 and translated into English by Len Rix in 2015. I would never have discovered this remarkable book had it not been for my visit to Hungary, prompted by the insistence of my Hungarian friend, Judit Molnar. During my ten-day stay and my deeply appreciated talk at the University of Debrecen, I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the land and its people. Most Hungarians are simple-minded and friendly, and my interactions with them offered me insight into their culture, religion, and social lives. Through The Door, I was granted a deeper understanding of women’s lives and the complex relationships among them.

When Emerence begins working as a housekeeper for Magda and her husband—both successful academics who have moved into a new house—there is no formal agreement regarding her employment, nor does she follow fixed working hours. Yet, the one defining aspect of her work is that it is carried out to perfection.

In the chapter “Junk Clearance,” we witness the first significant rift between Emerence and Magda, triggered by a plastic plaster dog that Emerence treasures. The chapter subtly raises questions about the perceived value of artifacts and the divisions between social classes. Throughout the novel, besides Magda, her husband, and their dog, Viola, we encounter other significant figures, including Magda’s two friends, Sutu and Adelka, her nephew, and the lieutenant colonel.

One of the most haunting elements of the story is Emerence’s refusal to open her door—even in sickness, she keeps it shut:

“Emerence never opened her door, never once showed herself. Enraged by the constant knocking, she demanded that no-one bother her.” (p. 176)

The novel opens with a dream Magda has about the door:

That door opened. It was opened by someone who defended her solitude and impotent misery so fiercely that she would have kept the door shut through a flaming roof crackling over her head. I alone had the power to make her open that lock. In turning the key she put more trust in me than she ever did in God, and in that fateful moment I believed I was godlike—all wise, judicious, benevolent, and rational. We were both wrong: she who put her faith in me, and I who thought too well of myself.” (2)

The door functions as a powerful metaphor—not only for modernity versus tradition but also for opposing forces such as private versus public, power versus powerlessness, law versus lawlessness, and the pervasive sense of alienation, estrangement, and loneliness that defines humanity.

Personally, the novel resonated deeply with me, touching many aspects of my own life. I absolutely loved the book.