A Thousand Splendid Suns

Hosseini, Khaled. A Thousand Splendid Suns. : London: .Bloomsbury. 2007.

It sears me…something inside me aches with pain. I can’t cry. I can’t go further. I stop. I gaze into the distance. I don’t really see anything. I swallow my tears and continue to read on.


This book tells me a tale of war, of oppression, of male brutality, of widows and orphans of war in the most disturbing manner. It is the story of Afghanistan’s people suffering under the Soviets, the Taliban and the shelling and drubbing by the U.S army.

It is about seeing one’s home blown away. It is about enduring the loss of loved men and sons from families. Worse, it is watching in horror their bloodied limbs and torsos and heads severed by grenades and bombs.

But, more than that, it is a tale of the agony of the souls of Afghan women as they endure war, male suppression, loss of identity, self esteem and dignity.

Mariam and Laila are symbols of feminine strength as, together, from the battles they emerge scarred, lost, bereft of their homes and possessions, but stronger, bolder and more resilient than they were when they started their journey in the household of Rasheed.

The setting is Afghanistan. The man is Rasheed. But, it may as well be a place in India, in fact, in any part of the world. There are Rasheeds everywhere, just as there are Miriams and Lailas. The battle outside is but symbolic of the battle that rages inside. Hopefully, everything will end.

I don’t think I could’ve endured this book, but for the fact that there is happiness at the end for the women and children. There is also Tariq, the other male half of the world, to make one not lose hope in the world.

But, for me, while this battle by the women is so cleverly entwined in the battle for peace, it is the description of the war that leaves me sad and depressed. I was reminded of the wasted war of Vietnam that is shown so graphically in Good Morning, Vietnam. Yet, as Louis Armstrong sings in that heart-rending scene- ‘It’s a Wonderful World’.

There is despair; there is also hope. There is pain; there is also endurance. This makes Afghanistan, ‘The Land of a Thousand Splendid Suns’ and the book ‘an unforgettable experience’.

The White Tiger

Adiga, Aravind. The White Tiger. India: Harper Collins Publishers India. ISBN 978-81-7223-745-5. 2008

From the dusty bowls of an Indian village, a rustic boy moves to the heart of India, Delhi, as a chauffeur to a foreign returned couple. The ‘White Tiger’, a creature unique among its fellow yellow tigers, is seen by Balram Halwai as a symbol of his own uniqueness and so he nurses dreams of a better life. He chooses to fulfil it through the murder of his master from whom he robs a large sum of money, large enough to make him an entrepreneur and a successful one at that.

Seen in this perspective, it is a simple tale of greed and a new morality code- you can make your dreams come true, by chance, hook, crook or well planned criminal intentions.

There are two Indias juxtaposed here in the beginning – the India of poor, yet contented rural families, aspiring for nothing more than a few buffaloes and sons who go out to cities to make a little money; the other, the India of rich people, forever aspiring to more riches, more affluence, more money to spend.

Slowly, the underlying layers of other Indias emerge. There is the affluent young generation, no longer content with the spoils of life, but desiring something more than corrupt ridden fortunes and pretty young things as wives. This generation is confused, forever searching for something of substance, a return to the roots.

There is also the India of Balram, who moves from the village to the city and sees wealth flaunted in excess right before his eyes. It is wealth, good life, so near, yet intangible, till he takes it greedily and forcefully from his trusting master.

Contrary to all moral edicts, Balram flourishes with the ill gotten wealth, just as his masters did, with their black money. What is the moral – greed pays? Corruption paves the way for pleasures? Entrepreneurship comes at a cost? Success comes to all …the good, the bad and the ugly?

At the end of it all…there was a growing discontent in me. The story is not complete…the moral is not there…there is no clear definition of happiness…Indian ethos, its religious and cultural traditions do not save a Nav Bharath from emerging…All this sets you thinking, contemplating and wringing your hands in despair, but , oh, it is all so true, so convincing, so real! I realise it is not discontent, but a restlessness, an agitation born of reluctant acceptance that troubles me when I read the book.

However, one admires Adiga for his dry wit and humour. There is an amazing simplicity in his writing. That is an Indian speaking, thinking genuinely and authentically in Balram. That is why any Indian reading this story will feel discomfort…that Balram is also an Indian acting genuinely and authentically! I loved the irreverence of Adiga. It is refreshing, since it fits in with the amorality of the story.

There is nothing like this that I have read that has made me think so long and hard about the Nav Bharath emerging this century. Old, I am…