Skip to main content


Showing posts from June, 2011


This month, the Canadian booksellers, Indigo , celebrate Indian authors with a series of interviews, guest bloggers, essays.  My father was a field geologist and in my childhood he was away half the year in remote places. The months he was home in Calcutta, rules and routine were jettisoned. There were cream rolls for dinner, concerts, and tram rides with no fixed destinations.  And soon  AbolTabol , Sukumar Ray’s Bengali book of nonsense verse, was dug out and dusted off. We knew the poems backward, but our anticipation of my father’s characteristic intonations made us laugh even before he started reading. That is my earliest, happiest memory of a book. I didn’t know then that books would be the bricks of my adult life. My husband and I run an independent press. My father-in-law, at 91, has been running his own bookshop for over sixty years. For some years I ran a newspaper’s book reviews page. And I also write books. Whatever we do to stem the tide, books advance into every corner o