PRIVATE INDIA by Ashwin Sanghi and James Patterson

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

I was so looking forward to reading and reviewing this book.  I have read one of Mr. Sanghi’s books (click here for the link to my review of The Krishna Key) but to my shame (well, I imagine it is to my shame…) I have read nothing of Mr. Patterson, but the hype around the book made me confident that there would be a non-stop amazing storyline and drama galore.

But it was not to be.

This book read and felt like the collaboration it is. Trying to please two readerships at once can’t be easy, and it shows. There is lots of fairly straight to the point gritty stuff about Mumbai for we Indian residents, and then fairly prosey bits about the British colonial era and the Thugee cult and the criminal tribes – all for the firang readers, I image, but the 2 styles sit ill together.

I can’t really imagine the average Mumbaiker waving a Rs50 note as an incentive to a cabbie to get him to the Asiatic Society quickly so he can look up a reference book about Durga Puja…wouldn’t they just google it on their smart phone?

I imagine the short sentences and the even shorter chapters are designed to build up a feeling of urgency, as the staff of Private India try to catch a serial killer who is on the loose in Mumbai.  But all the choppiness, and teensy chapters, and switching of narrator’s voice, just made me feel there was too much superficial drama without much substance.

We have a pretty standard cast of Indian characters as imagined for a foreign readership, I presume – intrepid private detectives, corrupt cops, gangsters, god men, celebrity hairdressers, betel-chewing prostitutes, yoga teachers, Bollywood star – pretty much everyone a foreigner might well imagine should people the crowded streets of Mumbai.
Very few normal folk, though.  You know, the normal people who would google something rather than dash through the streets to a colonial era library, waving a spare Rs50…
And for all that Mumbai is the backdrop to this whodunnit, the city doesn’t somehow feel all that real. Although the killings take place in the lead up to Navratri (a major Hindu festival), somehow the noise and the crowds, and yet again the sheer noise, and the bustle and 24-hour crowdedness of Bombay never take centre stage. Rather we dash around from one locale to the other, without really getting to grips with Bombay. I think the city could have been a fabulous character in her own right, rather than the stereotypical backdrop.

The opening chapters are exciting.  Ditto the concluding chapters. But there’s a great big saggy-bordering-on-repetitive-section in the middle of the book that deserves to be pepped up.

Conclusion?  “Private India” is a fun read, nothing more.

And for me there was an undeniable sense of disappointment that the hype and the collaborative writing have not risen to the occasion.  This book could have been super, but it falls short.




If you would like to order this book, it couldn’t be easier.  Just click on any of the links below and order it online.  Go on, it’s worth a read!

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Korma Kheer & Kismet by Pamela Timms

First things first.

Disclosure time.

Pamela Timms is a friend, we are in 2 book clubs together in Delhi, and over the last few years, I have heard much about this book over the course of many happy book club evenings.
We even went on one evening ramble in Old Delhi together, a couple of years ago, where I somehow managed to garland myself instead of the local politician we met in the street. But that’s another story, and definitely not one of my finest moments. (Hey, someone in the street gave me a garland, but didn’t tell me the bloke hanging around expectantly was a politician…)

Also, let me state for the record, that I am the polar opposite of Pamela. Can’t bake or cook to save my life, and am not hugely “into” food, at all to be honest.  And yet I devoured this book in one greedy sitting.  Seriously, I started this lovely book in the morning, hardly broke for lunch, and finished it mid-afternoon, as the heavens opened over Delhi, and the blessed monsoon rain poured down.

And I loved every second of the book.

The content, the writing, the descriptions –  everything is just perfect.
“Khorma Kheer and Kismet” is way way more than “just” a book about Old Delhi street food.  It is a celebration of India, of living in Delhi (the good bits as well as the not so good bits) and it is written with exquisitely beautiful nuanced prose.

Pamela is not just a lover of all things culinary in Old Delhi, she is also a lover of Old Delhi in its entirety, of the sights, the sounds and the people, all of which she brings to life without ever once falling into cliché-dom.  She is also very practical and realistic about her favourite part of India:


Pamela writes well, wearing her obvious scholarship lightly, as she leads us through her own journey to India, to her despair at the ex-pat bubble she is condemned to inhabit, and how she breaks through into the gritty, grimy, dirty, spicey world of Old Delhi.  She leads us on a picaresque journey through the cramped and oh-so-hot lanes and by-lanes of the old city, as she tries out new dishes, meets people, tries to winkle their recipes out of them, makes friends, and ends up spending many, many happy hours as far away from the south Delhi ex-pat scene as it is possible to get.

Read this delightful book to get a flavour of Old Delhi street food –  literally and metaphorically, since she includes recipes at the end of each chapter –  and also to let yourself be transported to a world of sensory overload and crowded lanes and generous hospitality.


If I have one teensy complaint, it would be that the black and white photos do no justice whatsoever to the richness of the writing.  I would rather have had simple drawings than indifferent photos.  But that is really a very small quibble.


The book has just been published, in hardback, by Aleph and costs Rs 395.

If, after reading this review, you would like to order the book online, nothing could be simpler.  Just click on one of the links below.


Totally and enthusiastically recommended.


The Child of Misfortune by SOUMITRA SINGH

From time to time I am sent books for review, and so many times I have to choose my words oh so carefully, when writing my review. No-one want to be intentionally cruel or harsh, but some of the current fiction coming out of India is truly way below the mark.

And then you have a novel like “The Child of Misfortune”.

What a pleasure. What a treat. What a great read.

Soumitra Singh has written a genuine page-turner, a gripping novel about choice, about friendship and about end-games. This book takes us from Leh to Srinagar to Mumbai to London, as this sweeping adventure unfurls over many years.

I loved the book from the start, and not just because it involved Ladakh, one of my most favourite places on earth.

There are two main, rivaling protagonists in this novel – Amar and Jonah, who meet as teenage boys at a smart school in Mumbai, and theirs is a strange relationship from the start : a desperate rivalry between 2 intelligent boys to be the brightest, the fastest, the smartest. Amar is reasonably chatty and communicative, and therefore easy for we the reader to understand and empathise with. Jonah, the taciturn, white-haired, pale-skinned boy from Pondicherry is altogether different. Intense, hardly speaking enough even to be described as mono-syllabic, he is a distant almost menacing figure from his teenage years. There is something disturbing about this boy.

I cannot (and would not) reveal the plot. It is too much of an exciting read to divulge, but suffice it to say that it encompasses a global quest, in the good old-fashioned Good vs Evil scenario (OK, I’ll tell you a bit – drugs and terrorism figure largely, as does the amazing technology with which we live today).

When the plot shifts to London I still enjoyed the story, but just a fraction less than the Indian sections, which I found super well-written. But that is hardly a valid point. Am just saying.

The book is well-written and fast-paced, though I think Mr. Singh’s editors have failed him from time to time. Again, nothing major, just a few grammatical errors that I doubt a writer of this calibre would have made.

Published in 2104 by Times Group Books, the paperback sells for Rs 350.


Great read.

Personally recommended.

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Simply click on the link below:


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It’s not always an easy task, writing book reviews.

Someone has dreamed and sat down and written.

A publisher has accepted the finished manuscript and published the book (and what a lovely looking book this is.  Great cover.)

And so I hesitate to be churlish.

But “Virgin Gingelly”, Mr. Kumar’s second book, was a baffling and unsatisfactory read.  I truly am loathe to sound too harsh, but between unnecessary over-use of the F word and unexplained Tamil vocabulary (at least I imagine it was Tamil) I was often adrift.

The cover told me, and I quote, “a bunch of misfits perform a strange kutcheri”  and then goes on to list those misfits.  If I hadn’t read the cover, much of the time I would have understood even less than I did.

And, by the way, shouldn’t it be ” a bunch of misfits performs”…

To put this confusion in context : I live in India and I speak Hindi.  But not Tamil.  So if a so-called “insider” like myself is baffled, I suspect that were a non-Indian reader, unfamiliar with the country/language to read this book, he/she would be stumped.

Use of different languages in a novel is nothing new, and when well integrated it can often enrich the reading experience, adding a true, authentic “local colour” feeling.  For example, I have recently finished the 7th of the Chief Inspector Chen series by Qiu Xiaolong.  Mr. Qiu uses Chinese terms, refers to food by its Chinese name, uses Chinese street names, but always manages to explain what he has just said, so that the narrative flows and you are not excluded from the novel.

No-one necessarily expects a glossary (though in this case it would have helped enormously) because, like Mr. Qiu, there are subtle ways of explaining the use of a word in another language.  No such help in this book, which is what made it so baffling to a non Tamil speaker and – ultimately – made me feel excluded from the story, and inevitably less involved.

Let me give you an example.

I have no idea what the extract below is telling me.  No idea at all.




Nor here :




Since food and rituals are such an evocative part of a culture, it seems a wasted opportunity on the part of Mr. Kumar, not to engage his readers more…



The same goes for this, below :



Mr. Kumar favours short sentences :


Sometimes his descriptions are spot on :



The sentence below is a little gem.  In one sparse sentence, we know exactly what Mr. Murty is like.  Perfect writing.




But more often than not, I was left baffled by the over use of the F word.  Sometimes profanity is justified.  And other times it isn’t :



I thought that first paragraph (above) was doing quite nicely, just as I thought the description of the mother (below) was well written and lyrical.  And then came the F word…I’m not a prude, far from it, I just found the profanity jarring and mostly unnecessary.  I’m not convinced shock value is an acceptable substitute for good prose.





Ultimately, I found “Virgin Gingelly” an alienating, unsatisfactory read.  And I never did figure out what the title of the book meant.




Published in 2014 by Hachette, the (lovely looking ) hardback costs Rs 499

But hey! Don’t take my word for it.


Read this book, Mr. Kumar’s second, and judge for yourself.

CAPITAL by Rana Dasgupta

There are, just now and then, books that are so wonderful, so well-written, so utterly, totally readable that you revel in them and dread their ending.

I have just finished reading one such a book, the beautifully written “Capital” by Rana Dasgupta.

“Capital” tells the story of 21st century Delhi, which happens (now) to be my hometown, my forever home. But this is a book that will resonate with anyone interested in the psychology of a city, presented and told in a chatty, non-judgemental, almost picaresque fashion.

Mr. Dasgupta moved to Delhi with the millennium and has seen the city change hugely over the intervening years, both literally and metaphorically. (I moved here permanently in late 2005 and have lived through immense changes, not all of them positive).
But back to “Capital”.

Mr Dasgupta takes to the streets of Delhi and as he explores he talks and, most importantly for we the readers, he listens. People talk and tell him about their lives and he shares their interactions. He doesn’t judge, he doesn’t preach, he listens.

To follow Mr. Dasgupta as he explores this city is to catch oneself saying, over and over again, “Yes, of course, that is EXACTLY what I feel/think/see/smell/hear…”

He has an unerring eye and ear for this city.

Take this vignette as he goes to meet 3 people in a hospital, who have horror stories of the unscrupulousness of the Indian medical system, where doctors push expensive tests and procedures on vulnerable, desperately worried family members :



Contemporary Delhi summarised in a couple of paragraphs, right down to the microwaved muffins.

The author lets the city speak for itself:



I drive past just such a front-ripped-off building in Moti Bagh every day, on my way to the park where I run and walk my dogs.  The only difference is that there are no desks and calendars left on these particular expose walls, just faded paint as the sawn off houses gaze blankly out at the Metro construction towering over them.

Mr. Dasgupta has a wonderful knack of picking up on every visual clue this city has to offer, as he tries to understand (and in the process explain) its complicated and often selfish psychology



“Too democratic and open for their tastes…”  Indeed.  As he goes on to explain, Delhi embraces “utter unintelligibility within its own population.”




As we accompany this erudite and, I suspect, eminently likeable man through his meanderings, we meet some extraordinary characters, from the hugely talented Manish Arora to mega-rich tycoons to slum dwellers to ex-drug dealers –  and these meetings are not at all clichéd, despite what that list might perhaps imply.

Each conversation is fascinating and gives us insights into so many aspects of this city –  medicare, water shortages, arranged marriages, the drug habits of the city’s rich youngsters, the callousness of the government – but all told without any hint of passing judgment, no ranting, no preaching.

If indeed Mr. Dasgupta has an agenda, it is simply to get to grips with this ever-burgeoning city, and try and explain it to us.

There are moments of pure lyricism :



Any of you who have seen an elephant wandering the Delhi streets will know this rush of love.

I had my own elephant moment just 2 days ago.

Driving to drop my cook’s child at her 12th grade exams at a centre too far away for her to go on her own, I saw arrogant Delhi at its worst.  Cars blocking the access road to the exam centre, drivers staring unseeingly ahead refusing to move to let other cars through, cars slewed everywhere on the broken down pavements, rubbish, mud –  the whole unlovely selfish Delhi cityscape.  I dropped the child, wished her luck and cursed (and, yes, honked) my way back through the horrific traffic.

And then I saw an elephant calmly eating whatever little municipal vegetation survives in mall-infested south Delhi.  And my anger went.  I stopped the car (yes, yes, parking properly) and went to talk to the mahout and took photos of the lovely creature who came and snuffled me with her trunk.  I patted Aarti and drove off feeling Delhi wasn’t perhaps that bad after all.

So, yes, I share the author’s rush of love for the ellies lumbering through our streets.


The author rarely shows his irritation, but loud-voiced Aarti in the hospital café manages to get to him.

And then a page later, he made me cry, when he lets her tell her own story of losing her husband:




“She is so Delhi.  It drives me crazy.”

This could be the hashtag for this wonderful fabulously well-written, fabulously readable book.

Do yourself a favour.  Buy it and read it, whether you know Delhi or not, whether you love Delhi or hate it.
This is a book I cannot praise highly enough.


And in a “so Delhi” touch, you can, of course, order the book right here, through me…



Published in 2014 by Fourth Estate, the hardback costs Rs 799.

FINAL CUT by Uday Gupt


I was sent this recently published collection of short stories and a novella to review by, and though I have taken a while to review it – to my shame – it was nothing to do with quality of the writing, rather my own too-busy-to-find-enough-time-to-read life.

Mr. Gupt is a skilled and accomplished writer, and his stories cover many different areas of life with equal ease – colonial history, the Naxalite movement, business tycoons – and I enjoyed them all.

There is, however, one big drawback to a good short story.

And that is its very shortness.

Caught up in the adventure of the opening story in the collection, “Hodson’s Gold”, I was taken aback to turn the page to find it had finished, leaving me with an admittedly good, clever puzzling ending, but actually wanting more…

Also, this story –  because of its historical markers –  made me want to learn more about Major WSR Hodson, whom I knew only as a controversial 19th century figure, and founder of Hodson’s Horse.  Now, however, I want to know whether he also…ah, but I musn’t spoil the surprise for you.

It’s a great read.

This colonial/history-based story segues into another tale from a completely different world, that of West Bengal and the early days of the Naxalite movement.  This story, “Friends” has such a clever ending that I can’t tell you any more, or I would spoil it…it certainly tool me by total surprise.

Yet another really clever ending (that I also absolutely didn’t see coming) was in the interesting “Will Reena?”

Mr. Gupt is super skilled at pulling a surprise out of the bag in the closing sentences of his stories, making you think “Now why in earth didn’t I see THAT coming…”

Great collection, and I look forward to reading more of this talented writer in the future.


The physical book looks good, especially the cover, which I like very much indeed.

But Mr. Gupt has been poorly served by his editors.

There are far too many sloppy typos that simply shouldn’t be there, such as inconsistent spacing/use of hyphens, all of which are (I instinctively feel) not the writer’s error.





If you use foreign words  – Get Them Right.  Please.

It is NOT nom-de-gurre.

Nor is it a la carté.

If you don’t know, ask that clever Mr. Google.

Such silly carelessness spoils what is otherwise a good read.

But don’t let that put you off reading “Final Cut”, please, and if you wish to buy the book, nothing could be easier.  Just click on the link below :

Published in 2013 by Frog Books, the paperback costs Rs 195/$10


The Sea of Innocence by Kishwar Desai


I first discovered the talented author Kishwar Desai and her eminently likeable heroine Simran Singh, in “Witness the Night” which I reviewed in 2011.  So I was thrilled to be sent a copy of Ms Desai’s latest novel “The Sea of Innocence” and asked to review it.

Simran Singh really is an engaging heroine and in this bang up to date novel – it takes place over New Year 2012/2013 with the horrors of the Dec 16th Delhi gang-rape case as a leitmotiv – we meet our feisty, middle-aged, smoking, drinking, slightly overweight heroine as she holidays in Goa.

Now, I haven’t been to Goa in aeons –  well, in about 22 years – so that means that it will have changed out of all recognition.  20 years in post liberal-economy India usually means a major change and –  dare I say it –  not always for the better.  So the Goa I knew –  sleepy, very few tourists, one restaurant worth its salt, 2 good hotels –  is, I know, hopelessly out of date.

Simran goes through the same experience :

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I fully empathise.

But, my word, the Goa of “The Sea of Innocence” is an edgy, not very nice place at all.  Beneath the holiday veneer of beach shacks and playing on the beach, of swimming and buying sarongs, there is a seething underworld of drugs, sex, gambling and worse.  Ms Desai brings this parallel world out of the shadows and into the limelight with devastating force.

Simran and her adopted daughter are in Goa for their Christmas and New Year break, with a brief to relax, unwind and spend some quality time together, but events soon overtake them.  Simran, in her role of social worker (and pretty smart investigator) becomes embroiled in a murder case that leads her deeper and deeper into the murky underbelly of Goa.

Ms Desai is an accomplished writer and the story grabs you by the throat from the very first sentence, and  the pace and suspense never let up until the closing paragraph.  Obviously I am not going to be a spoil sport and reveal too much of the plot and certainly not the ending, but there were twists and turns that caught me unawares right until the final pages, making this an addictive read.

The suspected rape of a young British girl – not Scarlett Keeling, though this poor child is referred to many times in the novel – takes place against the backdrop of sea and sun, whilst back in Simran (and this reviewer’s) home town, Delhi, the city explodes in cold, wintery anger at the horrors of December 16th :



Though the topic is grim, the story has many moments of lightheartedness and the descriptions of Goa are great fun.

Ms Desai  –  through Simran –  often compares the Goa of January 2013 to the Goa that she (and I ) knew 20 odd years ago.  Compared to the hidden ruthlessness of Goa circa 2013, the Goa of ageing Western hippies like Stanley seems positively innocent.  Guitar strumming under a banyan tree and smoking joints in the forest seem benign compared to the tawdriness of offshore floating casinos.  And yet how freaky those self-same hippies seemed 20 years ago…

Stanley, who lives in an apparent drug induced haze most of the book, is shown to be more than aware of the ravages of what passes for progress in India :



A good read.

Thoroughly recommended.

And, yet again, let me repeat what I said in my review of “Witness the Night” –  I do like Simran Singh very much indeed.

Published in late April 2103 by Simon & Schuster, the paperback costs Rs 350 in India.

Now, having read this review, if you would like to but the book, nothing could be simpler. Just click on any of the links below :

Shoes of the Dead by Kota Neelima

Shoes of the Dead
I was sent a copy of “Shoes of the Dead” and asked to review it, and so let me start this review by saying a big thank you to  Thanks to them I have just read a fabulous book, and have discovered Kota Neelima, an author who is an amazingly talented writer and story teller.

This novel is a piece of committed, erudite and yet 100% gripping writing about the contemporary political and social scene in India.  Ms Neelima explores with equal skill and dexterity the corridors of power in Delhi and the ground realities of the tragic, ongoing phenomenon in India of farmers’ suicides.

With poverty-driven suicides as the central topic of the novel, “Shoes of the Dead” is never going to be a light fluffy read.  Instead it is robust, riveting and heart-breaking at times.

(Don’t worry, I won’t spoil the plot).

You are engaged from the opening page, as you are led deeper and deeper into the web of political machinations that try to extract self-serving political benefit from the deaths of desperate men. The author clearly knows her way through the bureaucracy and the murky world of politics in India, and the quality of her writing and story telling bears this out.  What is impressive is that her descriptions of life in the rural cotton belt of Mityala district are every bit as compelling.
The narrative moves seamlessly between the manicured lawns of grave and favour Lutyens bungalows in New Delhi and, in stark contrast, the parched infertile farm land of what she terms “South Central India”

What I especially liked about Ms Neelima’s writing is that she never once reduces any of her characters to a stereotype, even though they are all there – the political Mr Fix It, the son with a sense of deep entitlement, the ruthless moneylender, the honest farmer.   In the hands of a less gifted writer, these men might have become 2 dimensional stereotypes, but in Ms Neelima’s skilful hands, they leap from the page, fully fleshed out, believable characters.

I loved the book, was deeply moved by the ending (which I absolutely didn’t see coming) and as an exposé of the manipulation of well-intentioned poverty alleviation schemes, “The Shoes of the Dead” cannot be bettered.

Ms Neelima’s writing is elegant and a pleasure to read :



She has her finger firmly on the pulse of contemporary Delhi, sharing with her readers the incongruous sight of unbelievably expensive cars staying in low gear because of the mind-numbing traffic.  Just this last week, this reviewer saw a bright orange Lamborghini stuck in the mother of all traffic jams for such a long time that everyone (reviewer included) was hopping out of their equally immobile cars to take photos of said OTT car.




The writer observes the manipulative, cynical workings of the New Delhi political machine with cool insight :




And she is equally eloquent about the dashed hopes of those born into poverty :







Her description of desperately poor patients waiting at a government hospital is moving in its sadness :



Thoroughly recommended.


Published in 2013 by Rainlight by Rupa, the nice looking hardback is priced at Rs 495.


As I said earlier in this review, the ending took me by surprise, and I closed the book both sadder and wiser.  This is a well written, good read.  What are you waiting for ?

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Disclaimer – if indeed there is a need for one: I was sent this book by the publishers, and asked to review it.

That’s it !


This début novel is an interesting read, which kept me involved until the end, as I read on with growing interest, keen to find out what happens, all the while hoping for a happy ending.

But…No, no, I am absolutely not going to spoil the plot for you, so worry not.

Suffice it to say that the narrative covers the years 1990-1999, and charts the friendship and relationship between a young London based NRI, Abhimanyu, known throughout as Abhi, and his Calcutta based friend Uma.

(Hey, it is written as Calcutta throughout by the author, so I am not being politically incorrect)

They are both doctors (as is the author) so there is a lot of medical speak throughout the book, and much of the story line takes place in and around hospitals.  The couple never physically meets in the book, and the whole narrative takes place via the exchange of letters.  At times, to be honest, this technique jarred, especially when you know that they had well and truly entered the email era.  Why would you write when you could email, was often my rather cynical reaction, but this issue is addressed, late in the book, when Abhi admits to preferring hand written letters to emails.

I like the book, and I am full of admiration (and not a little envy) for a first-time novelist, but there are a few very mild comments, which I hope will be taken in the right spirit.

At times, the “dialogue” seems a little stilted.  I realise these 2 young people who are writing to each other are very clever young people, but all the same, sometimes the writing does seem somewhat stiff :




Or take this, when Abhi is telling Uma about a trip to Italy :



Doesn’t ring true, in the way that other parts of the book do.


This extract, below, however, sounds as though it is written with genuine feeling :



Or this moment, when her college romantic hopes are dashed :





I think when the author speaks with her own voice, from the heart, she is at her best.  When she is trying to impart knowledge to we the reader, she sometimes sounds a little artificial.

I very much look forward to Ms Mukherjee’s next book, and hearing more of her perceptive and intelligent voice.  For she is without question an intelligent narrator.  I want to hear more from her.

Published in 2013 by Fingerprint, the paperback costs Rs 195.

If you wish to buy and read this book, it couldn’t be easier. Just clink on one of the links below :




What an enormously entertaining read “Tantra” is. Haven’t had so much good old-fashioned reading fun in years.  Honestly.

I am not into fantasy fiction, nor am I into vampires, and yet this book –  which has them all in spades –  kept me hooked until the rather puzzling end…I sense a sequel.  Hurray!

Meet the Delhi you/we never knew existed.  I live here, for goodness sake, so I should know…

This is a Delhi where vampires and guardians battle for control of the city, and for the safety of its citizens.  A Delhi full of tantric and sattvic rituals, and of course, full of the more instantly recognizable Delhi types such as this specimen our heroine meets in a bar :

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Ah yes, Anu, our heroine.  Introducing Anu Aggarwal, a tough NRI professional vampire killer, who moves from New York to Delhi, to try and avenge the gruesome death of her boyfriend, Brian.

She moves in with her aunt, Nina, who provides a recognisable foil to Anu’s other life. Nina wants to marry her niece off. Anu wants to kill vampires.
The scene is set for a downright fun read.

The book is well written, crisp, and fast-paced, and there is an underlying wry humour as fantasy meets the 21st century.

Whoever knew vampires checked their email, for example:

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Like Anu, I knew nothing at all about the tantric arts  –  and I don’t think I could have properly explained sattvic, either, before reading this book – but the author wears his obvious scholarship lightly.

Anu has to learn much about the way not only the tantric world operates, but also how Delhi does :


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Poor filing, non-existent back office support – sounds more like a business than a vampire killing unit, but the mission is deadly serious :

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As Anu delves deeper into the occult, and begins to understand the magnitude of the evil forces she is up against,  she even learns to negotiate with her sworn enemies, vampires.  She is a trained vampire killer, but there are times when they are the lesser of 2 evils :

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There is drama, tension, religion, the occult, a love story (that is not concluded in an entirely satisfactory manner, but as I said – I sense a sequel) and there is enough blood and guts to satisfy –  well, a vampire, I suppose.

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Anu is a likeable heroine.  A super-heroine, really, able to do all kinds of amazing things and consumed with an unserving desire to do good.

I like her very much :


Published by Apeejay Stya Publishing in 2013, the paperback costs Rs 195


If you want to buy the book –  and it’s a good read –  then nothing could be easier.  Just click on either of the links below :


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