And now for something completely different.
When I was at that age when reading suddenly became an indefatigable hunger, I began to consume anything and everything that came close to me. If I understood it – and my comprehension skills were growing each day – I would read it. While the small, local library was good to keep me entertained for a while, eventually their stock would feel too sparse and I would be left feeling the need to read more. A majority of the books we had at home were in Marathi, my mother tongue. Like most children going to schools where the medium of teaching was English, my Marathi was rather basic. But when I began devouring books in the language – first out of helplessness, then curiosity, and later because why not? – I became more and more comfortable with the language, taking pride in my extensive vocabulary.
I’ve been in the US for nearly nine years. With time, my speaking Marathi has taken a setback, and moreover, my reading speed has slowed down immensely. So I was hesitant to begin reading the book my parents mailed to me. Most Indians my age might know Priya Tendulkar, daughter of famous playwright Vijay Tendulkar, actress and activist. Knowing my interest in women’s literature, my parents sent me this short story collection - Jave Ticha Vansha (I will try to update with a translation of the title.) Consisting of eight short stories, all (except one) from the point of view of women – Tendulkar’s collection is heart-wrenching, tender, and poignant. Because her writing style flows so easily, I didn’t have too much trouble reading. The stories had the ability to pull me in, and I finished the book in three days (which is a record of sorts, for me). Tendulkar writes from many women’s perspectives, of relations between mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, and of issues that can only arise in typical Maharashtrian middle-class families. The familiarity she evokes is gratifying. The stories are ridden by one similar theme however: the unhappy wife, the dissatisfied woman. Maybe that’s a reflection of Tendulkar’s own life also.
I will always think of English as my first language. But Marathi is the language of my family and I hope never to lose touch with it. Are any of you like me, trying to keep the memory of another language? What do you do to ensure you stay connected? And if you, like me, hold pride in knowing multiple language, let me just say, the pride is totally worth it.


Funny things happen when you read books. You try to read a lengthy, complex book and life decides to distract you. You keep the book away, exasperated, mid-chapter, because it has begun to slow down, and pay attention to other things. Then suddenly you remember the book, it mocks you from the dusty night stand and you reluctantly pick it up. You begin it from where you left off and SMACK! It slaps you in the face. It just happens to pick up the pace from the very page you gave up on!
Anita Shreve’s is a name that I heard pretty often, and I was always marginally aware of her popularity. But, for some reason, I’ve never found the need or desire to read her books, even though one of my best friend enjoys her writing. When I found The Pilot’s Wife in the discount section of the store (a steal for $1), I decided to give it a try. The book I was reading then was beginning to get cumbersome, so I moved this one up in my list and finished reading it rather quickly (by my standards).
Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter are names that might not be unfamiliar to the average movie-lover. Made well-known by the 1991 movie adaptation of the book, these two characters are already a part of your pop-culture knowledge, even if you haven’t read the book by Thomas Harris, upon which the movie was based. It is difficult to read a book when you’ve seen its movie version — a well-made, “best movie of all time,” no less — and know the story that unfolds. But The Silence of the Lambs is a little better than your average paperback thriller.
Rev. Phillips Martin, who lives in a small Louisiana town, is a Civil Rights Leader in the 70′s. The movement is on the decline, with its prominent leaders being dead, but the people are still struggling for their rightful place in society. Martin is well-respected and the be-all and end-all of the town. This all changes one night, when a stranger knocks on the door of the local boarding-house and shows interest in nothing but lurking around the Reverend’s house. The young stranger, with a curious name like Robert X, is a mystery to all. The townspeople see him walking around at odd hours and are interested in finding out what he wants. When the Reverend finally sees Robert X at a party in his house, he collapses out of shock. He recognizes Robert X as his long-lost son, someone who he had given up as a young man. With this, Martin’s past comes rushing back to him, threatening to loosen his hold on his community and forcing people to lose faith in him.