This is a book, at once full of colour and full of life. Colour that hits you in the face, not just in terms of the phenomenal artwork, but in the recall of life.
I loved it!
This is a book of memories, but it is much more than that. It recalls a time spent with family, in gardens, on road trips, of journeys. It talks of art, of music, of a time when life was probably simpler, with less personal responsibilities, surrounded by the love of grandparents, siblings, cousins, uncles and aunts. The words flow with ease, with comfort, as we are transported into a world of gardens, and come face to face with leopards, wild animals, people, places, fruits, vegetables food and drink. Above all, life.
As I read it, I felt overwhelmed by the manner in which Anjana Dutt remembers details of her life within the extended family.The tales are of softer moments, the love, the affection, and the familiar and familial support, things that are not seen for what they are, at the time. Invaluable, you understand, much later.
It is easily apparent that there was privilege. Yes, there is social and financial status, but to me, personally, the privilege of an extended family, the summers, the holidays, the experiences and ambience of a family is what I consider privilege. It is something few people have. I must say, that I was mildly envious as my own past doesn’t share a lot with Anjana’s life. I did not have grandparents, uncles and aunts to indulge me, spoil me or keep me occupied. Journeys for summer holidays, were few and far between.
It does start to intersect with my own recollections as she talks about the 1971 Bangladesh War of Independence, Grundig turntables, 78s and Gerald Durrell. I went to school right across the street from the site of the Gemini Circus and I recall the growling of the lions, the trumpeting of the elephants. I do recall cars with curtains, also, and the ginger biscuits which I have sought since, but have, so far, not found.
The memories came flooding back as I read about trains, food, gardening, growing carrots, shops of Calcutta (Good Companions!). It was easy to read, easy to digest, easy to get lost in the flood of recall of one’s own life.
And while you read the memoirs, the art hits you like a paddle on a wheel, repeated slaps of colour that won’t allow you to get past the the life it seems to generate, in itself and as supplementary toppings to the words.
From the leopard on the cover, we meet kitchen essentials, fruits, streams, waterfalls, an orangutan, chameleons, and a white doggie that was the first image to jump out and greet me! Ah man!
I’d buy this book, the words and the art, they match, they excite, they lull, they fill you with the essence of a life.
A good book to have around, just to look at that leopard and that white doggie! I keep it next to me just for that purpose!