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Memories Of Mom

Brings home the unfairness that keeps Indian writers from getting the acclaim they deserve if they write outside the magic circle of English.

Gauri Pant, or Diddi, as she was known by her family, was one of nine children born into a cultured, progressive Kumaoni Brahmin family. She grew up in an age of giants: no less than Rabindranath Tagore was her guru in Shantiniketan. Her life spanned the time of doolies and horse-drawn carriages to jet-flights across the planet to attend the birth of a great-grandchild in 2001, a year before her death. She was famous without need of agents, publicists or bestseller lists, her audience was all of India and she received many awards and honours. Her children, however, were only peripherally aware of her literary stature while they were young.

Reading this book brings home to me the unfairness that keeps Indian writers from getting the acclaim they deserve if they write outside the magic circle of English. An author of Shivani’s stature ought to be as familiar to me as Kipling or Jane Austen, yet I’d never heard of her before reading this intimate, sensitive account.

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