A place with special meaning for me. I was born here, spent the first couple of years of my life here, not long enough to remember anything of it, consciously, though I'm sure deep down in my bones there is some remembering, leading me to travels and life in Asia in later years.
I've been back here many times. I clearly remember the first time, aged 10, travelling with my parents: the sweltering heat of day, the sticky sultry heat of dark, the sudden sunsets, the stink of durian sold at roadsides, and giant cockroaches feasting on fruit and food rubbish littering the gutters. The place has changed completely now, of course. Durian had been banned from public places. The gutters are spotless, with roadside vendors nowhere to be seen. Though still appealing, much of its charm had been lost.
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A washed out journalist, posted to India to cover a bloody election campaign, uncovers truths about his son's life - and death - in the country, truths that test loyalties forged in the war zones of Bosnia and Rwanda. A fiercely evocative narrative of modern-day India, filled with the clamour and hot stinks of its capital, this is a novel of death woven through with life.
"The writing is very very good... the mysteriousness of Wyndham's death and the narrator's involvement will entice the reader to keep reading." - 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award (ABNA) Expert Reviewer