Originally written in Tamil By Perumal Murugan
Translated in English By N Kalyan Raman

This is a story of hope and despair, guts and greed, empathy, and apathy. A mix of everything good and bad, both in the human and animal world. A black goat tethering on the edge of life and death was mysteriously gifted by a stranger to a pair of elderly goatherds in a small nondescript village. A tiny scrawny and black thingy that looked more like a kitten and less than a female goat and who was both a miracle as well as a miserable creature.

Apparently this book became the first novel after the author’s self-exile had ended. The book was shortlisted for the 2018 JCB Prize for Literature. Reading it, one can understand why it would be a great award-winning book.

Writing a review or offering my view on this book will hamper more than help others to appreciate this book. Hence for the first time, I am instead, sharing verbatim, the translator N Kalyan Raman’s note which is provided at the end of the book. This note perfectly enunciates the theme and narrative of the book. I don’t want to add anything more than saying, this is a delightful and hopeful read even though at times it was filled with grim realities and despair of the human and animal world.

Translator’s Note :

“ We live in dark times where our most intimate human feelings, as they have evolved through the ages, are under siege. We are compelled to protect and assert their primacy in order to stay human and real. In Poonachi, Murugan has done a marvellous job of creating a narrative that takes a feeble goat through a range of basic human emotions and urges. As we track the destiny of this orphan goat, shaped by a force field of humans and animals, we realize that the author’s real theme is our own fears and longings, primordial urges, and survival tactics. Through a feat of storytelling that is both masterly and nuanced, Murugan makes reflect on our own responses to hegemony and enslavement, selfishness and appetite, resistance and resignation, living, and dying. Poonachi is not just a story of a goat. Through his exploration of the life journey of an animal, Murugan leads us deep into ‘an intimate history of humanity’ and the irreducible human essence that we must fight to preserve.
Starting life as a foundling and going through the ordeal of being a miracle, Poonachi experiences both the promise and structural violence embedded in the life of a female. In Murugan’s tale, she turns into a stone idol at the moment of her death, harking back to a hoary tradition in the folk culture of Tamil Nadu, whereby the memory of an innocent girl destroyed by the random and ever-present violence of the world is worshipped as a deity. And this may well be the key to reading this novel as an adult literary text for our times.
This book invokes a narrative in which the feeling and experiences of animals and the countless manifestations of their physicalities, are tracked and described with subtlety and flair. It is a hopeful attempt that a close reading of the text will lead the reader to discover and recognize herself in and through Poonachi’s world and the tribulations of her brief, pain-filled existence. “

N Kalyan Raman
Chennai
25 December 2017

In reproducing the translator’s note verbatim, I sincerely hope, it encourages and inspires others to read this short but profoundly affecting book. I picked it up on a whim, but soon realized how relevant it was to read about real human emotions which animals can perhaps feel and experience. I respect the animal world. In fact, I trust it more than the human world. But this book brought out the significance of synchronizing both these worlds into one coherent narrative in order to learn the best and to leave the worse of both.

(13-05-2020@12.00am)

My understanding of self-belief all this time has been that while we believe in ourselves, we must also remain cognizant of the limitations and obstacles that life sometimes throws at us like curveballs. Self-belief, according to me, needs to be reined in—peppered with awareness and grounded in a practical understanding of reality.

After watching Marty Supreme—where the protagonist loosely portrays a flamboyant table tennis star of the early 20th century—I came away with a renewed and expanded understanding of what true self-belief can look like.

Marty’s self-belief is cocky, stubborn, indefatigable. It is a force greater than the sum of all obstacles, impediments, and the sheer unfairness that someone from an underprivileged background often endures. His belief in himself remains undefeated and undented in the face of dire circumstances and repeated setbacks on his journey to becoming a champion.

Since the film is not entirely or accurately based on the real-life Marty Reisman, I won’t dwell too much on the storyline itself. Instead, it feels more meaningful to reflect on the qualities that define a true sportsperson.

Sporting individuals are made of a different mettle altogether. It is not merely their craft, talent, or physical prowess that sets them apart—it is their mind. The mind does the heavy lifting: persevering against all odds, showing up every single day for practice or play, and conducting oneself in the true spirit of sportsmanship even when every part of one’s being is raging—whether from loss, perceived injustice, or unfair officiating.

Sometimes, a stubborn refusal to accept defeat is itself a way of manifesting success.

Timothée Chalamet is a consummate actor—reminiscent of Marlon Brando and Al Pacino in his complete immersion into character. As the brash, overconfident, irreverent Marty, Timothée is fantastic. His demeanour can feel overbearing, even impossibly selfish at times. And yet, in the end, we see Marty stripped bare—vulnerable like any ordinary man—streaming tears of joy as he holds his child for the first time.

Watching this film gave me a fresh perspective on self-belief. I may never reach Marty’s level of confidence or audacity, but the film serves as a powerful reminder that the limitations we attribute to life are often the ones we place upon ourselves.

The world is never bigger or stronger than our intentions or our self-belief.


(25-01-2026@11.00pm)

Most often, I am surreptitiously drawn to books by some unexplainable force—one that seems to know exactly which book will match my state of mind or emotional landscape. The book never fails to offer perspective, comfort, and a higher understanding of whatever situation I may be facing at that point in time.

Books have been nothing short of miraculous gifts throughout my life, starting with David Copperfield (yes, I was David Copperfield in many, many ways) and Anne of Green Gables during my first hostel stay in Pune. Anne was a reflection of myself in ways I still find hard to explain. As I read the many books of her life, I often felt as though I were reading parts of myself—as if I were looking into a mirror, but one more intense and vivid than the vocabulary I possessed at that time to understand myself and the world around me.

I have since learnt that when we lack the cues to understand ourselves—especially in a positive way—books have the power to provide that basic and vital framework. In my case, I cannot stress enough how books, music, and nature have offered me cues, clues, and insights into the self.

This book came to me from an unlikely, yet very reliable source—a classmate whom I had never known as a reader. The fact that she suggested this book made her, instantly, a trusted source for recommendations. Thank you, H, for recommending this priceless book at a time when I sorely needed it.

Michelle Obama is an admirable woman—remarkable in her own right. She does not need, nor has she ever needed, the title of “First Lady” to prove her value or worth. She possesses a beautiful mind and a heart to match. Her strength of character, deeply personable nature, and evolved perspective only grow richer with life and time.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 is a gift Michelle offers not as an outsider, but as an insider—an equal partner navigating the confusing and chaotic aspects of life, both personal and professional. Each chapter, arranged in a thoughtfully intentional order, feels like an invaluable nugget of wisdom.

Michelle Obama affirms the light we all carry across three segments. The first sets the tone through anecdotes that illustrate how starting small enables us to take on the big and scary. Her shift from an ordinary citizen to the first non-white First Lady of the United States was no small transition. It was a heavy role to fulfil in a world that often feels viciously eager to dissect and diminish someone like her. This, however, is not personal to her—the world is a jungle, with more predators than prey, and it applies to anyone unable or unwilling to accept what she represents.

She adapted a coping mechanism rooted in the Power of Small—a philosophy especially useful in the hungry lion’s den of American politics.

As she writes:
“I’ve come to understand that sometimes the big stuff becomes easier to handle when you deliberately put something small beside it. When everything starts to feel big—and therefore scary and insurmountable—when I hit a point of feeling or thinking or seeing too much, I’ve learned to make the choice to go toward the small.”

Michelle also speaks about decoding fear by learning to be comfortably afraid. We cannot remove fear from everyday life or relationships; what we can—and must—do instead is learn to coexist with it. She urges us to deal wisely with fear, letting our nerves guide rather than stop us, settling ourselves in the presence of life’s inevitable monsters so we can confront them rationally. When we live this way, we exist in a middle zone—neither fully comfortable nor fully afraid—awake, aware, and not held back.

I have encountered many philosophies around fear, and this one made the most sense to me: learning to live with fear rather than denying or avoiding it.

Another beautiful takeaway from the book is the importance of starting each day kindly—by greeting ourselves with a simple, cheerful “heyy buddy” in the mirror. The world can be an unkind place, filled with people who often unleash their unkindness on others, with or without reason. The least we can do to offset this is begin our day with a kind word, a loving acknowledgment, an affirming sentence to ourselves. A smile would be a bonus, but even without one, that gentle hello can act as an antidote to the world’s harshness.

The second segment struck a particularly deep chord with me. Michelle speaks about the immense value of friendship, asserting that a circle of good, reliable friends is worth a fortune locked away in a bank vault. These are the friends who keep you grounded, sane, and sentimental. Navigating the world becomes easier when you have people you can invite to sit at your kitchen table—insiders to your inner world, your private heart and mind. Not too many—just enough to preserve authenticity and hope.

Michelle’s reflections on motherhood are both relatable and refreshing. As a mother of two teenagers, I breathed many sighs of relief knowing I wasn’t the only one questioning my parenting abilities or wondering why everyone else seems to have this figured out. Her stories of her own mother are deeply moving—it is evident that one strong woman passed on life, wisdom, and grace to another.

In the third and final segment, Michelle highlights ways to cope with the world and its increasing complexities. She encourages us to show our whole selves to a select, trusted few. Hiding behind psychological armor, wearing masks, or living in denial only works against us. When we speak about our most broken or shameful parts, we give ourselves—and sometimes others—the chance to see their own light reflected.

As she writes:
“There’s no way to eliminate the ache of being human, but I do think we can diminish it. This starts when we challenge ourselves to become less afraid to share, more ready to listen—when the wholeness of your story adds to the wholeness of my story. I see a little of you, you see a little of me. We can’t know all of it, but we’re better off as familiars.”

“Anytime we grip hands with another soul and recognize some piece of the story they’re trying to tell, we are acknowledging two truths at once: we’re lonely, and yet we’re not alone.”

I highly recommend this book to everyone—young or old. Adults and teenagers alike will find essential life lessons here that no classroom or textbook can offer. Through 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲, Michelle Obama has gifted the world a balanced, practical, and deeply humane way of living—one that integrates the good, the not-so-good, and the in-between parts of ourselves, allowing us to shine the light we carry and make a coherent, compassionate whole of who we are.

(25-01-2026@12.41pm)

(My first book for 2026)

A deeply moving account of personal struggle and early experiences of neglect and abandonment, Zarna Garg offers readers an intimate insight into what shaped her drive, passion, and relentless pursuit of a better life. Her journey is propelled not merely by the need for stability, but by a fierce determination to ensure that her children receive an education and upbringing that will serve them well throughout their lives.

Of course, most of us know who Zarna Garg is—social media, particularly Instagram, is filled with her witty, incisive takes on life, people, and everyday situations. She has carved out a unique place in the history of American female stand-up comedians, no mean feat considering the fierce competition and the constant demand to engage live audiences, show after show, city after city. Stand-up comedy is not just about fresh content; it is about connecting with diverse audiences across the globe—both digitally and in live settings. Her humour is clean, crisp and most often relatable.

Did you heard about what she says about the ‘bindi’? It’s a PR thing. It’s nothing more than a sticker. Maybe its also to make a statement- bindi on, ready to meet the in-laws, bindi off, ready for spring break. According to her grandmother, married women tend to wear bindi more than others only to know where to aim the gun when they wake up the next day after the marriage!!!

This American Woman is an unabashed yet deeply sentimental memoir that traces the making of Zarna the brand, from Zarna—the youngest daughter of a wealthy businessman from Bombay (a city I still prefer to call by its old name, the city of impossible dreams). Her journey is anything but smooth, marked by struggles, challenges, and profoundly heartbreaking experiences.

Reading about her autocratic, egoistic, arrogant, and emotionally neglectful father is both astounding and deeply unsettling. It broke my heart and stirred memories I would rather not revisit. By page 50, tears had begun to well up; by page 63, I was openly sobbing. I had long believed myself to be among the most unfortunate—one of the unluckiest—to have grown up with neglectful parents and an estranged relationship with one of them. My father was my hero, yet somewhere deep within, I knew he despised the very sight of me. These are not things that can ever be proven, but a child knows what a child knows—and I knew that both my parents simply did not want me. Throughout my life, my mother never hesitated to tell me that I was ugly, stupid, and mad. Those words have lodged themselves so deeply within me that they remain, even today.

My father once said the only thing I would ever be good at was becoming a prostitute. Thankfully, that prophecy did not come true. Yes, parents can say hurtful things in moments of anger—but mine did not stop at words. They reinforced them consistently through their behaviour, their silence, and their lifelong responses. That, perhaps, was the one thing they were unwaveringly consistent about.

This is where my story diverges from Zarna’s. She was fortunate to have loving and caring step-siblings who compensated, in many ways, for the absence of nurturing parental figures. Perhaps that love saved her; perhaps it shaped the woman she eventually became.

In my case, my siblings turned out to be even more hurtful than my parents. And that is where my story rests for now. There is nothing more I wish to say about it at this point.

Zarna is a self-made woman—keenly aware of her flaws and remarkably adept at transforming them into strengths so powerful they could easily serve as a case study in resilience and self-reinvention. She does not dwell on what she has lost in life (though she openly acknowledges missing the presence of her mother). Instead, she distils her experiences into valuable life lessons that only seem to fortify her resolve and sharpen her purpose.Yes, she bears the scars of past trauma, including the deeply unsettling experience of being homeless during two formative years of her life. Yet, what stands out most is her extraordinary ability to move forward—with greater verve, ambition, and clarity—rather than remain anchored to pain. It is this forward momentum that defines her journey and makes her story both inspiring and instructive.

I highly recommend this book for the way it offers hope in moments of utter hopelessness and brings cheer amid conflict. Humour, as this memoir so beautifully demonstrates, is an essential tool—one that helps us navigate an increasingly messy, chaotic, and often violent world.

(03-01-2026@3.48pm)  

(My last book for 2025)
This was neither a boring nor a difficult book to read, yet it took me a long time to finish. The reason had nothing to do with the book itself, but rather with the many life-fulfilling obligations that kept interrupting my reading time. Otherwise, this memoir is gentle on both heart and mind, and could easily be completed within a week.
The title is perfectly apt. A Country Called Childhood is populated with everything the adult world sorely lacks—innocence, simplicity in relationships, ease of living, and an abundance of people and memories steeped in warmth, comfort, and love. If you are among the fortunate few who enjoyed a beautiful childhood, this memoir will resonate deeply with you.

I especially loved Deepti Naval’s effortless writing style. It feels intimate and conversational, as though she is sitting across from you, sharing stories over a quiet cup of tea. What struck me most was the reminder that not every memoir needs to be driven by trauma or adversity. Some, like this one, can be equally engaging when rooted in sincerity, honesty, and gentle reflection.

Her portrayal of Amritsar—the city of her childhood—is particularly delightful. The sights, sounds, and textures of the place are brought alive with loving detail. It is easy to visualise the narrow gullies near her home, the route to her school, the bustling Hall Bazaar, and the many movie theatres scattered across the city. Growing up immersed in cinema and movie stars, Deepti was clear early on that her future lay in the arts—dance, acting, or creative expression of some kind. When the first two did not unfold as planned, she gravitated towards acting, a choice that audiences and admirers can all agree worked out beautifully.

I have enjoyed almost all her performances (with the possible exception of Raat Akeli Hai – The Bansal Murders on Netflix). And who can forget her unforgettable girl-next-door role in Chashme Buddoor—“𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐤𝐨 — 𝐤𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐲𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐧. 𝐁𝐚𝐚𝐫-𝐛𝐚𝐚𝐫, 𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐤𝐨. 𝐊𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐤 𝐥𝐚𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐲𝐞,𝐤𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐮̄𝐝𝐚𝐚𝐫, 𝐣𝐚𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐢 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐤𝐨.” Deepti Naval brought authenticity and relatability to her characters, a quality that carries seamlessly into her writing as well. Her memoir feels real, familiar, and deeply memorable.

It is often said that childhood shapes our personality, influences our choices, and lays the blueprint for life-altering decisions. Deepti Naval’s idyllic childhood—though not without its share of minor setbacks—appears to have nurtured a naturally confident individual who carved a unique niche for herself in the film industry. She was never in competition with her contemporaries, and perhaps that is why she enjoyed consistent and meaningful success. An interesting anecdote reveals that Kiran Bedi was her senior in school, already commanding respect and awe even then. One wonders—was it the school, the city, or simply a confluence of circumstances that shaped such remarkable women?

All in all, A Country Called Childhood is a light, breezy memoir of a simple girl with big dreams—dreams she fulfilled without ever losing her simplicity or small-town charm.

(01-01-2026@6.52pm)