Bookish Witch

Postcards from Kandbari by Nachi Keta

Book blurb:

A mountain village in Himachal. A few months of living in heaven, sort of. And a string of verses that comes out of varied emotions. Musings on changing hours and colors. On clouds. Slow verses. Calm verses. Verses that are placidly angry with the ecological disaster. Verses that look back at Delhi, from a mountain village. On rains. On evenings. On Death. On mornings. On the absent beloved in the city. Familiar and not so familiar verses. All on the present. Some yearnings. On infinite walks. On loneliness. On late nights and ghosts. And dogs.
Of a village called Kandbari in the lap of Himalayas.
A mountain village.

Pages: 75

Genre: Poetry/Fiction

Price: 59 INR/$ 1.30

My Ratings: 4.6/5

Read this one for some hard hitting reality check. If you’re a lover of poetry, you will not regret buying or reading this one.

What I liked about this book:
–> Deals with a myriad of topics and does justice to all of them.
–> Apart from the poems, the cover of the book is really beautiful and apt.
–> Makes you travel through the beauty of nature (and that’s a much needing blessing in this pandemic for travel lovers like me)
–> The little essay at the end is so thought provoking and a need of the hour. It questions our actions as humans and will resonate with woke people across the world.

What I did not like about the book:
–> The contextual notes at the end of almost all poems.
–> Some poems felt dull.

Quotable quotes:
–> The knife does not understand the way it stabs.
–>The world knows not the silence of the skies, nor fireflies that bloom in the minds of late-night nappers under a roof made of thatch and iron mash and tarpaulin.
–> And it fell;
the tree fell;
the carcass fell;
birds flapped away;
nearby trees groaned;
and pain transmitted across space like undulating time.

–> whenever I see
a jumpy group of young
people smiling into a
camera accompanied by
a gleaming white mountain
range behind them with
a sun, and Himachali caps,
and sunglasses adorned on
their faces, all I can see
are remains
of plastic bottles
near a corner hidden
from the picture-frame.

–> I love the many few
seconds before
the rain.
It is densely quiet
but for the
gurgling
of the clouds.

—> In
the mountains
the sun never sets
It disappears, just. All of a sudden.

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