I think I just read what will be my favorite book of 2019. In 1975, in a large Indian city, the lives of several people with diverse backgrounds intersect in a significant way. This is a story full of horrendous injustice, the capriciousness of fate, incredible suffering and ebullient joy, tragic death and the fullness of life. Mistry is an alchemist, creating living, breathing, flesh and blood people out of ink and paper pulp. The characters grow organically, sometimes profoundly, while always staying true to their core identity as individuals, shaped by their society. The dialogue gives a unique voice for each of them. This is a story of people walking the fine balance between hope and despair. Every reader knows of individuals who persevere despite tragic loss, awful abuse, inconceivable injustice, countless setbacks. And every reader knows of individuals who give up after rejection, in the face of failure or shame, in response to adolescent bullying. Why is it that some people can maintain their balance even when the hope on which they balance is razor thin and constantly wavering? Mistry avoids telling the reader anything. Rather, the reader is invited to live along side these people, to watch and listen, then draw his or her own conclusions. Six hundred pages was too little time with these people; I could have read another thousand pages and still wanted more.

Аз снощи приключих "Крехко равновесие" (Рохинтън Мистри) и още се опитвам да си избистря мислите и чувствата по отношение на тази книга.
Изключително интересна, колоритна и пълнокръвна книга. Имаше забавни и смешни моменти, но като цяло книгата е докосваща, драматична, ужасяваща и жестока. Напомняше ми по нещо книгите на Людмила Улицка.
Наистина роман за крехкото равновесие между отчаянието и надеждата, което е същността на живота.
Като цяло ми преобърна представата и това, с което са ни промивали мозъците по отношение на Индира Ганди - колко прогресивна, демократична и бля-бля била. То училища ли нямаше кръстени на нея, то булеварди ли нямаше.. А се оказва, че нейният режим е бил дълбоко антихуманен режим на терор и безумни жестокости по отношение на обикновените хора - като масовите насилствени стерилизации на млади мъже, робския безплатен труд по язовири и т.н. , да не говорим за политическите и всякакви убийства.
И се друго се чудя - "Малък живот" на същото издателство беше толкова лансиран и промотиран. А тази книга, която лично за мен е в пъти по-въздействаща и силна от "Малкия живот" сякаш не се радва на популярност...
И последно - по отношение на корицата. Дълго време докато я четях се чудех защо е избрана такава илюстрация. Тригодишният ми син се ужасяваше от нея и ми викаше все "мамо, свали детенцето, моля те". Накрая подвързах книгата, за да не се разстройва. Интересното беше, че и в романа дойде момента, в който викаха "свали детето, свали го..."
Тежко до болка и в същото време толкова вълнуващо и невероятно силно четиво. Пълната безнадеждност в една книга.
Оценка на романа категорични 5*. Това е моята Книга на 2019 година.

"Крехко равновесие" е мащабна творба, щедро орнаментирана с житейски неволи, предизвикателства и преживявания. Книгата с цялата й сериозност и сложност, е написана по един естествен начин и носи в себе си много човещина. Атмосферата, в която ни въвлича авторът е тежка, но тя не буди толкова съжаление, колкото отразява силата на човешкия дух и жаждата за живот въпреки политическата обстановка и кастовите разделения. Книгата се крепи на тънката граница между надеждата и отчаянието, между достойнството и унижението, и запазва крехкото равновесие между тях с помощта на шипка само/-ирония.

" Човек не може да си начертае някакви линии и кутийки и да не мърда и на косъм от тях. Понякога се налага да използваш провала като трамплин, от който да се оттласнеш към успеха. Трябва да поддържаш крехко равновесие между надеждата и отчаянието. " - стр. 243

Авторът ни показва една автентична Индия от '70- '80-те години- не тази от рекламните туристически брошури с лустрото и екзотиката, а онази Индия, която е разкъсвана от корупция, мизерия, разделения и един непрестанен ужас за ниските прослойки; онази Индия, която е сурова действителност за милиони; онази Индия, която е майка за едни и мащеха за други.
Той балансира умело фактите и излага на показ причините, които стоят зад тях, като оставя натрапчиво усещане за безнаказаност и липса на справедливост. Книгата разкри пред мен подробности за Индия, които никога не са ми били известни. Най- емоционално тежката част за мен беше да чета за потъпкването на всякакви човешки права, заедно с правото на свободен избор.
Роден роб, завинаги роб. Наведена глава, сабя не я сече... Ето това е философията на цялата сложна кастова структура, както и смразяващият и изпълнен с отчаяние страх. Но колкото повече са ударите отвън, толкова по- сплотено става ядрото отвътре.

Трудно се излиза от рамките на кастата, но и това се случва в книгата. Когато печелиш нещо обаче, не знаеш какво може да загубиш. И така, надигайки главата си от калта, излизайки от блатото на невежеството, в един момент ставаш неудобен, докато не изгориш в собствените си убеждения...

Самият роман започва с типична за Индия картина, коята може би излиза в представите на повечето от нас- претъпкан влак и хора, забутани и накачулени в него. И точно там се срещат трима от основните герои, чиито съдби стават част от едно общо начало- двама бедни шивачи, чичо и племенник- Ишвар и Ом, и един студент от заможно семейство- Манек.
Събирателният елемент се оказва шивачката Дина, при която и тримата отиват. На пръв поглед случайно, но авторът е изпълнил романът с още много съвпадения, които сближават героите и ги превръщат в едно своеобразно семейство- всеки със своите неволи, всеки със своите страхове, но събрани заедно- се превръщат в един силен организъм.

След толкова мъки и трудности, които бяха част от ежедневието на персонажите, си мислех, че най- накрая нещата ще почнат да се нареждат и ще има щастлив финал, но не, бедите ги следваха по петите от началото до самия край. И...цялото равновесие, което така крехко се крепеше, рухна, заедно с живота и с целия му смисъл. Цялата книга е пропита със страдание и драматизъм, но е толкова човешка сама по себе си, че си заслужава всеки ред. Мислех си, че ще мога да я прочета и понеса стоически, но и моето равновесие се разклати в края...и колкото и клиширанило да звучи, се разчувствах дълбоко.

" Все пак животът ни не е нищо друго освен поредица от нещастни случаи, дрънчаща верига от случайни събития. Низ от избори, които са направени съзнателно или нехайно и които в съвкупността си образуват голямото бедствие, наречено живот." - стр. 588

" Крехко равновесие" е роман за приятелството, за доверието, за близостта, за достойнството, за човечността, и за надеждата, преди всичко. И подобно на одеялото от различни парчета, което Дина шие в историята, така метафорично и авторът съчетава майсторски своите компоненти, съдби и персонажи, за да покаже накрая едно уникално произведение на изкуството.

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"...за да оцелее, понякога човек трябва да сдържа това, което му идва отвътре." - стр 242

" ...тайната на оцеляването е да прегърнеш промяната, да се приспособиш." - стр. 243

" Благодарение на някаква необяснима сила, направляваща всичко във Вселената, ние винаги губим това, от което нямаме нужда, отърсваме се от него така, както змията сменя кожата си. Загуба, подир нея друга- това е основата на живота, докато накрая не останем с голата същност на човешкото съществуване." - стр. 589

Tôi kinh sợ cuốn sách này, tôi ghét những chi tiết nối nhau phơi bày qua từng chương, nhưng tôi không thể ngừng đọc, và tôi không thể ngừng trân trọng câu chuyện của cuốn tiểu thuyết đồ sộ này.
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Cuốn sách chứa đầy những nhớp nhúa, bẩn thỉu, đau đớn, tuyệt vọng. Từng hi vọng nhỏ nhoi nhen lên đều bị dập tắt, tôi cố đi theo đến cùng mong mỏi thấy một chút ánh sáng phía cuối đường, để rồi đối mặt với cú đánh chót nghiệt ngã và trần trụi.
Cuốn sách này bóc trần xã hội Ấn Độ những năm 70, 80 của thế kỷ 20, đất nước chìm trong những chính sách "điên rồ" của một chính phủ "điên rồ". Cuốn sách này lột tả những khắc nghiệt trong hệ thống phân chia giai tầng của xã hội Ấn, những điều kinh khủng mà một kẻ ở đẳng cấp trên có thể thực hiện với những kẻ ở đẳng cấp dưới.
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Câu chuyện về Om và Ishvar ngập đầy đau đớn, tôi không biết phải nói về điều gì quanh số phận hai người ấy, vì mọi thứ xảy đến với họ đều tột cùng cay đắng. Nhưng tôi sẽ nói về một ám ảnh, khi đọc đến đoạn Ông Trùm Ăn Mày mô tả về cặp đôi ăn mày "đẳng cấp" mà ông ta tưởng tượng ra, tôi đã thoáng thấy tương lai của Om và Ishvar ở đó như thể đoạn văn ấy là lời tiên tri cho số phận họ. Và càng bị hình ảnh hai người ăn mày đi cùng nhau trong bức tranh của Ông trùm ám ảnh, tôi càng lo sợ cho vận số rồi sẽ xảy đến với Om và Ishvar, mà xảy đến thật, đến mức dù sự xảy đến ấy bất hạnh tới không tưởng tôi vẫn thở phào nhẹ nhõm vì có vài điều không giống như bức tranh kia...
Dina lại là một loại đau đớn khác. Nhưng số phận cô ám ảnh tôi nhất là câu chuyện về cô và Rustom, câu chuyện ấy cho tôi thấy cuộc sống mong manh tới độ nào và có thể bàng hoàng rẽ ngang ra sao.
Nhưng, tôi lại đồng cảm với nhân vật chính cuối cùng của bức tranh Ấn Độ này, tôi đồng cảm với Maneck. Số phận Maneck nhói lên một sự thực rằng niềm tuyệt vọng có thể tìm đến bất cứ ai và sự chán ghét cuộc sống có thể nảy mầm, bám rễ và đâm lên cái chồi nhánh đớn đau duy nhất của nó bên trong những con người tưởng như chẳng có gì để phải tuyệt vọng. Tôi hiểu niềm tuyệt vọng của Maneck vì chính cuộc sống của tôi cũng như thế, cũng đối mặt với câu hỏi về bản thân, về gia đình, về những lựa chọn, về những con người quanh mình...
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Rồi còn rất nhiều những gương mặt khác lướt qua hoạt cảnh thành phố Bombay dưới thời kỳ "Tình trạng khẩn cấp", mỗi gương mặt lại mang một ám ảnh khác nhau và để lại những ám ảnh riêng trong trí tôi.
Tôi không tài nào nhớ mình đã đọc thấy ai gọi cuốn sách này là cuốn sử thi về Ấn Độ hiện đại, nhưng tôi thích cách so sánh ấy, cuốn sách này giá trị ở chỗ nó đã lột trần xã hội và đất nước Ấn Độ trong một tao đoạn loạn lạc nhức nhối - một Ấn Độ rối ren và vang đầy tiếng gào thét của mọi phận người.
Khi đọc cuốn sách này, tôi đã nghĩ có lẽ tôi không thể đi Ấn Độ được, vì xã hội này phức tạp và kinh khủng quá. Nhưng liệu có công bằng không khi chỉ đọc về một vùng đất mà không thực sự đặt chân đến để thấy bằng chính mắt mình?

As I re-read this epic novel, this time via audio, it was as if I was reading it for the first time, except for a feeling of foreboding. I didn't remember the details - but I remembered that no one escapes pain. But who can read a novel that is only about endless loss and sadness and struggle? Fortunately, Mistry is a brilliant writer who brings to life the daily satisfying moments, the humor, friendship and accomplishments of Dina, Ishvar, Omprakash and Maneck. He also illuminates a difficult period of India's history. It is a masterpiece.

Abandoned, but not lightly...

Shortlisted for the 1996 Booker prize, and recommended by just about everyone who's read it, I came to this book with high expectations. I began the book on the 29th July and finally abandoned it on 1st September at just over the half-way mark. So this review is an attempt to explain why I struggled so badly with a book that apparently the whole world loves.

The book is set in the period of the late '70s/early '80s, probably in Bombay, I think, though I don't think Mistry ever actually says so. Mrs Gandhi is in power and ‘The Emergency’ has been declared – a period, it would seem, when the government was cracking down on opposition and civil liberties in general. I say 'it would seem' because again Mistry doesn't really bother to tell us about the political situation – he implies his characters are too poor or disinterested to care about politics and, since we see only through their eyes, we get only a vague, fuzzy view of what's going on. Fine, if you already have an in-depth knowledge of Indian politics of four decades ago, but unfortunately I don't.

The book starts with the coming together of four people whose stories make up the heart of the book. Dina Dalal, a widow on the edge of poverty, takes on a contract to make clothing for one of the big new companies that have taken work away from the traditional tailors. To fulfil the work, she hires two such dispossessed tailors, Ishvar and his nephew Omprakash. At the same time she takes in student Maneck, the son of an old school friend, as a paying lodger. The first half of the book is taken up with the backstories of these characters, explaining what tragedies have led them to this point. And when I say tragedies, boy, do I mean tragedies. Rape, murder, all forms of cruelty, racial and religious attacks, threatened incest – all human misery is here, often several times over. But these poor people don't realise this has actually been the good part of their lives – things are going to get worse...

n  But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.n

Mistry's writing style is very good. The descriptions of these awful lives in this horrible country are detailed and convincing. So convincing, in fact, that one is left wondering why anyone would choose to go on living at all. Each day is a joyless burden, filled with nastiness and filth. There are only two groups of people in this country: the oppressors and the oppressed. No hope, no chance for escape from the degradations and privations that increase with every passing day. Not a picture of India that I recognise from other novels, the best of which do show the extreme poverty and huge inequalities, but also show the diversity and even vibrancy of the country as a whole.

The characterisation is strong in the sense that each of the four main protagonists is well delineated and their behaviour is consistent with their past experiences. But the problem is that Mistry clearly has a political agenda and the characters are no more than puppets. I felt that Mistry had started with a list of all the bad things about life under Mrs Gandhi, added all the different ways people can be nasty to each other, and then dumped all this misery on the heads of this tiny group of characters. I'm sure all these bad things happened, indeed still do, but I'm equally sure they don't happen every single day to the same people. If there's a riot, they'll be caught up in it. If a slum is pulled down, it'll be their slum. If a father is murdered for being the wrong caste, it'll be their father. If a wife is raped for being poor...well, you get my point. Even if one of them pauses to make friends with a dog, you can be sure the dog will die hideously within a chapter. The strange result of this was that I didn't care what happened to any of them, because I didn't believe in them as people – merely as fairground ducks for Mistry to shoot over and over again.

I've had a long, long time to think about why I found it so difficult to pick the book up and read even a few pages each day, and the conclusion I've come to is that the book lacks two fundamental necessaries. Firstly, there is no plot. There is simply a description of the miserable lives of these miserable people – we're not heading towards, or even away from, anything. And secondly, there is no glimmer of hope. I'm not suggesting there should be a happy ending with them all becoming rich and happy, but there has to be a possibility of something in the future that would make their present lives worth the horrible daily struggle. But there isn't – it's crystal clear that things are going to get worse and worse until Mistry finally runs out of things to torment them with; at which point they will be abandoned to their miserable fates. (When I decided to give up, I flicked ahead to the end to see if I was being unfair – I wasn't.) I'm a political animal, so I love novels that include an element of politics in them. But there must be something else in them too – otherwise it's not a novel. This book is about one important sector of society, the poor, at a particular point of Indian history; but I got no overall picture of the society, no understanding of why the political situation had reached this stage, no glimmer of what opposition might be in train. As an extremely lengthy description of how awful life can be for people caught up in hopeless poverty and cruelty, full marks. But then we already know that, don't we? We watch the news...don't we? A novel needs to be more than that, surely? It needs to tell us what we don't already know – it needs to make us think…to care. And ultimately this one doesn't...

n  ‘Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.' He paused, considering what he had just said. ‘Yes’ he repeated. ‘In the end, it's all a question of balance.’n

For me, Mistry failed to achieve a balance – the book is too heavily weighted towards misery and despair. The quality of the characterisation and descriptive writing makes me feel that my 1-star rating is harsh, but since I can’t bring myself to finish the book, I feel it’s the only rating I can give it.

www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com

Walking down the streets of “the city by the sea” from Mistry’s novel, I have often found myself wondering about the lives of others—it is hard not to, for the streets are constantly abuzz with waves of comings and goings; a formidable sea of anonymous faces one feels inclined to try on, tempted to trace the shape of the lives they inhabit and the dreams they’ve come here to chase. Yet, it is not these lives and faces—harrowed, hungry, and hopeful, spilling along the pavements—that feature in the stories this city is known for: a lot is said about its secretive skyscrapers, while its struggling masses remain overlooked, left to fend for themselves.

It is lives such as these that Mistry brings into focus with A Fine Balance. Widely considered to be the author’s magnum opus, this delicate, richly textured novel tells a heartrending story of friendship and loss amidst a country in turmoil. Despite being centered in pathos, Mistry’s lifelike prose—exploring the brusqueness of happenstance and lived experience—seems to grip the reader as if by their very fingertips: mine refuse to let go of these pages even after having soaked in them time and again for many years.

The plot is centered around the lives of Dina Dalal, a middle-aged Parsi widow from the city; Maneck Kohlah, a lonely student from the mountains; and two tailors, Om and Ishvar Darji, who hail from a faraway village; as they are thrown together into the melting pot by hardship and necessity. It is through the patchwork of their lives entwining as in a quilt that the reader is made familiar with the wider political reality of India—a reality riddled with caste-violence, poverty, exploitation, and corruption—against the immediate background of the National Emergency of 1975, a period infamous for making political prisoners out of an entire nation.

Mistry is ruthless in exposing the atrocities committed under this ostensibly ‘pro-people’ regime of forced-sterilisation and brutal clampdowns on civil and political liberties, while also paying attention to the deeper rot of evils like caste discrimination, dowry, warped development projects, vote-stuffing, and bribery in public institutions, which pervade to this day. The personal is political, as the suffering of each character—from the protagonists to the beggars, rent-collectors and others who populate the fringes of the narrative—makes evident, touched as it is by the arm of law in alarming but commonplace ways (Re-reading this book in 2020, I also realised how similar India under the dissimilar governments led by Indira Gandhi and Narendra Modi respectively happens to be: the opposition is quashed, the media is censored and partisan, and the laws are changed clandestinely—we are, after all, living today in a state of undeclared emergency).

However, it isn’t just what this novel is about, but also how it is written, that makes A Fine Balance such a powerful piece of fiction. It says somewhere in this book that the lives of the poor are rich in symbols, and symbols indeed abound throughout the narrative. The most dominant of these is the patchwork quilt, which appears both as a physical object sewn together by Dina as well as a metaphor for our protagonists’ shared fate. The quilt as the coming together of memories made in Dina’s flat also leads to the question of the quiltmaker—fate, and an unfair system. The chess-set that Maneck receives from his friend, Avinash, too has similar metaphorical bearings.

But there also lingers the minor character of the lawyer-proofreader-propagandist Vasantrao Valmik, who offers much political and philosophical insight, and whom Dina notices “deliberately spinning together the string of accidents that make up life.” As such, he is a stand-in for the author himself, for Mistry too strings together a tale that only towards its end reveals its circular shape, a tight web of foreshadowing.

Overall, this is an intensely poignant and politically charged tale that maintains a fine balance between hope and despair—until it doesn’t. This is one of those books that will plunge you into a state of anguish and contemplation for days; a tragedy that does not end with the last page. But read, anyway. For as the epigraph by Balzac says, "this tragedy is not a fiction. All is true''.

One of my favourite books. I am happy to have my copy signed by Rohinton Mistry. This story takes us to the streets of Bombay in the 70's. A story that intertwines the life of four people during a time of political unrest. It casts a very descriptive view of life in India at that time.

Just finished this and I have no idea how to put into words how this novel has touched me... so many conflicting emotions!!! I loved the characters and grew to respect each one for their nuances... and loved how the differences between them dissolved into friendship!!! This is definitely not a novel for the faint of heart... but one that I think everyone should read!!! These characters and their stories will stay with me for a long time...

Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated – not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

In many ways this sums up the feel of A Fine Balance, which is helpful because it goes some way to explain why I thoroughly enjoyed every page of this epic tragedy. While the disasters kept piling up -- from simple loss to bereavement to full-on torture -- Mistry softened this with humour and with the warmth of the four main characters for each other.

This is Indira Ghandi's India of the 1970s; the start of the Emergency, where the poor and the helpless are controlled by government-sanctioned thuggery. Coming together in the 'city by the sea' are: Dina, now in her 40s, poor and widowed after only three years of marriage as a young woman; Maneck, an easygoing student and the son of an old school friend of Dina's; and two tailors, Ishvar and his nephew Om, members of the Untouchable caste, from the countryside.

In particular, the story of Ishvar and Om had an almost Homeric feel to it. Their lives were plotted as a series of incidents. The pair seemed to attract misfortune, and as time passed, their misfortunes escalated in degree. How much can two people bear? But they always had each other, and for a time they enjoyed the happiness and security of being part of Dina's unlikely little 'family'.

On the surface, Maneck appeared to have everything going for him. A loving family, a level of financial security and success with his studies. But a lingering feeling of rejection by his beloved father is indirectly the catalyst for both Maneck's happiest period as well as his darkest hours.

Then there is Dina, a bit of a firecracker as a young girl, but her life is irrevocably changed when her young husband is killed in a straightforward accident. The path Dina chooses from that point is to steadfastly hang onto her widowhood, much to her older brother's frustration. To do this, she builds up some pretty strong defences, and she is perhaps more surprised than anyone when the tailors and the student succeed in breaking them down and contributing to a fleeting period of contentment for her.

There are a whole host of curious minor characters too - Worm, the Beggarmaster, Chachaji Ashraf, the Haircollector and even, actually speaking, Sergeant Kesar. Nusswan, Dina's uptight brother, provides a bit of comic relief, like when he met Maneck for the first time (expecting a suitor):

Nusswan rose and shot his cuffs, ready to extend a warm greeting to the man who would be brother-in-law. When he saw Maneck’s youth enter the office, his knees almost gave way. His crazy sister had done it again! He clenched the edge of the desk, pale with visions of shame and scandal in the community. “Are you turning into a European, Nusswan? Or are you sick?” asked Dina. “I’m fine, thank you,” he answered stiffly.

So the tragedy is not entirely unrelenting, but in the words of Maneck: Everything ended badly.

A book, along with two others which mysteriously appeared on my living room couch. My wife, equally at a loss had no idea where they came from. No one had been to the house previously, certainly not the dear family friend who just finished A Fine Balance and asked if I would read it. Reluctantly taking a break from Walser and The Tanners, I began my 600 page responsibility to a person who has always been there for us.

The book's first four pages were partially folded from use, not to signify any important passage or point. The remainder of the pages were white and crisp except for the occasional single letter or short word erased from use. It wasn't clear whether they were fading or attempting to emerge. No name of ownership or penned notes showed anywhere or any other sign the book hand been read in another's hands.

On a good day I can read thirty pages. Immediately the words vanished and one hundred pages were completed each day. Immersed in a foreign culture, India, 1975, under the brutal reign of Prime Minister Indira Ghandi and her State of Emergency, the tortures of a caste system, the mass murders of a government discarding citizen rights and reaching for complete and lasting control, left me as fearful as the characters whose lives I lived. The world of death and torture was hideous, the stench of relentless fear. Other manners of the denial of life emerged more silent yet still brutalizing the living of a life. In small villages in order to provide safety for oneself and one's family life had to be ordered according to one's station as provided within the unwritten sanctions of caste. Aspirations, dreams, uniqueness were sacrificed to live as one was expected to live by the citizen's of the town. The hope flourished that children would follow suite, marrying and having their children quietly dragging the yoke of this life, participating in the small happinesses of the allotted conventions. In the large and growing cities life also was abdicated by the grasp for power where no matter where it was found there was a higher power controlling it, or the striving for upper or middle class existence with its conformity, safety, accoutrements, and agreed upon cliche's which passed off the burden of hypocrisy, the breath-quickened unreasoned reason for the, "Necessary," flood of blood. Precious life was taken, but also discarded by buckling to what others thought, the pronounced model of success, being, "Right," kneeling before the altar of arbitrary convention created to support the edifice of reigning power.

The great vampire that sucked the blood out of life was, time. It devoured individuals. Families were crushed, their ways of life vanishing, then vanished. This is the work of the world, the passage of time lost opening to its precarious renewal in different forms. A tragedy in this story is that time passed but did not open onto a new time for the many that might provide a continuation or a new existence with further meanings. Many reached a dead end as did the repetitions of the changing of power in new vestments with old designs of clothing hidden beneath.

Yet, there was a woman who defied custom and went off to make a life on her own despite the expectations that she was chosen for success within the fence-lined beliefs of her village. It was always difficult, one obstacle after another, then another waiting in line to follow. She was not the customary hero, nor never sought that trophy. Her heroism was in being herself and trying to survive where odds said she could not. This question hung in the air till near the end of the story, survival. Over time she found unexpectedly a familial love with the two tailors and a young border who lived with her in her small flat. Concern, giving, and caring sprung from people I never imagined could, would. The evil also carried hearts which could warm at times. Did she make the right choice? It could have been easier if she listened to the insistence of her brother and married at an early age, or marry at all. Tough, with all the difficulties she did live her life, patch-worked as it may have seemed to those doing what they were supposed-to-do. Those readers who love quiet heroes, this is a woman to adore, a story to adore, who can adore unexpected small gestures of kindness that flourish tender within bleakness.

This is beautiful and seamless writing that does not call attention to itself but gifted to the reader for the telling of this story. As I write I am understanding why when I finished and since, I have been emotionally wrought. I wanted to get back to reading Walser, a newspaper, listening to music, anything. This may be due to something personal within me and my identification with these characters and this story, or the literary accomplishment, or both. Although writing about it has now helped me to understand it there is still no resolution. I sit here embroiled. The past tells me to allow it to rage within and not get in its way. In the end it will open up for me, as great books do, a life with a fuller meaning.

OMGOSH! Definitely a five star read for me, but all of my emotions are shot to hell. Did a world like this really exist in 1970's India? Heaven forbid!

Rohinton Mistry introduces his four main characters and their individual stories one by one until they merge together sharing a cramped apartment in a world of starvation, suffering and despair.

With civil unrest and demonstrations against a corrupt government on the rise, our protagonists needlessly endure despicable injustices to both body and soul just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

While reading A FINE BALANCE, I lost count on the number of expletives I screamed inside as I encountered shock after unbelievable shock.

Excellent, but draining read with absolutely wonderful secondary characters added to the mix and a story I will not forget, and......oh the ending. Don't miss this one......Definitely worth your reading time!