“It’s a dark, smog-choked New Delhi winter.”
It’s a world and culture unfamiliar to me. Damyanti Biswas’s novel, You Beneath Your Skin, is steeped in cultural references and customs that are lost on me and at times left me confused. So what? Her story and her characters transcended the cultural divide and drew me in. Her heroes are flawed, her villains are sympathetic (except maybe one in particular) and their individual stories are compelling. People talk about how a novel needs a strong beginning, but it’s the end that either leaves you disappointed, or glad you read the book. Biswas nails the ending. So satisfying in every way.
“I’ve known for a while,” he said, breaking into Hindi, running a finger over a discolured patch on her forearm. “I’ve got them, too. Can’t show you because they are on the inside.”
What really counts is the you beneath your skin.
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