Legendary travel photog Steve McCurry has developed a bad reputation over the decades for reportedly mistreating his subjects (notably “Afghan Girl” Sharbat Gula), for allegedly staging and digitally manipulating images (as opposed to the candid shots he claims they are), and for profiting handsomely from it all. But gosh dang if his photographs aren’t gorgeous! In light of his purported misdeeds, I do not intend on dropping any more money on his newest retrospective books, but 2000’s South Southeast – based on his early work in Asia – will always remain on my bookshelf.

Although I contributed to this volume, I am recommending it not because of that but because it has a couple of excellent chapters on Gandhi. Best known is Shahid Amin’s, "Gandhi as Mahatma: Gorakhpur District, Eastern UP, 1921-2". In this, he examines Gandhi’s fleeting visit in February 1921 to Gorakhpur District, a largely rural area close to the border with Nepal – showing how this visit was understood by the local peasantry. Many tales circulated, many of which involved the idea that Gandhi had the power of rewarding those who accepted his message and punishing those who did not in supernatural ways. The chapter provides a superb analysis of the ways in which his message was filtered and changed in ways that Gandhi himself not only had no part in, but which he – when brought to his notice – repudiated. The chapter by Partha Chatterjee, "Gandhi and the Critique… show more.

Reading Guha was an eye-opening experience for me for at least two reasons. One, he was the founding figure of subaltern historiography; and two, abandoning the colonial knowledge project, he introduced a whole new horizon of South Asian studies to his readers. First by acknowledging and then by understanding the consciousness and politics of the colonial marginal, Guha explored peasant insurgency in a new light.

In his battle against colonialist and nationalist historiographies, Guha also distanced himself from his Marxist colleagues in history. 

This book served as my entry point to Indian goddess traditions. It examines a millennia-old tradition alongside the modern concept of feminism. What emerges is a nuanced and complicated set of essays that challenges my understanding of goddesses and their relation to women and men. At the end of the day, I walk away with a greater appreciation for both goddesses and feminism.

I find extremely interesting the mix of historical scholarship and anthropological fieldwork so vividly presented in this study, as in the other work, by Véronique Bouillier.

She has a particular penchant to focus on and engage with the tension in the ideology and lived experience of her chosen subjects, be it between ancient stories about the Yogis and the lifestyle of the contemporary ascetics or between the ethos of the warriors and the ethos of the renouncers (as the former, in particular kings, become the latter, in popular legends), which gives particular attraction to her elegant and learned exposition.  

Indians born in the USA are all clubbed under the euphemism, “ABCD.” In other words, American Born Confused Desi. Desi loosely translates as Indian native. There is some truth to this as the question of identity hits each of us when we enter young adulthood. Ethnicity is a huge part of this, and for Indian Americans it is a double whammy—they are so different from their peers born and raised in India, yet so different to their American peers too. I love how Tanuja addresses these challenges in her story.

Samrat Upadhyay’s English-language novels and short stories often read like anthropological work on Nepal’s middle class.
The Royal Ghosts fictionalizes the sluggish economy in and urban migration to contemporary Kathmandu, the decade-long civil war that ended along with the collapse of the Hindu monarchy in 2006, and the political tensions that defined Nepal in the first decade of the current millennium. His attention to the previous king’s grasp at power using political propaganda in the form of monumental billboards in 1990 (in “Supreme Pronouncements”) reflects my own interest in similar rhetoric fifteen years later.

I also like the use of the popular religious imagery when in “Chintamani’s Women”, the main character pauses briefly at the picture of the elephant-headed Ganesh on his kitchen wall as he offers a quick prayer for his deceased mother and sick father (RG 130). 

This book by Joya Chatterji is a path-breaking one, as it posed a challenge against the hegemonic narratives dominant in the 1947 Partition studies to date.

Before Chatterji's work, Partition studies largely agreed upon the fact that apart from the British, the only home-grown villain behind the communal plot of Partition was the Muslim League and its leadership. Scholars in the field also agreed that the Indian National Congress was a secular platform.

Chatterji, however, argues that in the case of Bengal, the upper-class Hindu Bhadraloks were against the Partition in 1905. However, this same section of people in 1947 went for Partition along the communal line. And Congress, besides Hindu Mahasabha, had taken up communal politics.

As a middle-class white lady from London, I have to work extra hard to make sure I hear the voices of mothers who are not like me. Listening to stories from different cultures and hearing about diverse experiences is important for my work. This book is filled with stories from mothers from Indian and South Asian backgrounds.

It doesn’t pretend that breastfeeding is all rose petals and butterflies. These mothers have gone through some tough challenges and have not always had the support they needed. I love that it’s a book about women being strong and why breastfeeding matters to them.

During my student days in the early 1970s, I travelled throughout North India by train and country bus, often staying in the countryside in former colonial rest houses from days of British rule in India. I tried to imagine what it was like for the British East India Company officials before 1857, and then for the British colonial officials who replaced the company officers after the Indian Sepoy Mutiny. The Siege of Krishnapur vividly recreates the 1857 mutiny from the perspective of British company officials and their families trapped by the local soldiers they had employed. 

Farrell used a diary and letters from those besieged in the real city of Lucknow to illustrate the horrors of hunger, impending rape, torture, and eventual death that many of the British faced. The scenes are graphic, and the portrayals of the relationships among those trapped have stayed with me for years. The novel… show more.