Calcutta, Melbourne and Kabul

vegemite vindaloo (Penguin, Rs 295) by David McMahon is a novel built around the symbolic centre of the Australian hakea tree, the seed pods of which open only during bushfires. ?So what looks to some people like destruction,? writes McMahon, ?is actually the only way this great tree can survive and spread.? The novel interlaces two disparate lives. Ismail flees his village in Bihar with his wife, Zarina, and child, Azam, to become a pavement-dweller in Calcutta. He shares the city with Steve Cooper, a handsome young pilot, who is looking for domestic help. He employs Zarina as an ayah and her family comes to live with the Coopers. The little boy, Azam, gradually becomes part of the Cooper family. Then the Coopers? application to migrate to Australia comes through, complicating the lives of Azam and the Coopers, who have come to love him like their own son. ?Looking ahead, he saw the dramatic change of colour, with the ocean pummelling the cliffs. Already it seemed they had left the stark red ground behind them. To his left was an endless array of windswept sand dunes. In front of him was the startling blue of the water, turning white as it foamed against the base of the cliffs.?

mission to kabul (MapinLit, Rs 450) by H. Ronken Lynton is a historical novel about aristocratic Muslim life in British India. It is the story of two brothers, Mahmoud and Hamid. Mahmoud undertakes a dangerous mission to the Khan, ruler of Afghanistan, based in Kabul, where the mountains become the setting for political intrigue and espionage. ?Erupting into the sun, Mahmoud threw the Minister?s brocade bag into the air and caught it, then followed it with a great leap, and again, and again. Up, up, up, elation raised him like a hot air balloon.?

Letters for Paul (MapinLit, Rs 295) by Anu Kumar is about the violence that explodes in Aditi?s life one sultry afternoon in a town where nothing ever happens. This violence has unexpected and spiralling consequences. This novel is about Aditi?s attempts to understand these events in her life, generating questions that seemingly have no answers. ?By the time evening came down fully, the road had sorted itself out. I would have preferred it to stay disorganized a while longer. Through a slit in the curtains, I was memorising the way it looked, because Paul had to be told about it.?