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A review by varunob
Rumours of Spring: A Girlhood in Kashmir by Farah Bashir
emotional
informative
sad
medium-paced
3.25
Rumours of Spring is not a great book, nor is it a bad one. It's the kind of book that falls smack dab in the middle of the scale. It is neither as far-reaching as Rahul Pandita's Our Moon Has Blood Clots, nor as indulgent and self-pitying as Basharat Peer's Curfewed Night - two of the best-known memoirs about the Kashmir conflict.
Author Farah Bashir propels her book via a disjointed narrative, which is spun from a pivotal incident in her life, one she constantly comes back to over the course of the book. The narrative hobbles what is otherwise a distinct story, though one might disagree with the softness Bashir shows towards the terrorists (at least it's not Peer's hero-worship of them, eh?). For a change, this is a woman's view of a conflict zone where the slightest alteration in temperature can lead to mayhem.
The lack of length is troubling - if there ever were a memoir that needed to dig deeper, needed to go further, it was this one. The little Bashir has written, while far from flawless, is an interesting peek into 90s Kashmir as seen by a young woman, be it the view she holds of the central forces in Srinagar or the comings and goings of known people, sometimes permanently.
The real problem is the incident which serves as the pivot for Bashir's recollections, and the disjointed narrative which never really comes across as a deliberate decision. It lacks finesse in that sphere, and is poses something of a challenge for someone approaching the book.
Author Farah Bashir propels her book via a disjointed narrative, which is spun from a pivotal incident in her life, one she constantly comes back to over the course of the book. The narrative hobbles what is otherwise a distinct story, though one might disagree with the softness Bashir shows towards the terrorists (at least it's not Peer's hero-worship of them, eh?). For a change, this is a woman's view of a conflict zone where the slightest alteration in temperature can lead to mayhem.
The lack of length is troubling - if there ever were a memoir that needed to dig deeper, needed to go further, it was this one. The little Bashir has written, while far from flawless, is an interesting peek into 90s Kashmir as seen by a young woman, be it the view she holds of the central forces in Srinagar or the comings and goings of known people, sometimes permanently.
The real problem is the incident which serves as the pivot for Bashir's recollections, and the disjointed narrative which never really comes across as a deliberate decision. It lacks finesse in that sphere, and is poses something of a challenge for someone approaching the book.