Desai has written a fabulist tale here. Elements of magic realism combined with plausible, everyday events and humour, and laced with subtle criticisms of bureaucracy in India, make this novel a funny, absurdist story. It is a delight to read. The story follows the life of Sampath, the lazy, whimsical son of Mr Chalwa and wife, Kulfi. Sampath lacks his father’s zeal for hard work and loyalty to bosses. Sampath’s lack of ambition is anathema to his father’s aspirations for him. His father is frustrated with his dreamy wife and his equally dreamy, lack-lustre son. The only person who has faith in Sampath is his grandmother, who says of her hapless grandson, ‘But the world is round, wait and see! Even if it appears he is going downhill, he will come up on the other side. Yes, on top of the world! He is just taking the longer route.’

The book opens with Kulfi heavily pregnant with Sampath during the start of the monsoon season. The build-up to the storm runs parallel to Kulfi’s nearness to giving birth. She is obsessed with food, cooking, and eating constantly. Kulfi is an unorthodox cook, an enigmatic personality who floats through the kitchen awaiting the birth of her first child, vague and detached to what is happening around her and tuned in only to her unborn child and the food she prepares.

‘Kulfi sliced and pounded, ground and smashed, cut and chopped…Cumin, quail, mustard seeds, pomelo rind,’ she muttered as she cooked. ‘Fennel, coriander, sour mango. Pandanus flour, lichen and perfumed kewra…A single grain of one thing, a bud of another, a moist fingertip dipped lightly into a small vial and then into the bubbling pot; a thimble full, a matchbox full, a coconut shell full of dark crimson and deep violet, of dusty yellow spice…’

The depictions of Kulfi in her kitchen, locked in her own world and a mystery to her own husband, are some of the best scenes in the novel. The rich imagery of the lead up to the birth, of Kulfi’s mental and physical state, the descriptions of the food she cooks and eats and the coming of the monsoon are some of the most vivid and beautiful descriptions of food in a novel. In the hours leading up to the birth, Kulfi starts drawing on the walls of the house. A thunderstorm is coming, and rather than retreating inside, Kulfi stands at the window and roars into the storm. The villagers have waited for rain after months of drought, and on this auspicious night, when the Swedish Red Cross drops food right in front of the family home, and the storm finally breaks, Sampath is born.

The villagers now believe Sampath is destined for great things. Sampath has greatness thrust upon him, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Overwhelmed with his new responsibility, Sampath flees to an orchard for some peace and quiet, but there is no respite, as events take a turn that see Sampath thrust into the limelight.

Desai has a sharp eye for drawing her characters. She is not afraid of gently admonishing that which she believes needs changing. She paints a vivid picture of Shahkot village and its inhabitants with all their idiosyncrasies, insecurities, and petty jealousies. There exists an undercurrent of disdain for certain cultural practices and ideologies in the novel; however, Desai is never didactic. Her narration of such protocols as to how a new bride should behave, the scenes involving the dubious nature of some holy men and the hints at the corruption of certain bodies of authority are woven into Sampath’s story with a sense of the ridiculous. Perhaps she also has something to say about those who lead and those who follow.

Desai has written a gentle satire on post-modern Indian village life. Certainly, the novel can be read as a charming, humorous tale, a light-hearted romp through an Indian village. There is more to this novel than this. Desai has bridged the divide between silliness and seriousness, and without being patronising, takes the reader into everyday village life while making us laugh at the same time.