I read A Fine Balance almost two months ago. But the book still haunts me. In the middle of a cup of coffee, I stop and wonder about Dina, and whether things could have been different with her. About whether, if she had pleaded to keep the tailor's machines, she would have been in her own house, she would have been happier.
When I am lying in bed, just about to fall asleep, I wonder about Om and Ishwar - how much they saw, how much they hoped. I wonder what they felt all that struggle was worth.
I think about the book, and feel miserable even now. Hurt for the characters, for their families, for the rest of our country, and I wish, like a small child, that things got better. The last time I connected so much with a book was Shantaram, but at least Shantaram was a happy book. It gave me things to think about, and also to hope for.
A fine balance, on the other hand, left me wanting. Wanting a parent to come and fix this world now. Wanting to not take responsibility for what I see in our world, yet left me knowing that I must - who will, if not us?
Highly highly recommended.