Railsong

by Rahul Bhattacharya

A breathtaking novel about 
a woman forging a life for herself on the railways, Railsong is the story of an individual coming of age amid the social and political upheavals of twentieth-century India.

In a newly independent India charged with national vigor, Charu, the motherless daughter of a railway worker, pines for freedom from the shackles of her impoverishment and meagre prospects. As diesel engines replace steam and the calamitous churn of drought, famine and a great strike engulfs her town, Charu dares to imagine a different future for herself. She boards a train and flees westwards, leaving behind the oppressive domesticity of her childhood for the alluring modernity, and apparent opportunities, of Bombay.

Unfazed by the everyday discriminations around her, she becomes an unlikely hero:
a railway woman and census enumerator who keeps her heart open—sometimes guilelessly—to her nation’s vast possibility. Sweeping, elegiac and at times wonderfully comic, Railsong is a powerful portrait of grit, optimism and the force of character that enables one remarkable woman to live on her own terms in a country full of contradictions.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, India, Historical, Literary Fiction, Audiobook, Asia

416 pages, Hardcover

First published February 17, 2026

About the author

Rahul Bhattacharya is a writer, journalist and editor. His first novel, The Sly Company of People Who Care, won the Royal Society of Literature Ondaatje Prize and was shortlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize. Pundits from Pakistan, his first book, was a Wisden Cricketer top ten cricket book of all time. He was born in Bombay and lives in Delhi with his wife and two daughters.

Reviews

[Sayari Debnath]

I’ll never forget Charu Chitol.

[Parvathy]

I remember loving The Sly Company Of People Who Care, and I remember feeling that there was something special about that young writer. It took Bhattacharya thirteen years to write another book...and I was lucky enough this time to get an autographed copy, courtesy a friend.
This one is a very different novel. But it is special too, in its own way. It is not everyday that a man writes convincingly from a woman's point of view. But Charulata Chitol, as the heart of this book, is lovely. She grows up in a fictional railway town, daughter of a Bihari mother and a Bengali father, who in the idealism of the India of the fifties and sixties, decides to give up his high caste surname for the indeterminate one of Chitol. That idealism stays with Charu through her life, as she runs away to Bombay looking for freedom and independence, as she encounters the bureaucracy of a railway job, as she tries to work through the complications of an inter-state marriage. Through her life we see the life of a nation, as Bhattacharya weaves in, ever so subtly, the events that shaped India in the latter half of the twentieth century. And also through her life, we see the change in women - as they begin to work outside their homes, negotiating an autonomy society is loathe to grant them. But the magical core of the book is the Indian Railways - its ordinary employees, the clerks and the sweepers and the station masters and the ticket inspectors. Charu, as she travels the trains as a welfare officer, meets them all and sees in them the complex richness that is India. Bhattacharya writes a love song to this behemoth - as it chugs along, inspite of all its problems, carrying a billion Indians across the land, irrespective of their caste or religion or language.
I don't know if I loved this as much as I loved The Sly Company, but Bhattacharya tells a good tale, slow-moving in parts, but heart-warming and rewarding as a whole.
A recommend.

[Emily]

This book is one of those books that the time you put into it directly correlates to how much you enjoy it. This book took me 3 months to read because, hallelujah, Rahul Bhattacharya did not cater to the American English reader. He never goes into great explanations of the cultural references, apparel, events, religious beliefs, music, or language. He would use Bengali phrases and never translate it. It was absolutely refreshing. I had to be an active reader and was constantly researching. I learned SO much. I loved the poetic way Bhattacharya wrote as the reader followed Charu through her life. It is a slower paced book, but you get to know Charu so well and want to cheer her on at every stage.

[Natasha]

As slow-moving as the titular trains winding through the book, with little of the promised song. Although Charu was an interesting and complex character, her mundane adventures and the ponderous writing style that relayed them failed to engage.

[Baljit]

3.5 stars.

The main character is Charu Chittol; daughter of a railway man, she grew up in the housing quarters of the railway workers families, with her siblings and grandmother. But her mother passed at a young age and Charu was very much her father’s daughter, showing interest in locomotives and the entire organization of the Indian railways.

This was post independence India, a country charging ahead with new ideas despite old traditions. Girls were seeking education and Charu set her sights high, aspiring independence and adventure. She moves to Bombay, enrolls in the Railways as a junior clerk, makes friends, has liaisons, enters the Welfare Department and travels to villages and hamlets to carry out her duties.

The political landscape changes and along with it, girls like Charu test the boundaries of traditional roles set for them for generations. The writer gives us a glimpse of how the railways shaped India and the role of ordinary working men and women who served it daily.

[Vijay Krishnamoorthy]

A brilliant book showing the growth of an individual and the events of the nation through a critical institution - the Indian railways.

Lyrical prose, beautiful observations and many vignettes that use banality to illustrate profound thoughts. This book was a great read - the last part could have been paced a bit better

[V]

Outstanding book. Was hooked throughout. Beautiful prose, felt like I was in Bhombalphur in the 50s and Mumbai in the 80s. Also, an empathetic and beautiful perspective on the Indian railways. Ms Chitol, what a character

[T.J. Wallace]

A full five stars! A rating that has become very rare for me over the past few years. But I absolutely loved "Railsong," and it earned every star. The narrative is really dense and full and absolutely teeming with life. And it doesn't pander to the English reader. I spent a lot of time looking up the meanings of words and historical incidents in India to better understand what was happening. Somehow that work made it even more worthwhile and precious to me. I was truly sucked into this epic story of one young woman's quest to live life on her own terms. Beautiful. Heartening. Sad and funny and wise and honest and tragic and hopeful, all at the same time. My favorite kind of book!

Description (from Goodreads):

In a newly independent India charged with national vigor, Charu, the motherless daughter of a railway worker, pines for freedom from the shackles of her impoverishment and meagre prospects. As diesel engines replace steam and the calamitous churn of drought, famine and a great strike engulfs her town, Charu dares to imagine a different future for herself. She boards a train and flees westwards, leaving behind the oppressive domesticity of her childhood for the alluring modernity, and apparent opportunities, of Bombay.

Unfazed by the everyday discriminations around her, she becomes an unlikely hero:
a railway woman and census enumerator who keeps her heart open—sometimes guilelessly—to her nation’s vast possibility. Sweeping, elegiac and at times wonderfully comic, Railsong is a powerful portrait of grit, optimism and the force of character that enables one remarkable woman to live on her own terms in a country full of contradictions.

Charu is such a wonderful character. For one thing, she is a reader!! As a child, she gravitates to fiction, which opens her up to an interest in all human stories and, I believe, helps make her into the empathetic woman she becomes. I am not always convinced by women written by male authors, but Charu felt believable. Her thoughts about marriage, in-laws, miscarriage, work as a woman - all of them rang true to me. And she is so beautifully imperfect. I deeply related to her throughout: from awkward childhood, to a young adulthood full of uncertainties about purpose and love, to her experiences as a fully-mature woman with a passion for the many diverse peoples of her very complicated country.

And I really appreciated learning more about India from the 1960s - 1990s. The Ram Rath Yatra movement (Hindu nationalism) and ongoing tension between Hindu and Muslim Indians was eye-opening. I loved when big-hearted Charu took a stand against her in-laws and their barely-disguised racism. It was also fascinating learning more about some of the lesser-known, indigenous tribes in India and some of the caste issues that Charu had to deal with due to being the daughter of an inter-caste marriage and from entering into an inter-caste marriage herself.

"Railsong" feels like an epic, even with the page count clocking in at only around 400. For the four days I was reading it, I lived and breathed India - particularly life in Bhombalphur and Mumbai. I googled so much! I got lost down several rabbit holes. Overall, I had a delightful time. "Railsong" beautifully manages that delicate balance of being realistic (and sometimes quite sad) without completely losing hope about the world and the people in it. Charu will keep counting people. Maybe I can too.

Some of my favorite quotes that I highlighted:

"She was thrilled by the clarifications because they coincided with the period she became truly cognizant of the miracle of books. How fulfilling to jettison people for words! For in those words were people more real than real people. With them she could laugh and cry, at them she could state, she could observe them without judgement or even comprehension. They expected nothing of her, indeed gave her so much of themselves she felt accountable towards them."

"To boys, difficult circumstances appeared to be events, hurdles that might challenge them. Whenever she read an autobiography or a profile of a successful man, she was struck by this. For girls, circumstances were continuous. This is why generating energy was not easy, for there was not always a defined hurdle that you could build up speed towards and jump over. Where was the space?"

"The wanton digging of male bums had become such a familiar workplace sight to Miss Chitol that, were you to pluck her out of that office and plant her elsewhere, say Japan or West Germany, the two most diligent nations in the world, she would at once marvel, "Do people not dig their bums here?"

"It occurred to her that perhaps no absurdity fitted so well the absurdity of life and its termination as paperwork."

"He sometimes stroked the moustache, sometimes parted it, sometimes ruffled or assuaged it; at all times he was alert to its needs the way one is to a tempermental pet. His care was of such a calibre that Smt Chitol felt totally secure in his hands."

"She recorded Konkani and Tamil and Sindhi, Telegu and Tulu, one Kodagu, one Dogri, an Arabic, a Nepali, one Kurukh, one Halabi. Of merchants, merchant-navy sailors, gastroenterologists, watchmen with living quarters, child servants and the wheelchair bound, she recorded educational attainments, natures of work, places of last residence, reasons for migration, from ever-married women the number of children ever born alive. All these lives, their variety and volume, to become one number."

"The heart of a person was not one thing or the other. Its grievances, its smartnesses, its vacancies and welfares were not one thing or the other. The heart cannot be columnised. There is no bigger mystery in the whole world, Notun Dida used to say, than the human heart."

"Vicissitudes were everywhere, every single where."

"Asked about the renunciate life, [an itinerant Buddhist nun] laughed that the most difficult renunciation of all is the barrier between oneself and others. On this point Smt Chitol reflected the entire time and long afterwards. The simplicity of the idea shocked her. Unattainably true. Of extraordinary beauty. It gave her impetus to keep on."

"Yet watching the trains pull in and out, the crissing and crossing, thousands of people making their way, their hearts in transit, their languages on the go, their origin stories, mythologies and migrations and conquests possibly in stark conflict with those of another, the gods and heroes of one the demons and villains of another, she became vividly sentimental and felt sensationally alive."

[Lopa]

I picked up this book for the most frivolous of reasons: the author, Rahul Bhattacharya, has the same last name as me. Little did I know I would find a kindred spirit in Charulata.

I loved Charu almost immediately. Her name certainly helped; Charulata is one of my favorite Tagore characters. But what really drew me to her was her fierce determination to live life on her own terms. Again and again, society tries to tell her what a woman’s life should look like, how she should behave, when she should marry, what she should tolerate, how much of herself she should surrender to keep everyone else comfortable. Charu keeps pushing back.

What I especially appreciated is that she never feels like a manufactured “strong female character.” She is stubborn, funny, impulsive, practical, loving, irritated, selfish at times, generous at others. In other words, she feels like a real person. I am not always convinced by men writing women, particularly women whose stories center on independence and the constraints placed on them, but Bhattacharya writes Charu’s life remarkably well. He understands that the pressure women face is not always one dramatic act of oppression. Often it is the accumulation of small expectations: adjust, compromise, accommodate, make yourself easier for everyone else.

That may be one of the reasons I connected with Charu so strongly. She does not want to become somebody’s obedient daughter, somebody’s accommodating wife, or even somebody’s symbol of female liberation. She simply insists that her life belongs to her.

But Railsong is much bigger than Charu’s story. Through her life and her work with the Indian Railways, Bhattacharya tells a story of post-Independence India itself. The book moves through drought, labor movements, the Emergency, political assassinations, caste and tribal identity, economic change, religious division, and the rise of Hindu nationalism. What I loved is that he rarely reduces any of these histories to a simple set of heroes and villains. Different communities carry different memories. One person’s hero may be another person’s villain. One event may mean liberation to one group and loss to another.

And yet everyone is still traveling through the same country. That is where the railway becomes such a powerful metaphor. India is filled with different religions, languages, regions, castes, communities, histories, and mythologies, and Bhattacharya lets all of them occupy the same tracks without pretending their differences do not matter.

I also appreciated how much the novel resists reducing India to the stereotypes that can sometimes dominate English-language fiction about the country. Poverty, patriarchy, caste, religion, and inequality are all present, but they are never treated as something strange or exotic, or described from the outside with pity or condescension. The country is allowed to be modern and ancient, idealistic and hypocritical, generous and cruel, deeply divided and somehow still connected.

The same is true of the people in the novel. Bengali. Bihari. Gujarati. Brahmin. Adivasi. Hindu. Muslim. Woman. Widow. Wife. The categories matter. They shape how people are treated and what opportunities they have, but Bhattacharya never lets the category become the whole person.

That idea connected for me with one of the earliest images in the novel: little Charu wanting to “count people.” Later, India counts people through censuses and bureaucracies by caste, tribe, religion, sex, occupation, marital status. But one of the things this book understands is that counting people is not the same thing as actually knowing them. Every railway file contains a life. Every statistic contains a story. And every person traveling through India carries something that cannot be captured neatly in a box on a form.

I started Railsong because I saw my own last name on the cover. I finished it thinking about identity, history, women’s autonomy, belonging, and the complicated promise of India itself.

And most of all, I finished it loving Charu.

[Lisa]

Remember that marvellous novel, The Sly Company of People Who Care (2011) which won The Hindu Literary Prize  in 2011 and the Royal Society of Literature Ondaatje Prize in 2012?  I read it for the Shadow Jury when it was shortlisted for the  Man Asian Literary Prize (2011), but it was also longlisted for the  DSC Prize for South Asian Literature in 2013.  We've had to wait 15 years for a successor, but Rahul Bhattacharya has done it again with his new novel Railsong.  And while the two novels couldn't be more different — Railsong has a female central protagonist for a start — once again it's about the coming-of-age for an individual and the coming-of-age of a decolonised country.

The novel begins in Charu's childhood in an unconventional family in a railway town called Bhombalpur.  Her father Animesh Kumar Chitol works in the railway workshop as a junior employee on a wage barely adequate for the upkeep of the extended family: his wife and three children Dhrubo, Charulata (Charul) and Anando; his widowed mother Nistarini Debi; and the servants.  These inadequate pay rates for vast numbers of railway employees erupt into nationwide strikes, which were the catalyst for police surveillance, violence between strikers and scabs, and Prime Minister Indira Gandhi's controversial Emergency (1975-77). India's new and fragile democracy was curtailed by cancelled elections and the suspension of civil liberties.

These and other political events form a backdrop to Charu's life, as does the Census which takes place in years ending in '1', tracing the rise of India's population from 439 million in 1961 to 846 million in 1991 when Charu herself is a census collector. But it is Charu's life that is the backbone of the story.

The tragedy of partition is well within living memory but Charu's parents had adopted the values of newly independent India, marrying for love despite parental objections, not bothering about religion, and changing their Brahmin family name to Chitol which designates no caste.  This renunciation of a caste-surname in favour of a neutral one places the beginning of the novel in the 1950s because India's 1950 Constitution banned discrimination based on caste and abolished 'untouchability'.

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2026/06/21/r...

[William Ghosh]

This is quite an old fashioned book in some ways: a mid-length (400-odd-page), fairly understated realist account without ostentatious stylistic or formal conceits. It follows the life of a woman, Charu, who is the daughter of a railway mechanic, and herself becomes an administrator in the Indian Railways. Set largely in Bhombalpur -- a fictional junction town in Bihar -- and Mumbai, the terrain of the book is the belt across north-central India, from Kolkata to Mumbai. Charu, the daughter of a Bengali father and Bihari mother, makes her career in the Central Zone of the railway network.

The book wagers that you see much of the life of a country from the perspective of the railway and its workers, and for the most part, this is borne out. In the first half of the book, we see the labour movements that preceded the Emergency from the perspective of railway porters and mechanics. Charu's family goes undercover when her father - a progressive Brahmin - is betrayed by a colleague, but the hierarchies within the labour movement, and the class and caste tensions, are clearly drawn. At the other end of the book, we see Charu employed as a welfare inspector, making voyages from Mumbai into central India, trying to track the lives and stories of the bereaved and litigious so that some kind of record can be kept and some kind of compensation can be paid to the bereaved or abused.

It is a slow, careful, thoughtful book. It rarely if ever shows off, but is consistently engaging and illuminating. There are moments when I felt the attempts at interiority were a bit forced, but on the whole I thought it was beautifully observed. My favourite part of the book was the last section, when Charu was travelling as a welfare officer. The pen portraits of the railway officials were brilliantly vivid, very funny, and on occasion very sad (the monologue of the widow in Hyderabad was extraordinary, worth the price of admission alone). It felt like this was really where the book's heart lay, and I wondered if it could have been given more space than the strict 100 pages it was allotted. Nonetheless, this was a beautiful and rewarding novel.

[Ambar Sahil Chatterjee]

‘She did not need to ask, “Is this what love is?” What use a question whose answer cannot be words?’

In stunningly evocative prose, Rahul Bhattacharya's “Railsong” charts the eventful life of Charulata Chitol from her difficult childhood in a railway town in the 1960s to her momentous escape to Bombay as a teenager and the varied experiences of adulthood, both fraught and fulfilling, that await her.

Charu is a fully realized, complex character. Her life is inextricably linked with the Indian Railways, where she later finds employment. Between the choices she must make to survive the labyrinthine workings (and organized chaos) of the railway system and the many personal dilemmas that hound her, we are able to witness the transformations sweeping across the country in the second half of the 20th century.

The novel's somewhat fragmentary structure and meditative pace might not be to everyone's taste. And I, for one, did find the ending rather abrupt. But there is so much to savour here: from the psychological acuity that renders a diverse array of characters utterly plausible to the often terrifying, often hilarious glimpses into how bureaucracies operate (or, more often, malfunction). Most of all, however, inhabiting this novel prompts one to ruminate on what it really means to be part of this sprawling, contrarian, shape-shifting country with all its myriad problems and unrealized potential.

In fact, in the wake of the recent student protests (and as we approach India's 79th Independence Day), it has felt particularly poignant and pertinent to reflect on the idea of India: a nation built on seemingly impossible ideals, appearing to teeter on the brink of collapse but rescued by the quiet sacrifices and inspiring resolve of the many nameless people who refuse to give up on this place so many of us call home.

[Lisa Goodmurphy]

Railsong opens in the fictional town of Bhombalpur in the state of Bihar, India at the time of the 1961 census when Charulata (Charu) Chitol, the child of a mixed caste marriage, is three years old. Her mother dies a few years later and Charu and her two brothers are raised by their railway worker/political activist father.

As a 16 year-old searching for freedom and independence, Charu flees on a cross-country train to Bombay where she lives with maternal relatives for a time while attending college before finding work in a shoe store and moving to a women's hostel. Eventually she secures a position with the Indian Railways where she is known as Miss Chitol and builds a career beginning as a junior clerk and advancing through the system to become a welfare inspector investigating worker's claims and fraud.

Spanning three decades (1961-92), Railsong is a heartfelt coming of age story about a complex young woman in a changing India in the latter half of the 20th century. Charu's struggle for personal independence takes place against a backdrop of social and political upheaval in modern day India highlighting the inequality that exists both between castes and within the patriarchal society. Through Charu we observe the changing role of women in India's workforce and the importance of Indian Railways as an employer. I enjoyed learning more about the history and geography of the country and Charu is a memorable character. Railsong is an interesting and enjoyable story although I did find it to be slow moving and the prose a bit awkward at times.

Thank you to NetGalley and Bloomsbury USA for providing a digital ARC of this book for review consideration. All opinions are my own.

[Sandeep]

Railsong by Rahul Bhattacharya is a breathtaking, elegiac novel that traces modern India through the life of Charulata Chitol, a motherless railway worker's daughter who flees to Bombay at 16 after a brutal rail strike and carves out an independent life as a railway clerk and welfare officer.

Spanning decades from the 1960s to the early 1990s, the story follows Charu as she navigates patriarchy, bureaucracy, and her own heart while India transforms from steam to diesel and post-independence optimism fades into disillusionment. What makes this novel so powerful is how it captures the contradiction of a nation charging forward with vigour while human costs pile up and women are expected to "dissolve like sugar in milk".

Charu refuses to shrink and that refusal becomes the heartbeat of the book, and along the way this book tells the story of an arguably modern country but hardly a decent one. This is the central ache of Railsong, where the railways connect people and places but also reveal the everyday cruelty underneath the national narrative.

This is one of those novels that needs to be read slowly, and savoured.

[Chythan]

3.5

In Railsong, I came across one of the best well-written female characters I've come across in recent years, Charulata Chitol. The spirited woman who, when confronted with the stifling banality of domestic norms and routines, leaves her relatively liberal home as a young girl to make a life of her own. Living and striving at a time when the young republic was undergoing  political and social  changes that found reverberations in everyday politics and personal relationships, she holds onto her commitment to individual freedom and assertion of her free will. Growing from a young girl who "loved to count people", to a railway welfare inspector who refuses people to be stories and lives lost in ageing files, Charu shows a nuanced acknowledgement of human dignity and empathy. Charu isn't flawless. Instead, she is admirably real in her relentlessness- towards herself and everything.

[Sudarshan Sivakumar]

Incredible. Charulata Chitol is an endlessly interesting woman and the prose is gorgeous. It's the coming-of-age story of Miss Chitol but also in the background is the coming of age of a newly independent India. I will be thinking about this book for a while (also thank you for pulling me out of a reading slump)

[Kathleen Faubion]

I could not find a way through the cultural setting of this story and did not care for it. The translation was awkward with many original language terms left intact, making it a hard read. For me, the underlying story was not enough to lift it over the linguistic barriers.

[Jenn]

DNF. This just isn't working for me. I'm bored.

[Varun]

Sublime

[Muskan]

Read it twice, a quick read through the second time. But Charulata Chitol is a heroine in the truest sense of the word.

Although it’s a 4.5 for me because as beautiful as the story is, the awkward clunkyness of the prose in some parts really starts getting to you.

[Kopal]

Railsong gave me a much needed template to think about patriotic feelings.

[Govind]

tender, beautiful, highly self aware.

you will remember the protagonist as intimately as one knows one own self and their negotiations with the world.

[Prez]

“Palti kar Dene ka” going to take a long time to think about Miss Chitol <3

[Susmita Kundu]

Born into a relatively young India, a very young Ms. Chitol arrives at the railway workshop town of Bhombalpur. Here she faces a tragedy early in her young life and that sets into motion events that cast their shadows throughout her life.

But time and again our Ms. Chitol refuses to be defined by her circumstances. She never loses her convictions and each time she forges her own path.

She is not exactly an always morally upright character and has ample shades of grey. But you always find yourself rooting for her. And that's how you realize this is a character whom the author loves, maybe even is partial to her. He devotes equal parts to the work of a woman as he does to her personal life. How work shapes her life.

A superb example of a character driven novel. The Indian Railways, life and work in the Railways and train journeys become an authentic backdrop against which the character of Ms. Chitol comes alive for the reader.

This book has all the makings of a modern Indian classic along the lines of The God of Small Things and A Fine Balance.

[Beena V Sarkar]

Silver Railway tracks or the stitches of Kantha embroidery ? Or both ? My first thoughts , when I see the Blue-bare hard-cover, shorn of its decorative paper-one.

A woven Tapestry of a life, written with such a knowing understanding of a female mind - a pleasant surprise- with a sensitivity that I have read last in Tagore's. With descriptive prose never indulging in itself too much , never leaning to the tedious ; the right balance.

As a person who never knew the intricracies of the clerk /welfare verification / Census work - a peek into this world through the eyes of girl, tenaciously climbing her way up to the VT (now CST) main "beautiful building" office at Bombay (now Mumbai) is a ride that I shall indulge in - not once, but couple of times.

Do read and understand why she was never referred to by her first name in the book , unlike her brothers, but by her surname "Chitol" - an aspirational name given by a parent taken away too soon, whose absence lingered through letters address to the other parent discovered later , whose ideals forged her identity.

Pick this one up - a shelf keeper :)

[Paree Punnj]

Some books are read. Some feel lived beside.

Railsong was one of those rare books for me where I was not simply following a character through her life, I was gathering pieces of womanhood with her.

What stayed with me most was this constant negotiation of independence. The exhausting awareness that even your presence cannot inconvenience others. That women are expected to shrink themselves emotionally, physically, socially, until they fit neatly into whatever role the world demands from them. And every time Miss Chitol tried to step outside that shape, whether in her uncle’s house, at a funeral, in marriage, at work, there was resistance waiting for her.

There is a particular loneliness to the "motherlessness" in this book that completely shattered me. The way it shapes attachment, forgiveness, abandonment. The way she keeps leaving only after enduring far more than she should have. The way she seems constantly suspended between wanting to belong and wanting to escape.

And then there were the letters from her parents, which were perhaps the most emotional part of the book for me. She spends so much of her life piecing them together through fragments, and somewhere within those fragments, you realize that they may have been the only people who would have fully understood her. Her rebellion, her tenderness, her anti-caste instincts, her quiet refusal to bend entirely. It didn't come from nowhere.

This book also captures India in such a layered, unsettling way. Its caste hierarchies, its emergency years, its quiet cruelties hidden inside respectability, its obsession with surnames and purity and appearances. There are moments where people appear virtuous until equality threatens their own position. That complexity was written so honestly.

Even the structure of the novel felt meaningful. The four sections mirror her evolution so cleverly that by the final part, Welfare Inspection, it no longer feels like she is inspecting the lives of others but finally turning inward and examining her own life with honesty.

The prose is dense and demanding at times, but so incredibly beautiful. You can feel the years poured into it. Certain metaphors and images are like emotional landmarks and do justice to how the parts are structured across the book, the handkerchief, the digital clock, the paperweight with ferns, the handkerchief, the attached bathroom. Small things carrying enormous emotional weight.

And the characters felt painfully real. Not simplified into heroes or villains, but shaped by fear, patriarchy, compromise, helplessness, ego, loneliness, class, caste, desire. Even the men being referred to mostly through initials created this strange distance where you saw them more through their impact on her than through fixed identities of their own.

By the end, it felt less like I had finished a book and more like I had known someone deeply.

We meet so many people over the course of our lives. Some we write into our pages, and some, without us realizing it, end up writing parts of us.

This book, this character, her life, it does not belong to me, and yet it will always linger somewhere within me. Not as something lived, but as something remembered. As if, in some distant compartment of the same train, our journeys brushed past each other without ever truly meeting.

Miss Chitol will stay with me for a very long time.

[Visalakshi Kannan]

This book came highly recommended and didn't disappoint.

Loved the heroine, Charulata Chitol. What a character. We follow her right from when she's a child in 1961, who moves with her parents to a railway township in Bhombalpur (an imaginary town in Bihar) to when she's in her mid-30s in Bombay. She's so memorably written; she runs away from home at 16 to make her own life in Bombay. She has a soft landing to the extent that she has her mother's brother to live with. She dabbles with getting an education, while hiding the fact that she works in a shoe shop. She meets men, gets her heart broken but all the while her primary purpose is independence. She loathes the idea that her life's purpose (as for most women in that era) is to get married and take care of her husband and kids. She moves from one PG accommodation to another.

Her life and the book really kick into gear after her father passes away and she gets a "compassionate posting" (after much dogged chasing) in the Railways. I loved the fact that she refuses the easy way out of accepting a job in Bhombalpur and insists on working in Bombay. Eventually, she marries for love, and true to character leaves when she thinks she can't live in her husband's house on her terms anymore and continues to focus on her career in the Railways. At this point, she's a welfare inspector and each case/story is dealt with so beautifully. The author goes deep into the bureaucracy behind the running of the Railways and you feel the incompetence, the patience, the frustration behind every interaction, every delay, every file.

Aside from the midsection where long passages on Railway rules somehow become the focus, and some uneven pacing (the author describes indepth her efforts to get a job in the Railways, but somehow she's married in a line!), the book is lovely. The ending moved me to tears: "The straps of her backpack impressed into her shoulders a great many written people, a disorderly bunch which only had in common that their lives had crossed hers, flickering upon each other the miracle of their journeys, like travellers on a train to who knows where, but somewhere, certainly somewhere; and pressing on her worn heel, into the song of the rail climbed Charulata Chitol, who had wanted to count people."

[Kavity]

I don’t feel like writing a review of Railsong. It is simply not that kind of a book. It isn’t a book.

I have been living with Charulata, Charu, Ms Chitol, as she has grown up through the railway employees’ strike, the emergency, Indira Gandhi’s assassination, Babri Masjid, and a few censuses in between. I have been traveling with her on trains, from Bhombalpur to Bombay, from Bombay to Hyderabad to Delhi, in the unreserved class, the third sleeper, the third AC.

Charu is part of my daily routine now, a woman independent in thought, action, reaction to reactions. She cares about her money, living well, doing her job perfectly, questioning questionable practices, standing her ground, being decisive. And on and on and on.

Railsong makes me halt often through the narration, wondering how a man has written a woman so well, better than how many a woman has written a woman.

A book club friend says, “I want to be written like how Rahul has written Charu”. I am tempted to say “I want to be understood like how Rahul understands Charu”.

Does Rahul’s Railsong remind me of Vikram Seth’s A Suitable Boy, as some seem to allude to? Only in how the nation’s politics offer a vivid backdrop to an unfolding personal story.

But, where Seth’s words are lyrical, poetic, dreamy, his heroine Lata an almost one-dimensional character, her role revolving around having to choose her ideal marital match, Rahul’s Charulata isn’t tethered, motherless and wantonly fatherless as she is, choosing to write her future, wanting not to be “of someone” but “Ms Chitol, XYZ something”.

Railsong is great on audible, the narration is perfect. But it’s a labour of love I want in my bookshelf, these are words I want to read and read again.

Railsong is no ordinary book. It is an epic in its own right. Charu is no simple protagonist. She’s an emotion in her own right.

In case it isn’t already clear, recommend. Yes, loud and clear. Recommend.

Be warned. It’s a long long book though, meandering here and there. Some journeys are long and meandering after all. And are worth it for exactly that.

P. S. Charu almost reminds me of Balachander heroines from the 1970s-80s (Balachander was a famous Thamizh director who directed a 100+ movies, many of them radical and way ahead of their time).

[Adii (adiiturnsapage)]

A biiiig thank you to @bloomsburyindia for this copy ❤️
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Ms Chitol has my heart. Really. And I'm in love with Rahul Bhattacharya's prose - so poetic, so lyrical! What Bhattacharya has done is weave a rich tapestry of personal longings, grief and joys, political upheavals, and quiet undercurrents of revolutionary changes that take place within an individual. What remains at the heart of his narration essentially, is the Indian railway; literally binding the various aspects of this beautiful tale together.

The story begins in a tiny fictional railway township of Bhombalpur. Little Charu/Ms Chitol, is a motherless child surviving amid poverty, a strict grandmother, and a kind father. Her life turns 180 degrees when she flees to Mumbai escaping the rut and the shackles of Bhombalpur.

Spanning from the 1960s to the 90s, the story has rich expression of every emotion, all very heartfelt. At the same time it captures the India of the 20th century, all with its political changes, religious clashes, and an evolving society that's slowly but surely leaving behind simpler times.

Throughout the book you find yourself rooting for Ms Chitol. No, she's no simple saint. But she wins your heart with her daily struggles and undying positive spirit. Her self healing, sincerity and discipline pulls her out of her downtrodden environment to something much calmer and uplifting.

The novel carefully touches on issues of caste and religion, class, patriarchy, fragile male egos, all from the 1980s perspective that seems long gone albeit much-relevant even today.

As Ms Chitol finds her footing in Mumbai, finds love, builds a career, finds her true self, you find yourself walking with her, never wanting to stop.

This novel is a must-read for literary fiction lovers; without a doubt. It is magnificent yet grounded, extremely simple yet immensely complex. I couldn't get enough of it.

[Anand Venkatraman]

Rahul Bhattachary's Railsong is a wonderful story about Miss Chitol and her pursuit of 'independence' as she defines it - independence from household chores caring for her 2 brothers and grief stricken father after her mom passes away; from household chores at her uncle's house in Bombay who shelters her after she runs away from home in a railways workshop town in West Bengal; independence from the strictures of living with her in-laws in a small flat; finally, from a husband who is torn between Smt. Chitol, an independent working woman, and a tradition bound mother. Most of all Miss Chitol is attracted to the Indian Railways just as her father was in all its grime, bustle, and rhythms. There are rhythms that run parallel like rail tracks into the future - the decennial census, modernization in the railways from steam to diesel, and progress in post-independent India. The author does not dilly dally on events tragic or otherwise. He is almost insouciant in his narration. There is a sense of constant motion in the lives of the characters from the various deaths-in-the-family, the famine, the emergency of dictator Mrs. Indira G., railway strikes, her father's union activities, emergency era union busting, Miss Chitol’s various boyfriends, travel for work to far-off remote locations as a Railways Welfare officer, Charu evolving into ‘Miss Chitol’, and finally to ‘Smt. Chitol’. From hating Bhombalpur where she grew up, Smt. Chitol comes full circle back to loving it once she gains freedom from her marriage and goes back to visit an uncared for empty house and old family friends who have passed away. She comes full circle from counting people as she stood in the door of a moving train as a child with her father, to working for the census, counting people and their lives. Written in mostly the third person, this is a lovely book with well developed characters and an engaging storyline.

Lovely book!