Mi refugio y mi tormenta

by Arundhati Roy, Catalina Martínez Muñoz (Translator)

A raw and deeply moving memoir from the legendary author of The God of Small Things and The Ministry of Utmost Happiness that traces the complex relationship with her mother, Mary Roy, a fierce and formidable force who shaped Arundhati’s life both as a woman and a writer.

Mother Mary Comes to Me, Arundhati Roy’s first work of memoir, is a soaring account, both intimate and inspirational, of how the author became the person and the writer she is, shaped by circumstance, but above all by her complex relationship to the extraordinary, singular mother she describes as “my shelter and my storm.”

“Heart-smashed” by her mother Mary’s death in September 2022 yet puzzled and “more than a little ashamed” by the intensity of her response, Roy began to write, to make sense of her feelings about the mother she ran from at age eighteen, “not because I didn’t love her, but in order to be able to continue to love her.” And so begins this astonishing, sometimes disturbing, and surprisingly funny memoir of the author’s journey from her childhood in Kerala, India, where her single mother founded a school, to the writing of her prizewinning novels and essays, through today.

With the scale, sweep, and depth of her novels, The God of Small Things and The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, and the passion, political clarity, and warmth of her essays, Mother Mary Comes to Me is an ode to freedom, a tribute to thorny love and savage grace—a memoir like no other.

Genres: Memoir, Nonfiction, Biography, India, Audiobook, Feminism, Biography Memoir

360 pages, Kindle Edition

First published September 2, 2025

About the author

Arundhati Roy is an Indian writer who is also an activist who focuses on issues related to social justice and economic inequality. She won the Booker Prize in 1997 for her novel, The God of Small Things, and has also written two screenplays and several collections of essays.

For her work as an activist she received the Cultural Freedom Prize awarded by the Lannan Foundation in 2002.

Reviews

[emma · Rating 4 out of 5]

when i conquer the world, every author i like will have to write a memoir.

look at the results!

to be fair, at first i couldn't get into this. in spite of their complicated relationship, the author clearly feels protective over her mixed memories of her mother — and in the pages that cover her childhood, that can mean things feel stilted or shallow or confusing.

but as we progressed through roy's life and she built both physical and emotional distance from her mother's domineering presence, the book got deeper and more and more enjoyable.

another win for my hypothetical mandate.

bottom line: very much recommend for my fellow memoir girls.

(thanks to the publisher for the copy)

[Vartika · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Booker Prize held no meaning for me before I read Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things; I came to understand it as a marker of extraordinariness because that extraordinary novel had won it. To this day, I measure my liking for Booker-awarded works by whether or not they hold up to the experience of reading about Estha, Rahel, and Pappachi's Moth – very few ever do.

Roy is known today not just for the brilliance of her fiction – screenplays like In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones and Electric Moon which preceded The God of Small Things, and The Ministry of Utmost Happiness , which followed a decade after – but also her commitment to left-wing political activism and the powerful, prescient – almost clairvoyant – non-fiction borne from it. Now, in this first work of memoir, she takes us through the story of how she became the writer, activist, and person she is, shaped a little by circumstance and a lot by her complex relationship with her mercurial mother.

Though not as well-known as her daughter, Mary Roy was too a remarkable woman: a formidable feminist and an inspiring educator who transformed many lives in Kerala. However, she too was not without her flaws. Mother Mary Comes to Me reveals the fullness, trouble and tumult, of her legacy through the eyes of her 'valiant organ-child'. As it follows the separate but interminally linked journeys of the two women, Mary and Arundhati, it shapes up into an unflinching, honest portrait of the complexity and irreducability of human relationships – of love.

Roy's writing here is beautiful and passionate, threaded through with characteristic humour and political clarity, and an uncharacteristic sense of candour. Long-time fans will delight as much in learning more about the author's unconventional and hitherto closely-guarded private life as in the manifold insights this book provides into the process and passage through which all her works – including Walking with the Comrades, her commanding account of a year spent among Naxalite (Maoist) guerrillas deep within the forests of rural Chattisgarh – have come about. New readers will find themselves taken by her lucid brilliance and her lived philosophy of language, the world, the writing life and beyond.

A must read.

[Liz Hein · Rating 5 out of 5]

Roy writes that she is puzzled and more than a little ashamed by the intensity of her response to her mother’s death and I now have this same feeling about my reaction to this book 😭

[Rosh · Rating 5 out of 5]

In a Nutshell: A memoir written by one of India’s most eloquent writers. I picked it up for her writing and was rewarded richly with her thoughts and words. Her deeds aren’t always my cup of tea, but I judge memoirs by their content and not by their authors’ life choices. This was an easy winner in that regard. Much recommended.

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I am not a big fan of memoirs. I find most of them fake and pretentious and even indulging in humble-bragging. Celebrity memoirs are even worse because they all sound the same (probably because most of them are ghostwritten by the same ghostwriters who went to the same kind of creative writing courses.) I also am not a big fan of the new trend in memoirs wherein dirty family linen is washed in public, sometimes after the death of the “antagonist”. Given all this, I shouldn’t even have picked this book up, forget about reading it. But there was one key differentiating factor to this book that swung my vote in its favour: its author.

Arundhati Roy’s ‘God of Small Things’ is one of my all-time favourite novels. I don’t think any other book brought an Indian state (Kerala in this case) to such authentic life as this book did. It is the only book I consider a deserving Booker winner. (An award I otherwise hate as it always prioritises purple prose over everything else.)

Given Roy’s literary background, I knew this memoir wouldn’t be a ghostwritten work. Given my experience with ‘God of Small Things’, I knew that her pen has the magical skill of creating a visceral picture with her words. And given her tendency of calling a spade a spade, of being brave enough to stand up against those in authority, and of being a strong advocate of human rights even when the humans involved might be controversial, I knew that the book would have plenty of brain fodder to chew upon.

The only part I was slightly hesitant about was the fact that the central focus of the memoir seemed to be her complicated relationship with her mother. I am somewhat conservative in this regard: I don’t like private battles being made public. This is why I won't read memoirs such as ‘Spare’ by Prince Harry or ‘I’m Glad My Mom Died’ by Jeanette McCurdy, no matter how much acclaim they get. But something told me I could trust Roy to do justice to the topic, and my gut instinct was right.

The title was also a determinant in stirring my interest. ‘Let It Be’, written and sung by Paul McCartney, is among my favourite songs, and the title is taken from its second line. Roy’s mother’s name is Mary, but the coincidental shared name is not the only reason the title makes sense. The author illustrates through various anecdotes how her mother came/comes to her literally and metaphorically.

The book begins and ends with her mother’s death at the age of 89, bringing the memoir a complete circle. In between, Roy elaborates not just on the complex connection she shared with her mother but also her relationships with her other family members, her school and college years, her early work years, her journey towards ‘God of Small Things’, and life beyond her international; success. She uses the technique of foreshadowing quite effectively to keep our interest maintained. Most of her anecdotes are chronological, making this a wonderfully structured memoir. The writing is erudite; the prose, exquisite.

Roy is a fair bit older than me, so I was unaware of her life before ‘God of Small Things’. (I had read it in the years before the internet and social media boom, so there was no online search to look up the author’s credentials.) As such, all the content in this filter-free memoir was quite a revelation to me. I had absolutely no idea that she was already a known name in certain fields before the Booker win. Her childhood and family background isn't from an India I know in time or place, so that was also fascinating to read. She comes from a family of intellectuals (on her maternal side), but their behaviour was not in correspondence with their education. As she spent most of her formative years with them, her personality and life choices were influenced by their behaviour to a great extent.

Further, even her mother was a somewhat reputed figure in their hometown, known for a legal battle fighting for daughters’ rights to parental property as well as for founding a school. Mary Roy’s fierce personality is explored in a nuanced way by her daughter. Neither is there any fingerpointing nor any varnishing of facts. Roy keeps her tone mostly neutral, focussing not on complaining or whining about her lot in life but on the life lessons gained from being her mother’s daughter. The memoir seems like a masterclass in maturity when it comes to talking about toxic parenting.

Of course, Roy is still quintessentially Indian, so when she talks about how she still felt anxious when her mother was unwell or how she kept contact with her alcoholic father who was clearly using her, we don’t judge her for being weak or duplicitous, but know that she is just “fulfilling her responsibility” to her parents as most people until our generation have been taught to. I don’t know if those outside India will understand this double-edged sword of duty even towards undeserving elders, but we Indians certainly do.

Given the number of decades this book covers and the varied fields Roy has been an active part of, this book isn't just a memoir but a glimpse into actual India. Gender discrimination, classism, religious bigotry, political power-wielding, legal conundrums, geographical variations, cultural differences, corporate greed – Roy covers it all, and without any apprehension about the consequences. What is most admirable is that she doesn’t take sides. She critiques anyone who she thinks is at fault, no matter which political party or religion or family they belong to. And all this without any needless name-dropping. She names only those people who had a direct connection with her (such as her family and close friends), and that too, only when necessary. She also doesn’t shy away from admitting her own mistakes and sharing her regrets.

While I loved her insights on almost every aspect, the chapters connected to ‘God of Small Things’ and the impact it had on her life were closest to my heart. There was much realism to the writing and the characters of ‘God of Small Things’. It’s only on reading this memoir did I realise how much inspiration Roy took from her actual life to create that fascinating world and its denizens. No wonder they felt so powerfully carved! Though I have read GoST four times, my last read was more than two decades ago. Now I feel a strong urge to revisit its beautiful pages. Who knows… I just might dig out my old paperback soon!


🎧 The Audiobook Experience:
The audiobook, clocking at 11 hrs 29 minutes, is read by the author herself. While I am not usually a fan of authors narrating their own works, I had no apprehension when I saw Roy’s name in the narrator column. She is an articulate speaker and hence the perfect choice of narrator. Moreover, the book contains several phrases in Malayalam and Hindi, so listening to these rendered fluently adds to the experience. (Every non-English line comes with an immediate translation, so no worries about comprehension.)


Overall, this was one rare occasion when a memoir not only entered my TBR but also surpassed every single expectation I had from it. This book delivers on the parameters of engaging content, truthful admissions, intricate family drama, lyrical writing, structured organisation, historical and political milestones, and most of all, on the tricky thread connecting a mother and a daughter.

Much recommended to anyone looking for a truthful memoir that speaks at both a personal and a societal level.

4.5 stars, happy to round up.


Disclaimer: I rate memoirs just like I rate every other book: on writing quality. The actions and beliefs of the author have no role to play in my rating.

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I follow the Goodreads rating policy:
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Lifelong favourite!
⭐⭐⭐⭐ - I loved the book.
⭐⭐⭐ - I liked the book.
⭐⭐ - I found the book average.
⭐ - I hated the book.
The decimals indicate the degree of the in-between feelings.

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Connect with me through:
My Blog || The StoryGraph || Instagram || Facebook ||

[Melanie · Rating 5 out of 5]

“It has taken me years to come to terms with the fact that I was a middle child, one of three siblings, not two. My older sibling was a boy, and my younger sibling was a school. There was never any doubt about who our mother’s favourite child was. She loved, fought for and protected her youngest child with everything she had. That kind of focused, ferocious love, regardless of what it may choose as its object, is a blessed love. The challenge for those of us who are not chosen, and instead watch love pass us by, is to learn from it, marvel at it, and not grow bitter and incapable of love ourselves.”

Because I was too young to understand it when I lived in India, from seven to eleven years old, I was shielded from its heart of darkness. I only received the colors, the smells, the exuberance, the unabashed over-the-topness, the wild teeming streets, the loud festivities of Holi and Diwali, the pulsing rush of everything.

When I returned for a visit by myself at seventeen, the dark underbelly of that great, infinitely complex nation began to emerge, hidden in leering looks in market places, hidden in plain sight at each traffic light, where the poorest and the downtrodden came pleading with their eyes on the other side of your car windows. Abject inequality and sordid caste systems punching through the veil.

How the miracle that is Arundhati Roy bloomed from the fires of her childhood is something I will never understand and understand only too well. It is the same fire-fed genius that we see in Sinéad O’Connor, Billie Holiday, Bruce Springsteen or Karl Ove Knausgård. Renegade artists who never felt safe and met the world head-on with hungry hearts and a bone-deep aversion to injustice.

Arundhati is of the same breed. Armed with the most delicious and wicked sense of repartee and a cigarette perched at the corner of her lip, watch her make (no) sense of the formidable mother she calls her gangster and her storm. From the small villages of Kerala to the world stage of the Booker Prize, this is a literary promenade for the ages. Perhaps more than anything else, a tour de force in humanity.

I am completely floored by, enamored with and forever in awe of this gangster’s ardent daughter.

[Elsa Rajan Pradhananga · Rating 4 out of 5]

Arundhati Roy is savage. But so was her mother. When I was done reading the book, it unsettled me that an activist as fierce as Arundhati often shrank before her mother’s ridicule. The rebel in me sighed in relief when she finally snapped back and broke a chair in response to one of Mary Roy’s outrageous demands. But by then she had already slipped into a senile cognitive decline.

The God of Small Things was one book that had left me nostalgic for parts of Kerala I barely knew, and when in Mother Mary Comes To Me, Arundhati Roy describes how everything including electric poles is smothered with plants and creepers I was easing into loving the beauty that greenery gives Kerala. But was reminded with a jolt that toxicity too thrives in that lush. I could absolutely relate when she wrote of Delhi as her liberation from a life she shudders to think of.

At its heart, the memoir is about a daughter’s unconditional love, reverence and adoration for her brilliant but cruel mother. However, much of the book actually explores personal anecdotes, mother daughter dynamics, life of children in her mother's school, political injustices in Kashmir, Naxalism in Jharkhand, the whirlwind success of The God of Small Things, the back stories of her published work, the wave of political changes in India in the 90s...blending the trivial and the profound.

The result is a beautiful account that is deeply personal, politically insightful and a stylistically unforgettable smooth read that felt like cutting into a layered cheesecake. Yum!

[Thomas · Rating 3 out of 5]

Really appreciated this memoir for its portrayal of a difficult mother daughter dynamic and how it shaped Arundhati Roy. Roy’s writing is honest and emotional and highlights how our caregivers can both egregiously hurt and belittle us, while also influencing us in ways that are profound and poignant. The main reason I give this book three stars instead of a higher rating is that I felt that Roy’s writing could at times ramble and feel meandering/unfocused, though of course I respect her writing and grieving process (as well as her political views which seem to align with mine). On the fence about whether I should read her other books though I imagine this work may resonate with fans of her novels.

[Mark · Rating 5 out of 5]

I find myself in a somewhat unique position. I just finished Arundhati Roy’s breathtaking (that is, reading it took my breath away!) memoir, and yet I have not read anything she has previously written and published. My usual linearity-seeking compulsion is to read some, or all, books by an author, and then read a memoir or a solid, scholarly biography. I like to know what was going on in the author’s life when he or she wrote a particular book. Despite having turned my usual model upside-down by reading Ms. Roy’s memoir before any other of her works, my inclination to read everything she has written is still irresistibly strong.

Roy’s prose in the memoir is terse and unsentimental, written almost with brutal journalistic brevity. For readers, this means a fast pace, but without any danger of a stumble as it becomes a compulsive page-turner. The mother-daughter interactions don’t seem to happen often, but that could be the pace at which events move.

If nothing else, Mary Roy, Arundhati’s mother, was a force of nature, and even that is probably understating the case. She did everything with vim and vigor, and with an expectation that was more entitlement than optimism, that she would undoubtedly succeed in every undertaking—which she more-or-less did. Arundhati’s parents divorced when she was two, and Mrs. Roy promptly started a school on a shoestring budget. The only pains the school suffered seem to have been from rapid growth in physical size and scope of curriculum.

The relationship between mother and daughter was brittle at best; tough love would be a euphemistic characterization. The mother rarely had a kind word or gesture of affection for the daughter, and yet, their bond only seemed to strengthen with every prickly interaction—at least as Arundhati tells it. I have not a single doubt that she is a sincere and truthful memoirist.

Arundhati was clearly a smarter-than-average child: she succeeded academically as a child and graduated from a School of Planning and Architecture in New Delhi. She married husband number one in 1978 at age 17, but divorced him in 1982. She married husband number two in 1984 and, still in her twenties, achieved recognition in writing screenplays.

The activist gene that was clearly present in the mother inevitably appears in the daughter on steroids, and much of her later writing fell into that context. However, she knew, or sensed that she should be writing something else. Her first novel, The God of Small Things, was four-to-five years in the making, but Arundhati knew she was meant to write it, and everything that came before was apprenticeship for this book. It was hugely successful, winning the Man Booker Prize in its publication year. Thereafter, the majority of her writing consisted of essays, with a second novel, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, appearing 20 years after the first.

I suspect Mother Mary Comes to Me will be as successful as anything else Roy has written, if not more so. It is truly a terrific story of family and everything that goes along with that: happiness, joy, sadness, pain, success, disappointment; and if love seems absent or occasionally sacrificed, it is resoundingly redeemed at the end. I have consumed numerous memoirs over decades of reading—this one ranks as one of the best!

[Traci Thomas · Rating 4 out of 5]

The new memoir from Arundhati Roy about her life and how it was shaped by her tumultuous relationship with her mother, Mary Roy. This book is objectively well written — the prose are gorgeous, the structure is clear, and Roy has lived a powerful life as an artist and activist. And yet, I am so out on memoir this year I read it and thought “this is a good book, moving on”. I liked it enough to finish it, which I can’t say for many memoirs I’ve started this year, but it didn’t land the emotional punch I think it will for other readers. I am convinced we are at the end stages of memoir as a genre, because honestly if Arundhati Roy’s beautiful writing didn’t make me want to dive back into that world, what will?

[Mahmudur Rahman · Rating 4 out of 5]

অরুন্ধতী তার প্রথম বইয়ের জন্যেই বুকার পাইছিলেন। আর এই বইয়ের লঞ্চ যখন তার গ্রামে হইল, তার মায়ের প্রতিষ্ঠা করা স্কুলে, সেদিন সেখানে তার মামাকে আসতে দেখা গেল। অরুন্ধতীর মামার সাথে অরুন্ধতীর মামার ছিল বিবাদ। মেরি রায় (অরুন্ধতীর মা) যখন বালবাচ্চা নিয়ে কোট্টায়ামে এসে উঠলেন তখন তার মা (অরুন্ধতীর নানী) তাদেরকে থাকতে দিতে চায় নাই। এরপর মেরি রায় মামলা করে নিজের 'অধিকার' আদায় করে নিছিলেন। অরুন্ধতীর মামা আইজ্যাকের আচারের ব্যবসার লেজেগোবরে হইছিল বোনের জন্য। সে যা-ই হোক, বুক লঞ্চের সময় মামাকে আসতে দেখে অরুন্ধতীর মনে হইছিল আসর পণ্ড করতে আসতেছে মামা। কিন্তু আইজ্যাক কংস কিংবা শকুনি ছিল না। সে গিয়ে অরুন্ধতীর এজেন্টের সামনে দাঁড়াইয়া বলছিল, 'হ্যালো, আমি চাকো।' চাকো আসলে দ্য গড অফ স্মল থিংস-এর একটা চরিত্র। অরুন্ধতীর মামা অরুন্ধতীর বই পড়ছিলেন।

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প্রথম বইটাই অরুন্ধতীর আত্মজীবনী থেকে উৎসারিত উপন্যাস। মাদার মেরি একদিকে অরুন্ধতীর আত্মজীবনী, অন্যদিকে তার মায়ের জীবনী। নিজের জন্ম থেকে এই পর্যন্ত সময়ের যাত্রা লেখিকা এইখানে রাখছেন কিন্তু তার প্রতিটা স্টেপ, ভয়, আনন্দ, অর্জন আর হারানোর সাথে রিলেট করছেন মা মেরি রায়কে। এই কারণে বইটা বিশেষ।

বইটা প্রকাশের পর বিভিন্ন সাক্ষাৎকারে বইয়ের অংশ, মায়ের অ্যাবিউজিভ আচরণ নিয়ে অরুন্ধতীর কথা বলা ইত্যাদি থেকে এমন একটা ভাইব আসছিল যে এইটা অরুন্ধতীর বই না, নেটফ্লিক্সের সিরিজ। তবে বাস্তবতা হইল এইটা অরুন্ধতীরই বই এবং এইটা পড়তে গিয়ে মেঘ, বৃষ্টি, রোদ, ধুলা, গাঁজার গন্ধের পাশাপাশি বিপ্লবের ধোঁয়া, প্রতিবাদের গর্জনও পাবেন। তবে আমার আপত্তির জায়গা একটাই।

অরুন্ধতী তার লেখক হয়ে ওঠার বিষয়টা খুব আলগোছে লিখছেন। অনেকটা এমন যে-গল্পটা আমার কাছে আইলো আর আমি লেইখা ফেললাম। অনেক সময় নিয়া কষ্ট কইরাই লিখছি কিন্তু সেইটা আসছে ভিতর থেকে। আসতে পারে, সমস্যা নাই। কিন্তু নর্মদা ড্যাম, ভারতের পলিটিক্স, কাশ্মীর নিয়া লেখা তো স্বপ্নাদেশের মাধ্যমে আসে না। প্রসুর পড়াশোনা করতে হয়, লাইনঘাট জানতে হয়। সেইসব অরুন্ধতী অবশ্যই করছেন। এইসব নিয়ে একখানা অন্তত চ্যাপ্টার থাকা উচিত ছিল, এই আরকি।

[diario_de_um_leitor_pjv · Rating 5 out of 5]

Imperdível. Tocante. Enriquecedor.

[Muhammed Zuhrabi · Rating 4 out of 5]

'She was my shelter and my storm'
രേഖാ രാജിൻ്റെ അ അമ്മ എന്ന പുസ്തകം വായിക്കുമ്പോൾ അതിൽ രേഖ തൻ്റെ അമ്മയെ നിരന്തരം മനസ്സിലാക്കാൻ ശ്രമിക്കുന്ന ഒരു ജോലിയെക്കുറിച്ച് പറയുന്നുണ്ട്. വളരെ വലിയ രീതിയിലുള്ള അധ്വാനം ആവശ്യപ്പെടുന്ന ഒരു കാര്യമായാണതിനെ എഴുത്തുകാരി പറയുന്നത് - മാനസികമായും, ശാരീരികമായും, രാഷ്ട്രീയപരമായും. Mother Mary Comes to Me വായിക്കുമ്പോൾ നിരന്തരം രേഖയെയാണ് ഓർമ്മ വന്നത്. അനുഭവങ്ങളിലും അതു നടക്കുന്ന ക്യാൻവാസിലും അരുന്ധതി റോയ്ക്ക് വ്യാപ്തിയും വലിപ്പവും ഉണ്ടെങ്കിലും (ക്ലാസ്/കാസ്റ്റ് പ്രിവിലേജ് സാധ്യമാക്കുന്ന 'വലിപ്പം') രണ്ടുപേരും പറയുന്നത് ഏറെക്കുറേ ഒരേ കഥയാണ് (അല്ലെങ്കിൽ ജീവിതമാണ്). ബൈനറികളിൽ ഒതുങ്ങി നിൽക്കാത്ത, ശക്തമായ അകം/പുറം ജീവിതങ്ങളുള്ള, അമ്മയെന്ന ആർക്കിടെപ്പിൻ്റെ ഉള്ളിൽ ഒരിക്കൽ പോലും തങ്ങളെ കാണാനോ ഉൾക്കൊള്ളാനോ സാധിക്കാത്ത രണ്ട് സ്ത്രീകളെക്കുറിച്ച് അവരുടെ എഴുത്തുകാരികളായ പെണ്മക്കൾ (ഏറ്റവും കലുഷിതമായ അമ്മ - മകൾ ബന്ധത്തെക്കുറിച്ച്) എഴുതുന്നു. റോയ് പറയുന്നത് പോലെ അമ്മമാർ അവരുടെ കൂരയും കൊടുങ്കാറ്റുമാകുന്നു.

അമ്മയിലൂടെയാണ് റോയ് ജീവിതത്തെത്തന്നെ ഓർത്തെടുക്കുന്നത്. റോയ് എന്ന വ്യക്തിക്ക് സ്വന്തമായി ഒരു നിലനിൽപ്പുണ്ടോ എന്ന് പോലും നമുക്ക് സംശയമാണ്. അമ്മയ്ക്ക് ചുറ്റും രൂപപ്പെടുത്തിയ നിർമ്മിച്ചെടുത്ത ഒരു ശരീരവുമായാണ് അവർ ജീവിച്ചത്/ജീവിക്കുന്നത് എന്ന് പറയുന്നു. അമ്മയെ ഉൾക്കൊള്ളാനും ഉൾപ്പെടുത്താനുമായി അവർക്ക് കാലക്രമേണ രൂപാന്തരപ്പെടേണ്ടി വരുന്നു. അസാധാരണമായ രണ്ട് സ്ത്രീകളുടെ കഥയാണ്. ചില നേരങ്ങളിൽ എങ്കിലും അമാനുഷികം എന്ന് പോലും നമുക്ക് തോന്നിപ്പോകുന്ന അനുഭവങ്ങൾ ഉൾക്കൊള്ളുന്ന ഒരു പുസ്തകം. എങ്ങനെയൊക്കെയാണ് മനുഷ്യർ അവരുടെ ഏറ്റവും ക്രൂരമായ ഭൂതകാലങ്ങളേയും അതിലെ ഭൂതങ്ങളേയും നേരിടുന്നതെന്നും, ചിലതിനെ എങ്കിലും തുറന്നുവിടുന്നതെന്നും, മറ്റു ചിലതിനെ വേദനയുടെ കാവിൽ കൊണ്ടു പോയി തളക്കുന്നതെന്നും കാണാം. റോയ് വേദനയിൽ കിടന്ന് കരയുന്നില്ല. കരയാനോ നമ്മളെ കരയിക്കാനോ അവർക്ക് ഉദ്ദേശ്യവുമില്ല. ഒരു വേദനയെ അത് അർഹിക്കുന്നതിലും അപ്പുറത്തേക്ക് കടിച്ച് പിടിക്കാൻ അവർ ശ്രമിക്കുന്നുമില്ല. ഏതൊരു വ്യസനത്തെക്കുറിച്ച് പറയുമ്പോഴും റോയ് അവരുടെ പ്രിവിലേജുകളെക്കുറിച്ച് സ്വയം ഓർമ്മിപ്പിക്കുന്നു. വായനക്കാരെ നിരന്തരം ഓർമ്മിപ്പിക്കുന്നു. ആ ഓർമ്മിപ്പിക്കാൻ അവർ ഉപയോഗിക്കുന്ന ഭാഷ പോലും ഒരു പ്രിവിലേജിൻ്റെ ഭാഗമായി അവർക്ക് കിട്ടിയതാണ് എന്ന് വീണ്ടും ഓർമ്മിപ്പിക്കുന്നു.

റോയുടെ ഏറ്റവും വലിയ 'സ്വത്ത്' അവരുടെ ഭാഷ തന്നെയാണ്. ഒരിടത്തും അണകെട്ടിനിർത്താനാകാത്ത അത്രയും ഒഴുക്കുള്ള ഭാഷയാണ് ഈ ഓർമ്മക്കുറിപ്പുകളിലും. അവരുടെ നോൺഫിക്ഷൻ വായിച്ച ആളുകൾക്ക് രണ്ടാം പാതി ഒരു ടൈംലൈൻ ഡോക്യുമെൻ്റേഷൻ മാത്രമായി തോന്നാം. മറ്റു പുസ്തകങ്ങളിലും നീണ്ട ആർട്ടിക്കുകളിലും പറഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്നത് ചെറിയ ചാപ്റ്ററുകളിലേക്ക് ഒതുക്കിയിരിക്കുന്നു എന്ന് പറയാം. പക്ഷെ അമ്മയെക്കുറിച്ച് പറയുന്ന ഭാഗങ്ങളെല്ലാം അതിതീവ്രമാണ്. അതു കൊടുങ്കാറ്റായും പേമാരിയായും വെള്ളപ്പൊക്കമായുമെല്ലാം വരുന്നു. പക്ഷെ ഒടുവിൽ, മുങ്ങിയ സ്ഥലങ്ങളിൽ വളക്കൂറുള്ള മണ്ണ് വന്നടിയുകളും അതിൽ മുളപൊട്ടുകയും ചെയ്യുന്നിടത്ത് റോയ് നിർത്തുന്നു. അവിടം അവർക്ക് തണലേകുന്ന ഒരു കാട് തന്നെ മുളയ്ക്കട്ടെ എന്ന് ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നു.

[Katya]

《Uma traça fria e peluda num coração assustado. Essa traça foi minha companheira constante.
Aprendi cedo que o lugar mais seguro pode ser o mais perigoso. E que, mesmo quando não é, sou eu que o torno assim.》

Estranhamente perturbada pela morte de uma mãe que pouco tinha de exemplar ou presente, Arundhati Roy resgata a figura da mulher que conhecia por Mary Roy para procurar explicar não só a resistência dos vínculos maternais e filiais, mas também a sua própria resistência enquanto mulher, escritora, ativista, arquiteta e mãe. Reconhecendo em si facetas hereditárias e culturais herdadas do modelo familiar, Roy procura fazer as pazes com o passado isolando os seus elementos:

《Mrs. Roy não era de todo hostil ao comunismo.(...)No entanto, era eclética. Também me ensinou Shakespeare, Kipling e A. A. Milne. Leu-me partes de Ascensão e Queda do Terceiro Reich. E o início de Lolita.(...)Tinha uma voz grave e forte, sem hesitação ou dúvida. Cantava Ol' Man River», de Paul Robeson, e falou-me da escravatura e dos barcos de escravos que subiam o Mississípi.
[...]
Entre crises de raiva e violência física crescente, Mrs. Roy dizia à filha que, se se dedicasse, poderia ser o que quisesse. Para a filha, essas palavras eram uma boia de salvação que a mantinha à tona em plena escuridão, correntes selvagens e um turbilhão mortal.》

Fazer as pazes não deixa de ser uma expressão curiosa para aplicar à escrita de «Meu abrigo, Minha tempestade», uma vez que estas memórias não dão tréguas à sua autora, fazendo-a reviver os momentos de exclusão, isolamento e humilhação que vieram de mãos dadas com ser filha de uma mulher independente, empreendedora, destemida e audaz. Porque Mary Roy era todas essas coisas. Professora e diretora da escola que ela mesma fundou, proprietária de terras, feminista, defensora das mulheres e senhora de grandes causas que persegue sem descanso, tudo numa Índia patriarcal, fraturada por questões políticas e religiosas, e fundamentalismos que empurram as mulheres para a periferia silenciosa. Mas também mãe ausente, abusiva e emocionalmente distante:

《Para garantir que as outras crianças não sentissem que eu e o meu irmão éramos de alguma forma mais especiais do que elas, tínhamos de tratá-la por Mrs. Roy em público. Como público e privado eram zonas geograficamente fluidas, nem sempre conseguíamos mudar de registo. Para nós, a escola era casa e a casa era escola, por isso nos enganávamos amiúde e, por vezes, também lhe chamávamos Mrs. Roy em privado
- «Desculpe, Mrs. Roy...»
Para mim, continua a ser mais Mrs. Roy do que mãe. Ela achava necessário demonstrar que não tinha favoritos, por isso era especialmente punitiva connosco, os seus próprios filhos. Muitas vezes éramos castigados por coisas que outros haviam feito. 》

Fazer sentido de uma infância marginal, de uma juventude de experimentação e desregramento e, finalmente, de uma consagração profissional à luz da sua história familiar, como o faz Arundhati Roy, é algo que nem todos de nós estão prontos a consentir. Assumir-se produto, positivo e negativo, da sua cultura, da sua educação e afinidades é uma revelação demasiado agridoce:

《Tal como a maioria das pessoas no mundo, então como agora, crescemos entre o grito e o silêncio. Alguns formaram uma opinião própria, outros receberam-na formada por outrem.》

Esse, todavia, é o caminho deste texto. Um caminho cheio de buracos e pedregulhos, um caminho de imensas bifurcações e de altos e baixos. Um caminho que Arundhati faz atravessando continentes, rompendo com os laços familiares e matrimoniais, com o estigma de mulher, filha, esposa e mãe, para regressar ao ponto de partida:

《...enquanto Mrs. Roy estava no caixão com tampa de vidro, eu estava desfeita(...).
Era quase como se, para ela brilhar sobre os seus alunos e lhes dar tudo o que tinha, nós (...) tivéssemos de absorver a escuridão dela.
Hoje, porém, estou grata por essa dádiva de escuridão. Aprendi a mantê-la por perto, a mapeá-la, a examinar-lhe os matizes, a encará-la até que me revelasse os seus segredos. Acabou por ser também um caminho para a liberdade.》

Reconhecendo a escuridão, Roy assume a existência da luz. E sabe que é tanto do que a mãe Mary lhe deu, como do que lhe tirou, que nasceu a mulher em que se tornou - imperfeita como é:

《Não foi nenhuma grande força de carácter ou ambição artística férrea que me salvou da prisão ou de males maiores. Foi apenas o acaso, e uma série de pequenas decisões impulsivas, tomadas no momento.
Acho que tinha um serafim porreiro a zelar por mim. Especialmente, de cada vez que estava numa encruzilhada e tinha de decidir. A minha educação, a classe de onde vinha e, acima de tudo, o facto de falar inglês protegeram-me e deram-me opções que milhões de outros não tinham. Oferendas de Mrs. Roy. Em momento algum, por mais insustentável que fosse a minha situação, me esqueci disso.》

É sobre essa polaridade - mãe/mulher, boa/má - que se sustentam estas memórias. Uma boa mulher faz uma má mãe? E uma boa mãe faz uma má mulher? Como se avaliam as duas facetas de Mary Roy? E o que pesa mais na vida de uma filha?
Arundhati Roy não teve a benesse de ter uma mãe carinhosa, presente e cuidadora, mas foi educada por uma mulher corajosa, trabalhadora e temerária que se gabava de ter «alcançado o purushaprapti - o estatuto de homem», uma mulher que, numa sociedade fortemente limitativa, tudo fez para sair de sob a alçada de pai e marido, que deu aos filhos a educação e as ferramentas que os tornaram independentes e fizeram de Arundhati a mulher empática, a ativista destemida e a escritora excelsa que é.
Para que lado da balança pendem os pratos? Mulher ou mãe?

《Quando ouvia falar de mulheres em apuros ou lia sobre incidentes terríveis nos jornais, ia a hospitais e tribunais e oferecia-lhes proteção. Não se compadecia nem tentava consolar; oferecia uma opção. Se não fossem lestos a reconhecer a opção oferecida, afastava-se. Se a usassem indevidamente, se se queixassem ou procurassem piedade, expulsava-as. Não tinha nada de caridosa ou de assistente social. As suas ações nasciam de uma indignação férrea. Dava bolsas de estudo a órfãos e empregos a mulheres abandonadas ou maltratadas pelos maridos ou outros homens. Tinha uma maneira própria de confortar crianças traumatizadas pela morte de um dos pais ou avós, uma maneira de as isolar da dor antes de o golpe as atingir em cheio. O campus fervilhava de pequenos humanos de olhos brilhantes a viverem os seus dias atarefados. Era um lugar tão feliz. Muitas vezes dava por mim a desejar ser aluna dela, não filha.》

Aceitar que uma mãe possa ser uma influência tão nefasta como benéfica na vida da sua filha não será, certamente, um processo pacífico, mas acordar um dia e não ter essa essa influência por perto será um processo ainda menos pacífico de enfrentar:

《Naquela primeira noite num mundo sem Mrs. Roy, senti-me a girar no espaço, sem âncora, sem coordenadas. Eu tinha-me construído à volta dela. Crescera com a forma peculiar que sou para a acomodar. Nunca quis derrotá-la, nunca lhe quis ganhar. Quis sempre que ela partisse como uma rainha. E agora que partira, eu já não tinha sentido para mim.》

«Meu abrigo, minha tempestade», embora focado, numa primeira leitura, numa relação mãe-filha altamente insidiosa, resulta numa excelente análise daqueles que são os limites e as potencialidades da afinidade e da força matrilinear. Doloroso e pungente em simultâneo revela tanto sobre a sua autora como sobre um cultura radicada na força das tradições familiares e no culto da mãe como figura espiritual e mítica.

[Dianne · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5 - this is a beautifully articulated memoir about a very complicated mother-daughter relationship. I may come back and round this up to 5 stars just for the perfection of the book title and cover photography.

[Darcia Helle · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’m in the vast minority with my thoughts on this book, so feel free to ignore me.

This memoir read like a recitation of events that remained a step removed from emotion. We jumped around a lot in the timeline and hopped from one event to another. I needed more context. I also would have liked more in-depth insight and reflection, which is a big part of why I read memoirs.

I switched between the print book and the audiobook. The author narrates the audiobook, which I normally enjoy, but again, I felt the emotion was missing and she was simply reading.

But there’s no denying that the author lived an interesting and challenging life.

*Thanks to Scribner Books for the free print copy, and to Simon Audio for the free audiobook download.*

[Anna Lambert · Rating 5 out of 5]

Truly one of the best, most beautiful books I’ve ever read. Essential reading for anyone and everyone who loves the God of Small Things.

[MountainAshleah · Rating 4 out of 5]

Early in this memoir, the author states: "I'm weary of endless theories and explanations. I think I have begun to prefer descriptions." This sentence could be the banner for this narrative journey. If you're looking for a whole lot of naval gazing, it's not this memoir. If you're looking for a focus on the author as award-winning writer, it's not this memoir (and that may or may not meet your expectations). But if you're up for a whirlwind journey of a million miles, filled with colorful characters, some rather harrowing childhood and early adult experiences, compelling descriptions, a dash of wit and self-reflection, all against a cultural and political backdrop (of course) of India, then you will likely find this memoir a rich and rewarding experience. It's really not about Mrs. Roy ("Mother Mary"). Although she is prominently featured in the memoir, primarily in the beginning and making a visible reappearance towards and through to the end, she is not ever-present, nor is she the main focus of the memoir. Rather, she's more of a presence--at times equally demanding, intelligent, scrappy, monstrous, plotting, manipulative, histrionic, cruel, brooding--but also (and especially) as a single mother in India making some culturally radical decisions-- very courageous and revolutionary. She is at times downright comical, and Roy's flare for the descriptive conveys this in an unforgettable way (oh, the film version...). But Mrs. Roy is NOT the center of the memoir (and for that, I say, thank goodness, as the Mommy Memoir market is saturated and problematic...at best). So Mrs. Roy is a complex character indeed, as is her daughter. But that's what makes the memoir so engaging. It's neither hagiography nor hatchet job. Thank you to Simon & Schuster for the ARC (Goodreads Giveaways)!

[Nigel · Rating 5 out of 5]

how was supper?

i ate taco time alone

taco tuesday

somebody ordered like 50 burritos then forgot there wallet ‎

they could of been soft tacos

in drive thru

I didn't want a soft taco or a burrito

I smiled at the taco time server and thought you better enjoy soft tacos

I thought of a bar maid putting up pizza hut phone number to call to get free pizza type thing for a peace child

pizza hut or taco bell combination

https://youtu.be/EUP1xza23Z0



I guess he could go back for his wallet 🙄

Working at Pizza Hut in my earlier days, I would always get free pizzas cause it felt like somebody left the Pizza Hut phone number in a bar and all these random numbers would call Pizza Hut and the manager would just say take a pizza home for free I often think about taking a free pizza Because somebody ordered frequently and no one pick it up.



I have my suspicions, but there’s no such thing as a free pizza

🍕

If you think interceding

Mother Mary pray for me or Mary syndrome are mailman disorder

I often think about those red lights and green lights that you pass getting free pizza is a good memory

A peace child

Often could make somebody smile .😃

https://youtu.be/CGj85pVzRJs?si=TFBCH...

[Chaitanya Sethi · Rating 5 out of 5]

"My love for my mother is like an axe. It cuts very deep" - Hot Milk, Deborah Levy

When this memoir was announced early this year, it was the first time that I pre-ordered something. I travelled halfway across the city to collect my copy the day after it was released, and callously abandoned what I was reading to pick this up. Arundhati Roy is a fabulous writer, and the opportunity to find out what made her the person that she is was a no-brainer bookish bait for me.

Which is why it pained me so much to read this book because it is littered with the cruelty of adults towards children. Preserving the innocence of children is something that I value dearly, and time and time again, I am disappointed to see how, as a society, we fail them repeatedly and ruthlessly.

This is a fairly chronological retelling of Arundhati's childhood, which acted as fodder for The God of Small Things. She takes us through life under her mercurial mother who is a complicated figure, to put it mildly. Mary Roy was a formidable woman in the eyes of society - an opinionated, headstrong divorcee who launched her own school and catapulted herself into financial independence with an iron fist. She was also pivotal in filing and winning a Supreme Court case that brought equal rights for Syrian Christian women in India on matters of inheritance. Yet, she had a notorious temper that cut her own children to pieces. The woman who taught the children of others how to stand up for themselves left no opportunity to remind her own of their numerous faults. I find myself, despite my better sense, judging someone like her. I cannot stand the hypocrisy of being a "great person" for everyone but your own family. It is a sore spot for me. Arundhati Roy has spoken in multiple interviews that she has written her mother in a way that she hopes that she will evade judgment from the reader. I am not that reader, unfortunately.

Arundhati Roy has had a wild life, to say the least; I have scribbled in my notes that she "lived at an operatic scale of drama and plot". I won't divulge the specifics but it rides the line between disbelief and incredulity at times. I was thoroughly invested in this memoir until the part where Roy's "national critic" section started simply because her early life was far more interesting for me - who wouldn't cheer on a scrappy, independent person who had the guts to leave her hypercritical parent (and hometown), move to Delhi to study architecture and eventually find her way to a National Award and the Booker Prize?

The latter sections, where she talks about feeling uncomfortable with her fame and how she went ahead with disbursing her prize money as if it was cursed, lacked the level of detail and introspection that was in the first half. It may also have to do with the fact that this part of her life is well documented on the internet, and what she thinks of the different movements that she supported/opposed is also public knowledge. There, the book dips but it bounces back when we reach the sections covering her mother's final years, and how the two women reconciled their thorny love for each other.

I was surprised to read that she felt such visceral discomfort with the idea of being rich and successful. From my standpoint, it was clear - she wrote something that struck a chord with the masses. Why would you feel guilty of coming into money for something that you created as a labor of love? There is the tempting Freudian explanation of the constant childhood criticism manifesting into adulthood feelings of not deserving good things but I hesitate.

This was undoubtedly one of the best books of the year, written at the confluence of memory, identity, and literature. I'm equally in awe that she became the person that she did despite the circumstances, and disappointed that she had to endure them in the first place.

[Shadab · Rating 5 out of 5]

It goes straight onto the shelf of my most cherished memoirs, alongside The Cost of Living (Levy, 2018) and In the Dream House (Machado, 2019), each spine a testament to survival, tenderness, and truth. The writing is breathtaking, lyrical, and unpredictable. Nothing could have prepared me for Roy coming undone in the final breaths of her narration, her voice trembling, breaking, as she said goodbye to both her shelter and her storm.

[Joachim Stoop · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5

So this is how you write a memoir

[Larry (LPosse1) · Rating 5 out of 5]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️½ — A powerful, moving memoir that stayed with me

Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy was a wonderful surprise. I wasn’t familiar with Roy’s life story, but so many of my Goodreads friends insisted I give this memoir a try—and from the moment I saw that striking cover and title, I was intrigued. By page one, I was completely dialed in.

Learning about Roy’s childhood and the obstacles she weathered was deeply touching. Her story reminded me in many ways of Angela’s Ashes—that same blend of hardship, resilience, and the quiet determination to claim a life beyond what the world expects for you. Roy overcame so much, often with little more than her sharp wit and fierce will. Her time in architecture school—the grit, the talent, the relentless push to keep going—felt especially inspiring.

I’ll admit, the momentum eased a bit for me once she became established and successful. But even then, Roy’s voice kept me invested. Her reflections on her abusive mother, told with a blend of humor and humility, were remarkable—painful and honest without ever tipping into self-pity.

Finishing this book left me more intrigued by India itself: a place Roy describes with such vividness—beautiful, heartbreaking, complicated, unjust, and full of possibility. Her navigation through sexism, classism, and prejudice gives the memoir its deeper power. She’s living proof of what perseverance can look like in the face of a society determined to silence you.

I’m absolutely planning to pick up The God of Small Things next. If this memoir is any indication, Roy has a rare talent for turning a difficult life into unforgettable storytelling.

Highly recommended!!!!
Immersive (digital/audio)

[Fahad Amin · Rating 5 out of 5]

পড়ে শেষ করলাম অরুন্ধতী রায়ের "মাদার মেরি কামস টু মি"।

এ বইয়ের মাধ্যমে অরুন্ধতী রায়ের প্রথম কোনো লেখা পড়লাম। বইটা মাদার মেরি অর্থাৎ লেখিকার মা মিসেস রায় (লেখিকা পুরো বইয়ে এ নামেই ডেকেছেন তাঁকে) কে নিয়ে লিখলেও তাঁর সাথে যেন তাঁর নিজের, ভারতের ইতিহাস আষ্টেপৃষ্ঠে জড়িয়ে আছে।

লেখিকার জন্ম শিলং এ হলেও একটা সময় তিনি তাঁর মায়ের সাথে কোট্টায়াম, কেরালায় চলে আসেন। এখানে পরবর্তীতে তাঁর মা একটা স্কুলের পত্তন করেন যা পরবর্তীতে মহীরুহে পরিণত হয়। এর মাঝে লেখিকা চলে আসেন দিল্লিতে, স্থাপত্যবিদ্যা শিখতে।

লেখিকা পরিচয়ের আগে অরুন্ধতী রায়ের আরেকটা পরিচয় ছিল। আর তা হচ্ছে তিনি কিছুদিন বিভিন্ন ভূমিকায় চলচ্চিত্রে কাজ করেছেন। এ সময়টাতে একটা সিনেমায় তিনি শাহরুখ খানের সাথে অভিনয় করলেও এ তথ্যটা তিনি বইয়ে বেমালুম চেপে গিয়েছেন।

পুরো সময়টাতে যেন লেখিকা আর মিসেস রায়ের সম্পর্কটা উত্থান পতনের মধ্যে দিয়ে যায়। কিন্তু কেউই যেন কাউকে একেবারেই ছেড়ে যাননি। বিশেষত মৃত্যুর সময়টাতে লেখিকা তাঁর কাছাকাছি ছিলেন।

লেখিকা কিভাবে উগ্রবাদী সরকারের লক্ষ্যবস্তুতে পরিণত হয়েছেন, তা একেবারেই অকপটে স্বীকার করেছেন।

অরুন্ধতী রায়ের বেশিরভাগ লেখায় তথাকথিত উগ্রবাদীদের অপছন্দের বস্তু। সেটা কেনো তা বইটা পড়ে বুঝলাম।

আর কেনো যেন মনে হলো অরুন্ধতী রায়ের মাঝে তাঁর মা মিসেস রায়ের অনেক বৈশিষ্ট্য বিদ্যমান। মিসেস রায় সে সময়টাতে প্রচলিত রীতিনীতির চ্যালেঞ্জ করে পৈত্রিক সম্পদে মেয়ের অধিকার নিয়ে আদালতে যান এবং তাতে জয়ী হোন। প্রথা ভাঙার এ বৈশিষ্ট্যটা অরুন্ধতী রায়ের মাঝে বেশ ভালো মতোই দেখতে পাওয়া যায়।

[Ivana Balnožan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Intimna, a otvorena. Duhovita, a razdiruće tužna. Hvala ti, Arundati, što si nas pustila da provirimo u tvoj univerzum. 🧡

[Athul C]

Envy her way with words.

[Vignesh Narayanan · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was so excited to read her memoir as soon as it was announced, thanks to my wife, I got my hands on this expensive hardcover copy written by a self-proclaimed communist. I adore The God of Small Things, and that was the sole reason for my hype for this book.

I loved how the memoir began, her life in Assam with her mother Mary and brother; how they got pushed to Ooty to an abandoned house owned by Mary’s father; how they were forced to vacate the house by their family, pushing them back to Kottayam to their ancestral home; and eventually to a tiny house for themselves. It was engrossing to witness the vulnerable untold side of Arundhati as a child, her bond with her brother, their naivety, the love/hate relationship they shared with their troubled mother, her love affair with architecture (credits to the charming Laurie Baker and his transgressing simple designs for the houses and buildings of the working class - who never had a shelter of their own), and how she left the house because she had had enough of her mother. I loved getting to really know the child version of Arundhati through all this. There was the touch of her debut work in this, by the style she carried, the memoir reads and feels like literary fiction, and we were acquainted with the fact that the characters in The God of Small Things were all based on real-life characters from her life, which was the cherry on the cake for us fans.

Then came the young adult Arundhati; Life carried her from Delhi to Italy, from architecture to an actress to a scriptwriter, and eventually to a writer and a Booker winner. Through this phase, the book explored her relationships with JC, her constant battle as a woman in the men's field, and her struggle with the dangerous and regressive Delhi back then, she faced all this with “the Arundhati” suave, of course, but I understood how she really felt, it's as if her abusive relationship with her mother from her childhood prepared her for whatever life / patriarchal society threw her way.

But once the memoir shifted to her adulthood i.e her public persona, when she became a “Person of Interest” from the government’s POV, the book started to lose its charm/integrity. The rhythm became too pacy, and the narrative approach became like that of the new age Netflix series with its forced cliffhangers (Arundhati ending one chapter with “His own daughter, meanwhile, was preparing to go to jail”) and impatient episodic jumps in the timeline. This wouldn’t be a problem if the writer weren’t Arundhati. I was so invested in the discovery of Arundhati Roy, what made her who she is, but lost interest when her political views/rants on major scandals/events, like the parliamentary attacks or the Narmada dam or the Dandakaranya forest march with the Naxalites, which we are already aware of, thanks to her essays and history, I just couldn’t care less about it. I mean, sorry, let me rephrase for fear of getting cancelled and being called apolitical. I/we do care, and do my part with my participation in the biggest event of democracy – twice in every five years, and more, but the politics - that’s not the reason I picked this book up. Give me more on JC, John Berger, Dido, Micky, and Issac. Or even through the politics her personal mixed feelings which the book did present vaguely when she suddenly became rich thanks to the royalties her booker winner brought in.

I wanted to know more about Arundhati Roy, her inner battles even as she became the “writer/activist”, and when she was jailed. I wanted to know the demons in her and her vulnerable side, which she did chose to share in the earlier parts of the book. But instead what I got was a newsflash-highlights kinda approach to all the major events that happened in her public life. This narrative distanced me, and I felt the writing became too self-indulgent, as if the aim was solely to portray Arundhati Roy for the swag she carried, instead of exploring the emotional depth one would expect from a memoir (one example would be Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous - utterly naked and honest with its similarly complex relationship of the author with their mother, lyrical and poetic). It felt as if the second half of the book was a biography written by someone who learnt Arundhati’s life from the public perceptions and information that’s already available. for the sake of the narrative and the title - as it promised more on her mother than herself, Arundhati annotates her rebellious political views and actions to that of her mother’s (Syrian Christian Inheritance Act), it feels forced to ensure/reassure that the mother’s impact/presence of her ghost still weighs and shapes her (which could be true; maybe it's just me, but I couldn’t buy it). Mmm, lost a bit of soul in the middle 100 odd pages.

The memoir was so rushed/incoherent, jumping from personal to political, I just couldn’t understand/empathise with some of the major decisions she took in life - like leaving Pradip for instance and not writing fiction for years, her guilt, if any in life. Obviously, there’s no living soul on earth without regrets/guilt, humans tend to carry that into the grave; it’s as if the book was hellbent on carrying the mirage of “not giving a F Arundhati” persona throughout. The book did regain its integrity towards the end when it circled back to her relationship with her mother, but there was no closure, it more an events like presentation of Mary Roy’s life in the end, there was no confrontation of the author with her mother for her unforgivable behavior - for the verbal abuse, manipulation and (Trigger Warning: killing an innocent dog), expecting a confrontation is a bit too literary/cinematic maybe - but what bothered me was the absence of an emotional closure (her conflict and difficulties accepting her mother), if it were present, it just didn’t feel enough for all the damage she executed on two of her children’s lives. Maybe that’s how life is, maybe Arundhati still hasn’t come to terms, maybe it’s just me wanting closure for the parental neglect that I've faced personally in my life, I don’t know.

But it does take Arundhati Roy to write something as bold as this, to write/bash (if not enough) but fairly, her mother who is a revolutionary educationist in the state of Kerala, in all her contradictions, without smoothing the edges much. Even though the memoir wasn’t perfect, it gave my mind, space to think about a lot of aspects in life personally and politically, and that makes the book worthy of my time. Just wish the book were to be more honest than factual.

[Claire · Rating 5 out of 5]

I was totally captivated by this memoir from the first page to the last. What a daughter, shaped and moulded by a powerful matriarch, a dominant mother figure who created her own educational empire, dispensed early on with "Mr Nothing" and set to, fulfilling a vision, indulging no one, a task master, tyrant, called to create educational opportunity to a community of children, while having a fractious relationship with her own 2 children, who nevertheless were so strongly bonded to her, they continued to be drawn back, even after years of estrangement.

I have no doubt that thus kind of mother and lack of mothering forms the child characters and tgat that lack also contributed to the difficulty in maintaining traditional relationships, but the values forged meant there was no other choice.

This will be one of my top reads of 2025, if not the One Outstanding. Stunning. A masterpiece.

When I read the acknowledgement, I removed the paper wrapped around the cover and saw the moth. Wow. What a metaphor for that dread Mrs Roy invoked.

[Marianne · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5★s
Mother Mary Comes To Me is a memoir by award-winning, bestselling Indian author, Arundhati Roy which, she says, was prompted by the confusing emotions she experienced on the death of her mother, Mary Roy. When she starts writing, she soon realises that “most of us are a living, breathing soup of memory and imagination – and we may not be the best arbiters of which is which”.

It takes only a few quotes to understand what an unusual upbringing Mary Roy inflicted on her son and daughter, and the long-lasting effects that had. She started a school, and was much loved by her students, but “It was almost as though for her to shine a light on her students and give them all she had, we – he and I – had to absorb her darkness.”

Arundhati observes “The land of infanticide and female foeticide, in which millions of daughters are done away with even before they are born, and some just after. Sometimes my mother behaved as though all of this was my brother’s fault. Because he was the only man she could reach, the only man she could punish for the sins of the world. The way she was with him has queered and complicated my view of feminism for ever, filled it with caveats.”

And yet “Between her bouts of rage and increasingly physical violence, Mrs Roy told her daughter that if she put her mind to it, she could be anything she wanted to be.”

They say that the best writing comes from authors who write what they know, and many aspects of, and incidents in, Roy’s childhood appear in her powerful, soul-searing The God of Small Things. “What is double-love divides by triple-my-size multiplied by free tickets divided by careless words?” sounds exactly like something that would come out of seven-year-old Rahel’s mouth.

The success of publication changed her life, but “I knew that fame could end up being a form of captivity, too. Also, I still hadn’t lost that very real, very tangible feeling I had carried around since I was a child – the feeling that every time I was applauded, someone else, someone quiet, was being beaten in another room.” A revelation.

[Pamela Jo Mason · Rating 4 out of 5]

“She was my shelter and my storm.”

This is a heartbreakingly beautiful truth of a sometimes difficult and at times rewarding relationship between a daughter and her mother. As I read Arubdhati Roy’s memories, I kept thinking that her mother’s strength in being a single mother in a country that wouldn’t approve, who did incredible things with her life, including opening a school, must have given her daughter the influence to go out in the world and become this amazing author. But when I read some of the accounts of the way her mother talked to and treated her children, it seemed harsher than it needed to be and I could understand why her daughter wanted to be independent immediately at age 18. I truly felt conflicted by the way mother and daughter were towards each other, but I have all sons, so maybe I am a bit biased. I will say that the author’s writing style is so beautiful and there were so many lines in this book that were original and elegant but also relatable. I liked it!!


Thank you to the authors, publishers and Goodreads for giving me the opportunity to read and review 😊

Disclaimer - I received this book as a Goodreads giveaway

[Emmkay · Rating 3 out of 5]

Arundhati Roy grapples with her mother’s legacy in this memoir. A single mother in Kerala in the 1970s, Mary Roy built a boarding school catering to the Syrian Christian community, and went from being an outcast and a failure to a beloved tyrant. The author and her brother grew up calling her Mrs Roy, so as not to distinguish themselves from the other students at the school, and young Arundhati grew a thick skin in the face of her mother’s insults, until she moved to Delhi alone at 16 to start university. But it is also evident that she owes much of her personality and her success to her formative experiences. Like her mother, the author seems to be uncompromising and larger-than-life, as she recounts her creative, political, and personal life. I admired her willingness to take bold political stances and use her voice in aid of what she believes, but found it difficult to get at the heart of her experiences or really sense the other people around her in three dimensions - perhaps it would have resonated more if I’d read her other writing. Aspects reminded me of Jeanette Winterson’s memoir (and she too referred to her mother as ‘Mrs. [last name]’), but somehow Winterson’s felt more vivid to me. Much of this was tantalizing though, and I’ll have to read Small Things and some of her essays.