Cracking India

by Bapsi Sidhwa

The 1947 Partition of India is the backdrop for this powerful novel, narrated by a precocious child who describes the brutal transition with chilling veracity. Young Lenny Sethi is kept out of school because she suffers from polio. She spends her days with Ayah, her beautiful nanny, visiting with the large group of admirers that Ayah draws. It is in the company of these working class characters that Lenny learns about religious differences, religious intolerance, and the blossoming genocidal strife on the eve of Partition. As she matures, Lenny begins to identify the differences between the Hindus, Moslems, and Sikhs engaging in political arguments all around her. Lenny enjoys a happy, privileged life in Lahore, but the kidnapping of her beloved Ayah signals a dramatic change. Soon Lenny’s world erupts in religious, ethnic, and racial violence. By turns hilarious and heartbreaking, this domestic drama serves as a microcosm for a profound political upheaval.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, India, Pakistan, Historical, Asia, Indian Literature

298 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1988

About the author

Bapsi Sidhwa was a Pakistani novelist who wrote in English and was resident in the United States.
She was best known for her collaborative work with Indo-Canadian filmmaker Deepa Mehta: Sidhwa wrote both the 1991 novel Ice Candy Man which served as the basis for Mehta's 1998 film Earth as well as the 2006 novel Water: A Novel, on which Mehta's 2005 film Water is based. A documentary about Sidhwa's life called "Bapsi: Silences of My Life" was released on the official YouTube channel of " The Citizens Archive of Pakistan" on 28 October 2022 with the title " First Generation -Stories of partition: Bapsi Sidhwa".

Reviews

[Seanna · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'd never have read this book if it wasn't for what this idiot did: http://www.montanasnews.com/articles....

Basically it was a book in the local high school's IB (International Baccalaureate) curriculum. One of the mothers decided it was pornographic and demanded the school remove it from their curriculum. So, being the Indian Porn aficionado that I am (is there such a thing? There must be), I trotted off immediately to the local porn purveyor and picked up a copy. Then I read it, waiting for the porn to happen. It never did. Instead, I was treated to an education on the partitioning of India as I traveled through the pages of a truly top-notch story. Highly recommended. Unless you are looking for Indian Pornography.

[W · Rating 5 out of 5]

Also published as Cracking India,this powerful,raw and haunting book is Bapsi Sidhwa's masterpiece.

I was born decades after Partition,but just reading about the slaughter taking place at the time is blood curdling.

Bapsi Sidhwa is herself a Parsi,so her account is fairly neutral.She was a young girl herself at the time,living in Lahore.Likewise,the narrator is a young Parsi girl Lennie.She is polio stricken like Sidhwa herself was.

The most powerful part of the book deals with the killing spree that went on at the time,as Hindus,Muslims and Sikhs slaughtered each other as the British finally prepared to leave India at the end of World War II.

Mobs were on the rampage,innumerable killings were taking place,women were being raped,entire neighbourhoods were being destroyed and a mass exodus of refugees was underway in either direction.Many of them would not make it to the other side.

Sidhwa masterfully depicts the chaos.She also narrates the story of a boy whose entire family was slaughtered in cold blood in a Punjab village.

My parents were certainly lucky that their village in the Punjab was a fairly long way from the border,and they didn't have to be uprooted.But Lahore and villages on the border had become battlegrounds.

As for Ice Candy Man himself and his wickedness,I didn't like the character.This part of the story didn't interest me much.The book works far better as a depiction of the broad sweep of events.

It was interesting to find that this book has even been taught in schools in the US,and that a petition was made to ban it for pornographic content.That's rather amusing,Sidhwa does not shy away from bawdy humour and rather graphic situations.But how many books are banned because of that ?

The book was also adapted as a film in India,Earth.Out of curiosity,I watched it on youtube.There is no comparison with the book,the movie is fairly ordinary.Bollywood superstar Amir Khan plays Ice Candy Man,and looks thoroughly odious.

Sidhwa has written other books,but those are just not comparable to this,easily her best effort.

[Asghar Abbas · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sidhwa is definitely one of my favorite, favorite Pakistani writers. She is an inspiration, truly. But this is a harrowing and very grim novel. Though it is arguably one of the best, if not the best work, on this theme, it is still bitter to read despite its excellence, or maybe because of it. It reveals all the raw wounds that are still fresh, without reflecting much on the healing part, but how do you heal from the wounds you inflicted yourself? The hand that had cut your skin and sliced your limbs was unsurprisingly your own. No balm for that.

Maybe that's the whole point, this book serves as a mirror, a witness. It is almost nonfictional in its unbiased, bleak, unsentimental, unrestrained accounting of that brutal time. I feel people outside the subcontinent can marvel at the sublime writing here more, can appreciate it more as they should, I mean that part of history is still very much hard and painful to read about. It didn't show us what the occupying outside force but what we did to each other. The British didn't divide and conquer us, they only conquered us; we were already divided and we still are. People as a whole are divided, in any place even within the same place.

Its companion piece movie Earth is visually stunning and the finest film ever made on this subject, a true motion picture. The movie highlighted a period often ignored and not looked into much deeper, but it is a fascinating piece of history that continues to teach us more about ourselves than we'd care to admit.

[Anum Shaharyar · Rating 4 out of 5]

There is much disturbing talk. India is going to be broken. Can one break a country? And what happens if they break it where our house is?
I ask Cousin.
‘Rubbish,’ he says, ‘no one’s going to break India. It’s not made of glass!’

Cracking India (also known as Ice Candy Man) is one of those novels that 16-year-old Anum (more interested in North American YA—not that there’s anything wrong with reading a particular genre as long as one matures enough to eventually give other genres and nationalities a chance) would never have liked. But 24-year-old Anum can very clearly appreciate the importance of reading any and all fiction related to the 1947 partition—an event so shocking and traumatic that its repercussions still resonate in the here and now in both Pakistan and India (and of course Kashmir, but that is a topic for another day).

For those of you who don’t exactly know what the partition was (so basically most people who aren’t Pakistani or Indian—if you are either of these two, feel free to skip this whole paragraph), the summary goes: before 1947 there was one huge land area called the Indian subcontinent, ruled by these group of rulers called the Mughal Emperors (think Taj Mahal, Akbar the Great, all those cool architectural wonders in India), who then lost power to the British colonial powers, who went around wrecking all kinds of havoc on the land, eventually causing the people in the area to want to kick the British people out (demand for self-independence, right to rule, lots of other important historical stuff that really is more interesting than our history books make them sound). But before the British could be kicked out, a decision had to be made about who was going to rule the area upon their leaving, and this led to major conflicts between the Muslims and Hindus in the subcontinent (not the only religious parties in the area but certainly those in the majority) who both had different ideas about what should happen. Long story very (very) short, in 1947 when the British eventually left, the whole area was divided into two: one piece was called India, and was considered the land of the Hindus (although of course other minorities continue to exist there, and the state is actually secular—again, a topic for another day) and a completely new state called Pakistan was created—supposedly a land for Muslims (but of course any well-read human being will tell you that the rampant violation of human rights makes it something else entirely).

Impromptu history lesson aside, this book is about partition, written from the point of view of a young Parsee girl (Zoroastrian for you, in case you didn’t know). Think The Diary of Anne Frank, except this is fiction and the setting is another major historical event involving lots of death and conflict and at the same time emergence of adulthood and the pains of growing up.

Lenny, our protagonist, suffers from polio (Pakistan is one of the two countries where children still suffer from Poliomyelitis; literally the rest of the world has managed to eradicate it), a disease which affects young children and causes muscle weakness and in some cases paralysis. Taken care of by her Ayah, a beautiful young Hindu girl, we follow Lenny’s story through the events leading up to 1947 and afterwards, and even though I’ve spent literally my whole life reading dreary, boring historical texts about the partition, there’s something else entirely about reading how individuals got affected by the crushing brutality of those days.

The radio announces through the crackling: ‘There have been reports of trouble in Gurdaspur. The situation is reported to be under control.’
‘Which means there is uncontrollable butchering going on in Gurdaspur,’

Ayah, Lenny’s vivacious and responsible caretaker who is adored by her huge group of admirers, is the main proponent of our story, but there are enough side characters to retain our interest. Lenny, with her crippled leg, is more interested in retaining her abnormal foot, because she believes it helps her live a life more pampered than other people. Her doctor certainly encourages the notion by telling Lenny’s parents not to strain Lenny with studies and exams, to not pressure her nerves by sending her to school, to basically let Lenny live wild and free.

What will happen once the cast comes off? What if my foot emerges immaculate, fault-free? Will I have to behave like other children, slogging for my share of love and other handouts? Aren’t I too old to learn to throw tantrums – or hold my breath and have a fit? While other children have to clamour and jump around to earn their candy I merely sit or stand, wearing my patient, butter-wouldn’t-melt expression . . . and displaying my callipers – and I am showered with candy.

Right alongside Lenny’s growth from an innocent, pampered five-year-old to her teen years is the story of the partition and of how the changing times enter Lenny’s household as well. Her Ayah, who acts as a sort of beacon for men of all religions because of her beauty and sexuality, is always surrounded by Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, all of them intent on engaging in discussions not only about politics but about what to eat that day and where they want to meet up; mundane things, silly things amongst all the serious, charged atmosphere.

This, I found truly intriguing. All these people belonging to different faiths sit down regularly and have frank, if sometimes bitter, but mostly honest conversations about what the political climate is like, and how it affects them. In the current times we live in, I honestly can’t imagine sitting down with a Christian or a Hindu belonging to my country and having an open conversation about the treatment of religious minorities over here, or what the politics of the country are doing to the religious atmosphere.

‘Funny things are happening inside the old city . . . Stabbings . . . Either the police can’t do anything – or they don’t want to. A body was stuffed into a manhole in my locality . . . It was discovered this morning because of the smell: a young, good-looking man.’

One thing that manages to help balance the viciousness of the story’s darker side is Lenny’s own life and the characters that fill her surroundings. Her loving, stern mother and her quiet father, her younger brother and her cousin, the neighbours and the tenants, the chef and gardener and guard, all of these have a life of their own and dot Lenny’s life with what some might term as irrelevant rambling, but I thought were necessary for one to be able to breathe amongst all the other moments of sadness. Still, the majority of our story, being that it is situated in such a volatile period of history, comes back again and again to its main, central plot point: that of the partition itself.

I become aware of religious differences.
It is sudden. One day everybody is themselves – and the next day they are Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian. People shrink, dwindling into symbols. Ayah is no longer just my all-encompassing Ayah – she is also a token. A Hindu.

But even though this story tackles such a sensitive topic, about a period of history riddled with so much violence and destruction, it’s still quite funny. Weird, but true. Blatant humour, subtle jesting, even moments of outright hilarity occur here and there, lending a lighter touch to the otherwise horrifying repetitions of rape, death and kidnapping that dot the narrative.

‘If we must pack off, let’s go to London at least. We are the English king’s subjects aren’t we? So, we are English!’

And of course, it was inevitable that familiar names—names I’ve seen regularly in textbooks and figures I’ve seen famous pictures of—would eventually crop up, because what is a discussion about the 1947 partition without Jinnah (the Pakistani leader) or Gandhi (the Indian one)? But the fascinating thing this story does is that it plants these figures in that time very solidly, like figurines coming to life out of history books. Suddenly the actions of Nehru and Gandhi and Jinnah and Lord Wavell and Mountbatten, people who existed too long away for me to really care about, suddenly seem much more significant, carrying so much more weight.

‘What’s it to us if Jinnah, Nehru and Patel fight? They are not fighting our fight,’ says Ayah, lightly.
‘That may be true, but they are stirring up trouble for us all.’

But the book makes it clear that for most of the characters, the machinations and manipulations of the leaders feel like they’re far away from their own lives. Only a few raise their heads up and face the fact that the effects of dealings at a government level are spilling over into the streets, but the idea that politics happen at a distance from the civilians, who love all their neighbours equally irrespective of religion, is part of an overall theme that’s repeated again—

‘Our villages come from the same racial stock. Muslim or Sikh, we are basically Jats. We are brothers. How can we fight each other?’

And again—

“So what if you’re a Sikh? I’m first a friend to my friends . . . And an enemy to their enemies . . . And then a Mussulman! God and the politicians have enough servers. So, I serve my friends.”

And again—

‘I’m alert to what’s happening . . . I have a radio. But our relationships with the Hindus are bound by strong ties. The city folk can afford to fight . . . we can’t. We are dependent on each other: bound by our toil. To us villagers, what does it matter if a peasant is a Hindu, or a Muslim, or a Sikh?’

However, all of that crumbles and falls apart once the actual rioting starts, because even though the Muslims and Sikhs and Hindus remain friends, their relatives are raped and kidnapped and butchered by other Muslims and Sikhs and Hindus, and it is only a matter of time before they fall upon each other. And when they do, when friends turn against each other, it is where the story hurts the most. Those were the moments when you need a break from reading this novel, because you ache both for the Muslim whose family has been slaughtered during a train ride, but you also pity the Hindu whose family is the one the remaining Muslims take their anger out on. There’s no end to the viciousness, the the circle of vengeance and killing that erupted during the partition (the largest mass migration in human history, with millions of deaths on both side, and unbelievably chilling statistics. An example: Some seventy-five thousand women were raped, and many of them were then disfigured or dismembered.)

A naked child, twitching on a spear struck between her shoulders, is waved like a flag: her screamless mouth agape she is staring straight up at me. A crimson fury blinds me. I want to dive into the bestial creature clawing entrails, plucking eyes, tearing limbs, gouging hearts, smashing brains: but the creature has too many stony hearts, too many sightless eyes, deaf ears, mindless brains and tons of entwined entrails. . .

At its heart the story is about Lenny’s passage into her teen years, as a child suffering from polio, discovering her sexuality, learning the difference between white lies and truth, but because it is set in such an important period of history, it becomes something more. And even though it’s not the best thing I’ve read by far, it was still chilling enough, still visceral enough for me to stop and feel and think more deeply about partition than the sort of second-hand barely-there sympathy you feel after reading about it in history books.

Recommendation

I am Pakistani. In a snap. Just like that.

The story is vicious in its honesty, and in how the characters react to the situations around them. There really are no moments of hiding the brutality, and it’s heartbreaking. Definitely recommended, but only if you’re in the mood to read about such a brutal moment in our history.

**

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**

ORIGINAL UPDATE:

So apparently Ice Candy Man and Cracking India are the same book. Different names. Thank god for best friends who are completing a thesis which requires them to be smart and know this stuff. (Also, shouldn't Goodreads have a system where they categorize this as one book?)

[Bharath · Rating 2 out of 5]

I had not read a book with the partition of India as the backdrop for the story since many years, and was excited as I picked this up. The paperback I ordered had 8 pages of praise, mostly excerpts from reviews in the news media. As the view of the happenings by Lenny, a Parsi girl, I thought this was a powerful way to write the story – without getting mired in the Muslim, Hindu or Sikh viewpoints (the most impacted religious groups).

The story gets off to an engaging start. Lenny is a young Parsi girl in Lahore, who has trouble with her legs due to polio. She is cared for by her Ayah, a young Hindu woman with family in Amritsar. There are a diverse set of characters – Lenny’s parents, Adi – her brother, Electric Aunt, Cousin, Godmother & her Oldhusband, Iman Din – the cook, Hari – gardener who later converts, Ice-Candy man in the area, a Masseur, Sher Singh – the zookeeper, Colonel Bharucha – local Parsi leader, Hamida – another Ayah, and a few others.

The story is set when it is apparent that partition of India will soon happen, and there is tension in the air. Ice-Candy man is lecherous, constantly eyeing Ayah. Lenny has to contend with some lewd behaviour from Cousin (which she does not understand initially). Lenny is close to all the people referred in the previous paragraph, and Iman Din at times takes her to his village. Soon, mobs roam the streets killing Hindus and Sikhs in Lahore, and Muslim refugees facing violence in other parts of India start pouring in. The rural areas are also impacted and people are told to vacate based on their religion. The city soon loses its diverse multicultural nature. Ayah’s life is turned upside down. She is raped and forced into Heeramandi as a dancer to entertain patrons. The Ice-Candy man coerces her to marry him.

I read many referring to this book as one of the best reads of the partition period. If only, I could agree with that – I found the book extremely shallow. The story and characters offered a great opportunity – largely wasted. There is almost no character development – even the character of Lenny is not well developed. Ayah, was the only character I felt for, and I wish there had been her viewpoint to read. I suppose if you have a young girl providing her perspective, it is difficult to provide depth to the narration. To the book’s credit it portrays a realistic scenario of the violence which erupted at the time. Also, the tone is somewhat neutral (though not entirely). There is this episode where Lenny & her mother meet Mahatma Gandhi – among the most absurd and wasteful passages I have read in fiction. The humour never really hit the mark for me, and there are some stereotypical references to communities which I suppose the author meant as humour. There is one impressionable dialogue by a man who decides to flee Lahore which stayed with me “When people who have been close feel the need to hate & harm us, it is time to move”. There is another nice touch in the exchange which Lenny has with her mother when she suspects the family is storing petrol to provide to mobs to burn property, but it turns out that the family gives this to people who are fleeing the city. Such passages are however too few, and the story telling overall is very flat.

[Ian · Rating 4 out of 5]

A hard-hitting novel about the Partition of India, as seen through the eyes of a young girl.

The story covers, roughly, the years 1943 to 1948. (As the story is told from a child’s perspective, we aren’t given dates. These have to be inferred from mention of world events). The central character, Lenny, is about four years old when the novel opens, growing up in Lahore in a prosperous family from the tiny Parsi (Zoroastrian) religious minority, but with her physical development affected by polio. In all of these things she is a close match for the real life author. I don’t know how much else in the novel is autobiographical. It develops with Lenny observing the world largely through the life of her ayah, a young woman with a veritable legion of male admirers, as well as through the lives of her relatives, her neighbours and the other household servants. Slowly all these relationships are pulled apart by the rising ethnic tension. As a reader, I felt that that the author built the atmosphere gradually, using conversations between the characters as ominous signs of what was to come, but from Lenny’s point of view:

“It is sudden. One day everybody is themselves – and the next day they are Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian. People shrink, dwindling into symbols.”

Unlike one-sided persecutions like the Holocaust or the Armenian Genocide, the Partition was an event in which large numbers of Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs both killed and were killed. This is reflected in the novel where the author does not show partisanship between the ethnic groups. It seemed to me though that she did want to make the point that whilst both men and women were victims of the violence, women were almost entirely absent from the perpetrators, and in particular she uses the novel to attack the pernicious idea that women who are the victims of kidnapping and rape are somehow “shamed” or “fallen”.

There were several scenes, set amongst the Parsi community or Lenny’s family, where the author seemed to be trying to introduce an element of comedy. If so these scenes didn’t really work for me. The character of Lenny could also at times be an odd mix of childhood naivete and sharp intelligence, but overall I thought this was a very high quality novel, and an uncomfortable warning as to how quickly it can all fall apart.

[Arunimaa · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is the story of a young, 5-year-old girl who witnesses things no child should ever have to witness. This is the story of India's cruel, brutal truth, etched in so much bloodshed, violence, loss and suffering through the eyes of a little girl.

We all know how horrible the partition was for so many. We know of the communal riots, lives lost, extreme destitution that accompanied it. It was a horrible phase. When I say horrible, I don't mean to pass my judgements as to whether it should have happened or not. We are not in a position to do so. We are not in the same circumstances as the people were at that time. It is easy to judge the good and bad after all these years but it isn't fair to do it. Regardless, it was not a pretty time for anyone.

Cracking India, (previously known as Ice-Candy-Man) narrates the story of our partition and everything bad that came with it. In factual sense, it didn't tell me anything that I didn't already know from history books and a couple of websites. But again, websites and history textbooks are facts. You don't really gauge the full extent of the trauma and suffering in them. The emotions, the struggles and the grief is not something they ever convey. This book presents the aftermath of partition in its crude and unadulterated form, that too, through the eyes for a little girl. Which makes everything so much more difficult to swallow. To see a precocious but all the more innocent child's life turn so full of darkness and violence was truly heartbreaking.

[Nashwa S · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don’t know why I’ve been sleeping on Bapsi Sidhwa’s writing but I think it may be because I’ve always been intimidated by her. As kids, we weren’t “allowed” to read her books because of the mature content. And usually, I really shy away from reading about the Pakistan-India partition because I hated how it was taught in schools, and all I can remember from those classes were the Simla conference, the Jinnah-Gandhi talks and the Radcliffe commission.

What this book did for me was that it humanised the partition - we see the process from the perspective of a child of Parsee faith, who seemingly has no stake in the violence going on. Sidhwa shows a sense of community in this, a harmony between faiths and then the slow disintegration of groups, their assumption of religious identities and the brutal violence that ensues. In a way, the story comes full circle and as sad as it made me, the ending was very satisfying.

One of the most striking aspects of this book was the fairness with which the story is told, the lack of bias, which really added to the experience. The characters are nuanced, they do morally questionable things but nobody is saying that the Muslims are pure and free of violence and spite, a perspective that was shared by many of our Urdu and Pakistan Studies growing up.

[Anum Shaharyar · Rating 4 out of 5]

There is much disturbing talk. India is going to be broken. Can one break a country? And what happens if they break it where our house is?
I ask Cousin.
‘Rubbish,’ he says, ‘no one’s going to break India. It’s not made of glass!’

Ice Candy Man (also known as Cracking India) is one of those novels that 16-year-old Anum (more interested in North American YA, not that there’s anything wrong with reading a particular genre as long as one matures enough to eventually give other genres and author nationalities a chance) would never have liked. But 24-year-old Anum can very clearly appreciate the importance of reading any and all fiction related to the 1947 partition - an event so shocking and traumatic that its repercussions still resonate in the here and now in both Pakistan and India (and of course Kashmir, but that is a topic for another day).

For those of you who don’t exactly know what the partition was, (so basically most people who aren’t Pakistani or Indian – if you are either of these two, skip this whole paragraph) the summary goes: before 1947 there was one huge land area called the Indian subcontinent, ruled by these group of power-hungry, eventually-decadent rulers called the Mughal Emperors (think Taj Mahal, Akbar the Great, all those cool architectural wonders in India), who then lost power to the British colonial powers, who went around wrecking all kinds of havoc on the land, eventually causing the people in the area to want to kick the British people out (demand for self-independence, right to rule, lots of other important historical stuff that really is more interesting than our history books make them sound). But before the British could be kicked out, a decision had to be made about who was going to rule the area upon their leaving, and this led to major conflicts between the Muslims and Hindus in the subcontinent (not the only religious parties in the area but certainly those in the majority) who both had different ideas about what should happen. Long story very (very) short, in 1947 when the British eventually left, the whole area was divided into two: one piece was called India, and was considered the land of the Hindus (although of course other minorities continue to exist there, and the state is actually secular – again, a topic for another day) and a completely new state called Pakistan was created – supposedly a land for Muslims (but of course any well-read human being will tell you that the rampant violation of human rights make it something else entirely).

Impromptu history lesson aside, this book is about partition, written from the point of view of a young Parsee girl (Zoroastrian for you, in case you didn’t know). Think The Diary of Anne Frank, except this is fiction and the setting is another major historical event involving lots of death and conflict and at the same time emergence of adulthood and the pains of growing up.

Lenny, our protagonist, suffers from polio (Pakistan is one of the two countries where children still suffer from Poliomyelitis; literally the rest of the world has managed to eradicate it), a disease which affects young children and causes muscle weakness and in some cases paralysis. Taken care of by her Ayah, a beautiful young Hindu girl, we follow Lenny’s story through the events leading up to 1947 and afterwards, and even though I’ve spent literally my whole life reading dreary, boring historical texts about the partition, there’s something else entirely about reading how individuals got affected by the crushing brutality of those days.

The radio announces through the crackling: ‘There have been reports of trouble in Gurdaspur. The situation is reported to be under control.’
‘Which means there is uncontrollable butchering going on in Gurdaspur,’

Ayah, as Lenny’s vivacious and responsible caretaker adored by her huge group of admirers, is the main proponent of our story, but there are enough side characters to retain our interest. Lenny, with her crippled leg, is more interested in retaining her abnormal foot, because she believes it helps her live a life more pampered than other people. Her doctor certainly encourages the notion by telling Lenny’s parents not to strain Lenny with studies and exams, to not pressure her nerves by sending her to school, to basically let Lenny live wild and free.

What will happen once the cast comes off? What if my foot emerges immaculate, fault-free? Will I have to behave like other children, slogging for my share of love and other handouts? Aren’t I too old to learn to throw tantrums – or hold my breath and have a fit? While other children have to clamour and jump around to earn their candy I merely sit or stand, wearing my patient, butter-wouldn’t-melt expression . . . and displaying my callipers – and I am showered with candy.

Right alongside Lenny’s growth from an innocent, pampered five-year-old to her teen years is the story of the partition and of how the changing times enter Lenny’s household as well. Her Ayah, who acts as a sort of beacon for men of all religions because of her beauty and sexuality, is always surrounded by Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, all of them intent on engaging in discussions not only about politics but about what to eat that day and where they want to meet up; mundane things, silly things amongst all the serious, charged atmosphere.

This, I found truly intriguing. All these people belonging to different faiths sit down regularly and have frank, if sometimes bitter, but mostly honest conversations about what the political climate is like, and how it affects them. In the current times we live in, I honestly can’t imagine sitting down with a Christian or a Hindu belonging to my country and having an open conversation about the treatment of religious minorities over here, or what the politics of the country are doing to the religious atmosphere.

‘Funny things are happening inside the old city . . . Stabbings . . . Either the police can’t do anything – or they don’t want to. A body was stuffed into a manhole in my locality . . . It was discovered this morning because of the smell: a young, good-looking man.’

One thing that manages to help balance the viciousness of the story’s darker side is Lenny’s own life and the characters that fill her surroundings. Her loving, stern mother and her quiet father, her younger brother and her cousin, the neighbours and the tenants, the chef and gardener and guard, all of these have a life of their own and dot Lenny’s life with what some might term as irrelevant rambling, but I thought were necessary for one to be able to breathe amongst all the other moments of sadness. Still, the majority of our story, being that it is situated in such a volatile period of history, comes back again and again to its main, central plot point: that of the partition itself.

I become aware of religious differences.
It is sudden. One day everybody is themselves – and the next day they are Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Christian. People shrink, dwindling into symbols. Ayah is no longer just my all-encompassing Ayah – she is also a token. A Hindu.

But even though this story tackles such a sensitive topic, about a period of history riddled with so much violence and destruction, it’s still quite funny. Weird, but true. Blatant humour, subtle jesting, even moments of outright hilarity occur here and there, lending a lighter touch to the otherwise horrifying repetitions of rape, death and kidnapping that dot the narrative.

‘If we must pack off, let’s go to London at least. We are the English king’s subjects aren’t we? So, we are English!’

And of course, it was inevitable that familiar names - names I’ve seen regularly in textbooks and figures I’ve seen famous pictures of – would eventually crop up, because what is a discussion about the 1947 partition without Jinnah (the Pakistani leader) or Gandhi (the Indian one)? But the fascinating thing this story does is that it plants these figures in that time very solidly, like figurines coming to life out of history books. Suddenly the actions of Nehru and Gandhi and Jinnah and Lord Wavell and Mountbatten, people who existed too long away for me to really care about, suddenly seem much more significant, carrying so much more weight.

‘What’s it to us if Jinnah, Nehru and Patel fight? They are not fighting our fight,’ says Ayah, lightly.
‘That may be true, but they are stirring up trouble for us all.’

But the book makes it clear that for most of the characters, the machinations and manipulations of the leaders feel like they’re far away from their own lives. Only a few raise their heads up and face the fact that the effects of dealings at a government level are spilling over into the streets, but the idea that politics happen at a distance from the civilians, who love all their neighbours equally irrespective of religion, is part of an overall theme that’s repeated again-

‘Our villages come from the same racial stock. Muslim or Sikh, we are basically Jats. We are brothers. How can we fight each other?’

And again-

“So what if you’re a Sikh? I’m first a friend to my friends . . . And an enemy to their enemies . . . And then a Mussulman! God and the politicians have enough servers. So, I serve my friends.”

And again-

‘I’m alert to what’s happening . . . I have a radio. But our relationships with the Hindus are bound by strong ties. The city folk can afford to fight . . . we can’t. We are dependent on each other: bound by our toil. To us villagers, what does it matter if a peasant is a Hindu, or a Muslim, or a Sikh?’

However, all of that crumbles and falls apart once the actual rioting starts, because even though the Muslims and Sikhs and Hindus remain friends, their relatives are raped and kidnapped and butchered by other Muslims and Sikhs and Hindus, and it is only a matter of time before they fall upon each other. And when they do, when friends turn against each other, it is where the story hurts the most. Those were the moments when you need a break from reading this novel, because you ache both for the Muslim whose family has been slaughtered during a train ride, but you also pity the Hindu whose family is the one the remaining Muslims take their anger out on. There’s no end to the viciousness, the circle of vengeance and killing that erupted during the partition (the largest mass migration in human history, with millions of deaths on both side, and unbelievably chilling statistics. An example: Some seventy-five thousand women were raped, and many of them were then disfigured or dismembered.)

A naked child, twitching on a spear struck between her shoulders, is waved like a flag: her screamless mouth agape she is staring straight up at me. A crimson fury blinds me. I want to dive into the bestial creature clawing entrails, plucking eyes, tearing limbs, gouging hearts, smashing brains: but the creature has too many stony hearts, too many sightless eyes, deaf ears, mindless brains and tons of entwined entrails. . .

At its heart the story is about Lenny’s passage into her teen years, as a child suffering from polio, discovering her sexuality, learning the difference between white lies and truth, but because it is set in such an important period of history, it becomes something more. And even though it’s not the best thing I’ve read by far, it was still chilling enough, still visceral enough for me to stop and feel and think more deeply about partition than the sort of second-hand barely-there sympathy you feel after reading about it in history books.

Recommendation

I am Pakistani. In a snap. Just like that.

The story is vicious in its honesty, and in how the characters react to the situations around them. There really are no moments of hiding the brutality, and it’s heartbreaking. Definitely recommended, but only if you’re in the mood.

**

I review Pakistani Fiction, and talk about Pakistani fiction, and want to talk to people who like to talk about fiction (Pakistani and otherwise, take your pick.) To read more reviews or just contact me so you can talk about books, check out my Blog or follow me on Twitter!

**

ORIGINAL UPDATE:

Whoa. That was so much more emotional than I thought it would be.

[Suha · Rating 1 out of 5]

*contains spoilers*
I was truly excited to read a book about the partition. However, this book was a colossal disappointment. Not only is the writing very vague and ambiguous (leaving you with a lot of '???'), but I also don't see how this is written from a child's perspective. The kind of observations Lenny makes, the very writing and use of difficult words, the actions this 'innocent' child does.
I mean, everyone has sex on their mind in this book, even the kids, more or less. Is India's overpopulation being justified here or what? Most of those particular passages contributed nothing to the story overall.

It might be wrong of me to compare but to put this book side by side with Persepolis (which comprises of a similar theme), I found the protagonist to be charmless, for the lack of a better word. It felt as though picking a child for a protagonist was a move to say anything and get away with it using her 'ignorance and innocence' as a scapegoat by the writer.

The book dribbles on to irrelevant details and unnecessary situations. There is a mention of Ayah's 'voluminous globules' and the like every 5th page. We get it, she's attractive. The fact now haunts me at night, thanks a lot. The characters are unrelatable brick walls. The actual details of the partition are lost between this bland narration. However I will say that the horrors of what went on during that time were gripping whenever it was described. I also found Lenny's encounter with Gandhi particularly interesting. Iqbal's poetry interspersed within the writing was also nice.

But all-in-all, I will hurriedly pass this book on to the next poor junior who will have to read this for a series of tasteless Literature classes in their final year. Sayonara.

[Elena Sala · Rating 3 out of 5]

I was interested in this novel because I enjoy historical fiction and I know (almost) nothing about the events surrounding the Partition in India and Pakistan. It did not disappoint.
Cracking India is narrated by Lenny, an eight year old girl. She belongs to a Parsee family, she leads a comfortable and protected life with loving parents and her beloved Ayah, her young and attractive Hindu care taker. Lenny is curious, vivacious and innocent, and also a somewhat unreliable narrator.
The narration of the tragic story of the events leading to the Partition and it's bloody aftermath coexists with moments of subtle humour, mostly related to Lenny's family life and her relationship with Ayah. As the story unfolds, it gets darker and Lenny loses her innocence as she discovers the "pitiless face of love" and how desire can become unscrupulous and deadly.
Sidhwa is a talented Pakistani writer who manages to bring an assortment of characters vividly to life. I am not so sure about the verisimilitude of her unreliable narrator, though. When dealing with domestic issues or sex or Ayah's suitors, Lenny's musings are what we can expect from a girl. However, when she describes the atrocities that take place after Partition, she appears to be a mature adult reflecting on the history of her country or the vile role of politicians whose selfish and thoughtless decisions have huge impact on the lives of their people. The novel is really interesting and gripping; I only gave it 3 stars because of its flawed unreliable narrator.

[Vaishali · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ice-Candy-Man reminds you of Ann Frank’s Diary, only it’s based on a tragedy closer home: the horrors of communal atrocities during the India-Pakistan partition. It’s a coming-of-age story of a little Parsee girl, Lenny, who lives in 1947 Lahore in a happy-go-lucky, protected environment of a child, until political & social upheavals of the country change the dynamics of her world. Like Ann Frank’s Diary, it’s an account of a brutal world through the eyes of an innocent, and in that respect, has the capability to connect with the reader incomparably.

The author, Bapsi Sidhwa, has cleverly comprised different economic strata in the story by elaborating on Lenny’s relationships with her servants (particularly her 18 years old, growing beautiful, care taker Ayah), her observation of her parents’ friend circle and her associations with her own relatives. Sidhwa brings parity in the subject by weaving in Lenny’s visit to her servant’s Muslim village Pir Pindo, which comes under post-partition India, while Lahore forms part of Pakistan. The massacres & evacuation tales of Muslims from Pir Pindo, and similar atrocities on Hindus/Sikhs in Lahore, give a balanced perspective, which is interesting as the story is supposed to be limited by only what the 8 years old Lenny observes & hears around her.

Sidhwa brings out the characters & society of 1947 most vividly. A culturally beautiful Lahore of communal harmony unfolds in front of your eyes as you read through the pages. The language used is typically educated English of the British era interlaced with Punjabi & Urdu slangs and phrases, which brings local flavour and authenticity.

Being written from the curious view point of a child, Ice-Candy-Man is a narrative of discoveries. As the snooping Lenny observes and writes about her everyday life, including things she is not supposed to know of, the story appears mysterious and humorous and even the mundane life of a family reads intriguing.

However, where Ice-Candy-Man lacks is in creating sufficient depth of emotions towards the climax. The story is at its high point when the Ice-Candy-Man has had a change of heart in the light of recent massacres. The transformation of one of her most trusted friends should have been the ultimate focal point of the story, as also suggested by the title of the book. Incidentally, this is the point where Deepa Mehta’s film 1947: Earth (inspired by the book), ends too, and hence is much more hard-hitting than the novel. Unfortunately, in the book, Sidhwa continues the story post this major incident of betrayal immediately affecting Lenny, whereby this event seems to get hurried and unjustifiably short treatment. Sidhwa’s objective seems to be telling the readers about the partition in Lenny’s words, rather than the turmoil of Lenny’s personal world. This is fine in itself if the author had aimed so, but then, the title of the story gives a misleading expectation to the reader. The character of Godmother becomes quite powerful suddenly in the last pages, which seems disconnected from the rest of the story.

All in all, Ice-Candy-Man is an interesting read, a gripping tale that transports you to pre-India partition era and makes you feel sorry for the loss of a beautiful world that could have been.

[Harsimar · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am Pakistani. In a snap. Just like that.

A look into the events surrounding the partition through the eyes of young girl; Cracking India is a historical fiction novel plus a coming-of-age story.

The commentary on politics and religion was interesting to read. Anytime the story mentioned real events or people, my interest was instantly piqued. I liked how the author recognized that all three communities had a stake in the violence that took place. The leaders weren't shown to be free of blame either which was good.

A little more research could have been done by the author when it came to Sikhi, as some things mentioned about the traditions and festivals were incorrect. A lot of the characters were written in a way which perpetuated negative cultural stereotypes. That was disappointing to see and could have been avoided.

Keeping that aside, the atmosphere of brotherhood and life in general before the Partition and the communal tension that followed later was spot-on. Reading about the violence and riots in articles or history textbooks is one thing. But seeing it through the eyes of these characters made it even more chilling.

The coming-of-age parts were mostly enjoyably but got a little boring at times, probably because of the writing (which reminded me a lot of 'The God of Small Things' for some reason). Ayah's story was one of my favourite things from the novel but it mostly escalates during the last 60 pages or so which were pretty heartbreaking to read. The ending could have been fleshed out better I feel. Would have loved to see a prologue set some years ahead in the future or something that provided a little more closure for our characters. Especially Ayah and Lenny.

Good book though. Touches on a lot of important themes and gets most things right about the tragic event. It's gripping at times but also gets boring occasionally. Makes for a great read overall, since it humanizes the partition and gives you a better scope of the brutalities that took place, bringing out a lot more emotions than other books about the event. I'd give it 3.5 stars. Definitely check it out if you're interested.

[Jennie · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was unsuccessfully challenged in DeLand, Florida, so of course, I went out and read it right way.

Sidhwa tells the story of the partition of India through the eyes of young Lenny, who is a Parsee girl living in Lahore. This book is violent. There's talk of rape and sex. And oh, the violence. I can see why some people would want it banned, but it is no more violent than the actual events were. This was a hard book. It deals with this period of time with no background information. I really don't know much about this, so I had to look a lot of things up. The writing style, while beautiful and fitting, isn't an easy read. This would be a wonderful book to teach and read in school. It's dense and layered and the history is tragic, but so much history is. It also really puts current India/Pakistani border clashes and politics in perspective.

If you don't know a lot about partition, make sure you have access to an encyclopedia-- I had to look a lot of things up.

[Shinde · Rating 4 out of 5]

Brutal. Honest. Raw. Visceral etching of human behavior.

[Vartika · Rating 4 out of 5]

Deeply harrowing and affective, Bapsi Sidhwa's Ice-Candy Man is perhaps one of the most well-written partition narratives available to readers in English, and certainly the best of all that I have read so far. The book grants one a rather rare glimpse of the atrocities and everyday tragedies of this period from the other side of the border, through the eyes of a child — Lenny Sethi is a young Parsee girl from an affluent Lahori family. Kept out of school on account of suffering from Polio; she spends her time in the tranquility of the company of her beloved Ayah and her friends, until the violence of the partition of India and Pakistan bloodies all their lives.

With the cracking of India along religious and shadow lines; as Lenny slowly realises; comes a division of loyalties, and soon enough much of the loving mix of people around her either convert, concede to the horrible violence, or (most often forcibly) evacuate. Sidhwa leaves no crime unwritten, and there is arson, rape, torture and killings to wipe out entire populations, and one instance shows a train full of Muslims arriving in Lahore, all killed and mutilated by mobs on the way. Similar violence is condoned by Muslims on the Hindus and Sikhs in Lahore — this book shows us the scars that religion and the colonial enterprise inflicted on the minds, bodies and memories of undivided India.

Lenny's Ayah — her nanny, in charge of bringing her up — is the focal point of her attentions in the small, self-sufficient microcosmic existence of a child. Yet, one event leads up to another and the Hindu Ayah — loved by all men and women alike, known for her beauty throughout Lahore; and betrayed by her own friend and another's innocent, unknowing tongue — is kidnapped by the Muslim mobs. With violence abounding and the void left by Ayah's brutal, violent kidnapping; Lenny is forced to grow up — and her mission is to find the woman she loves and has unknowingly lost.

Particularly impactful in the book is the story of Ranna, who is the grandson of Imam Din, the cook at the Sethi household. When his village; Pir Pindo; goes to India, Ranna, at a tender young age is faced with an overwhelmingly violent side of religion and hatred — he seems to represent all of 1947's bloodied and mutilated history within him. One finds it hard to let go of the image of the crescent-shaped scar on the back of his head. Ranna's story makes one familiar — forcibly, shockingly, needfully — about the impact and violence of war on children.

Ice-Candy Man draws a picture of pre-partition society; and illustrates the trauma of partition; through an interesting intersection of classes that exist in the group of friends and admirers which Ayah amasses — a popsicle seller, a hotel cook, a masseur, a knife-sharpener and so on; all of different stock, meeting and mingling in public spaces such as the Queen's Park — and in the society around the Sethi household; of the wealthy, landed elite.

Characterisation in the book is also thus inevitably varied, and incredibly well-honed. From major characters such as the multifaceted personality of the popsicle-seller after whom the novel is named (more on that later), the Ayah and Godmother; to characters such as the Cousin, Oldhusband, and Col. Bharucha — all are given vitality and dimension, with a depth that seems almost sociological at points.

Both sex and violence dominate a huge chunk of the narrative — just as much as it permeates society —;
filtered through the innocent eyes of its child narrator who shifts between narrating from the past and from the future. It is quite notable that Ayah goes from having insistent admirers to being abducted and 'dishonoured' during the senseless; yet purposeful; partition violence. Child sexuality — the Freudian concept often ignored in society in general and the South Asian context in particular — and the slow awareness thereof is depicted here in what people may call a scandalous manner. The children's 'play' between Lenny and the Cousin acts perhaps also as a watered-down allegory for rape, and the discomfort and vulnerability that the female body is exposed to.

Of this idea of sex and violence arises the character of the namesake: Ice-Candy Man is, at various points in time, a popsicle-seller, a bird-seller, an oracular presence, and a poet. He is also a hovering presence; often in absentia; always following Ayah in her stead. While he largely disappears for a huge part of the novel and is seen to return only towards the climactic end, the book understands the horrors of partition through him, hence rendering him important enough to be titular. The transformation of Ice-Candy Man from a gossipy, good-natured, flirtatious man to part of an angry, blood-thirsty communal mob is marked by the arrival of the train full of butchered Muslims. The character of iced-candy man can be read as an attempt to understand what turned over millions of normal people to the kind of murderous rage that characterises an entire period in our history. His hovering presence is also the hovering presence of religious division.
One is also compelled to say that it is not mere hatred that drives the popsicle-seller, but also some sort of love for the Ayah. The complexity of his act of abduction of the Hindu woman is characterised by a sense of duty felt towards both community and the woman herself: he seeks to fulfil both by kidnapping her and marrying her. However, the fact that he does not understand her trauma underlines the intensity of female suffering during this time: it is a lonely, aching feeling that reduced the lively eighteen-year-old Ayah to one with lifeless eyes.

The lifelessness of Ayah's eyes at the end is not hers alone. The book also depicts a 'house for fallen women', shedding light on the fate of women abducted, displaced and more often than not, raped for communal gains. The idea of religious and national honour lying in the woman's body (or the woman's body as a male, communal commodity) inflicts many scars on these women; Hamida — the new nanny — is a prime example of how this trauma had to be subdued and accepted as fate.

Overall, Bapsi Sidhwa's Ice-Candy Man is a deeply moving tale that reflects the trauma of partition, the anxieties of minorities, the sense of betrayal felt by common people vis-a-vis their leaders and their erstwhile neighbours, the pain inflicted on bodies and minds, and the destruction of an essential harmony in our subcontinent which has never since been the same. The narratorial voice of an eight-year-old adds dimension to Sidhwa's projection of the pathos of the partition, which voided millions of their lives and forced many others to grow up too fast.

I want to add a note on the Penguin Edition of Ice-Candy Man with the cover design by Alice Stevenson: As a reader, I'm very unsure of how to feel about this book vis-a-vis its jacket; it totally undid my practice of judging books by the one outwardly feature.

[Nicole Means · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of the 'biggest lies' that of history is that the Greatest Migration of Hindus and Muslims between Pakistan and India was a peaceful event. History books wash over this migration as people moving from their homes and peacefully making a new life in a country where their religion was majority rule; this fabrication of history fails to capture the violence, murder, and forced evacuation that surrounded this "great" migration. Perhaps history books should change the name from "Great Migration" to "Most Violent Migration" in history.
Although "Cracking India" is a novel, Bapsi Sidhwa captures the hearts of her readers through the eyes of Lenny, a young girl, who, "just like that" became a citizen of Pakistan. Many people thought their relocation was only temporary. Once families were forcibly evacuated, mass looting took place and new families moved into the evacuated homes. Those who refused to move were often violently taken or killed.
What struck me most about this novel was that Gandhi worked tirelessly to promote nonviolent resistance against British rule, but once the Brits were gone, violence persisted. Mobs attacked people who were not of the majority faith. People were attacked in holy temples, mosques. Neighbors turned against neighbors and joined merciless mobs in the name of religion. The more I learn about the world's history the more I am reminded that history constantly repeats itself. Perhaps if our history books did not sugarcoat incidences such as this and others, we could actually learn from our mistakes to ensure history does not repeat itself.

[Nathaniel · Rating 2 out of 5]

Perhaps I'm the wrong audience for this book. Perhaps it was a bad translation. Perhaps I'm just in a really bad mood. But I really, really did not enjoy this book.

This is a book about civic turmoil in 1940's Lahore as it transitions from India to Pakistan, from the perspective of a little girl. It is a book in which several people are harassed or killed by religious extremists, and in which half of the characters die or disappear. Yet I still found it to be boring, uneven, and poorly suited to the novel format. Though Sidhwa masterfully communicates a sense of innocent cluelessness in her young protagonist, who often recounts events she has observed without understanding them, this device often results in the reader lacking crucial information about what is actually occurring in the book. Much of what actually occurs is also only things that a young girl in a repressive culture would see, so there's more description of people sitting around the house talking or kids horsing around with each other than anything else. It is consequently difficult to develop any sort of emotional stock in the characters, who flit in and out and ultimately mostly are killed off abruptly "offscreen" without much dimensionality or purpose. There is also no story arc, and the protagonist never develops at all - it's really just a very long series of observations about a turbulent period in history as recounted by a little girl. In that sense, this book is very educational, and I learned a lot about the history of the India/Pakistan split. But "educational" is really all this story has going for it. As a memoir or in some other nonfiction format it might have been interesting, but as a novel it just doesn't work.

Again, I'm probably not the right person to appreciate this book. But unless you're a very, very committed third world development crusader of the old (1970's-1990's) school, you'll probably not find much to like here.

[Marcy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Bapsi Sidhwa's novel is an incredibly moving account of the partition of India. I love the narration through the point of view of the young Lenny whose innocence is cracked along with her country. I think Sidhwa does a terrific job of illustrating the horror that colonialism leaves even in its aftermath. I especially love the contrast that Sidhwa shows between how relations among Indians were before and after partition and clearly points the finger at the British Empire's efforts to divide the country. The unfolding of this narrative, however, through Lenny's coming to understand the way her country breaks apart is what makes it such a tremendous story.

[OMalleycat · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a sad and beautiful story. One reads about the Partition of India and Pakistan as a big event, but this book tells the story from a personal perspective. Added to that is that the narrator is a very young girl. In her short lifespan her India goes from an almost magical place of varied and fascinating people living and playing together to a baffling site of unexplainable tragedy. I loved this book.

[Nicole Aswad · Rating 1 out of 5]

Personally I thought Cracking India was a little boring and a bit too historical for my own taste. The book got slightly interesting starting from part where Ayah is captured, other than that I found it to be slow at the beginning and it didn't really get any better towards the middle.

[isaac⁷ · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.75*

"can one break a country?"

"'rubbish', he says, 'no one's going to break india. it's not made of glass!'"

"and i become aware of religious differences.
it is sudden. one day everybody is themselves — and the next day they are hindu, muslim, sikh, christian. people shrink, dwindling into symbols. ayah is no longer just my all-encompassing ayah — she is also a token. a hindu. carried away by a renewed devotional fervour she expends a small fortune in joss-sticks, flowers and sweets on the gods and goddesses in the temples."

"memory demands poetic licence."

"'i want to go to my family.'"

rarely do you see partition literature, particularly fiction, from the POV of a child narrator. i am glad ice-candy-man exists and i think more people need to read this (i also said that for pinjar) also because these voices barely ever reach a larger audience. i'm sorry but it's high time people read books that are under-discussed and spotlit (myself included).

[Sonali Dabade · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5 stars!

Review soon!

[Jo · Rating 5 out of 5]

A completely compelling novel about the partition of India seen through the eyes of a young Parsi girl with polio, Bapsi Sidhwa’s novel, presumably based on much of her own life experience, contains humor and violence, compassion and insight. I’m not always a fan of child narrators but here the voice is of an adult looking back and as such Lenny’s narrative is pitched perfectly in showing a child’s perspective of political and cultural events that split the country in two. There is a wonderful array of characters from those central to the story like Lenny’s beloved Godmother, Ayah her nanny and the Ice Candyman (after whom this novel was originally named), as well as numerous background characters who nevertheless are integral to the story as it unfolds. Interspersed with typical childhood dreams and woes is the gradual unfolding of the events leading up to and ending in partition and through a tight knit group of friends who encompass all religions and faiths, Bapsi Sidhwa shows how tribalism on religious grounds splits this group apart and leads to violence and tragedy as it did throughout the country as a whole. As someone who only knew the basics of the history of partition this book was an education and an entirely engaging one.

[Roshan Singh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ice-candy-man is set in Lahore and has the partition of India as the backdrop. The story is told by a young Parsee girl- Lenny. Looking at the massacre and madness of the Partition from the perspective of a child was a very different experience. The story is essentially of Ayah, a character who represents the thousands of women who fell prey to men-turned-beasts. Here the tragedy is intensified by betrayal. One gets to see the destructive side of love. The kind of love that is best described in the book itself as "pitiless face of love". Partition narratives always leave me with a heavy lump in my throat. The history is written not just in blood, but is lined with broken people and shattered hearts which makes it all the more important not be forgotten.

[Hafsa · Rating 4 out of 5]

I use this novel in my Partition of the Indian Subcontinent class, and it works really well with undergraduate students. Firstly, the perspective of the partition from a child's narration is very interesting, as Lenny seems to observe everything around her without any particular judgment. The book also being told from the perspective of a Parsi--instead of a Hindu/Muslim/Sikh--is also important, and enables the story to develop from a unique perspective. And finally, the character of Aya, and the ways in which women are subjected to forms of violence and betrayal, and meant to reflect the "nation" was very well done. It is really a classic story, and one that shows how rapidly friendships and relationships can deteriorate in the context of political upheaval and conflict.

[Misha · Rating 5 out of 5]

The prose is a bit lacking, but the story is powerful enough to overcome it for me. I was genuinely upset by this book and the matter of fact way it deals with the tragedy unfolding.

Some of the more upsetting things in this book are just the everyday exposure of a child protagonist to lust, even dangerously close to attempted rape near the end. I found the ending more satisfying than the movie ending.

[Narendra]

Deepa Mehta's movie "Earth" is based on this and I can recall the tragic ending even today (several years after seeing the movie). The tragedy on the individual level of the protagonists in the book is intertwined with the millions of people who have died since the partition of the sub-continent. The sorrow is too close and personal, so I cannot bring myself to finish reading the book. The book itself is well written and worth a read.

[shalra · Rating 3 out of 5]

i feel like i just couldn’t get over the fact that the narrator was only seven but was making astute political observations. the narration did not really match the narrator i think. this does feel like a good gateway book to start reading more about the partition, though. the fact that at least a portion of it is based on specific true events is heartbreaking, and was honestly a little tough to read. has definitely made me think about what my own family had to go through during this period.

[Maria · Rating 4 out of 5]

An insight of how division of the subcontinent affected both Muslim and Hindus, also the minorities. I felt like I was there, feeling the war hysteria and terror.