I first stumbled across Amrita Mahale’s writing on her blog in 2008. I was 18, she 23, a graduate student at Stanford after a year of consulting at BCG and four years of aerospace engineering at IIT Bombay. I devoured her blog in a single afternoon and felt an instant connection to her impostor syndrome and identity crisis of being a writer trapped in a rocket scientist’s life. “I am not bad at this, just a misfit. It’s not emptiness. It’s just a little vacuum. Can be filled.” I marvelled at how similar our souls were, with her general moods of ambition and epiphany, nostalgia and melancholy. But mostly, I was mesmerised by how she could move me with her words, the poetry in her language, the beauty in her metaphors. “Hinged on an absurd notion / Boomerang in perpetual motion; / Come closer, ricochet, / But never, never go away.” Several zigzags in California later, she returned to India, quit her job, and started writing full-time. In 2018, Milk Teeth was published: Amrita Mahale’s debut novel, that I had awaited for 10 years.
Milk Teeth is the story of the lives and loves of two childhood friends Ira Kamat and Kartik Kini who grow up in the same building in Matunga, and through them, is the story of a changing middle class and a changing Bombay in the ‘90s. Ira is now a journalist on the civic beat, unearthing stories of corruption and indolence. Kartik has just returned home to Matunga, having lived most of his adult life away and now works as a management consultant at an MNC. Their parents decide to arrange a marriage between them, but their engagement faces challenges from Ira’s memories of a lost love for Kaiz, and from Kartik’s coming to terms with his sexuality. It is a coming-of-age novel set against the backdrop of redevelopment, liberalisation, and the 1992 communal riots.
It is a character-driven novel with most of it tracing the evolution of Ira and Kartik from children to adults, and sculpting the personalities of their families, their neighbours, and Kaiz. The city of Bombay is a prominent character with its rains, its local trains, its Udupi restaurants and architecture, and scenes at Malabar Hill and Nariman Point, at Colaba and King’s Circle. I could connect with the characters in no time, having grown up with several Goud Saraswat Brahmin friends and clued into their customs. The setting seemed familiar, as it will to every urban middle-class Indian, with friends and mothers spending afternoons in each other’s houses, money plants growing in empty bottles of imported whisky, and the ever-expanding class and communal divides in our cities. Pleasantly, this is the first Indian novel I have read that does not shy away from using Indian English phrases without translations or explanations. Bambaiyya like are you taking my phirki?, jhol, buddhi-ka-baal, classroom is not a fish market, brun maska, and havala sounded like music to my ears. There are also some gems, like when Mahale describes goosebumps as “poetry in Braille”, or my favourite: “words spun into cotton candy, sweet on the senses, only to vanish leaving no more than some grains of sugar.”
Milk Teeth is fairly well-written but lacks in scope and ambition. I would have loved for the plot to be thicker, with more layers. Amrita Mahale’s personality and personal journey are far more fascinating than her characters’. She could have achieved so much more with her debut. And I say this not to take away from her novel, but because I have experienced the beauty and brilliance she is capable of. One of Kartik’s anxieties in the novel is that he has peaked early in life: a gifted student and quizzer who went to the best universities in India, but ended up in a boring corporate job with a bad manager, Kartik thinks the star of model students tends to fade after adolescence. Amrita Mahale once enquired on her blog: “Can you use up a lifetime’s supply of luck in three months?” Hopefully, this debut is just Mahale cutting her milk teeth, and her best is still before her and not behind her. Hopefully, she moves on to bigger things, in her words, “bag and baggage in tow. Okay, only her bags. Let’s hope that the baggage went out with the previous year.” Milk Teeth is not the best novel I have read, but mine is not the opinion you should be seeking.
And having said all of that, I’d like to thank Amrita for being a role model like no other. For continuing to be a role model like no other. For her blog. For her TED Talk. For her book. For all of her future books. For telling 18-year-old me that it is okay to feel like a misfit if it compels you to express yourself for who you really are. For going against the grain. For pursuing her dream. For showing me that you can write a novel if you pour your heart and head into it. Thank you.
“Sometimes, it just doesn’t add up.
Because it adds up to much much more.”