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CHARANIK: THE WALKER
Originally written in 1942 by Mohonlal Gangopadhyay, Charanik beautifully captures the trials and travails of the author and his friend Mirek while trekking through pre-World War II Czechoslovakia, when it was still independent and posed no problems of entering or leaving the country.The duo set out on an adventure of a lifetime, walking through the tranquil and beautiful Czechoslovak countryside. As they cross villages and small towns, and climb hills and valleys, they discover the sheer joy of walking. Meeting strangers and making new friends on the way, they realize that sometimes you have to lose your way to find yourself.Charanik has been translated by Jayanta Sengupta, who had earlier translated Bibhutibhushan Bandopadhyay’s Chander Pahar, published as The Mountain of the Moon.
168 pages, Kindle Edition
Published May 7, 2021
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
January 15, 2026
Great walker's guide, feeling like to take on one soon : )
May 25, 2025
As Bangalore wraps itself in the hush of monsoon, there’s no better companion than Charanik by Mohanlal Gangopadhyay. A quiet travelogue through 1930s Czechoslovakia, it offers no plot, only presence—step by gentle step. Mohanlal walks with no destination, noticing the world with a childlike stillness. Reading it feels like walking through light drizzle, chai in hand, soul unguarded. It’s this spirit—unrushed, reflective, quietly alive—that stirred something in me. Not to travel far. Just to walk.
And so began my own longing—to meet my city the way Mohanlal met the world.
Charanik in my city
Abir Mukherjee
Recently, I’ve indulged a peculiar craving — to walk across Bangalore. Not for physical health, not for protest, not even for a story. Simply to walk. From Sarjapura to Hebbal. On a leisurely Saturday morning.
It's a type of idea that stays at the back of your mind like half-remembered music. You can't tell when it began. I think I can. I think it was when I read Charanik — Mohanlal Gangopadhyay's humble little classic about trudging across Czechoslovakia in 1937. A stranger in a strange land, with little more than a sense of curiosity. No one to keep him company but himself. No compulsion except the sort the heart feels when it wishes to be surprised.
There's something disarmingly unimpressive about this book. It doesn't impress. It doesn't seek drama. Mohanlal simply. wanders. He observes. A field glistening in cloud light. Kindness from a stranger. A foreign language he doesn't understand yet somehow comprehends. Reading it, I felt a longing I'd never previously identified — to view the world unfiltered, to navigate it without a script.
And so this fantasy came to be. Of strolling through my native city like a foreigner. Of discovering Bangalore not as a native, not as a commuter stuck in traffic, but as a stranger quietly, tenderly falling in love.
I envision the day to start early. The city sleepy. I would leave Sarjapura before the traffic. I would pass deserted bus stops, partially opened bakeries, catch snippets of people talking. See the city wake up. See myself wake up.
Indiranagar would have a coffee aroma. Ulsoor would ring out like temple bells. Some point beyond Mekhri Circle I would forget why I had even ventured to walk in the first place. Perhaps that's the idea.
This isn’t a trip to tick one off. This is a love affair with distance, with chance, with being one more spirit drifting easily in space.
I haven't yet. Though I know I will. One day I'll lace up my kicks, turn my phone onto silent, and simply walk. With Charanik in my pack and Bangalore at my feet.
Not to get anywhere. But to sense what Mohanlal might have sensed — that exquisite, passing intimacy between a wanderer and a world willing to be observed.
And so began my own longing—to meet my city the way Mohanlal met the world.
Charanik in my city
Abir Mukherjee
Recently, I’ve indulged a peculiar craving — to walk across Bangalore. Not for physical health, not for protest, not even for a story. Simply to walk. From Sarjapura to Hebbal. On a leisurely Saturday morning.
It's a type of idea that stays at the back of your mind like half-remembered music. You can't tell when it began. I think I can. I think it was when I read Charanik — Mohanlal Gangopadhyay's humble little classic about trudging across Czechoslovakia in 1937. A stranger in a strange land, with little more than a sense of curiosity. No one to keep him company but himself. No compulsion except the sort the heart feels when it wishes to be surprised.
There's something disarmingly unimpressive about this book. It doesn't impress. It doesn't seek drama. Mohanlal simply. wanders. He observes. A field glistening in cloud light. Kindness from a stranger. A foreign language he doesn't understand yet somehow comprehends. Reading it, I felt a longing I'd never previously identified — to view the world unfiltered, to navigate it without a script.
And so this fantasy came to be. Of strolling through my native city like a foreigner. Of discovering Bangalore not as a native, not as a commuter stuck in traffic, but as a stranger quietly, tenderly falling in love.
I envision the day to start early. The city sleepy. I would leave Sarjapura before the traffic. I would pass deserted bus stops, partially opened bakeries, catch snippets of people talking. See the city wake up. See myself wake up.
Indiranagar would have a coffee aroma. Ulsoor would ring out like temple bells. Some point beyond Mekhri Circle I would forget why I had even ventured to walk in the first place. Perhaps that's the idea.
This isn’t a trip to tick one off. This is a love affair with distance, with chance, with being one more spirit drifting easily in space.
I haven't yet. Though I know I will. One day I'll lace up my kicks, turn my phone onto silent, and simply walk. With Charanik in my pack and Bangalore at my feet.
Not to get anywhere. But to sense what Mohanlal might have sensed — that exquisite, passing intimacy between a wanderer and a world willing to be observed.
February 22, 2022
I am excited and feel like travelling... A word of advice.. sit with Google map to enjoy the book even more
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews