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This book is one of those cases where I was simply intrigued by the cover. It looks somewhere like a cross between a children’s book and a horror book. The red background and black image of a goat. Yes, horror.

Despite the really good reviews that the book has, I didn’t find myself floating away to it’s tune. I do understand why people like it so much but it’s just not my thing.

The story begins with Poonachi, a goat kid and how an old couple gets to have her. She is a fragile kid and the initial chapters focus on her growing up and nourishment. The old woman in charge of her takes her in as if she were her own daughter. The plot moves on with Poonachi growing up around the couple, befriending other goat kids, falling in love with a goat, having a litter of own and ultimately her death.

I am well aware that the entire story was a sort of analogy to human lives, particularly females. It just didn’t sit with me. There were some parts which felt cringe worthy to me and there were some parts which painted beautiful pictures in my mind.

There’s something very weird in this conversation that I cannot point out yet

I did come across this one line that I thought was definitely true for me.

They talk about the highs of toddy and liquor, but those are not highs at all. Real intoxication comes from talking. The moment it crosses a limit, we forget everything.


Do you remember the poem Endymion by John Keats which famously starts with the line A thing of beauty is a joy forever? I am sure most of us has read it in school. That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. Just a reminder that a thing of beauty is a joy forever. It’s loveliness increases and it will never pass into nothingness. That is a lot of pressure, don’t you think?


Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

That’s from “Song of myself : Part 51” by Walt Whitman. I feel like I am living by these words in the last few weeks. It has been a rollercoaster ride with it’s sweet ups and devastating downs.

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