Explore 5 Books to Gift Yourself This Diwali 2026, with thoughtful picks, etiquette, budget wrapping ideas, and hints for readers, friends and family.
Diwali invites us to celebrate light, generosity and fresh beginnings. This guide explores 5 Books to Gift Yourself This Diwali 2026, with a bonus title for generous readers. It also offers book-gifting etiquette, ideas for friends and colleagues, affordable wrapping tips, and the simple joy of choosing a story that speaks to someone’s life long after the lamps slowly fade.
Have You Bought Diwali Gifts for Everyone Except Yourself?
Have you finished buying Diwali gifts for your parents, siblings, friends, colleagues, neighbours and that one person at work who remembers to distribute sweets every year, yet somehow forgotten to buy something for yourself?
Perhaps you have ordered boxes of kaju katli, selected attractive dry-fruit hampers, compared decorative lamps and spent considerable time deciding whether your colleagues would appreciate a traditional gift or something more contemporary. You might even have remembered the person who lives three doors away and sends you sweets every Diwali, despite the two of you having exchanged little more than polite greetings throughout the year.
But what about you?
When did you last buy yourself something simply because it made you happy? Not because it was useful, not because somebody expected it, and certainly not because it was available at a festive discount. When did you last choose a gift that reflected your interests, curiosity and personal aspirations?
This Diwali, I would like you to consider something different. Instead of adding another decorative item to your shopping basket, consider buying yourself a book.
| If you love... | Read... |
|---|---|
| Chess, ambition, excellence | The Price of Genius |
| Relationships & marriage | What They Don't Tell You About Marriage |
| True crime | India's Most Dangerous Killer |
| Indian history | Queen Tara |
| Poetry & healing | Did You Ever Love Me |
| Books about books | The Door-to-Door Bookstore |
Not one book that you purchase because somebody recommended it on social media.I am talking about a book that you genuinely want to read, one that makes you curious, challenges an opinion, offers comfort or introduces you to a world you have never visited.
5 Books to Gift Yourself This Diwali 2026 is not simply a list of reading recommendations. It is an invitation to make room for stories, ideas and experiences that can enrich your everyday life.
Diwali falls on Sunday, 8 November 2026, according to the Government of India's published holiday calendar. The festive season gives us an opportunity to think about the people we value, the relationships we maintain and the things we wish to carry into another year.
There is something rather amusing about the way we approach festive gifting. We can spend an hour selecting a box of chocolates for somebody who has probably received fifteen similar boxes, yet we hesitate to spend that same hour choosing a book that could introduce them to an entirely new interest.
A book offers a different experience. It does not need electricity, an internet connection or an elaborate instruction manual. It waits patiently until its reader has time. It does not complain when ignored for three weeks, although a particularly enthusiastic book might make you feel mildly guilty when you walk past it.
Years later, readers often remember not only the story but also the person who gifted the book.
That is one reason I have selected these five books. They offer different experiences and speak to different kinds of readers. One explores the cost of extraordinary achievement, another examines the realities of marriage, and another takes readers into the disturbing world of true crime. There is also a historical account of a remarkable queen and a contemporary collection of poetry about love and heartbreak.
I have also included a bonus recommendation, The Door to Door Bookstore by Carsten Henn, because a celebration of book gifting deserves a story that reminds us why books matter in the first place.
And yes, this guide is equally useful when you are shopping for someone else. Your friend who loves history, your colleague who enjoys poetry, your newly married cousin or that relative who prefers non-fiction to television.
So, before you complete your Diwali shopping, reserve a little space in your budget for yourself.
After all, you have been on your own gift list for an entire year. It is time somebody remembered you.
Why Is Diwali 2026 the Right Time to Gift Yourself a Book?
Diwali has a way of making us look at our lives a little differently. We clean our homes, rearrange furniture, replace old decorations, buy new clothes and make arrangements to welcome friends and family. We light diyas, prepare sweets and hope that the coming year brings happiness, prosperity and good health. For a few days, even people who rarely have time for one another make an effort to sit together.
Yet, somewhere between shopping lists, family obligations and festive expenses, we often forget an important part of the celebration: ourselves.
We remember to buy gifts for people we love, but we rarely consider what we would like to receive. This is particularly true when the gift involves something personal, such as a book. Many people happily spend money on festive decorations that will come out of storage next year, but hesitate to purchase a book they have wanted to read for months.
Diwali is associated with the victory of light over darkness. Across Indian traditions, the festival carries different religious and cultural meanings, but themes of hope, renewal, prosperity and the beginning of something better remain central to its celebration. Reading fits naturally into this spirit. A book can introduce light into an area of our understanding that has remained unexplored. It can challenge an old belief, offer a fresh perspective or help us understand another person's experiences.
Think about it. A lamp lights a room, while a good book can illuminate a question that has troubled you for years.
Of course, I am not suggesting that reading a book will magically solve every problem. A relationship does not become perfect because somebody reads a book about marriage. A person does not become a chess champion after reading about talented chess players. Nor does reading a historical account automatically make someone an expert in history. Books do something more realistic and, in many cases, more valuable. They give us information, encourage reflection and help us ask better questions.
There is also the pleasure of having something to look forward to after the celebrations. Diwali can be a busy period, and once the guests have returned home, the sweets have been distributed and the decorations have been put away, ordinary routines gradually return. A new book can become a pleasant companion during those quieter days.
Imagine sitting near a window on a winter morning, enjoying a cup of tea and reading a chapter before the rest of the household wakes up. You are not attending to anybody's demands, replying to messages or preparing a shopping list. You are simply spending time with a story.
That small ritual can become an important part of your everyday life.
You do not have to wait for your birthday, an anniversary or a promotion. You can buy one because a particular subject interests you. You can buy another because you want to understand something that has always puzzled you. You can even buy one because its cover caught your attention in a bookshop. There is no examination at the entrance to reading, and nobody needs to justify their choice to an imaginary committee.
What if your Diwali gift to yourself became a promise to keep learning?
You could start with one book, read a few pages every evening and gradually build a reading habit. You could also share your thoughts with a friend or recommend the book to someone who might enjoy it. The experience need not remain limited to you.
There is something generous about that idea. When we read, we often gain something that we can pass on to other people through conversations, questions and shared experiences.
So, this Diwali, consider adding a book to your personal shopping list. It need not be expensive, and it certainly does not need to be a bestseller. It only needs to be something you genuinely want to read.
Why These 5 Books to Gift Yourself Made My Diwali Reading List?
Choosing a book is a little like choosing a Diwali gift for someone whose tastes you understand well. You need to consider what interests them, what they might enjoy discovering and, sometimes, what they might need at a particular stage of life.
The same principle applies when you are buying books for yourself.
Perhaps you are fascinated by extraordinary achievements and want to understand what happens behind the public celebration of success. Perhaps you have been thinking about relationships and the everyday realities of marriage. You might enjoy investigative accounts that examine disturbing chapters of crime, or historical narratives that introduce you to remarkable people whose contributions deserve greater recognition.
And then there are days when you do not want facts, arguments or historical explanations. You simply want poetry that understands an emotion you cannot quite put into words.
This selection brings together five books that offer very different reading experiences.
| Book | Author | What makes it worth considering? |
|---|---|---|
| The Price of Genius | Binit Priyaranjan | A closer look at extraordinary talent, ambition, discipline and the human cost of achievement. |
| What They Don't Tell You About Marriage | Yashodhara Lal | An exploration of marriage, relationships, expectations and everyday realities. |
| India's Most Dangerous Killer | Rakesh Goswami | An unsettling true crime account that raises questions about crime, investigation and society. |
| Queen Tara: Kali of Deccan | Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran | A historical narrative bringing attention to courage, leadership and a remarkable woman. |
| Did You Ever Love Me? | Rithvik Singh | Poetry and reflections on love, heartbreak, vulnerability and emotional healing. |
These books do not belong to a single genre, nor are they intended for readers with identical interests. Each offers a different reason to turn the page.
One might appeal to a student trying to understand achievement and ambition. Another might interest somebody preparing for marriage or reflecting on a long-term relationship. A true crime enthusiast may find the investigative narrative appealing, while a history lover might appreciate the opportunity to learn about Queen Tara. Readers who enjoy contemporary poetry may find emotional companionship in Rithvik Singh's writing.
Your colleague who enjoys history may appreciate Queen Tara, while a friend who collects poetry might prefer Did You Ever Love Me?
There is no universal book for every reader. The right choice depends on the person, their interests and the experience you hope to give them.
As you read the recommendations that follow, consider two questions. Would you enjoy reading this book yourself, and can you think of someone who might appreciate receiving it?
Sometimes, the answer to both questions is yes. That is when one book can become two wonderful Diwali gifts.
What Does The Price of Genius Reveal About the Hidden Cost of Extraordinary Talent?
Some children spend their afternoons playing cricket in the neighbourhood, arguing over whose turn it is to bat, or trying to convince their parents that homework can wait until tomorrow. Others spend those same afternoons studying chess positions, memorising openings and learning how to defeat opponents who might be twice their age.
And then there are children who become so good at something that the entire country starts watching them.
We celebrate such children. We share their photographs, admire their trophies and proudly announce that India has another young champion. We love a success story, particularly when it involves someone who has achieved something extraordinary at an age when most of us were still struggling to remember our school timetable.
But there is a question we do not always ask.
What does it take to become a genius, and what does it cost?
This is where The Price of Genius by Binit Priyaranjan becomes an interesting reading choice for Diwali 2026.
The book looks at India's remarkable chess journey and the emergence of its celebrated young talents, often discussed together as the country's chess Fab Four. Their achievements have helped bring Indian chess into the international spotlight. Yet, behind every remarkable result is a story that rarely fits into a newspaper headline.
There are hours of practice, difficult decisions, family commitments, financial investments, missed outings and the pressure of living up to expectations. There are parents who reorganise their lives around a child's ambitions and children who learn to handle situations that many adults would find overwhelming.
We see the medal. We do not always see the mornings that made it possible.
Why Are We So Fascinated by Child Prodigies?
Perhaps it is because they make us reconsider what human beings are capable of achieving.
When a young chess player competes against experienced international opponents and wins, we are naturally impressed. Chess is not simply a game of moving pieces across a board. It demands patience, calculation, memory, concentration and the ability to anticipate what another person might do several moves later.
Imagine being a child and having to think about all that while somebody across the board is trying to defeat you. Most adults struggle to decide what to order for dinner without consulting three food delivery applications. These youngsters are calculating positions and making decisions under competitive pressure.
India's recent success in international chess has also changed the way people look at the game. It is no longer confined to a small group of enthusiasts who spend their weekends discussing grandmasters and opening variations. Young Indian players have become recognisable sporting personalities, and their performances have encouraged more families to take chess seriously.
However, there is another side to this enthusiasm.
When a child performs exceptionally well, people begin expecting exceptional performances all the time. A victory becomes yesterday's news, while a defeat suddenly invites questions. The same child who was celebrated last month may find themselves defending their abilities after a disappointing tournament.
That is an enormous responsibility for a young person.
And perhaps this is one of the reasons The Price of Genius deserves attention beyond the usual chess-reading audience. You do not have to understand every chess move to appreciate the human story behind competitive excellence.
What Happens to Childhood When Achievement Becomes the Priority?
Parents naturally want their children to succeed. There is nothing unusual about that. We want them to have opportunities that we may not have had ourselves. We encourage them to study, learn new skills and pursue their interests.
But ambition can become complicated when a child's talent attracts public attention.
Consider a family that discovers its child has an extraordinary ability in chess. Initially, it might be a hobby. A few competitions follow, then coaching, travel and increasingly demanding tournaments. Before long, the family's schedule begins revolving around the child's training and competitions.
A weekend holiday may have to be postponed. A birthday celebration may happen between tournaments. Parents might spend hours travelling to coaching sessions, arranging accommodation and managing expenses.
These are illustrative situations, not accounts of specific families from the book. They help explain the kind of commitment that often sits behind competitive achievement.
There is also the emotional responsibility of supporting a child who is expected to win. Parents must encourage ambition without allowing it to become an unbearable burden.
That is easier said than done.
A child should be allowed to enjoy being a child. They should have friends, make mistakes, play, get bored and occasionally do absolutely nothing. Yet, when the world starts describing them as a genius, ordinary childhood experiences can begin to look like distractions.
This raises a question worth considering: are we helping talented children fulfil their potential, or are we sometimes asking them to carry our dreams alongside their own?
The question is relevant well beyond chess. It applies to young athletes, musicians, dancers, performers and academic achievers.
Is Genius Really About Talent, or Is There More to the Story?
We often use the word genius as though it explains everything. Somebody performs exceptionally well, and we say they are naturally gifted. The conversation ends there.
But talent is only one part of achievement.
Practice, guidance, access to opportunities, family support, financial resources, mental preparation and the ability to recover from setbacks all play important roles. Two equally talented children may have very different opportunities because their circumstances are different.
One might have access to excellent coaching and the freedom to travel for competitions. Another might have to balance school, family responsibilities and limited resources.
Recognising these differences does not diminish anyone's achievements. It makes us appreciate them more fully.
That is why the title The Price of Genius invites reflection. It encourages us to look beyond the applause and consider the effort, sacrifices and circumstances that make extraordinary achievement possible.
And perhaps we should apply the same thinking to ourselves.
How many times have we admired somebody's success without considering the years they spent working towards it? How often have we compared our ordinary Tuesday afternoon with somebody else's carefully celebrated milestone?
Social media makes this comparison particularly easy. We see the tournament victory, the award ceremony, the photograph with a trophy and the smiling family. We rarely see the frustration, the failed attempts or the uncertainty that came before.
A book that makes us look beyond the obvious achievement has value even for readers who have never played a competitive game of chess.
The book becomes particularly revealing when it examines the people who make these journeys possible. Parents are not simply cheering from the sidelines. They are managing finances, travelling across countries, dealing with unfamiliar surroundings and trying to ensure that their children remain comfortable enough to concentrate on the game.
One detail from the book stayed with me. Heena Sadhwani, the mother of young chess player Raunak Sadhwani, sometimes cooked rice secretly in hotel rooms while travelling across Europe because her son struggled with unfamiliar food.
Think about that for a moment.
A young Indian chess player is competing internationally. People are watching his games, discussing his moves and following his progress. Somewhere in the same city, his mother is worrying about something far less glamorous. Has he eaten properly? Will he get the food he likes? Will he be comfortable enough for the next round?
That little domestic detail tells us something that a photograph of a trophy cannot.
Behind an extraordinary achievement, there are often ordinary acts of care that nobody notices.
And this is where Binit Priyaranjan's reporting works particularly well. He does not allow the famous players to occupy the entire stage. He gives space to parents, coaches and the wider chess community. He also examines the financial barriers that prevent equally talented children from accessing the same opportunities.
There is another revealing episode involving Arjun Erigaisi, who nearly missed the 2024 World Rapid and Blitz Championship in New York because of visa complications. Imagine preparing for an important international competition and then discovering that administrative difficulties could keep you away from the tournament.
For a sport that appears to involve nothing more than two players and a chessboard, the machinery behind professional chess is surprisingly complicated.
These details make the book worth reading. They remind us that talent does not operate in isolation. It needs opportunities, infrastructure, encouragement and, sometimes, a parent who is willing to cook rice in a hotel room.
Does The Price of Genius Have Something to Say to Parents?
I think parents may find some of the book's questions particularly uncomfortable, and that is not necessarily a bad thing.
We live in a culture that loves achievement. We ask children what they want to become before they have had enough time to discover what they enjoy doing. We compare examination results, celebrate competition victories and sometimes turn a child's hobby into a family project.
There is nothing wrong with encouraging excellence. The trouble begins when the child starts feeling that love, approval and recognition depend on continued success.
A child who wins deserves congratulations. A child who loses deserves support, too.
This is not an argument against ambition. It is an argument for remembering that children are people before they are performers.
Priyaranjan brings different perspectives into the discussion through conversations with coaches and experienced figures in chess. Some see intense commitment as a natural consequence of genuine passion. Others question whether children always make these choices independently or whether adult expectations shape their ambitions.
I appreciate that the book does not force a neat answer upon the reader.
Real families are complicated. Two parents can look at the same situation and reach different conclusions. A coach may believe that intense training is necessary, while another may worry about the pressure it creates. There is no simple formula for raising a champion, and pretending otherwise would be dishonest.
For parents who have children interested in competitive activities, this book offers an opportunity to pause and think about the kind of support they provide.
Do we encourage our children to enjoy the process, or are we too busy discussing the results? Do we celebrate their effort, or do we remember them only when they win something?
These are questions worth carrying beyond the final page.
Who Should Buy The Price of Genius This Diwali?
You do not need to be a chess player to enjoy this book. In fact, I would argue that its appeal extends considerably beyond the chess community.
Consider gifting it to:
Parents of ambitious children: The book offers an opportunity to think about encouragement, expectations and the sacrifices that accompany competitive achievement.
Young students: It can help them understand that success involves much more than natural ability or a few impressive performances.
Sports enthusiasts: Readers interested in India's changing sporting culture will find plenty to think about.
Teachers and coaches: The discussions about mentorship, training and childhood make this a worthwhile addition to their reading lists.
Readers interested in contemporary India: The book uses chess to examine larger questions about opportunity, money, education and social change.
It would also make a thoughtful gift for somebody who enjoys biographies and narrative non-fiction but is tired of reading stories that present successful people as if they never experienced uncertainty.
What Makes This Book Worth Gifting to Yourself?
There is a reason I would put The Price of Genius on a Diwali reading list rather than restrict it to a conventional sports-book recommendation.
It asks us to look again at the people we admire.
We see a successful entrepreneur and forget the years of uncertainty. We admire an artist without considering the sacrifices behind the finished work. We celebrate a sportsperson without thinking about the family that travelled with them through the difficult years.
This book gently reminds us that achievements have histories, and those histories are rarely as glamorous as the final photograph.
I also like that it encourages readers to question the word genius itself. We use it rather casually, sometimes to describe anyone who performs exceptionally well. Yet the stories in this book suggest that talent is only the beginning. What follows involves discipline, opportunity, family support, access to resources and the ability to keep going when the results are disappointing.
That is a lesson worth remembering, whether you are a student, a parent or someone trying to build a career.
If you are buying a book for a young reader this Diwali, this could be an especially meaningful choice. It offers inspiration without pretending that success is effortless. It celebrates achievement while acknowledging the people who make it possible.
And if you are buying it for yourself, perhaps you will finish it with a little more respect for the unseen work behind somebody else's success.
My Diwali gifting suggestion: Give The Price of Genius to someone who admires successful people but rarely thinks about the journey behind their achievements. It could lead to a fascinating conversation over a cup of tea.
You can also read my detailed review of The Price of Genius by Binit Priyaranjan for a closer examination of its strengths, reporting and central arguments.
What They Don't Tell You About Marriage: Is Love Enough to Build a Happy Marriage?
Let us begin with a small domestic mystery.
Why is it that two people who once spent hours talking to each other can eventually struggle to decide what to have for dinner? How does a person who once found their partner's little habits adorable begin to find those very habits irritating? And why does the sentence "We need to talk" have the extraordinary ability to make an otherwise peaceful evening feel like an examination?
Marriage is funny that way. Not always in the laugh-out-loud sense, but in the way two perfectly sensible adults can spend twenty minutes arguing about something neither will remember the following morning.
Before marriage, people ask whether they have found the right person. After marriage, they sometimes wonder why the right person leaves wet towels on the bed, forgets to buy coriander or believes that putting an empty milk carton back in the refrigerator is an acceptable household practice.
Romance has a rather different relationship with household chores.
This is precisely why What They Don't Tell You About Marriage by Yashodhara Lal deserves a place on your Diwali reading list.
It is a book for people who are preparing to get married, those who have been married for years and even those who occasionally look at their relationship and wonder whether everybody else received an instruction manual that somehow missed their address.
The book does not promise a perfect marriage. It does something more useful. It examines the everyday realities of living with another person, understanding their emotional needs and recognising the patterns that can quietly damage a relationship.
And it does so without treating marriage as a permanent romantic holiday.
Why Does Marriage Look So Different Before and After the Wedding?
Weddings are beautiful. They are also excellent at keeping people occupied.
There are outfits to select, invitations to send, relatives to accommodate, photographs to organise and enough food to feed a small town. Everybody is concerned about the flowers, the music, the venue and whether the photographer has captured the correct angle.
Very few people stand beside the wedding stage and ask the couple whether they have discussed how they will handle disagreements about money.
It would be an unusual wedding speech, admittedly.
Yet, those conversations matter.
Marriage brings together two people who have grown up in different households, absorbed different habits and developed different ideas about what a family should look like. Even when their backgrounds are similar, their expectations may not be.
One person might believe that financial decisions should be discussed before every significant purchase. The other may prefer greater independence. One might enjoy spending weekends with extended family, while the other considers Sunday afternoon an opportunity to do absolutely nothing.
Neither person necessarily has a bad intention. They simply have different expectations.
Yashodhara Lal approaches marriage as an ongoing process rather than a destination. Drawing on her experience as a couples therapist and her own long marriage, she examines what happens after the excitement of getting together begins to settle.
That is where the real relationship takes shape.
The book explores the stages of couple development, attraction, communication, emotional labour, intimacy and conflict resolution. It combines psychological ideas with relatable situations and exercises that encourage readers to examine their own behaviour.
I particularly like the fact that it does not present couples as two people who must agree about everything. That would be a rather exhausting way to live.
Instead, it encourages us to understand differences and learn how to deal with them without turning every disagreement into a contest.
Can Two People Love Each Other and Still Keep Arguing?
Of course they can.
And if you have been in a relationship for any length of time, you probably do not need a book to confirm that.
There is a widespread belief that happy couples rarely argue. We see photographs of smiling partners, anniversary celebrations and holiday pictures, and sometimes imagine that their lives are free from the small irritations that occupy ordinary households.
But photographs do not show the conversations that happened before the picture was taken.
Lal challenges the idea that conflict automatically means something is wrong with a relationship. Disagreements can reveal differences that couples have ignored or expectations they have never communicated.
Think about a couple arguing about a family gathering. One partner wants to visit relatives every weekend, while the other would rather spend some time at home. The disagreement may appear to be about visiting family, but underneath it could be a conversation about personal space, family obligations and the need to feel understood.
The argument is the visible part. The underlying expectation is often the more important part.
This is one of the useful ideas running through the book. Instead of concentrating only on the immediate disagreement, Lal encourages readers to understand the behaviour and emotional needs behind it.
She also discusses unconscious relationship patterns. Sometimes, we repeat behaviours we learnt much earlier in life without recognising where they came from.
For example, somebody who grew up in a household where disagreements were avoided may withdraw whenever a partner raises a difficult subject. Another person, accustomed to having problems discussed immediately, may interpret that withdrawal as rejection.
Both might be looking for reassurance, but their responses push them further apart.
Understanding such patterns can change the way couples approach difficult conversations.
It does not mean that every disagreement can be resolved with a clever communication technique. Some problems require considerable work, and serious relationship difficulties may call for professional support. However, recognising what is happening is a useful place to begin.
Why Is Emotional Labour Such an Important Part of Marriage?
Here is a question worth asking.
Who remembers that the electricity bill is due? Who notices that the household is running out of groceries? Who remembers birthdays, family commitments, school meetings, medical appointments and the small things that keep a home functioning?
And who remembers to remind the other person about all of them?
These responsibilities are not always visible. They rarely receive applause, yet they occupy a considerable amount of mental space.
Lal discusses emotional labour, including the invisible work involved in maintaining a relationship. This can include anticipating needs, remembering important details, managing difficult conversations and being aware of another person's emotional state.
In some households, one partner ends up carrying more of this responsibility.
The problem is that invisible work can remain invisible for years.
One person might feel exhausted because they are constantly managing household and family responsibilities. The other might genuinely believe everything is fine because nobody has complained.
Eventually, resentment builds.
The answer is not to create a competition about who does more. It is to recognise the work, discuss responsibilities and make room for a fairer arrangement.
I find this aspect particularly relevant to modern Indian households, where traditional family expectations often exist alongside demanding professional lives.
Both partners may have careers, but that does not automatically mean domestic responsibilities are shared equally.
The book encourages readers to look at these arrangements honestly.
Sometimes, a relationship does not need another expensive holiday. It needs one person to notice that the other has been carrying too much for too long.
Can Money, Intimacy and In-Laws Become Relationship Problems?
If there are three subjects that can make an otherwise pleasant family gathering uncomfortable, they are money, intimacy and relatives.
Money is particularly interesting because couples often discuss their income without discussing their relationship with money.
One person may have grown up in a household where saving every possible rupee was essential. Another may associate spending money with enjoying life. One might see a large purchase as a sign of financial security, while the other sees it as an unnecessary risk.
Neither perspective automatically makes somebody irresponsible.
What matters is whether the couple can discuss their financial priorities without turning the conversation into a judgement of each other's character.
Lal explores the emotional meaning attached to money and encourages couples to understand each other's financial histories and expectations.
The book also addresses sex and intimacy, subjects that many couples find difficult to discuss openly. Desire changes, expectations differ and people are not always comfortable expressing what they need.
Pretending that these conversations do not exist does not make them disappear.
Then there are in-laws and extended family relationships.
In the Indian context, marriage often brings two family systems together. There may be expectations about festivals, visits, household arrangements, financial support and responsibilities towards parents.
A couple may love their families and still need boundaries.
That is an important point. Healthy boundaries do not necessarily mean rejecting traditions or distancing oneself from relatives. They mean understanding what works for the couple and communicating those decisions respectfully.
The book also examines difficult subjects such as betrayal, trust and the process of repairing relationships. It does not promise that every problem can be resolved quickly. Instead, it recognises that rebuilding trust takes time and requires responsibility from the people involved.
What Makes Yashodhara Lal's Advice More Than Ordinary Relationship Advice?
One reason the book deserves attention is the author's professional background.
Yashodhara Lal brings together her experience in couples therapy, coaching and Transactional Analysis with observations from her own marriage. Her writing draws on psychological concepts without making readers feel that they have accidentally enrolled in a university course.
The book includes practical exercises, reflection questions and real-world situations.
Some of these questions can be surprisingly uncomfortable.
What do you expect from your partner that you have never expressed? Why does a particular behaviour upset you so much? Do you listen to understand, or do you spend the entire conversation preparing your response?
These questions are useful because they turn reading into an active experience.
You cannot simply finish a chapter, close the book and declare that you have understood marriage. You have to consider your own behaviour, too.
One of the lines highlighted in my review particularly deserves attention:
"Choosing a partner is choosing a set of problems."
It is a wonderfully practical way of looking at long-term relationships.
Every person comes with habits, preferences, insecurities, strengths and limitations. There is no magical partner who will agree with every decision, understand every silence or remember every detail without being reminded.
The question is whether two people can understand each other's differences and build a life together.
My detailed review also discusses one of the book's most thoughtful observations about apologies: a person who has caused hurt should not pressure their partner to forgive quickly merely to make themselves feel better.
That is a mature way of approaching reconciliation. An apology is not a payment that purchases immediate forgiveness. The other person needs time, and respecting that time is part of taking responsibility.
Is This the Right Diwali Gift for Someone You Love?
I would recommend this book to several kinds of readers.
People preparing for marriage: It offers a realistic introduction to the work that follows the wedding celebrations.
Newly married couples: It can help them recognise patterns before small disagreements become persistent sources of resentment.
Long-married couples: It offers an opportunity to revisit familiar issues and reconsider how they communicate.
Relationship counsellors and coaches: Its practical themes may provide useful discussion points.
Readers interested in psychology: It introduces relationship concepts through accessible explanations and everyday situations.
There is one small caution about gifting it, though.
Do not give this book to somebody while making a dramatic announcement about how much they need relationship advice.
That is not a gift. That is a family intervention disguised as festive shopping.
If you give it to a married friend, make the gesture warm and neutral. You could simply write, "For the conversations that make relationships stronger."
And if you are married yourself, perhaps buy two copies. Read one together, discuss a chapter over tea and resist the temptation to use every example as evidence in an ongoing domestic argument.
That last suggestion may be harder than it sounds.
My Diwali gifting suggestion: Give What They Don't Tell You About Marriage to somebody who appreciates honest conversations about relationships. It is especially suitable for readers who prefer practical guidance over romantic promises.
You can read my complete review here: What They Don't Tell You About Marriage by Yashodhara Lal.
A question for readers: What is one thing you wish somebody had told you about marriage before you got married? And if you are unmarried, what is the one question you would want answered before taking that step?
Why Should India's Most Dangerous Killer Be on Your Reading List This Diwali?
There are two kinds of people who pick up a true crime book. The first want to understand how a crime happened. The second want to know how someone could possibly commit such terrible acts and continue living among ordinary people.
Sometimes, the two are the same person.
True crime has a peculiar hold over readers. We know that the subject matter can be disturbing, yet we keep turning the pages. We want to understand the criminal's mind, the circumstances surrounding the investigation and the mistakes that allowed terrible events to unfold.
Perhaps it is our curiosity about human behaviour. Perhaps it is our desire to understand the world around us. Or perhaps we simply cannot resist a story that begins with a question and refuses to offer an easy answer.
Whatever the reason, investigative non-fiction can be compelling when it is written with care.
India's Most Dangerous Killer by Rakesh Goswami, also associated with the title Shankariya Kanpatimar, takes readers into one of the disturbing chapters of India's criminal history.
This is not the kind of book I would recommend as light bedtime reading. If your idea of a relaxing evening involves a cup of tea, soft music and thoughts of beautiful places, you might want to reconsider the timing.
However, for readers interested in crime, criminal investigations and the darker aspects of human behaviour, it offers a subject worth examining.
Who Was Shankariya Kanpatimar, and Why Does His Story Matter?
The name Shankariya is associated with a deeply disturbing series of murders in India. The account centres on a criminal whose actions shocked people and attracted considerable attention.
What makes such stories particularly unsettling is the contrast between ordinary life and extraordinary cruelty. We tend to imagine dangerous criminals as people who are visibly different from everyone else. True crime accounts often challenge that comfortable assumption.
A criminal does not necessarily announce their intentions to the world. Nor does the ability to recognise danger always come naturally to those around them.
This is one reason historical crime accounts deserve careful examination. They help us understand not only the individual responsible for the crime but also the circumstances, investigation and social environment surrounding it.
Goswami's book brings the Shankariya case to readers who may know little about this particular chapter of Indian criminal history.
For someone interested in investigative writing, that makes the book an intriguing addition to a personal library.
There is also a larger reason to read about historical crimes. Our understanding of crime, policing and public safety develops over time. Looking back at older cases can help us examine how investigations were conducted, what evidence was available and how institutions responded to serious offences.
However, we should approach such accounts with a degree of caution. A sensational title may attract attention, but a reader deserves more than dramatic language. Evidence, context and responsible reporting matter.
A criminal case involves real victims and families. Their suffering should never become merely an entertaining detail in somebody else's reading experience.
What Makes This Case More Disturbing Than the Crimes Themselves?
Here is where the book takes an unexpected turn.
You begin reading about Shankariya, expecting the familiar structure of a true crime narrative. A criminal commits a series of murders, the police investigate, evidence is collected, and eventually the culprit is caught.
But Goswami does not allow the story to remain that simple.
As the narrative progresses, your attention shifts from the killer to the people and institutions responsible for stopping him. You begin wondering why information did not travel quickly enough, why certain leads were not acted upon and why people who noticed important details were not always taken seriously.
The book reconstructs events from the late 1970s, when Indian policing operated under very different circumstances. There were no modern DNA databases, digital communication networks or sophisticated forensic facilities available to investigators in the way they are today.
Information travelled slowly. Police stations operated within their own administrative boundaries, and coordination between states could be difficult.
Now imagine trying to connect a series of murders taking place across Rajasthan, Punjab and Haryana when the information needed to establish a pattern is scattered between different offices.
It sounds frustrating even today. In the 1970s, the difficulties were considerably greater.
According to the account presented in the book, Shankariya was associated with nearly seventy murders during a period of approximately eighteen months in 1977 and 1978. These are historical claims presented in the book, and readers should distinguish the reported account from independently established findings.
The larger question, however, is difficult to ignore.
What happens when the people responsible for protecting society fail to connect the information available to them?
That is where India's Most Dangerous Killer becomes more than a book about a criminal. It becomes an examination of institutional responsibility.
Who Were the Khojis, and Why Do They Deserve Recognition?
One of the aspects I particularly appreciated in the book was its attention to the khojis, local trackers whose knowledge of the terrain and ability to interpret physical clues played a role in investigations.
You might not have heard much about them.
These were people who could examine footprints, understand patterns of movement and recognise details in the landscape that an inexperienced observer might overlook.
Today, we associate crime investigation with forensic laboratories, fingerprint databases, surveillance cameras and scientific analysis. Those tools are important, but they were not available in the same form during the period covered by this book.
Investigators had to rely heavily on observation, experience and information gathered on the ground.
The khojis bring an interesting human element to this story. They remind us that knowledge does not always come with an impressive designation or an office at the end of a corridor.
Sometimes, the person who understands the situation best is the one who has spent years learning to read the land.
The book also raises questions about recognition. Were these contributions acknowledged appropriately? Did the people closest to the investigation receive the attention they deserved?
It is an uncomfortable question because the problem extends beyond policing.
Think about your own workplace. Have you ever seen someone do most of the difficult work while somebody else receives the appreciation? Have you watched a junior employee identify a problem, only for the suggestion to be ignored until a senior person repeats it?
The situations are obviously not comparable in their consequences, but the underlying question about hierarchy and recognition is familiar.
Goswami uses the investigation to examine how institutional structures can sometimes prevent useful information from reaching the people who need it.
And that is an important reason to read this book.
Does the Book Give You All the Answers?
No, and this is where some readers might become frustrated.
The book discusses Shankariya's confession and its subsequent withdrawal. It also examines questions surrounding the investigation, the reliability of available information and the difficulties involved in reconstructing events from historical records.
A confession might appear to offer a straightforward conclusion, but what happens when it is later withdrawn?
How should readers interpret such contradictions? What can investigators establish through available evidence? How much uncertainty remains when the historical record is incomplete?
These questions matter because criminal justice cannot depend on dramatic storytelling.
A crime writer might be tempted to provide a satisfying explanation for every event. Reality is less cooperative. Records can be incomplete, witnesses can disagree and investigations can leave unanswered questions.
Goswami's restrained approach allows some of that uncertainty to remain.
I found this an important aspect of the reading experience. The author does not constantly try to entertain you with dramatic revelations. Instead, he presents material drawn from police records, FIRs, interviews and contemporary reporting.
There are times when you may wish he offered greater clarity or explored the emotional lives of the investigators more deeply. Some sections can feel procedural, particularly if you prefer fast-paced crime narratives.
But there is value in a book that does not pretend to know everything.
What Are the Strengths and Weaknesses of India's Most Dangerous Killer?
A fair recommendation should include both.
What works well?
Research: The use of police records, FIRs, interviews and historical reporting gives the narrative an investigative foundation.
Historical context: The book introduces readers to the limitations of policing during the late 1970s.
Institutional questions: It examines hierarchy, communication failures and the recognition of people working at the ground level.
Restrained storytelling: It avoids turning violence into unnecessary entertainment.
An unusual perspective: Rather than concentrating exclusively on the criminal, it gives considerable attention to the system surrounding the investigation.
Where might readers struggle?
Some sections may feel more like procedural documentation than conventional storytelling.
Certain episodes could benefit from tighter editing.
Readers looking for extensive psychological analysis of the criminal may want more exploration.
The narrative leaves some questions unresolved, which may frustrate those who prefer definitive conclusions.
Personally, I would rather have a book acknowledge uncertainty than offer invented certainty simply to satisfy the reader.
However, the pacing and presentation will not suit everybody.
If you enjoy books that move quickly from one revelation to another, this might require patience. If you appreciate investigative detail and are comfortable sitting with unanswered questions, you may find it rewarding.
Who Should You Gift This Book to During Diwali?
I would not recommend this as a universal festive gift. There is a difference between choosing a book that interests you and choosing one that someone else will enjoy.
True crime is a particularly personal reading preference. Some people find it fascinating, while others find the subject matter distressing.
With that in mind, consider gifting this book to:
True crime enthusiasts: Readers who enjoy examining real investigations and criminal cases.
Journalism students: Particularly those interested in crime reporting and investigative research.
Law students: Readers curious about criminal investigations, evidence and institutional accountability.
Police and public administration enthusiasts: People interested in the functioning of investigative institutions.
Readers of Indian non-fiction: Those who want to explore lesser-known chapters of India's criminal history.
I would avoid gifting it to someone who dislikes violent subject matter or is uncomfortable reading about real crimes.
My Diwali gifting suggestion: Choose India's Most Dangerous Killer for the friend who enjoys investigative journalism, historical crime and books that raise difficult questions. It is particularly suitable for someone who likes discussing not just what happened, but why it happened.
You can read my detailed review here: Shankariya Kanpatimar by Rakesh Goswami: A Book Review of India's Most Dangerous Serial Killer.
The book leaves you thinking about something that extends well beyond the criminal at its centre. Sometimes, preventing a tragedy requires people to listen to one another, share information and recognise the value of knowledge wherever it comes from.
A question for readers: Do you enjoy true crime books that reconstruct real investigations, or do you prefer fictional murder mysteries? And what makes a crime book worth reading for you: the mystery, the investigation or the psychology behind the crime?
Queen Tara: Kali of Deccan by Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran: Which forgotten queen deserves a place on your bookshelf?
Author: Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran
Publisher: Penguin India, Ebury Press
Length: 320 pages
Best for: Readers who enjoy Indian history, women in leadership, political strategy and stories that challenge familiar versions of the past.
There are historical figures whose names seem to have been given permanent residence in our textbooks. Others appear briefly, usually in relation to a more famous man, and then disappear. Tarabai, the Maratha queen at the centre of Queen Tara: Kali of Deccan, deserves considerably more than a passing mention.
Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran brings her into the foreground, and the timing of that choice feels significant. We often talk about leadership as though it begins with a grand announcement, a throne, or a title. Tarabai's circumstances offered none of those comforts. She stepped into authority during a crisis, when the Maratha state was under severe pressure and its future looked uncertain.
The story begins against the background of the Mughal campaigns in the Deccan. Sambhaji Maharaj had been executed in 1689. His successor, Rajaram, continued the struggle but died in 1700. Tarabai, then about twenty-five, assumed the regency on behalf of her young son, Shivaji II. She inherited a political and military situation that would have tested even an experienced ruler.
What makes this account worth reading is that Tarabai is not simply presented as a brave queen standing against a powerful emperor. She has to think, negotiate, organise, respond to changing loyalties and keep a fractured political system functioning. Courage is important, but courage without judgement would not have been enough.
That is where the book finds its strongest ground.
Is Tarabai remembered for what she achieved, or merely for whom she married?
It is easy to introduce Tarabai as Rajaram's widow or Shivaji II's mother. Those descriptions are historically relevant, but they can also become a convenient way of keeping her achievements in the background. Bhaskaran asks readers to look beyond these family relationships and recognise Tarabai as a political actor in her own right.
Her position was precarious. She had to command loyalty in a world where authority was contested, alliances could change, and the Mughal Empire possessed resources on a scale the Marathas could not match. She could not simply order the enemy to retreat. She had to make resistance sustainable.
The book's portrayal of her leadership is particularly engaging because it pays attention to decisions rather than relying entirely on battlefield spectacle. The Maratha forces used mobility, local knowledge and guerrilla tactics to challenge a much larger opponent. Supply lines, timing, morale and the ability to keep fighting mattered as much as the outcome of any single encounter.
There is a lesson here that extends beyond royal courts. Leadership is often discussed in terms of visibility. We admire the person at the front of the room, the one making the speech or receiving the applause. Yet much of the real work happens away from the audience, in the decisions that prevent a difficult situation from becoming an irreversible disaster.
Tarabai's story is a reminder that keeping something alive can be as demanding as building it.
Does the book turn history into a simple battle between faiths?
This is an important question, particularly because the title and the recurring imagery of Kali may lead some readers to expect a straightforward religious conflict.
The historical struggle between the Marathas and Aurangzeb's Mughal Empire cannot be reduced to a single explanation. Religion formed part of the political landscape, but so did territory, sovereignty, taxation, prestige, military control and the question of who had the right to govern. The Deccan campaigns were shaped by competing ambitions and the refusal of either side to accept a settlement that might appear humiliating.
Bhaskaran's use of Kali imagery gives the narrative an additional symbolic layer. Kali can be read as a figure of transformation, fierce protection and the destruction of forces that threaten survival. In the context of Tarabai's story, the symbolism helps communicate the emotional force of resistance.
However, the book is at its most persuasive when the reader sees the strategist behind the symbolism. Tarabai's effectiveness comes from understanding the limits of her resources and finding ways to make those limits less decisive. She does not need to possess an empire's wealth to challenge its assumptions about victory.
Readers should approach the historical setting with an appetite for complexity. Treating the conflict as a modern political slogan would flatten the very history the book is trying to recover.
What happens when the war is over and the people who led it are no longer needed?
One of the more sobering aspects of Tarabai's life comes after the immediate struggle against Aurangzeb.
Aurangzeb died in 1707, but the end of his life did not bring Tarabai a peaceful return to ordinary royal duties. The release of Shahu, Sambhaji's son, created a succession dispute. Tarabai maintained that her son, Shivaji II, had the legitimate claim. Powerful Maratha chiefs eventually supported Shahu instead.
Tarabai later established a rival court in Kolhapur. She was eventually overthrown in a palace coup and imprisoned. Her son also spent time in captivity and died there.
The contrast is difficult to ignore. A woman who had helped sustain Maratha resistance during one of its most dangerous periods found herself pushed aside by the politics that followed. Her story raises an uncomfortable question: do political movements always know what to do with the people who save them?
The answer, as history repeatedly suggests, is not necessarily.
There is something deeply human about this part of the narrative. We celebrate people when their abilities are useful to a cause, but we do not always make room for them once the emergency has passed. A person can be indispensable in one chapter and inconvenient in the next.
For me, this is one of the reasons Tarabai's story deserves attention beyond its military and dynastic setting. It is also a story about memory, recognition and the unfairness of being remembered only when others find it convenient.
Does Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran make the history easy to follow?
The book has a serious historical purpose, and its writing reflects that intention. Bhaskaran gives considerable attention to the political background, the military situation and the people surrounding Tarabai. This helps establish the scale of the challenge she faced.
There is, however, a trade-off. Some passages are dense with information, and the narrative occasionally slows as it builds historical context. Readers who enjoy detailed accounts of political developments may appreciate the care. Those looking for a fast-moving historical adventure may find themselves needing a little more patience.
I also felt that certain emotional moments could have been explored further. The historical events carry considerable weight, but not every moment translates into an equally intimate experience of what the characters might have felt. A little more room for the inner lives of the people involved could have made the narrative even more affecting.
That does not take away from the value of its central subject. It simply means that this is a book to read attentively, rather than one to rush through between errands.
Who should receive this book as a Diwali gift?
Queen Tara: Kali of Deccan would make a thoughtful gift for someone who enjoys Indian history but is willing to look beyond the familiar names. It is especially suitable for readers interested in women who exercised political and military authority in periods when such authority was rarely offered to them.
It may also appeal to:
Readers interested in Maratha history and the Deccan.
People who enjoy examining leadership, strategy and political decision-making.
Students and curious readers who want to explore historical figures beyond the usual textbook accounts.
Anyone who appreciates books that raise questions about whose stories survive and whose are left behind.
I would not choose it for someone who wants a light, quick festive read. The subject is serious, and the writing asks for attention. But if the person receiving it enjoys history, this book offers something more lasting than a collection of familiar dates and battles.
The Diwali thought: A book can be a gift of recognition. By choosing Tarabai's story, you are also giving someone the opportunity to meet a woman whose place in popular memory has not always reflected the scale of her contribution.
Read my detailed review here: Queen Tara: Kali of Deccan by Medha Deshmukh Bhaskaran.
Did You Ever Love Me? by Rithvik Singh: Can a book about heartbreak help you find your way back to yourself?
Author: Rithvik Singh
Publisher: Ebury Press
Publication date: 30 June 2026
Length: 200 pages
Best for: Readers of contemporary poetry, reflective writing and stories about love, longing, self-worth and letting go.
Some questions refuse to behave like questions. You ask them once, receive no convincing answer, and then find them returning at inconvenient hours. While brushing your teeth. While looking for something in an old drawer. While listening to a song you had not heard in months.
“Did you ever love me?” is one of those questions.
It may be addressed to somebody who has left, but the person asking it is often trying to understand something about themselves. Was I foolish to care so much? Did those happy moments mean anything? Why am I still remembering someone who has moved on? And, perhaps most difficult of all, why does another person's inability to love me well still have the power to make me doubt my own worth?
Rithvik Singh builds his poetry collection, Did You Ever Love Me?, around this emotional territory. Published by Ebury Press in June 2026, the 200-page book explores love, heartbreak, longing, self-worth and the slow business of letting go. It is written for people who feel things deeply, sometimes long after they have decided that they ought to feel less.
The collection does not offer a conventional love story with a neat beginning and an ending that ties everything together. Instead, it follows the movement of emotions: attraction, attachment, disappointment, memory, grief and the possibility of finding yourself again.
That approach makes it a particularly personal reading experience. You are not simply watching somebody else's heartbreak. You are likely to bring a little of your own to the page.
Is this a book about losing someone, or about losing yourself?
At first glance, the title suggests a familiar conversation between two people after a relationship has ended. One wants an answer; the other may never provide it. But the collection gradually turns that question inwards.
The more important question becomes: why should another person's inability to love you properly become a measurement of your value?
It is a useful shift. When a relationship ends, the mind can become an enthusiastic detective, revisiting conversations, examining old messages and searching for clues that might explain what happened. A sentence that seemed ordinary at the time suddenly acquires enormous significance. A forgotten anniversary becomes evidence. A kind gesture is replayed until it begins to look like a promise.
The trouble is that memory is not a particularly reliable investigator. It keeps what it wants, edits what it cannot bear and occasionally presents an old moment as though it happened yesterday.
Singh understands this emotional habit. His poems are interested not only in the person who has gone but also in the person left behind, trying to make sense of the experience. The beloved may remain a mystery, but the reader's own emotional journey becomes clearer.
This is where the collection has its strongest appeal. It does not insist that caring deeply was a mistake. Instead, it asks readers to distinguish between loving someone and abandoning their own needs in the process.
There is a difference between being patient and accepting endless neglect. There is a difference between remembering someone and waiting for them to return. A relationship can have contained genuine happiness and still have become a place you needed to leave.
That is a more honest account of heartbreak than the familiar instruction to simply move on.
What does the idea of home have to do with heartbreak?
One of the collection's most memorable ideas appears in the line:
“I never understood home as anything but a metaphor for longing.”
It is a striking way to think about home. We usually associate it with arrival, familiarity and safety. It is where the search is supposed to end. Singh connects it instead with longing, with the feeling of reaching towards something that may no longer be available.
A person can become home in this sense. So can a memory, a city, a particular period of life or even a future that never happened.
You may miss somebody without wanting the relationship back. You may miss the version of yourself who believed everything would work out. Sometimes, what hurts is not only the loss of a person but the disappearance of the life you had quietly imagined with them.
The idea gives the book a wider emotional range. It is no longer concerned only with romantic rejection. It begins to ask what belonging means, why we look for it in other people and whether we can eventually create it within ourselves.
Another memorable passage reads:
“You left ghazals in my bones.
I bartered my heart for them.”
The image brings together music, memory and the body. The ghazals are not merely songs that remind the speaker of someone; they have become part of the speaker's physical being. The word “bartered” adds another layer, suggesting that love involved an exchange in which something valuable was given away.
It is a compact image, but it carries a feeling that a longer explanation might struggle to express. Singh is at his best when he finds such ways to make an ordinary emotion feel newly visible.
Does Rithvik Singh make poetry approachable for readers who rarely read poetry?
Yes, and this is one of the collection's defining qualities.
Singh writes in a conversational, direct manner. He generally wants the reader to recognise the emotion before worrying about the mechanics of the poem. There is no expectation that you must arrive with a literary education or a collection of annotations.
That matters because many people have a slightly uncomfortable relationship with poetry. They may enjoy a few lines shared by a friend, save a verse on their phone or remember something from school, but hesitate when it comes to buying an entire collection. They fear they will not understand it, or that they will be expected to find a hidden meaning in every sentence.
This book offers a gentler entry point.
Its direct address allows readers to supply their own memories. A poem about waiting for someone, for instance, does not need to explain every detail of the relationship. Most readers already know what waiting can do to an ordinary evening. The phone is nearby, the day is nearly over, and a small part of the mind continues to expect a message.
The language does not stand above the reader. It speaks towards them.
There is a literary trade-off, however. Readers who enjoy formal experimentation, ambiguity and poems that reveal their meaning slowly may sometimes find the writing familiar. The vocabulary of healing, self-worth and letting go is well established in contemporary relationship poetry. A sincere sentiment is not automatically a surprising one.
The collection is strongest when it moves beyond reassurance and offers an image or observation that changes how you see an emotion. At other moments, experienced poetry readers may recognise the destination before the poem has finished its journey.
That limitation is worth acknowledging. Accessibility is a strength, but it does not mean every poem needs to be praised equally.
Do the illustrations add something beyond a pretty cover?
They do. The visual presentation complements the collection's atmosphere of intimacy and reflection. In a poetry book, illustrations can become part of the reading experience, especially when the poems are short and leave room for the reader's imagination.
Here, the artwork helps establish a softer emotional world. It gives the pages a sense of space, rather than making the book feel like a long sequence of statements about heartbreak. If you enjoy books that are pleasant to hold and return to, this is a welcome detail.
Of course, readers who approach poetry mainly for its language may consider the illustrations secondary. They are an addition, not a substitute for the writing. But they suit the collection and make it feel like a considered gift rather than simply another book picked from a shelf.
Is Did You Ever Love Me? the right book to gift someone?
This is where a little sensitivity is needed. A book about heartbreak can be a thoughtful present, but it can also be an awkward one if you give it to someone without knowing what they are going through.
You might think a friend needs comforting words. They might interpret the gift as a comment on their relationship. A colleague may enjoy contemporary poetry but have no interest in receiving a book that appears to offer unsolicited advice about their love life.
So, know your reader. If they already enjoy Rithvik Singh's work, this is an easy choice. If they often share poetry, collect illustrated editions or appreciate writing about relationships, it could be a lovely surprise. If you are unsure, a simple note about the book's themes is better than a dramatic message about how they need to learn to let go.
The collection is especially suitable for:
Readers who are new to poetry and want an accessible starting point.
Young adults and contemporary poetry enthusiasts.
People who enjoy reflective writing about love, memory and emotional boundaries.
Readers who appreciate illustrated poetry collections.
Anyone who has enjoyed Singh's earlier books, including Warmth and I Don't Love You Anymore.
I would hesitate before gifting it to someone in the middle of a painful separation unless I knew they would welcome this kind of reading. Sometimes the kindest gift is not the one that tells someone what they should feel, but the one that gives them room to feel whatever they already do.
What does this book leave you thinking about?
The title begins by asking another person for an answer. By the end, the more useful question is whether you can stop organising your life around the answer you may never receive.
That is the collection's emotional centre. Singh reminds readers that love should involve attention, kindness, respect and an ability to listen. Intensity alone is not enough. Nor is the ability to write beautiful messages at midnight if ordinary acts of care are missing during the day.
The book is not a radical reinvention of contemporary poetry. Some poems lean on familiar expressions, and readers looking for formal experimentation may wish for greater variety. But its directness is also its invitation. It makes poetry approachable for people who might otherwise feel that the form is not meant for them.
For a Diwali gift, I like the contrast this book offers alongside the other titles in our list. We have explored ambition, marriage, crime and history. Here, we turn towards the private world people carry around even when the celebrations are loud and the house is full.
The Diwali thought: You do not have to wait for somebody else to choose you before you begin choosing yourself. Sometimes a book is a quiet reminder of that.
Read my full review here: Did You Ever Love Me? by Rithvik Singh: Book Review.
How do the five books compare, and which one should you choose?
Five books can make five very different Diwali gifts. One takes you into the demanding world of chess prodigies. Another examines the everyday negotiations of marriage. One follows a disturbing chapter of Indian crime history, another restores a formidable queen to the centre of the historical narrative, and the fifth turns towards the private questions people carry after love has changed.
Which book suits which kind of reader?
Book | What it offers | Choose it for someone who enjoys… |
|---|---|---|
The Price of Genius | The human cost behind sporting excellence | Chess, ambition, biographies and real-life stories |
What They Don't Tell You About Marriage | An honest look at relationships | Marriage, communication and practical relationship advice |
India's Most Dangerous Serial Killer: Shankariya Kanpatimar | A disturbing account of crime and investigation | True crime, police history and investigative writing |
Queen Tara: Kali of the Deccan | The story of a determined Maratha queen | Indian history, women leaders and political strategy |
Did You Ever Love Me? | Poetry about love, loss and self-worth | Contemporary poetry and reflective writing |
The Door-to-Door Bookstore | A warm story about books and human connection | Bookshops, friendship and gentle fiction |
Which book should you gift yourself this Diwali?
The easiest way to decide is to ask what kind of reading you have been missing lately.
If your days have become a long sequence of deadlines, targets and comparisons, The Price of Genius may be a good choice. Its account of young chess players and the people supporting them offers a useful reminder that achievement has a human cost. It encourages you to look beyond the result and notice the work that made it possible.
If relationships have been occupying your thoughts, What They Don't Tell You About Marriage is the more practical option. It does not treat marriage as a permanent honeymoon. It looks at the conversations, compromises and occasional disagreements that make up shared life. It may be particularly worthwhile for couples who want to understand each other better.
For readers who enjoy difficult subjects and are comfortable with unsettling material, India's Most Dangerous Serial Killer: Shankariya Kanpatimar offers a serious account of crime and the institutions tasked with investigating it. This is not a light festive read, but it may be exactly the sort of book that holds the attention of a true-crime enthusiast.
If you have been meaning to read more Indian history, choose Queen Tara: Kali of the Deccan. It brings attention to a woman whose political role deserves a larger place in popular historical memory. It is also a reminder that leadership does not always arrive with the approval of the people who benefit from it.
And if you want something intimate, something you can read a few pages at a time, Did You Ever Love Me? may be the right companion. Its poetry explores the emotional aftermath of love and the work of recovering your sense of self.
The bonus title, The Door-to-Door Bookstore, is for the reader who believes books can bring strangers together. It is a particularly fitting choice for someone who loves libraries, bookshops and stories about ordinary kindness.
What if you cannot decide between two books?
You do not have to turn your Diwali reading list into another test of efficiency. Choose according to your present mood, not according to what you think a serious reader ought to read.
A person who reads history all year may want poetry during the festive break. Someone who spends the working week analysing numbers may prefer a novel. Reading does not need to improve your productivity, sharpen your professional skills or make you more impressive at dinner parties.
Sometimes it is enough for a book to keep you company.
If you are buying for yourself, consider choosing one book that challenges you and another that comforts you. If your budget allows only one, buy the one you are most likely to open. An ambitious stack of unread books can become another source of guilt, and there is quite enough of that available without purchasing it.
Should you gift one book or make a small reading hamper?
A single carefully chosen book is often more thoughtful than an elaborate hamper assembled without much consideration. But if you are giving a gift to someone who loves reading, a small book-themed package can make the occasion feel special.
You could pair a book with:
A simple bookmark, preferably one that can be used for years.
A small notebook for quotations, reading notes or personal reflections.
A packet of tea or coffee for someone who enjoys reading with a warm drink.
A handwritten note explaining why you selected that particular title.
A small reading light for someone who likes to read late in the evening.
The note is worth the extra minute. A sentence such as, “I thought you might enjoy this because you always ask interesting questions about history,” makes the gift personal. It tells the recipient that you noticed something about them before you chose the book.
That is the real work of gifting: not spending the most, but paying attention.
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