Somewhere towards the start of the book, well within the first ten pages, the narration stopped and all the characters in the story emanated from the book and began to talk to me. Hassan, Aamir, Toofan Agha, Ali, Rahim Khan, Assef, Sanaubar, Soraya et al were around me, gesturing, smiling, talking to one another and sometimes talking to me. I’d find their faces in my office cab, there was no mistaking them, their faces and their personalities were painted so brilliantly in the book. I’d find them in street corners, in the bazaars, among school children, I’d find them wearing the masks of my friends, colleagues and relatives.
The book follows the journey of a man in search of his friend (I don’t want to give away more). The journey is so eventful, I found myself relating to most of the happenings in the story. Sometimes the book left me smiling as I reflected on the pranks that I had played as a little schoolboy, sometimes the book left me thinking about the unfairness in the state of things, and yet sometimes I was wondering about what the future might hold for me.
Let me now give you a background of how I came across the book. I had been to an annual kite flying event on the day of ‘Sankranti’, and I was really happy flying the kite and reliving one of the pastimes of my childhood, when I reached our apartment, I realized that my friend had this book with him, the name had something to do with kites, and on that day, the name just compelled me to borrow the book and take a peek.
If you have ever flown kites, then please don’t miss this book, however, kites aren’t a prerequisite for the book in any way whatsoever.
Khaled Hosseini is a connoisseur of narrative skills, he paints Afghanistan, America, Pakistan and India in their true colors, and it’s almost like being there with the author. He also uses methods like flashbacks and metaphors plentifully in the book. The book has a very strong presence of creative techniques like irony, cynicism and humor.
I had established a very strong connect with the book while I was reading it. My friend warned me that sometimes the moisture in his eyes had betrayed him, and he’d quickly recompose, because it was merely a book. Although I have read a whole lot of tragedies (I’m not suggesting that this book is a tragedy, in fact it is quite the contrary), this book was different somehow.
Just read it alright…I could go on and on, and you’ll never really know till you’ve actually read it.