Ghachar Ghochar-a nonsensical phrase-is a fictional tale told by an unnamed narrator who reflects on his family's journey from rags to riches. He dives into dynamic shifts in the family relationships with their new status, particularly when the narrator and sister- Malati come of age and ready for(arranged) marriages.

I found this quick but atmospheric read and I could picture this story playing out in a typical Bollywood scene (sans the 15-minute dance session) in my imagination. I would definitely recommend that this book for someone looking for a family drama with an unlikely ending...that's all that I am going to say. I will definitely be looking forward to reading more from Shanbhag.

Ever had that moment where you read a book you love, translated from a language you didn't even realise existed until you picked up the book? Yeah, neither had I, until Ghachar Ghochar, that is. I will never stop being intensely grateful to publishers who put their money into bringing popular works from other languages into English. There has been a steady flow of English books into the rest of the world for decades, yet the other way around the flow is only increasing slowly. Still, I'm grateful for every translated book that finds its way to me. Thanks to Faber & Faber and Netgalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Family... you can't live with them, you can't live without them. Thousands upon thousands of pages have been dedicated to describing families all over the world. The misery, especially, of family has found itself a very popular topic. As Tolstoy wrote:
'All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.'
Each unhappy family has a tale, especially those families who don't know or deny that they are unhappy. Told through the eyes of an unnamed narrator, Shanbhag's Ghachar Ghochar unravels a tight-knit family before its reader's eyes. Perhaps unravel is the wrong word, since they seem more tightly and more frighteningly knit together by the end, yet there is also the sense that something has broken, something has changed that will change everything. It's that strange feeling at the end of a big family gathering where there's been a fight yet everyone is pretending they didn't choose sides and didn't cut ties. In that sense Shanbhag's title, a made up phrase, is central to the novel and, to the reader, both new and recognizable. It only rarely happens I find a word or a phrase in a novel that immediately rings true in the way 'ghachar ghochar' did. Similarly, it happens infrequently that a novel itself hits the nail on the head quite as succinctly and successfully as Ghachar Ghochar does.

Clocking in at just over a 100 pages, Ghachar Ghochar is a very short novel, but it packs quite a punch. And for its limited amount of pages, it is surprising just how much Vivek Shanbhag manages to incorporate into his novel. First and foremost there is family, the thing you owe everything to and that haunts you throughout your life. It comes with endless possibilities but also endless responsibilities. Then there is the concept of wealth, as the narrator's family moves from 'not quite poor' to 'rather rich' during his early teenage years. The closeness that helped them survive near poverty becomes something almost menacing once money is no longer a problem. Money becomes another string that inevitably ties them closer, while also standing between them and forcing them into roles that don't suit them. Ghachar Ghochar also gives us love, morality, values, gender roles, all addressed the way someone would while thinking over their life while sitting over a cup of coffee. And this is exactly how our novel starts, with the narrator thinking, pondering and wondering. It is an age old question; how did we get here? Shanbhag addresses the question in a fascinating way and I raced through the novel, taken in by his descriptions of family life, of fear and love, pretending not to know when deep down you know.

I love reading books from other countries, other cultures. It's the whole reason I started this blog, to broaden my horizons and learn. And I have found countless of foreign literature gems that have added immensely both to my literary and emotional vocabulary. Ghachar Gohchar is one of those gems, originally written in Kannada, a language spoken predominantly in southwestern India. Not only does its title give me a phrase for that uncomfortably tied up, knotted up, lost feeling, it also sharply and viscerally dissects family life in a way I hadn't seen before. Shanbhag doesn't make it easy for his reader to see through his characters, he doesn't splay them wide open for us to gawp and gaze. Rather, he opens a door here or there into a character's mind, lets a light linger just long enough to cast an uncomfortable shadow across a character's features. The prose is crisp and to the point, there is no need for long or flourishing descriptions when you can deliver them as precisely and clearly as Shanbhag can. By the end of Ghachar Ghochar you feel you know his characters, deep down, perhaps even better than they know themselves. Srinath Perur, himself an author, does a brilliant job at translating Sjhanbhag's meaningful but restrained prose into English. There is not a single superfluous word in Ghachar Ghochar.

Ghachar Ghochar is a quick and insightful read into family, love and so much more. It is only an afternoon in someone's life, and yet it is their entire life. This novel is a vivisection of everything that family can mean. I will definitely be looking to read hopefully upcoming translations of Shanbhag's work. I'd recommend this to fans of contemporary fiction and Indian literature.

Mini Review
After reading a short sample of this, I was captured by the simple style and the reviews of the book. I snapped it up!

Ghachar Ghochar is the story of a family as it almost becomes corrupted by wealth. The relationships change, the goals and attitudes of the family members, the way life is altered beyond recognition - but not in a good way. I loved watching the clashing of family dynamics and the distinct lack of agency the unnamed narrator of the novel has and the effect that has on the family. It’s a very short novel - I read it in under two hours - and the ending was a bit of a shock. I felt like there was a lot more to the story and I’m not really sure what happened in the end. I even popped into a bookshop to double check that my Netgalley proof hadn’t been cut short

Translated from the Kannada language, Vivek Shanbhag's short novel is a fascinating but disquieting tale of family rivalry and marital upheaval set against the background of a successful business exporting spices. It is a darkly compelling read and throughout there is an uneasy sense of loss, occasionally lightened by moments of great humour. 'Ghachar Ghochar it turns out is a made up family word (in the novel) to describe a situation that has become tangled. Exactly what is happening in the novel. There are elements of the modern short story: compression, understatement and a sense of the surreal that suggest a whole world being withheld from the reader, outside the claustrophobic setting of the novel. Shanbhag has published widely and successfully in his own language and I would certainly be happy to read more like this.

This is a brilliant short novel set in India today. It is warm, tender, funny, wise - and sinister and sad. The translation is excellent. Don't be put off by the boring cover! It is a must-read.

This is a short, tight novella where nothing is as it seems. Family life in Bangalore, India is implied more than it is described here, and the author leads us to surprising conclusions. When the meaning of the title is explained, it is completely fitting to describe this dysfunctional family. It almost reads like a piece of theatre at times, and I think it would translate well to the stage. Excellent writing that really makes you think.

This book was provided to me by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

I wasn't keen on the unpleasant tone and main character of this novella. Not for me.

A strong powerful story packed in this slim volume. The hallmarks of great writer, how to say the most in fewer words.

I really wanted to enjoy this novel more but the rampant misogyny made that an extremely difficult task.

Two characteristics that drew me to this book:

First, the title – Ghachar Ghochar as it reminded me of “gibberish” that my brother and I came up with in childhood but it meant something only to us. Second, I have always had a special affinity to Karnataka, particularly to Bangalore and Mangalore owing to deep ancestral and cultural roots.

Grateful for the opportunity to review this wonderful work of Indian literature.

A high 4 stars. When I finished Ghachar Ghochar, I read the author's brief biography at the end and wasn't surprised to see that he had written several plays. This very short novel has the tightness of a good play. Set in Bangalore, India, the first person narrator tells us about his family's recent rise to wealth and the attendant consequences. The story is short and told very simply, but the understated nature of the narrative is deceiving. You don't know what the story is really about until the end. And what an ending... A great look at contemporary life in India -- the awkward mix of tradition and modernity, the internal impenetrable logic of families with secrets, and of the cost of new found wealth. Well done. Highly recommended. By the way, don't try to figure out what "Ghachar Ghochar" means -- you'll find out when you need to in the story. Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for an opportunity to read an advance copy.

Ghachar Ghochar is a deliciously nasty little story.

Our narrator is sat in Coffee Shop, a Bangalore restaurant that has humble origins. He sits, making his coffee last for hours, admiring the sophistication and discretion of Vincent, the handsome waiter. Our narrator quietly watches the drama in other people’s lives unfold around him, sitting serenely with his coffee getting cold.

This inspires our narrator into reminiscing how he came to be sat there. Our narrator’s story peels back in layers like an onion. First he tells us of his daily life coming to the Coffee Shop; then he tells us how the family’s peace was disturbed by a strange woman coming to the door for his uncle, the proprietor of a successful spice company and sole provider for the family; and then we learn of our narrator’s humble origins, growing up in a small, dark house almost devoid of furniture, rubbing shoulders with his parents, his sister and his uncle – all supported by his father’s meagre income as a salesman. Having gone back layer by layer, we then track back forward to the present moment. But each time we come back closer to reality, we have to slightly reassess what we thought we knew delving back into the past.

The narration is beautiful. The narrative voice is gentle, cultured but slightly aloof and judgemental. You feel the voice is just the right side of arrogant. It opens a window onto a slice of modern India, the incredible land of contrasts. On the one hand, there are colourful saris and aromatic spices, but on the other there is poverty, destitution and subsistence-wage slavery. Ghachar Ghochar avoids the tendency of Indian novelists to load their text with untranslatable terminology – there is the odd term of art (including the title, which turns out not to be in any language at all) – but for the most part it is extremely clear.

The narration is also very concentrated. The short number of pages contains a huge amount of plot and character development; significant detail can be contained in what might appear to be a throwaway line. This will keep the reader flicking back to check what actually happened couple of pages back or perhaps even a couple of dozen pages back. Although the sentences are clear, keeping on top of it all is a Herculean task – albeit one that rewards the patience and cross-checking.

This is actually a really complex novella that works on a number of levels. It addresses themes such as money and happiness; whether a person has a responsibility to work; whether possessions are actually worth anything; and the role of women in modern (Indian) society. For almost all of the novella, it appears to lack a bit if direction, being a bit of a meander through these issues. You feel it couldn’t possibly come together in the space remaining. But right at the death, there is a sentence that turns the whole novella into something coherent and nasty. I defy anyone who gets to the end not to reread the last 20 pages – working back and back and back towards the middle of the book.