SCENT OF HENNA FLOWERS
between Kamala and her sons is marked by complexity. Kamala’s journey is in an eternally subaqueous state, floating in and out of real and the imaginary worlds replete with flashbacks, hallucinations, bizarre images.
Sreenivasan’s prose is rich and lyrical and alludes to everyone from Moliere and James Joyce to Enigma’s “Return to Innocence”.
There is no coyness either, “The little holes, the acid designs on the bleach marks in the crotch of her panties, like a beehive, sometimes reminded her of the futility of living biologically. Love has the fragrance of henna flowers, the piquant burning sensation of pepper buds. It makes one wet with happiness and leaves the eyes sore with desperation.”
It takes a little time to get under the skin of the story and follow the ebb and flow of the narrative. Sreenivasan is in clear command of her craft.
“In the sunlight, two water droplets oscillated on a lotus leaf like two precious pearls that had no roots, no reality... Like toddlers taking their first steps, the droplets wobbled on the leaf’s surface for a while, then in unison they flowed towards the centre, to the heart of the leaf, as if going back to the womb: they shone there like a priceless gem.”
It is difficult to encapsulate ‘Acid’ in a few paragraphs. Complex and compelling, Sreenivasan’s work is a cauldron of corrosive elements simmering together, unsettling and hypnotic.