There are some books that you read, and then there are books that you seem to travel through. Manav Kaul’s A Mountain, a Lake and a Song was that kind of book for me. As I read, I often felt that I was travelling alongside him, seeing what he saw, sharing his experiences as they unfolded, and at times feeling less like a reader and more like a quiet co-companion on his journey. Perhaps that is what makes this book so special; it is a travelogue, but the journey is never merely about the places he visits. It slowly becomes a journey into the landscape of a writer’s mind.
I found the book deeply honest, meditative and extremely lyrical. Kaul moves between the outer world and his inner world with a natural ease, allowing a place to become a memory, a conversation to become a reflection, and an ordinary moment to open into something more intimate. There is no clear separation between the journey he is making and the journey he is trying to make sense of within himself. The mountains, the lakes, the people, the silences and the movement from one place to another become part of a larger exploration of who he is as a writer and as a person.
What stayed with me particularly was the honesty with which he writes about the journey of a writer. Writers have their own struggles, doubts and frustrations, and their own journeys towards fulfilling that creative quest. There is no straight path to it. There are moments of joy and moments of restlessness, relationships that comfort and relationships that complicate, and always that persistent inner voice asking questions and searching for something that is often difficult to name. Kaul allows us to inhabit that space with him. He doesn’t offer neatly packaged answers; instead, he lets us walk beside him as he observes, remembers, experiences and tries to understand.
That sense of companionship is what made the reading experience so immersive for me. I have followed Manav Kaul’s work closely — his theatre, his films and his journey as a writer — and perhaps because of that, there was something particularly intimate about being allowed into this part of his world. I could recognise the artist I have encountered through his other work, but here I was also witnessing the person behind that work: his wonder and joy, his frustrations, the complexities of his relationships and the questions that continue to occupy him as a writer.
And then there is the writing itself. There is an effortless lyricism to Kaul’s prose, a rhythm that allows the landscape and the inner voice to flow into each other without feeling contrived. The book is contemplative without becoming heavy and intimate without ever feeling intrusive. It has the quality of a conversation that continues quietly in your head even when you have put the book down.
A special applause must also go to Vaibhav Sharma, whose translation carries Kaul’s voice into English with remarkable sensitivity. Translation, especially of writing so closely tied to a writer’s temperament, is not simply about finding the right words; it is about preserving the rhythm, the pauses, the silences and the way a writer looks at the world. Sharma seems to have understood that voice beautifully. As a reader who follows Kaul’s work, I never felt that I was standing outside the book because it was translated. I felt that I was still listening to Kaul.
Perhaps that is what I loved most about A Mountain, a Lake and a Song. It doesn’t simply take you to a mountain or a lake. It invites you into the mind of the traveller, the artist and the writer, and for a while, you become part of that journey. You travel with him, pause with him, observe with him, and sometimes simply sit with the questions he leaves behind.
It is a quiet book, but its quietness stays with you. And like a song heard somewhere along a journey, it doesn’t really end when you reach the last page; it continues to echo somewhere within you, long after you have returned home.