The curtains open, the quaint 1950s stage is set, the bibliophile is seated smugly in front of her window with a Hellenistic mug for the sake of cosiness, and the papiha swaying on a leafless branch is waiting for a tale to be hummed by Vikram Seth’s beautifully crafted characters. A pot pourrie of sorts, diffusing its sandalwood-like fragrance into the bibliophile’s grey cells.
