Posted in Books

Book Review: My Heart is Your Brothel, by Namitha Varma

Poetry is sometimes a rush, and sometimes a slow walk. What makes it enjoyable is that you can interpret it in a different way from what the poet meant to, and still feel that it’s beautiful. It can express in shortness what a long letter might not. This book is a collection of micropoetry, eight of them.

Favorite poems

My favorite poem in the entire collection is the eighth verse in the collection titled Intense Desire. What makes this poem different is that each line of the poem has just one word. The poem asks the question of the lover, almost if not actually comparing the feeling of love. It reminded me of what we call “soundaryapinakkam”, a temporary, almost mischievous spat, and one asking the other the question. It is a simple poem, but I felt it was deep. The single word each line made the longing feel real, like each word mattered.

Another is the first verse of the collection titled “Unrequited Love”. It felt bittersweet and I think that’s what the poet intended too. Love unreturned can be painful, and I know that too, but is there a pleasure in that pain. It made me think who is the one not returning the love and why.

The verse that follows this one is also interesting, and something I relate to, trying to trivialize something when deep down, it’s the opposite that’s going on.

Every poem in the book is written well, and feels heartfelt. They have the wordplay to make you think. Some even end oddly, making me wonder what the poet meant. Poetry is something that can be read again, and in that reading, a new interpretation found. So I shall read them again someday, and see if they’ve stayed the same in my mind.

The Bookworm Rates This: 4/5
The Bookworm Rates This: 4/5
Book Details
Title: My Heart is Your Brothel
Author(s): Namitha Varma Genre: Poetry
ISBN/ASIN: N/a Publisher: Papyrus
No. of Pages: 18 Price: N/a

I own a soft-copy of the book. The views expressed here are my own, frank and uninfluenced.

(© 15th April 2015)



Poetry and writing are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.