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A charming novel about identity and belief, and the innate human need to belong
At a time when Edward Elliots Road had been renamed Dr Radhakrishnan Road and Hamilton’s Bridge Ambattan Bridge, Clive Avenue remained Clive Avenue, an anachronism in the heart of Chennai. When a resident had asked the Madras Municipal Corporation about the place, files had been looked up and records checked only to find that it didn’t exist. But Clive Avenue did exist. A seemingly tranquil cul de sac , it was home to the conservative Sundarams, the French Leonards family, Bhuvana Rajaram IAS and his wife, and Selvan, the up-and-coming Tamil film star who had recently bought No. 7. Clive Avenue is their story.
Alive with characters we are bound to recognize and remember, this is also the story of Balan the milkman, aka George Kuriakose; corrupt Income Tax Officer Devanathan, bribed for years by the residents of Clive Avenue; and Chandramouli, the astrologer, resplendent in vibhuti and vermilion, smelling of sandalwood and old leather.
Rajan, the Sundarams’ son, returns from the US armed with an MBA from Wharton. Eager to see him settle down, Dr Sundaram and Lakshmi begin looking for the perfect Iyer girl. Rajan, though, has other plans. As he prepares to take a six-month break, he looks up his childhood friends and renews old ties, especially the one with Dominique. Dominique Leonard works for Le Figaro and is engaged to a Frenchman. Torn between two cultures, she tries desperately to come to terms with love and loss. In the meantime, Devanathan is arrested, and Rajan is waylaid by a group of goondas and stabbed one night..
Action-packed and quiet by turns, Clive Avenue is an evocative novel about a people and a city caught between tradition and modernity, about relationships, love and justice, and about choices.
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