Your Hands Are Cold

In the celebration of everything public, there is an undying pang of discovering one’s personal ghosts.
Through a sprawling canvas populated by unlikeliest of people Asmi challenges herself to knots that couldn’t be unknotted. For more than a decade she has cursed her fate for leaving her mother-less and with a woebegone family. As unjust life ensnare her, she dreams of leaving the despairing gullies of Lajpat Nagar. Little did she know, her fairy godmother was set to cast a spell to turn her life around.
The mediocre are seldom sanctioned the life of affluence. Torn between her coarse edges and Mahi’s soft silks, Asmi emerges from the literary world and inhale the air of the rich. Her delight is short lived as humiliation taunts her presence and forces her to congest into a cocoon. Nevertheless, questioning her right to dignity Asmi stands firm challenging the conceited of Delhi. Although soon she realises, the houses that aren’t made of glass include more than skeletons in their closets.
Thrown in unexpected relations, Asmi captivates Amin with her unpretentious approach towards life. Admiring Amin’s and Mahi’s comfortable lifestyle she seeks refuge with them and shuns her father. She also finds solace in Rajee, her childhood companion. One wonders, are dysfunctional families a norm in Delhi? Was this a prominent rationale for our protagonists to fuel their bond amidst mismatched society?
Delhi spares none with mercy including Asmi who is ambushed and stifled. Amid the atrocities by the living and the dead, she is forced to question her existence. Rightly stated, “Happiness is temporary”, she is left distraught in no time. Deceived with heartbreak she finds haven in the subjugated world to evade the gnawing memories of her past.
Will life offer a prospect to mend her broken relations? Have setbacks strengthened her to conquer hindrances and return to her roots?
It is a quest of survival of the mediocre. Evidence of dysfunctional self and withered familial ties become a recurring theme throughout the book.
why we love to love.
This is a tale of an ordinary woman in love. The only difference is there is no beginning or an end. Just like love, it’s a continuum. Her voracious search for love often comes to a hault but never to an end.