It was raining, English rain, that first night when he came to England. Thin, fine icicles that fell at a slant and made incisions. Standing outside Victoria Station, waiting for a cab, he felt its needle pricks pierce his skin like markings. This is how England claimed you—through its rain. His hands and face burned and tingled. He felt alive, his senses acutely picking up every impression, from the stone in his shoe to the gaslights rippling through puddles, their slight hiss.
The Bombay Circle Press’ team had a fabulous start to this wonderful new year as we had the honour of launching The English Problem by Beena Kamlani at the Jaipur Literature Festival on 19th January, 2026. It felt less like the unveiling of a new novel and more like the culmination of a long, thoughtful conversation—one about power, identity, belonging, and the complicated inheritances we carry within us. Set against the cultural backdrop of JLF, a space where ideas collide and stories breathe in public, the launch felt deeply fitting for a book that grapples with identity at its very core.
From the moment we read it, there was something about Shiv’s journey that stayed with us. Not in a loud, declarative way, but in the quiet afterthoughts that linger long after you’ve turned the final page. Shiv is a character shaped by expectations—familial, national, historical and yet constantly pulled by desires that feel inconvenient, even disloyal. That tension, between who we are told to be and who we quietly become, is what made the decision to bring this book to Indian readers feel instinctive and immediate.
JLF has always been a space where personal histories intersect with political realities, where the past is constantly in dialogue with the present. In that setting, conversations around colonial legacies, inherited ambition, and moral conflict felt especially resonant. The festival audience was curious, critical, and deeply engaged—responding not just to the story itself, but to the emotional questions it raises.
What struck us most, both during the launch and in the responses that followed, was how contemporary the novel felt, despite its historical setting. Shiv’s struggle is not confined to a particular time or place. It mirrors the experiences of anyone who has ever felt split between worlds: between home and elsewhere, duty and desire, tradition and transformation. Whether it’s navigating language, class, culture, or ambition, the “problem” the book speaks of continues to echo today. Every work of art carries a story beyond the one printed on its pages. In this case, the story was about recognition—Shiv’s uncertainty, recognising familiar power dynamics in unfamiliar settings, and how deeply personal the political can be.
As we left Jaipur, what stayed with us was not just the success of the launch, but the quiet certainty that this was a story meant to travel—to different cities, different readers, and different inner landscapes. The English Problem is not a book you rush through. It asks you to slow down, to question your assumptions, and to reflect on the invisible lines that shape our lives.
Some stories end when you close the book. Others, like this one, continue to unfold—asking new questions each time you think you’ve answered them. And that, we believe, is the mark of a truly lasting novel.