“Tangled, unfinished lives Imperfect, enigmatic people One city” This is how Swayamsiddha Mishra’s maiden book begins. Or well, is introduced to us. There is no beginning to this book, no end either. It starts on a random day and ends on another one, weaving an inexplicable beautiful story within the time. I just finished re-reading the book, and this time, I tried to appreciate the writing more than the story. That, however, proved impossible. She has woven the two parts of the book in a mesmerizing pattern, each one falling apart without the other. Swayamsiddha is a 14-year-old author, and I am not going to dilly-dally here. Her book truly, honestly blew my mind. It follows the life of Shruti, who is the protagonist here, as she shifts to Bangalore. To escape memories that were too hard to handle in the previous city. From joining extra-curricular classes to making friends, going through pain, and unfamiliarity to discovering herself. Every aspect of young teenage life has been aptly captured in “The Laws of the Wind” Like I said before, this book has no specific beginning or end. One of the major parts of this wonderful book revolves around Shruti’s mom coping with the loss of her unborn son. She recovers by piecing herself together, one step at a time. And I admire the realism here, because that is a difficult thing to nail in a novel. Shruti’s closest friends tackle depression and homosexuality through the pages, in the end realizing that it is okay to break down. That is how you learn to rise again. Stronger than before, better than before. “You are beautiful (yes, really), even more from the inside, because you know it’s the inside that matters. Your clear brown eyes hold depths I’ve come to know of, and I am proud to say that those very eyes have beheld an indescribable post-sunset sky.” This note ends the book. Shruti finds out who she is. Her friends realize that they are who they are. Surekha Mishra (Shruti’s mother) gets over loss and learns that the past is the past after all. Un-alterable. Dysfunctional families…remain dysfunctional. Because, in the author’s words, “No family is perfect. Each family is just a tapestry of intricately woven imperfections.” Hats off, Swayamsiddha. Publishing a book at such a young age is brilliant. Putting out such beautiful material is even harder. Keep doing what you are. I can’t say more, but I would recommend every single person to read this book. It is a masterpiece. Buy the book here: