#Review: Aftermath by Aakash Karkare

Some books announce their grief loudly. Aftermath does the opposite. It speaks in a measured voice, almost apologetic at times, as if aware that this story has already taken up too much public space. And that, perhaps, is its quiet power.

Aakash Karkare’s memoir is not about the 26/11 attacks in the way headlines remember them. It is about what lingers long after—the fatigue of being known for a loss, the discomfort of carrying a surname that history refuses to release, and the slow, often unromantic work of growing up in the shadow of tragedy. The writing is restrained, clear, and deliberately unsentimental. Karkare resists dramatic excess; instead, he leans into reflection, memory, and pause. The prose is sparse but thoughtful, allowing silence to do as much work as words.

The narrative moves between personal memory and public history, occasionally feeling fragmented, but that fragmentation mirrors grief itself—uneven, repetitive, unresolved. At times, readers may wish for deeper emotional excavation, but the author’s emotional restraint feels intentional rather than evasive.

What Aftermath ultimately offers is not closure but honesty. It reminds us that after the cameras turn away, life does not heal neatly—it merely continues. This is a memoir that invites you to read it slowly, with empathy rather than expectation.

Find this book here.