My first Murakami. I doubt he was that well-known then in India. Date of delivery: 23rd of May 2001. 19 years ago. I read the book in two days. I reread it immediately. I lost my father to death six days later. (1/6)

Murakami’s writing got interconnected with the death of a parent. With a loss that one can’t recover from. You just learn how to hide those wounds, smile, and before you know it, you see people with their fathers or a set of parents and it stings. Hurts even after 19 years (2/6)

Murakami showed me love. In his own way of missing cats, women who wanted more, men who were lost, and unusual stories that made an impact. Between 2001 and 2003, I read most of Murakami, or what was available to be then. (3/6)

Murakami’s writing healed me. Covered the gaping wound. Made me see death as something not to hate but something that is. The story of K, Sumire, and Miu was the one that mattered. Their love and losses and their need to understand the world became my need. Just how it was. (4/6)

Murakami made me see a different world, a possibility of a parallel universe - where maybe we were still together as a family. Where it was all okay. Where the unit hadn't been destroyed by death. This and more. I love Murakami because his writing continues to heal. (5/6)

Writers don’t know lives they change or the impact they have. Murakami, you changed my life. I love you. Forever. You helped me. Your redeemed me. Thank you way too much. Also, I read Sputnik Sweetheart every year, since 2001. The only book. 19 times. Thank you. (6/6)