Showing posts with label Book Reviews. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Book Reviews. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Motorworld by Jeremy Clarkson


In the Name of Allah, Most Gracious and Most High


Motorworld by Jeremy Clarkson


Jeremy is an utterly barmy man of horrendous genius. He is also completely rude at all the right moments. ‘The Hulk’ as Mother Dear calls him, visits 11 countries in this book to take on their perspective of the… motorcar! He finds Italians beautiful, with even the petrol cap designed and the ultimate pleasure in that one does not need to bother with those pains in the neck, the seatbelt or the speed limit.


Texas is the state he must have been born in but got swapped at birth, they think swearing is a compliment. He journeyed to another land, far recognizable to any other on Earth, Iceland. Here he frolicked with the profound aspect of having day for 24 hours.

He thinks India is the country with the most problems in the world, whacked out drivers who refrain from driving with the headlights on during darkness, because of ‘self-respect.’ Thus, they kill themselves and a whole lot of others. But after numerous years, he has still not discovered why he likes it.

Dubai caught his fancy, where he spent five hours looking around the ‘Rainbow Sheikh’s two garages. He then joked with an assistant if the Sheikh had anymore garages or cars, and the man conspiratorially replied that ‘there are many more but there's not enough time to view all in a single day.’ After all, aren’t the Arabs so rich, it just makes your teeth itch?

Fast cars, fast lives, and writing with 600 horsepower.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Butter Chicken in Ludhiana by Pankaj Mishra


In the name of ALLAH, Most High, Most Merciful, Most Knowledgeable, Most Forgiving


Butter Chicken in Ludhiana by Pankaj Mishra


Written with sarcasm, satire and surprise, Butter Chicken is a wonderful book about one of the world’s largest and most influential countries experiencing transition. India, land of the poor and the pragmatist. It has that endearing charm to it that all Indian written books have, soul. India, a country that takes an especially far-reaching intellect to describe its perplexity, is a portrait here of a nation finding their aspirations, wanting the wider arc of people to comprehend that they are now a force to be reckoned with.


Despite the dirt and the debris, Subhannallah, the immorality and open immodesty are something of a genuine surprise. Through the spanning years, with all the tales my ancestors would imprint into their future generations, they had painted India as the country with a sturdy sense of bashfulness. They still think it’s like that, though I fail to regard it as true after all the inexplicable nonsense they do there.

Read it when going to India, or when going anywhere, each chapter is a different story in a diverse city, something one could put down at length and resume another time as if he’d never stopped.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Book Reviewers

I always thought book reviewers were losers. I mean, you're taking another person, oh, just not another human, but an author, and giving his life's work a cursory glance and then proclaiming your snobbish opinion that will either way change his life. How do you think the writer must feel? He must be wary of picking up a newspaper. On top of that, the public listen to this commentator and thus form their judgments. The only way an artist can win the war against the critic, is to do something so ginormously extraordinary, that the critic will be totally and absolutely overawed.

Thus said, books, after arriving in book stores, are not sold by themselves. Their sold, and I mean bestseller multi million selling, when the conclusions of the Observer, the New York Times, or the Sunday Independent appears majestically on their front and back covers. I admit to choosing books just because of these names. It as if the final and ultimate judgment has been recorded. As if the words of these small persons, who will probably never write a book in their lives and realise the significance of a published story, are almost blessed.

Well, since I do not have the patience, the talent, nor the story, I like reviewing books. It gives me a sense of almost self worth. I hope you'll enjoy my humble efforts.