Though I was not prepared to do any formal literary interview on my way home after a 45 minute struggle on a treadmill, I was too intrigued to leave poor Namish alone when I saw him reading Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children on the train.
This was the first of Rushdie’s novels that I ever read, and to this day, I still remember what the eccentric lady at the now defunct Forever After Books told me when I bought it years ago.
He’s a great writer. But not as great as he thinks he is.
I remember enjoying the book: especially how Rushdie weaves in the Partition of India with the needle of a magical realist. Namish said that he liked the book thus far, but was a bit flabbergasted that the protagonist wasn’t even born in the first 200 pages of the book. To skirt the edge of needing a spoiler alert, he also seemed to like the angle and tone Rushdie used to recount the events leading up to and after India’s independence. He thought that he would next read Rushdie’s famous fatwa-inducing Satanic Verses.