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by Rohinton Mistry
In a word (or two or three): i feel like a damn sissy with that oprah
sticker on the cover
From Mr. Hipster:
How can so much tragedy visit one group
of people? It seems almost impossible, and at times it honestly gets
repetitive and tiring. The book makes living in India sound about
as fan as living in the middle of a live mine field. Terror, disease,
violence and homelessness lie around every corner. Taking place mostly
during the emergency in 1975, during which all personal rights were
suspended, and many were detained and sterilized against their will,
the country was rampant with corruption, and conditions for everyone
were pretty awful. While I have very little knowledge about recent
Indian history, I was surprised this kind of lawlessness and depraved
indifference to human life could happen this century, let alone during
my lifetime. Beyond the history and caste system lesson, I couldn't
help but wonder where everything was going. The final message (so
far as I can make out): be happy with what you have. Okay. So, you
may have no home, no money, no testicles or legs, and everyone you
know may have been killed, but, hey, at least you have your heartbeat
and some cerebral functioning. I guess, it's a fine balance, eh?
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