<Sorry it took so long people, my exams were on and I kinda lost interest in this plotline. But never fear! I am back on track and hopefully I'll be able to finish this thing soon. Please excuse the brevity of this next part, but it takes a while for me to get back in the groove. Bear with me!>
He looked at the book with disgust. Then he looked back up at her.
"This is why you're here?"
"Of course."
"But it's trash."
"I know it is..."
He relaxed. She was insulting the book. All was right with the universe again.
"...as compared to your later work."
He coughed. His later work? The Red Door was a steaming pile of cowdung, but it was only marginally worse than the rest of his books. As one reviewer put it, "Tarun Rai's one admirable trait is his consistency. Possibly no other writer has managed to continuously and dilligently churn out as much nauseating material as Tarun Rai."
He decided to ask her outright.
"What exactly do you like about the book?"
She thought for a minute.
"Well... I like the subtle way in which you mock democracy's shortcomings. Oh, and the veiled references to your contemporaries is pretty entertaining as well. But what really impressed me was the absolutely unassuming way in which you tackle the subject of your own mortality whilst highlighting the futility of resisting the temptations that come our way everyday."
He smiled. And then he nodded. And then smiled again. He looked into her chestnut eyes, past the lenses of the round spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. And then he asked her:
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He looked at the book with disgust. Then he looked back up at her.
"This is why you're here?"
"Of course."
"But it's trash."
"I know it is..."
He relaxed. She was insulting the book. All was right with the universe again.
"...as compared to your later work."
He coughed. His later work? The Red Door was a steaming pile of cowdung, but it was only marginally worse than the rest of his books. As one reviewer put it, "Tarun Rai's one admirable trait is his consistency. Possibly no other writer has managed to continuously and dilligently churn out as much nauseating material as Tarun Rai."
He decided to ask her outright.
"What exactly do you like about the book?"
She thought for a minute.
"Well... I like the subtle way in which you mock democracy's shortcomings. Oh, and the veiled references to your contemporaries is pretty entertaining as well. But what really impressed me was the absolutely unassuming way in which you tackle the subject of your own mortality whilst highlighting the futility of resisting the temptations that come our way everyday."
He smiled. And then he nodded. And then smiled again. He looked into her chestnut eyes, past the lenses of the round spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose. And then he asked her:
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Oi that was abrupt...anyway..do u mind increasing the font size...some of us aren't blessed witha perfect eyesight :) still getting farther..anywa waiting for what remains.
ReplyDeleteAnd yeah I know the feeling when someone tries to derive meaning out of your work in teh above..way..stuff you never thin about..kinda scary