I developed an apprehension in the opening pages of the book that turned into mild amusement when I was a couple of scores down. I think it was the puerility of my mind that had led me to be intrigued by the snippet in the magazine years back. But when the cover boasts :
Khushwant Singh is India's best known writer and columnist.
and
This book is a triumph.
then one can do little but shake his head at the sorry state that India's literature has been in for so many years. No wonder people hail the likes of Chetan Bhagat as a writer in India. Half baked stories and mindless plots grab the country's interest. Our brains have been rotted over the ages. Anyway, back to the book, it was one of the most pathetic attempts at literature I have ever read. Though it was not exactly literotica, it failed to match up to the standards of the free pieces available online as well. I breezed through the 230 odd pages in a couple of days and put the book back in the shelf.
The story is about a certain Mohan Kumar who went to went to Princeton and was a lauded scholar. He comes back to India to his widowed father who gets him married. He calls it quits after a few years of tumultuous married life and his wife goes to her parents with their two children. He places an advertisement for female companionship in the newspapers. The story is about his recollections of his trysts in Princeton and the women who respond to the advertisement. Oh, he also has a huge penis.
Now I am not too sure what made Khushwant Singh's books so popular. Maybe this was a bad specimen to judge by. But even the fact that it was a book published by a reputable publisher in his name makes me doubt a lot of things now. Even though he adds a disclaimer that it was just his fancies, it could have been done better. I am not even remotely inclined to try any of his other books now. Good bye and good riddance.
