Of course, you know this isn’t about Bhai. But it is about the other Salman superstar, Salman Rushdie. Ok, suspense over; sorry no refund on tickets.
The gifts I like to give most are books, and the book I have gifted the most is Salman Rushdie’s, Haroun and the Sea of Stories. This size zero novella, just about makes it past 200 pages (with a generous type size, line spacing, and margins); point is – it looks as good as it reads. Published in 1990 and written while he was shuttling between safe houses, Haroun echoes the theme that defined the author’s life then – freedom of speech and expression. Dedicated and written for his son, Zafar, this book is also a promise fulfilled and a heartwarming ode to the bond between a father and son. In the context of his circumstances, the dedication – an acrostic poem – is heartbreaking. It makes me choke up. And that is the power of words, the words this wizard wields.
I have heard this book being labelled a children’s book, or something he wrote for a younger audience. As though it were a side project; an excursion into 4th B Cross, before he returned to 1st Main Road. I chuckle to myself. Certainly it isn’t as layered or voluminous as his other books, and the style is definitely more in the realm of a fable, but this is as important an addition to his oeuvre as Midnight’s Children or the recent Victory City. Sharmaji’s beta would read it, and so would Sharmaji. If I remember right, in an interview Rushdie even said, Haroun would probably be the book (of all his books) that would stand the test of time. (Not his words, but something to the effect that it would be the most remembered; can’t find the interview now.)
Coming back to the trailer. This book is like those beer samplers you get at some pubs. And that’s the reason I gift it so much. To me, it’s a great introduction to Salman Rushdie’s writing. A spoonful of Salman, if I may, (and also to justify the picture). It packages a lovely story with his hallmark playfulness, wit, weep-worthy prose, wordplay, and of course, magic. It gives the reader a glimpse of what this master storyteller can do if you give him a blank page and some ink.
The book also has one of my favourite opening sentences. And a part of me wrote this article only so that I can type that beautiful sentence again: There was once in the country of Alifbay, a sad city, the saddest of cities, a city so ruinously sad that it had forgotten its name.
But…
Like all good samplers it delivers a limited punch and sometimes that can be misleading. Haroun is an easy read; his other books are not. You can bottoms-up this thumb sized sampler, but you would be foolish to try that with Midnight’s Children, The Moor’s Last Sigh, or any of his other books. Haroun and the Sea of Stories is a great introduction, but it doesn’t fully prepare you for the challenge of reading his other novels. These require fortitude and good reading glasses. These are not novels you breeze through (like you might Haroun). These are large treasure chests, not an Indigo salted-almonds box.
And that is why, when I serial gift this book (I have quarterly targets), I always add a note explaining why it’s a great introduction, but not a complete introduction. If you have been unsure, intimidated, wary, all of the above, of Rushdie, might I suggest you call your local bookstore and check if they have a copy of Haroun. Read it, let the words sit in your head; let the story, and his sheer brilliance work their magic. And I hope you will soon call them back again and ask for his other novels. That will happen because of a P2C2E.
To know what P2C2E is, however, you will have to read the book; this is only a trailer.
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