The Godly "The God of small things"

While I was in Bangalore, I had been to Landmark in Forum to pick up books I had shortlisted while reading other books. To my bewilderment, the gentleman at the counter searched all the titles and grinned- "all your titles are age old". I saved my face and looked around - to find one unequivocal winner - "The God of small things", a Booker prize vistor, by Arundhati Roy. I had heard quite a lot about it. With all pride, I picked it up with a few other books and walked away.

On my return, I had stuffed 'em all into the inundated shelf (not with books though:) of mine and they laid with all majesty and a topping of fine dust for more than two months. Finally it was time, I started with the winner over this weekend and here I am - craving to read it again! What a narration; from a first timer. Small things portrayed as naked as they could get; sailing the reader (read "me") into his own Self to live each and every character and situation. A better than the best amalgamation of suspense, humor, drama, hatred - all in the very own Indian fragrance. No wonder it has been a landmark in today's literature.

I could not resist to pen down a few of the best ever articulation I have ever come across. Here they come; in a small way. I do not want to dilute them by giving the context, they'll speak for themselves (of course, have hinted at a few).

"......strange insects appeared like Ideas in the evenings and burned themselves on Baby Kochamma's dim 40-watt bulbs"

"She wondered what had caused the bald pilgrims to vomit so uniformly, and whether they had vomited together in a single well-orchestrated heave (to music perhaps, to the rhythm of a bus bhajan), or separately, one at a time"

"The chaise longue on which Baby Kochamma reclined had crushed peanut shells stuffed into the crevices of its rotting upholstery"

"The one who had once led her (swimming) through their lovely mother's cunt" [In context of two-egg twins, medically termed as Dizygotic]

"Then the gristly-bristly face contorted, and Estha's hand was wet and hot and sticky. It had egg white on it. White egg white. Quarter boiled" [An innocent boy exploited by a near paedophile to get his cum fired]

"The slow ceiling fan slicked the thick, frightened air into an unending spiral that spun slowly to the floor like the peeled skin of an endless potato"

"...as though phlegm was an Arithmatic answer sheet that had to be revised before it was handed in..."

"The air was heavy with moisture, wet enough for fish to swim in"

"The silence dipped and soared and swooped and ooped in figures of eight"

"...mud that oozed through toes like toothpaste"

"Insanity hovered close at hand , like an eager waiter at an expensive restaurant (lighting cigarettes, refilling glasses)"

"...where woodshavings blew about like blonde curls"

"...could see it coursing through his veins, as clearly as an egg down an ostrich's neck"

"He grew to depend on Margaret Kochamma for not depending on him. He adored her for not adoring him"

"Comrade Pillai had finished his avail and was squashing a ripe banana, extruding the sludge through his closed fist into his plate of curd.."

"Batons in their hands, Machine-guns in their minds"

"...the posse of Touchable Policemen acted with economy, not frenzy. Efficiency, not anarchy. Responsibility, not hysteria. They didn't tear out his hair or burn him alive. They didn't hack off his genitals and stuff them in his mouth. They didn't rape him. Or behead him"

"Fear fermented in her and the spit in her mouth turned sour"

and ....

and ....

and ....