vsbabu.org : books http://vsbabu.org/mt/archives/categories/books/ Gluing passing thoughts to foregone conclusions en-us vsbabu@gmail.com Copyright 2008 2004-01-08T08:18:07+05:00 hourly 1 2000-01-01T12:00+00:00 Wings of Fire http://vsbabu.org/mt/archives/2004/01/08/wings_of_fire.html The best resource available for practicing project management. 967@http://vsbabu.org/mt/ Yesterday, I read Wings of Fire, a biography of Dr. A.P.J Abdul Kalam, the eleventh President of India.

A great man, indeed. Humble, brilliant, visionary and inspirational.

]]> books 2004-01-08T08:18:07+05:00 Intepreter of Maladies http://vsbabu.org/mt/archives/2004/01/06/intepreter_of_maladies.html Great reminder of how good fiction and short stories can be. 964@http://vsbabu.org/mt/ Ever since I got wise and got rid of the idiot box, I have been slowly getting back to reading. Over the weekend, I read Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri.

Absolutely entertaining.

]]> books 2004-01-06T06:52:25+05:00 Asterix and Mickey http://vsbabu.org/mt/archives/2003/02/01/asterix_and_mickey.html Which is better? IMO, Asterix. There is no comparison. 711@http://vsbabu.org/mt/ Slashdot: Asterix and Mobilix redux. For Americans: Asterix and Obelix are well-known French cartoon characters (think: Mickey and Goofy).

]]> books 2003-02-01T19:46:02+05:00 The God of Small Things http://vsbabu.org/mt/archives/2002/06/22/the_god_of_small_things.html Suprisingly, the entire book is not as annoying as the beginning pages. 398@http://vsbabu.org/mt/ the god of small things I'm reading Arundhati Roy's Booker prize winning book, The God of Small Things.

I tried reading this in 1998, but could not get past the first 4 pages then. The only other book that so annoyed me in the opening pages is Mario Puzo's The Sicilian - mainly because I expected it to be as good as The God Father.

This time around, I'm doing better. I've read through 60% of the book.

I think I figured out what annoyed me in 1998 (even now it annoys me) is the liberal use of capitalized words.

Also, there seems to be a distinct attempt at the part of the author to display her - quite vast, I must admit - vocabulary. The language is a far cry from simpler and beautiful style like that of Ernest Hemingway's.

The style of narration strikes to me as very similar to that of Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude - its translated version, rather.

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