Yet another example of a mundane book given the 'permissible hyperbole' treatment so it sounds like the best thing since the invention of paper. The writing is pretty average with an over-emphasis on boring details describing everyday things we are all familiar with. The characters are largely uninvolving and unexciting, the plot hard to discern (if there is one: I certainly couldn't find it), and any sense of dynamic is missing. It seems the main character could, in fact, be the author, and the book very much reads like someone writing about his life with the addition of a fictional edge. If this is the case, then unfortunately for the reader it is a very boring life, and the added fictional element does not liven it up by any significant degree. Occasionally there is a glimmer of something interesting, either by way of character or an event, or an example of new and old India grinding together, such as with the caste system, but it barely disturbs the soporific tempo of this disappointing novel.