This is how A Suitable Boy got me. With its damn table of Contents. And since I give creativity a lot of credit, this deserves a lot. Which is why I chose to read it. For six years.
Browsing through the books, two students meet one day.
Browsing through the books, two students meet one day.
A mother mopes, a medal melts away.
A courtesan sings coolly through the heat.
A hopeful lover buys a parakeet.
A couple glide down-river in a boat.
A mother hears that mischeif is afloat.
Two men discuss the Brahmpur leather trade.
A pair of brogues (maroon) is planned and made.
Blood soaks a lane, and bullets ricochet.
A legislative vixen baits her prey.
A baby kicks; a bloodshot Raja yowls.
A young man speeds downhill; a father growls.
Calcutta simmers in a stew of talk.
A cemetery affords a pleasing walk.
Beneath the neem the village children play.
Worn cattle churn the burning earth to clay.
A desperate mother ventures to deploy.
Fair means or foul to net a suitable boy.
A wolf-hunt is arranged; at Baitar Fort.
A cheated marksmen looks for further support.
Old landlords sue the state to keep their lands.
Crushed corpses rot upon the holy sands.
A kiss brings fury, Twelfth Night sparks a snub,
And even bridge stokes tumult at the Club.
A child is born; wise women come to look.
A cobbler writes. A poet mails his book.
The Prime Minister fights, and keeps his head.
Sad sons assuage the spirits of their dead.
The flames of Karbala and Lanka blaze,
Igniting madness through the city's maze.
Calcutta Christmas lights festoon Park Street;
And at a cricket match three suitors meet.
Someone is stabbed in Brahmpur, someone dies,
While private shame is viewed by public eyes.
One person, five, and forty thousand choose;
Some win, some draw, and - as must be - some lose.
The curtain falls; the players take their bow
And wander off the stage - at least for now.
