There are just very few things that I obsess about and even fewer things that I follow blindly. One of these things may just be Salman Rushdie.
His latest Luka and the Fire of Life was launched just a few hours ago, and it's with great thrill that my pre-ordered copy came in the mail just now, on the day of its release. I normally don't obsess about such things, but Rushdie does things to me, to my imagination, to my play of words, to my aesthetic sense, to my literary sensibilities... While I think his novel, Shame (1983) is one of the best literary narratives that I ever read (if not the best), the first novel of his that I read was Haroun and the Sea of Stories (1990) which he wrote for his son Zafar, to whom he dedicated it. Luka and the Fire of Life, he wrote for the twelfth birthday of his other son, Milan, to whom he dedicates it.
Quite interestingly, Luka and the Fire of Life picks up from Haroun and the Sea of Short Stories and it narrates the story of Haroun's little brother, Luka, who needs to go and steal the ever-burning Fire of Life in order to save his father, the story-teller.
There is something about words, and there is something about them taking a literary form that in turn becomes a gift of love. Oh Rushdie... *sigh!*