Shame is an undesired sperm that impregnates human psychic with acute guilt and discomfort to procreate a shameless fiend amid continual cerebral labor pains. Molded on a fictionalized caricature of Pakistan’s opinionated and influential communal strata it incubates the embryonic mesh of brutality resulting in social and personal turmoil.
Rushdie along with his emotive quandary constantly appears to be a lost child meandering on the South Asian political-cultural perimeter. With Satanic Verses and Midnight’s Children being his two precious manuscripts, Shame lingers on the threshold of allegorical restrains.
Oh! This book isn’t awful, if that’s what you are thinking. I presume I was more than a decade late in reading Rushdie’s Shame. The book would have appalled my wits then as an adolescent luxuriating in a cushy life. However as a seasoned 30-yr old parasite clinching on the edge of cynical propaganda it was more on the lines of serving a tepid cup of tea with maybe a dry toast.