It is astonishing the way U.C. describes some simple, unremarkable passages like waiting in a queue or flicking a cigarette stub: they assume lyrical, almost metaphorical proportions but then you realize he's probably just screwing with us. But there's no way to tell.
His fascination with the great Indian dysfunctional family ('Weight Loss', 'The Last Burden') and also the media, as dystopian as he can perceive it to be, continues in this book as well.
Not even close to 'English August's' pedigree, this is certainly his next best book so far. A solid 3.5/5. I give it 4 rather than 3, because the writing though tedious occasionally, is so bloody beautiful!