A reusing of prior distributed works yet Khushwant is enthusiastic about death.
Wrote by any other individual, this would have been discouraging: a gathering of tribute made a greater amount offputting by the cover photo overwhelmed by the unattractive bottoms of Khushwant Singh's revealed feet, scarcely helpful for whetting one's abstract craving.
Reusing Khushwant is a thriving industry and binds it to his age, presently 90, when his musings are probably swinging to his own death, is a smart advertising ploy.
This is an accumulation of eulogies composed throughout the years on individuals he knew or met, alongside his contemplations on death.
Khushwant's companions and colleagues to a great extent comprised of the self-important and this accumulation, despite the fact that most pieces have shown up previously, get another rent of life, as it were, in book shape.
From Sanjay Gandhi to Z.A. Bhutto, Nargis Dutt and Khushwant's pet canine Simba, the tribute is run of the mill of the man: disrespectful, clever and inconsistent with the conventional Indian way of not composing sick of the dead.
The most engaging is his very own eulogy composed when he was in his 20s and one on Sanjay which has Khushwant's well-known citation portraying Maneka as "the specific rebirth of Durga with on leg on each side of a tiger".
A large portion of these obits is frustratingly short, thinking about the greatness of the greater part of the subjects. Khushwant's perspectives on death are unpublished yet the rest showed up in his week after week sections.
This is vintage Khushwant, seemingly increasingly discernible, in the short story organize, on death than on life. He even pens his own inscription: "Here untruths one who saved neither man nor God/Waste not your tears on him, he was grass/Writing dreadful things he viewed as incredible fun/Thank the Lord he is dead, this child of a weapon."