C.R.A.P

Now that you hold this book in your hand, let me talk to you for a while, not that you are a dimwit, but I am sure you would have figured this out by now.

This book does not have any purpose or meaning. Theres already a lot of crap flying around in the publishing world, so I just thought of adding some more, really.

This book does not come from somebody highly accomplished or acclaimed; in fact, this book does not intend to cause that earth-shattering shift too toward any acclamation.

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There is no foreword, middles, or epilogue to this book.

There are no endorsements from highly acclaimed litterateurs.

This book does not claim to be a bestseller and will never get to be one.

This book does not address a social cause; it does not solve the carbon catastrophe that you see around you.

This is not a self-help book, so no philosophy, no quantum physics, no next-generation robotics in here.

And this book is definitely not from the wannabe stables of a Booker or a Pulitzer.

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This book, at its worst, can go down the bookshelves as the World According to Me, with anecdotal references to growing up in middle-class urban India in the 70s and the 80s and carving out a life, meaningful in most ways, in the 90s and beyond as meaningful as the fast-changing environment that I saw in India and the world around me.