This book shook me to the core. Death of a Salesman is a relevant and accurate account of the repercussions of our misplaced self-image and consumerist values that we grow up with, all the while forgetting to acknowledge our limitations.
Once you close the book, you are left to ponder if love is this ethereal or is it just a case of fictional license. Not to forget, even in Snehamoy’s case, his loneliness gets the better of him.
“He stubbed out the cigarette. A wisp of smoke curled up briefly and died. Priya got up and put on a shirt and a pair of palazzos. Then she sat on the rumpled bed again, her chin resting on her knees, her eyes vacant, her hands clasped like manacles around her slim ankles.” Erotica as […]