'"If I see my son I see the whole world," Babbanji's father points out. "My light is here. I see the world through him. I will see you through him, I will see America through him. He is my screen." And looking at the seventeen-year-old beaming at me, his eyes and his heart eager to discover, to react, to live, and the father next to him, now also smiling, I believe it. There will be many long evenings now, after all the explanations have been made, perhaps after a thrashing from his mother, after a sense of disturbance has passed, that Babbanji will sit on the cot in front of the lecturer's house in the stifling small town in Bihar and tell him about the Queen's necklace, about the screen goddess he had seen weaving a garland of jasmine into her hair, about the big cars and the people living on the sewer, about the English poets with their drink, about the building that fell down and the people it fell upon, about the fight for water in the public toilet and the small kindnesses of the footpath dwellers. Isn't that why we have children, after all: to see the world a second time, on their screen?'

Maximum City is one of the most powerful book I have read in a very long time. Suketu Mehta has penned a masterpiece here. An ode, a heartfelt ode to the city so many have fallen in love with. Kudos to his efforts!

I'd recommend reading this book, though at 500 or so pages, you will have to invest yourself. And you're not likely to do so unless you have an emotional connection to India and/or Mumbai.

First, it is well written.

Second, the author interviews some people in Mumbai you would most likely know little about. These include murderers, other kinds of gangsters, policemen, slum dwellers, dancing bar girls, a female impersonator, Bollywood stars and directors, a wandering poet and a family that renounces the world, mostly.

A definite portrait of Mumbai is painted. From its incredibly crowded conditions to its callous disregard for human life, the book illustrates the edgy lives people live in order to survive there. The violence that is present is absolutely appalling, as is the lack of justice and the sanitary conditions. Add to this the regular deaths by overcrowding the trains, and you have a place few would want to visit, let alone live in.

There are some very good solid observations that the author makes, often at the expense of the person he is observing, so I appreciate his candor. At times it was probably dangerous for him to write so forthrightly.

Also good: multiple examples of how various Indians think and approach life differently than people here in the West.

India is an intense place, and this book illustrates that well. There wasn't a focus on its beauties, but offsetting some of the horrible conditions were individual stories of people's lives, lived in fragile bubbles swirling inside the maelstrom of the city.

I had heard about the book for a while now but just managed to pick the book few months ago at the airport during a business trip.

I loved the book mostly because I am from bombay as well and just like Suketu, I have moved to Bombay and back few times in my life. Everything in the book was very real for me and there were times when it felt like he literally took words out of my mouth. I would highly recommend this book to Indophiles, Travel readers and even history buffs. There are few things I would like to critique about this book :

A) I think the author's style of writing comes too close to V.S.Naipaul's style and he admits in the prologue that he did prepare for ths book by reading lots of V.S.Naipaul. I am not totally turned off by it because VS Naipaul happens to be one of my favorite authors too but it may be off-putting for other readers.

B) At about two thirds into the book I suddenly developed fatigue and found myself skipping pages and sections till I found something that picked up my interest. For example I found it bit tiring when he goes on and on about the bar girls and at times the narrative became extremely draggy.
I then jumped to the bollywood sections and the momentum picked up.

C) The mood of the book swings wildy from humor to tragedy to violence and at times even engages in sensationalism that I began questioning the "truth" in the narration. But the narrative bounces back by redeeming itself after those brief spells of incredulity.

D) Even though the book is supposed to be non-fiction I found the author very manipulative in style like a fictional story teller. For example he keeps the dates of his encounters with the characters bit nebulous and goes back and forth to some characters using their quotes mixing it with his own commentary to present a very romanticized or sensational story that mirrors his own personal view on the subject. For example it tends to reinforce the stereo types that most of us may agree with such as "Generally the mafia in bombay are most Muslims", "Gujaratis are business minded", "Hindu criminals though equally bad are slight better because they suffer from guilt and are god fearing", "Bollywood stars and directors are shallow and superficial", "Bombay is a filth pit of pollution and shit" etc. This paints some of the characters and situation in bad light without telling you all the sides of the story. Its this style that makes the book seem like fiction at times and honestly for some maybe even the charm of the book.

It may also be that perhaps he had lot of research material to sift thru but he deliberately selected the stories to suit his hidden agenda of coming up with a best seller for the international audience. And he chooses his stories based on his own personal convictions rather than telling them objectively purely from the character's view point.

I read somewhere that after the book was published his relationship with one of the bollywood characters in the book (Vinod the director) soured and they are estranged now.

I personally dont care about this since I am from bombay and consider myself knowledgeable enough to seperate fact from fiction, I just wanted to caution the readers here: Beware the author is extremely intelligent writer and if he manages to manipulate your consciousness and sway your opinions, then its intentional. And maybe that only indicates that he is an extremely good writer. More power to him in that case:-)

I sincerely hope that this book encourages more south asians to adopt this style and genre of writing and we get to read more interesting books on India which is itself on the dawn of transformation and progress. There are millions of fascinating stories and live drama occurring in the streets of india every day that just needs to be captured in a medium that the world may find fascinating and can watch or read about in this century. Don't be surprised if this book is made into a movie or documentary.

Undeniably one of the most honest books I have read of late. The narrative flows effortlessly and builds up with character and time.
Although some parts do feel stretched. But the storyline and character sketches of the unusual curation done by the author is praiseworthy.
Definitely recommend.

I'd give the first half of the book a 5 and the second a 3.

A detailed, insightful read (non-fiction) that helps you understand the Bombay of the 1990s, right upto 2000. For me, the bits where the author narrates his conversations with Bal Thackeray, Chota Shakeel, Rakesh Maria (pen name Ajay Lal) and several people involved directly in the '92-93 riots are the most interesting pages of the book.

Seems a bit too sprawling at times, particularly in the 2nd half.

This is a deliciously amusing account, one where the author is unrestrained in being abrasive and becoming all-vulgar. This is exactly the kind of account that Bombay/Mumbai deserves. With long conversations, extended relationships with prostitutes, gangsters, policemen, stars, and murderers like in a Tarantino film. I did the best thing ever to buy this book and read a good part of it in the city that it paints. Amazing.

Eher eine Serie von Reportagen, als ein Roman. Vermittelt faszinierende Einblicke in diese große und grausame Stadt. Leider kommt der Autor nie zum Ende. Jedes der Kapitel ist deswegen um jeweils etwa 30 Seiten zu lang.

This book is pathetic. All the author did was rent a bunch of hindi movies and rehashed them in detail. I simply can't understand the positive reviews--especially those of Indian readers, who have probably seen these movies over and over. The similarities are so striking, some of the dialogs have been quoted--verbatim. Not to mention the drivel at the beginningof the book-Mr.Mehta should be ashamed of himself for delving onmicro castism. In today's day and age only an incredibly regressive kind can unabashedly discuss marathis, punjabis and so on in such great detail. And by the way, Mr Mehta, the reason you did not know many maharashtrians while growing up is because they are usually found in schools and colleges or in fortune 500 companies! Living in jackson heights you might want to generalise a little about gujaratis too while you are at it. To me, the author has an immense sense of self persecution as he is neither comfortable in a playground in New York city nor is he comfortable in Bombay. What is also inconsistent is his claims of being dissed in manhattan when his son eats kichidi in a playground and then Mr. Mehta after a few chapters mentions he was making pasta in Bomaby. Mr. Mehta, it would have perhaps helped your persecuted self if you had pasta in manhattan and khichdi in bombay. But that wasnt the part that offended me the most, the fact that something so unoriginal and so underresearched made it to the Pulitzer list is astounding. Mr. Mehta has not done any investigative journalism all he is done is third hand reporting. If he would like to know what investigative reporting is he should look up Dey from Midday. Mr. Mehta is no Woodward, as he would have his readers believe.

A personal account of the author Mehta's return to Bombay/Mumbai, the city of his youth, and its sprawling culture. He follows and interviews people from many walks of life: cops and gangsters, bar dancers, actors, hoi polloi, and weaves in anecdotes from his own life into a sort of tribute and love letter to the city and its powerfully urban way of life.

For me the book started off excellently and went on more or less a straight-line decline to merely decent by the end. When Mehta jumps from character to character quickly, his writing becomes almost textured with richness, like looking at a tapestry with so many details that you get lost in it all. The sections describing the politicians, cops, and gangsters are like this. In contrast, when he focuses at length on one person things are not as good, such as a blandly readable 30-page passage at the end about a convert to Jain asceticism. The chapter on Monalisa is a great example of this, as there are parts where Mehta jumps around between Monalisa and the other people in her life, which I found enjoyable, and there are parts where he sets his attentions only on her, which while still good were less so.

Be warned that there are lots of words in Indian languages; if you are not already familiar with them you may find you need to read this with the Internet at hand. (I always wondered why authors who use so many foreign words in English-language books don't include a glossary.)

"Maximum City" by Suketu Mehta has received considerable acclaim, but my experience with the book left me questioning the hype. The portrayal of Bombay in the book, touted as an insider's view, falls short of offering any genuinely new.

Despite the author's attempts to present an insider's perspective, the information and details provided seem familiar and, in some cases, border on the mundane. It appears as if Mehta might have overestimated the exclusivity of the information he shares, as many aspects of Bombay life presented in the book are already well-known to a wide audience.
And from my personal view "Maximum City" feels more like an insider's view of the making of "Mission Kashmir" movie rather than a unique exploration of Bombay itself.

While Mehta does delve into the intricacies of the city, it leaves the reader yearning for a more nuanced and profound examination of Bombay's complexities. I struggled badly in first 120+ pages then the narrative was captivating.

For me "Maximum City" did not live up to the exaggerated hype surrounding it. The insider's view seems to offer a rather conventional glimpse into the city, leaving readers questioning whether the book genuinely deserves the acclaim it has received.

Most important factor is , any books which portrayal of India's "dirty/negative side" often receives attention in Western media and award committees, a trend that raises questions about the criteria for celebration in the literary world.

This is fascinating piece of work in which we get to see all the aspects of life in megalapolis – Bombay. The author, Suketu Mehta, has been born in Bombay, but spent most of his teenage years and adult life in the USA. In this book he's describing his return to his hometown.

The author is describing meeting with people from different walks of life and he's trying to describe life in the city and important events through those people. He's describing Hindu-Muslim riots in the city, political life and struggle. We read about police forces and their counterparts – mobsters. The author takes us to the night life of the city, dancing girls and beer bars. Bollywood, the most famous product of the city, is also described in the book.

The slums, the hopes and dreams of the people from those slums, and their daily lives are part of this book.

This book is interesting read, and it covers very broad space, so everyone can find something interesting in it.

“All these ill-assorted people walking towards the giant clock on Churchgate… I will not merge into them; I have elaborated myself into them. And if I understand them well, they will all merge back into me, and the crowd will become the self, one, many-splendoured.”

Mujhe ghar jana hai