Two titles and how

Something has to be said of my reading habits. Depending on your definition of reading I may or not be a reader at all.
Anyways. Last evening was not something I would have planned myself and I was a fool to guile myself that it could even be anything as remote as teh girls' time outs I used to have back in time. But. So. A couple of colleagues were planning to go shopping. Au naturale and by way of conversation I came to learn of it and invited myself to their party (yes, I am that desperate for friends). Unfortunately their idea of shopping was different from mine. On a scale of say one to ten, I would say the difference was a glaring 20! I mean, who goes to just one shop and but suits in bulk. And Indian suits at that! To each woman her own. I said I was not into manmade fibrous clothing, whatever that may have meant to them, when I said so, I meant I prefer to swathe myself in just cottons and lawns and pure silks (as head accessory). At times I veer towards georgettes and chiffons too but Indian clothing? Do they even have a sense of color, just a riot of color if you ask me. But no one did ask me and I kept my precious opinions to myself. And this is a book blog. coming to it, give me a chance, sheeesh!
So, this shopping trip was about as exciting as a can of soda left open and unattended too long. Flat. And I don't do sodas anyway. So, on the return journey I was trying to work out a route back home that would involve minimum fuss and a turbulence free ride home. I called home, sis, bro and cousin and had to put up with ringings that left my ears ringing. Asked my colleague to drop me off at this new swanky mall in town. Changed my mind and told her to drop me off at the bus stop that I catch a bus home. Then changed my mind and got dropped off at teh mall anyways. My only fear, after the shopping trip fiasco and no-reply-home annoyance was that I would, as is my wont, end up spending all money I had on me. And I did. In a way, I'd say.
Now this mall has an OUP outlet. Not the brightest star in the sorry constellation of book stores back home, but a book outlet all the same. If I thought OUP was a shame to the very idea of a decent book store, I was wrong. It ought to be declared illegal for OUP to go about claiming as a book store. I mean what kind of a place does not even have a decent shelf on Current Affairs? Just one sorry shelf on Management? And God knows hoe many books brought in from India and on India? Excuse me but did I just walk in a small tucked away New Delhi bookstore. Not that I have ever been to ND to draw that analogy. But the shop and its contents were surely not a high street success to satisfy the bibliophilic cravings of discerning Indian readers.
Anyways, the best I could do was pick up two books:
Really, Your Highness! by Jyoti Jafa
and
Paradise of the Assassins
A Translation of Firdaus-e-Bareen by Abdul Halim Sharar
Translated by Tariq Mahmud

I had read a review of the latter in a local book supplement and wanted to get it anyway. The former just promised to be an interesting read. Royalty, the spledour of an era bygone, the romance of old customs and traditions fascinate me no end. and of course it was fiction. i checked that out first thing.

Buying fiction actually guarantees that I would actually get round to reading a book. Unlike The Edward Said Reader that looks oh-so-impressive gathering dust on my bookshelf but I have yet to read through a chaptre. Oooops, that was one tooo many confessions!

So. I may or not come round to writing a review of the above mentioned titles.

At the moment it just feels great to type away my story of how I came across these titles without fear of giving away too much of myself. i don't know what that means either. so.