In a way, when I first read Rushdie’s Satanic Verses (when was that, by the time this fatwa was pronounced - I remember the bookstore assistant wrapping it in brown paper in order not to endanger himself and me (in the middle of Berlin!)), it was like my gateway drug to India.
Gibreel Farishta, Bollywood actor and insomniac, and Salahuddin Chamchawalla (if I remember correctly) drop from a plane called Bostan that was hijacked by suicide terrorists and blown to pieces. Somehow, however, Gibreel suddenly has wings and takes the two of them safely to the ground which is the English coast. And then complications start: Gibreel grows a halo, Salad grows horns. Gibreel dreams of the prophet, he is the Archangel that reveals God’s wisdoms to Mohammad. For fear of these nightmares he refuses to sleep. Eventually Salad rids himself of his fiendish looks in a fit of fury.
Somehow, while writing down the words Mohammad recites, some Salman smuggles in some verses of his own (satanic verses?), because the prohet never really remembers what he just said. And then there are the prostitutes in (I forget the place, somewhere in Arabia), who, just for fun, adopt the names of Mohammad’s wives (this fact was the reason for the fatwa). And there are many, many more subplots and many more Satanic verses of all kinds. It is a great book, great literature, wonderful language, quite funny and a lot to think about.