Seth was born to Leila and Prem Seth in Calcutta (now Kolkata).

His family lived in many cities including

the Bata Shoe Company town of Batanagar amal, Patna, near Danapur and London.

His father was an executive with the Bata India Limited shoe company who migrated to post-Partition India
from West Punjab in Pakistan. His mother, Leila was the first woman judge on the Delhi High Court as
well as the first woman to become Chief Justice of a state High Court, at Simla. She studied law in London,
while she was pregnant with Seth's younger brother, and came first in her bar examinations conducted only
weeks after she delivered her second child.

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Sir Ahmed Salman Rushdie (Urdu: ‫ أحمد سلمان رشدی‬English pronunciation: /sælˈmɑːn ˈrʊʃdi/;[1] born 19
June 1947) is a British-Indian novelist and essayist. He achieved notability with his second novel,
Midnight's Children (1981), which won the Booker Prize in 1981. Much of his fiction is set on the Indian
subcontinent. His style is often classified as magical realism mixed with historical fiction, and a dominant
theme of his work is the story of the many connections, disruptions and migrations between the Eastern and
Western worlds.

His fourth novel, The Satanic Verses (1988), was the centre of a major controversy, drawing protests from
Muslims in several countries. Some of the protests were violent, in which death threats were issued to
Rushdie, including a fatwā against him by Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the Supreme Leader of Iran, on
February 24, 1989.

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Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as

Thou Art a poem by John Keats

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever or else swoon to death.

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How doth the little crocodile...

poem by Lewis Carroll
How doth the little crocodile...

How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin

How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!