A Journey Once Begun, Has No End

When He Died, I Went About Like A Ragged Crow Telling Strangers, "my Father Died, My Father Died." My Indiscretion Embarrassed Me, But I Could Not Help It. Without My Father On His Delhi Rooftop, Why Was I Here? Without Him There, Why Should I Go Back? Without That Ache Between Us, What Was I Made Of?

When I Was Growing Up The Publishing World Seemed So Far Away. When My Mother Wrote A Book, She Would Look Up The Address Of Publishers On The Backs Of The Books She Owned And Send Off Her Manuscript.

A Journey Once Begun, Has No End

This Way Of Leaving Your Family For Work Had Condemned Them Over Several Generations To Have Their Hearts Always In Other Places, Their Minds Thinking About People Elsewhere; They Could Never Be In A Single Existence At One Time. How Wonderful It Was Going To Be To Have Things Otherwise.

I Do Think That The Modern India Does Belong To Writers Who Are Living In India.