He Who Spits Paan At The Ceiling

...there Was Another, Gorier Parturition, When Two Nations Incarnated Out Of One. A Foreigner Drew A Magic Line On A Map And Called It The New Border; It Became A River Of Blood Upon The Earth. And The Orchards, Fields, Factories, Businesses, All On The Wrong Side Of That Line, Vanished With A Wave Of The Pale Conjuror's Wand.

...the Face Has Limited Space. My Mother Used To Say, If You Fill Your Face With Laughing, There Will Be No More Room For Crying.

He Who Spits Paan At The Ceiling Only Blinds Himself.

But Nobody Ever Forgot Anything, Not Really, Though Sometimes They Pretended, When It Suited Them. Memories Were Permanent. Sorrowful Ones Remained Sad Even With The Passing Of Time, Yet Happy Ones Could Never Be Recreated - Not With The Same Joy. Remembering Bred Its Own Peculiar Sorrow. It Seemed So Unfair: That Time Should Render Both Sadness And Happiness Into A Source Of Pain.

Children Don't Make Judgments About Which Details Are Important... A Child Captures Them All.