I’ve Lived In Several Countries And Been

India's Great Economic Boom, The Arrival Of The Internet And Outsourcing, Have Broken The Wall Between Provincial India And The World.

You Can't Expect A Man In A Dung Heap To Smell Sweet.

Strange Thoughts Brew In Your Heart When You Spend Too Much Time With Old Books

If Only A Man Could Spit His Past Out So Easily.

A Rich Man's Body Is Like A Premium Cotton Pillow, White And Soft And Blank. ''ours'' Is Different. My Father's Spine Was A Knotted Rope, The Kind That Women Use In Villages To Pull Water From Wells; The Clavicle Curved Around His Neck In High Relief, Like A Dog's Collar; Cuts And Nicks And Scars, Like Little Whip Marks In His Flesh, Ran Down His Chest And Waist, Reaching Down Below His Hip Bones Into His Buttocks. The Story Of A Poor Man's Life Is Written On His Body, In A Sharp Pen.