New York Is A Lovely City. It

Jemu Watched His Father Disappear. He Didn't Throw The Coconut And He Didn't Cry. Never Again Would He Know Love For Another Human Being That Wasn't Adulterated By Another, Contradictory Emotion.

Could Fulfillment Ever Be Felt As Deeply As Loss? Romantically She Decided That Love Must Surely Reside In The Gap Between Desire And Fulfillment, In The Lack, Not The Contentment. Love Was The Ache, The Anticipation, The Retreat, Everything Around It But The Emotion Itself.

The Indian Diaspora Is A Wonderful Place To Write From And I Am Lucky To Be Part Of It.

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

Writing, For Me, Means Humility. It’s A Process That Involves Fear And Doubt, Especially If You’re Writing Honestly.