No Fruit Dies So Vile And Offensive

New York Is A Lovely City. It Is An Easy City To Go Back To And An Easy City To Leave. Every Time I Go There I Immediately Make Travel Plans.

The Present Changes The Past. Looking Back You Do Not Find What You Left Behind.

Sadness Was So Claustrophobic.

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

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?