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"I have known music to be her timeless reverberation in a forlorn corner of my soul; just when life was closing down upon me with its pangs of haunting silence."
"Hope is the point the 'world within' comes to an equilibrium with the 'world around'."
"The cold that my body feels can be comforted by pullovers of our choices.
It is the winter that comes back each year, inevitably; is how we are connected on the face of time. A sweet suffering of forever..."
"My poverty, I know, was glamorous because trading you, my love, for a better life is outright heinous."
"Love was the day when she drank and I felt quenched."
"Life, ever since, had been one gripping tale. Your happening gave it a genre."
"Want is the soul's desire. Need, the mind's crave. Love, thus, I believe, is a bit of both."
"Art is how you lie to the world without ever feeling sinned."
"Sorrow is true and beyond the powers of healing, when you can taste the oceans on your lips."
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A FATEFUL MEMOIR - Part 1
(Based on incidents post Indira
Gandhi’s assassination)
2nd November 1984
Little Mehran
sat frightened behind the thick Sal trunk, the flat top of which still wet with
the morning trade. Pieces of flesh lying in puddles of blood and long, flat
knives, the edges of which yellow with the fat tissues occupy the surface. The
woody brown texture of the trunk slightly dark with the soaking of the goat
blood through the crevasses made by the steel chopper, every time it came down
on it through the meat.
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