It’s amazing how close I have been, all this time, to my old life. And yet the distance that divides me from it is vast.

It took me most of my childhood to realize that traditions have infinite power over us.-MUKTA

9 November 1989. A day nobody would forget. She had heard rumours about the wall.

He was a shadow of the man that once intimidated us out of our home, a shell of a human being, a fragment of a father.

Montag, os velhos que ficam em casa, receosos, cuidando de seus ossos quebradiços como casca de amendoim, não têm nenhum direito de criticar.

She let her mind drift, thinking about new lingerie designs, wishing she’d brought along her sketchpad. Inspiration could strike at the most inconvenient times–in the shower, in the car, on this road–but she was grateful...

Asif Ali maneuvers the gleaming Mercedes down the labyrinthine lanes of Old Kolkata with consummate skill, but his passengers do not notice how smoothly he avoids potholes, cows and beggars, how skilfully he sails through...

If loving the written word is wrong…I don’t want to be right!

Despite their macabre imaginations, they don’t believe the things they say, all those things about magic and fantômes. But I do. I know he lingers. I’ve heard his voice, soft as a lover’s whisper.

You know what people are doing on the other side of the world, what’s happening on another planet, but not what’s going on inside the person next to you.

It was the sunlight coming through the window that woke Alex up; mother nature’s own alarm clock rudely snapped him back to consciousness. The white light poured in so arrogantly that it was too much...

I had a dream. In the dream someone was critical of my newest novel The Snail’s Castle. I said, “don’t worry about it. If you don’t like it, just throw it out the window.” I...

Sifting through scattered memories is like sifting through sand. Some remain, some simply slipaway…– TARA

As the sun lowered into the city’s skyline, casting an orange glow over the islands, Jana could feel people’s hopes rising.

So you’re the little smart ass from Poleglass.”I wanted to point out he sounded like Dr. Seuss but bit my lip and remembered the warning the old lady gave me.

Just read The Virtue of Minding Your Own Business. Oh my, what currents run deep! Beautifully seen, beautifully told. Praise praise praise . . . Pardon my French, but you are one darn major American...