A Journey Once Begun, Has No End

Saeed Quickly Found Employment At A Banana Republic, Where He Would Sell To Urban Sophisticates The Black Turtleneck Of The Season, In A Shop Whose Name Was Synonymous With Colonial Exploitation And The Rapacious Ruin Of The Third World.

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

If You Write A Lovely Story About India, You're Criticized For Selling An Exotic Version Of India. And If You Write Critically About India, You're Seen As Portraying It In A Negative Light - It Also Seems To Be A Popular Way To Present India, Sort Of Mangoes And Beggars.

Sadness Was So Claustrophobic.

You Lived Intensely With Others, Only To Have Them Disappear Overnight, Since The Shadow Class Was Condemned To Movement. The Men Left For Other Jobs, Towns, Got Deported, Returned Home, Changed Names. Sometimes Someone Came Popping Around A Corner Again, Or On The Subway Then They Vanished Again. Addresses, Phone Numbers Did Not Hold. The Emptiness Biju Felt Returned To Him Over And Over, Until Eventually He Made Sure Not To Let Friendships Sink Deep Anymore.