He Who Spits Paan At The Ceiling

Everyone Underestimates Their Own Life. Funny Thing Is, In The End, All Our Stories...they're The Same. In Fact, No Matter Where You Go In The World, There Is Only One Important Story: Of Youth, Loss And Yearning For Redemption. So We Tell The Same Story, Over And Over. Only The Details Are Different.

Birth And Death - What Could Be More Monstrous Than That? We Like To Deceive Ourselves And Call It Wondrous And Beautiful And Majestic, But It's Freakish, Let's Face It.

...there Was Another, Gorier Parturition, When Two Nations Incarnated Out Of One. A Foreigner Drew A Magic Line On A Map And Called It The New Border; It Became A River Of Blood Upon The Earth. And The Orchards, Fields, Factories, Businesses, All On The Wrong Side Of That Line, Vanished With A Wave Of The Pale Conjuror's Wand.

What An Unreliable Thing Is Time--when I Want It To Fly, The Hours Stick To Me Like Glue. And What A Changeable Thing, Too. Time Is The Twine To Tie Our Lives Into Parcels Of Years And Months. Or A Rubber Band Stretched To Suit Our Fancy. Time Can Be The Pretty Ribbon In A Little Girl's Hair. Or The Lines In Your Face, Stealing Your Youthful Colour And Your Hair. .... But In The End, Time Is A Noose Around The Neck, Strangling Slowly.

In The End, It’s All A Question Of Balance.