There’s a great drought in my village. People are dying. The price of rice and pulses has rocketed. There is no water anywhere. And here, people are complaining about the rain...
Renita D'SilvaTag: india women-s-fiction indian-fiction
You are a girl, Shirin. Girls don’t run around naked.’‘Why?’‘They just don’t.
Renita D'SilvaTag: india women-s-fiction indian-fiction
Have you been reading those books that clueless illiterate Duja in charge of the lending library lets you borrow?’ ‘No, Ma.’ ‘Then what put you in mind of devils possessing nuns to take over the church?
Renita D'SilvaTag: humour funny india women-s-fiction indian-fiction
She was a sleuth and sleuths had to follow rules. ‘Get to the point; don’t allow the subject to digress’ was one of them
Renita D'SilvaTag: india women-s-fiction indian-fiction
Ammu's tears made everything that had so far seemed unreal, real.
Arundhati RoyTag: reality real india realness
Suddenly Ammu hoped that it had been him that Rahel saw him in the march. She hoped it had been him that raised his flag and knotted arm in anger. She hoped that under his careful cloak of cheerfulness he housed a living breathing anger against the smug, ordered world that she raged against.
Arundhati RoyTag: rage revolution anger india
If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the Mighty One... I am become Death, the Shatterer of Worlds.
Krishna-Dwaipayana VyasaTag: religion story myth ancient hinduism india hindu fable tale
There was too much opinion in this country, too many sob stories. Nobody wanted to put a lid on anything; everyone wanted to say it all, about everything. If you as much as said hello to someone on a train or a plane, you were in for the unexpurgated memoirs. Nehru in 1947 had declared us a nation finding utterance - but in fifty years the utterance had become a mad clamour, a crazed babble, an unending howl. We were a nation of Scheherzades, afraid we'd die if, for a moment, we shut up. For myself, I'd mastered a face of steel, and an inscrutable nod. It did not always shut everyone up, but it did to some extent dam the ghastly flow.
Tarun J. TejpalTag: indians india indian tarun-tejpal story-of-my-assassins
Back at the Chateau Windsor there was a rat-like scratching at the door of my room. Vinod, the youngest servant, came in with a soda water. He placed it next to the bag of toffees. Then he watched me read. I was used to being observed reading. Sometimes the room would fill like a railway station at rush hour and I would be expected to cure widespread boredom.
Tahir ShahForas Road has a sordid reputation (…) Old crones sat in doorways, while their daughters were pushed out to earn money. It is intriguing that a society which is very covert with sexuality should be so straightforward about prostitution.
Tahir ShahTag: women travel india travel-writing prostitutes gondwana
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