Dr. Grant was right, the feeling no longer swallows her. Bela lives on its periphery, she takes it in at a distance. The way her grandmother, sitting on a terrace in Tollygunge, used to spend her days...
From the beginnings of literature, poets and writers have based their narratives on crossing borders, on wandering, on exile, on encounters beyond the familiar. The stranger is an archetype in epic po...
In graduate school, I decide to write my doctoral thesis on how Italian architecture influenced English playwrights of the seventeenth century. I wonder why certain playwrights decided to set their tr...
With children the clock is reset. We forget what came before
They were all like siblings, Mr. Kapasi thought as they passed a row of date trees. Mr. and Mrs. Das behaved like an older brother and sister, not parents.
Glowing screens, increasingly foldable, portable, companionable, anticipating any possible question the human brain might generate.
And yet she didn't want to kill herself. She loved the world too much, and people. She loved taking long walks in the late afternoon, and observing her surroundings. She loved the green of the sea, th...
And yet she could not forgive herself. Even as an adult, she wished only that she could go back and change things: the ungainly things she’d worn, the insecurity she’d felt, all the innocent mistakes...
I don't know why, but the older I get the more interested I get in my parents' marriage. And it's interesting to be married yourself, too, because there is an inevitable comparison.
The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that a cover is a sort of translation, that is, an interpretation of my words in another language -- a visual one. It represents the text, but isn't...
Nor was her love for Udayan recognizable or intact. Anger was always mounted to it, zigzagging through her like some helplessly mating pair of insects. Anger at him for dying when he might have lived....
It is the goddess Kali, Mrs. Dixit explained brightly,
In the face of everything that seems to me unattainable, I marvel. Without a sense of marvel at things, without wonder, one can't create anything.
In the days that follow, he begins to remember things about Moushumi, images that come to him without warning while he is sitting at his desk at work, or during a meeting, or drifting off to sleep, or...
Immersing herself in a third language, a third culture, had been her refuge—she approached French, unlike things American or Indian, without guilt, or misgiving, or expectation of any kind. It was eas...
I owed the greater apology, but at the same time I knew that was done was done, that no matter what I said now I would never be able to make it right.
Something happened when the house was dark. They were able to talk to each other again. The
So that she began to see herself more clearly, as a thin film of dust was wiped from a sheet of glass.
Não entendo. Como vocês foram capazes de me dar o nome de uma pessoa tão estranha? Ninguém me leva a sério, disse Gógol. Quem? Quem não te leva a sério?, o pai quis saber, levantando os dedos do prato...
My grandfather always says that's what books are for. To travel without moving an inch.