The tobacco smell reminded him as it always did of his departed father, who would listen with him on his record player to audio recordings of science fiction adventures, and would pack and puff on his...
Every Friday, without fail, Saeed’s father would drive home and collect his son and Saeed would pray with his father and the men, and prayer for him became about being a man, being one of the men, a r...
[...] maintaining a strict neutrality between the two potential combatants, a position that favoured, of course, the larger and [...] more belligerent of them.
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Thus in the end their relationship did in some senses come to resemble that of siblings, in that friendship was its strongest element, and unlike many passions, theirs managed to cool slowly, without...
People often ask me if I am the book’s Pakistani protagonist. I wonder why they never ask if I am his American listener. After all, a novel can often be a divided man’s conversation with himself.
Not—please understand me—that I was convinced that I had made a mistake; no, I was merely unconvinced that I had not made a mistake. I was, in other words, confused.
In quei giorni i funerali erano più semplici e sbrigativi, a causa dei combattimenti. Alcune famiglie non avevano altra scelta che seppellire i propri morti in un cortile o in un punto riparato lungo...
Civilizations are illusions, but these illusions are pervasive, dangerous, and powerful. They contribute to globalization’s brutality. They allow us, for example, to say that we believe in global free...
Stories of evil can be projected on them with as little difficulty as stories of good.
Flying robots from an alien power regularly strike down from the skies and kill Pakistani citizens.
Even if he understood, at some level, that to love is to enter into the inevitability of one day not being able to protect what is most valuable to you.
Writers and readers seek a solution to the problem that time passes, that those who have gone are gone and those who will go, which is to say every one of us, will go. For there was a moment when anyt...
She had bumped me out of the center of my world. I’d become a baby person, and it felt good, better than what had come before.
Ozi made me feel so known. He made love to my insides, filling desperate gaps and calming unbearably sensitive places.
If differences can be hidden, perhaps they aren't differences at all.
I tried not to dwell on the comparison; it was one thing to accept that New York was more wealthy than Lahore, but quite another to swallow the fact that Manila was as well.
Glaring is something we men of Lahore take seriously...
But what you do sense, what is unmistakable, is a rising tide of frustration and anger and violence, born partly of the greater familiarity the poor today have with the rich, their faces pressed to th...
But in his devotions was ever more devotion, and towards her it seemed there was ever less.
