How can I forgive if you are not ready to give up that which caused you to stumble?

Fenugreek, Tuesday's spice, when the air is green like mosses after rain.

Tomorrow is another day. I've got plenty of things to worry about right now.

Once I heard my mother say that each of us lives in a separate universe, one we have dreamed into being. We love pople when their dream coincides with ours, the way two cutout designs laid one on top of the other might match. But dream worlds are not static like cutouts; sooner or later they change shape, leading to misunderstanding, loneliness and loss of love.

After the fire, when I'd tried to express my gratitude for their kindness to our customers, they'd been awkward, uncomfortable. My father had had to explain to me that giving thanks is not a common practice in India. 'Then how do you know if people appreciated what you did?' I'd asked. 'Do you really need to know?' my father had asked back.

I guess there's a lot we hope for that never happens.

Or is this how humans survive, shrugging off history, immersing themselves in the moment?