She had lived in that house fourteen years, and every year she had demanded of John that she be given a pet of some strange exotic breed. Not that she did not have enough animals. She had collected several wild and broken animals that, in a way, had become exotic by their breaking. Their roof would have collapsed from the number of birds who might have lived there if the desert hadn't killed three- quarters of those that tried to cross it. Still every animal that came within a certain radius of that house was given a welcome-the tame, the half born, the wild, the wounded.
Michael OndaatjeGitha Hariharan's fiction is wonderful-full of subtleties and humor and tenderness.
Michael OndaatjeOnce I've discovered the story, I might restructure it, maybe move things around, set up a clue that something is going to happen later, but that happens much later in an editorial capacity.
Michael OndaatjeHe will hear the rain before he feels it, a clicking on the dry grass, on the olive leaves.
Michael Ondaatje