He who spits paan at the ceiling only blinds himself.

All fiction relies on the real world in the sense that we all take in the world through our five senses and we accumulate details, consciously or subconsciously. This accumulation of detail can be drawn on when you write fiction.

…God is a giant quiltmaker. With an infinite variety of designs. And the quilt is grown so big and confusing, the pattern is impossible to see, the squares and diamonds and triangles don’t fit well together anymore, it’s all become meaningless. So He has abandoned it.

I think a lot about the past, it's true. But at my age, the past is more present than the here and now. And there is not much percentage in the future.

How can time be long or short? Time is without length or breadth. The question is, what happened during its passing. And what happened is, our lives have been joined together.

He who spits paan at the ceiling only blinds himself.

The worst part of great poverty is that you become blind to it.