...there was another, gorier parturition, when two nations incarnated out of one. A foreigner drew a magic line on a map and called it the new border; it became a river of blood upon the earth. And the orchards, fields, factories, businesses, all on the wrong side of that line, vanished with a wave of the pale conjuror's wand.

He who spits paan at the ceiling only blinds himself.

Where humans are concerned, the only emotion that made sense was wonder, at their ability to endure.

In the broad sense, as a processing of everything one hears or witnesses, all fiction is autobiographical - imagination ground through the mill of memory. It's impossible to separate the two ingredients.

Black money is so much a part of our white economy, a tumour in the centre of the brain - try to remove it and you kill the patient.

...you have to use your failures as stepping stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair. In the end it’s all a question of balance.

In foreign countries they fear baldness. They are so rich in foreign countries, they can afford to fear all kinds of silly things.