In the end, it’s all a question of balance.

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.

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.

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.

Time had changed the magical to mundane

There was no such thing as perfect privacy, life was a perpetual concert-hall recital with a captive audience.

What an unreliable thing is time--when I want it to fly, the hours stick to me like glue. And what a changeable thing, too. Time is the twine to tie our lives into parcels of years and months. Or a rubber band stretched to suit our fancy. Time can be the pretty ribbon in a little girl's hair. Or the lines in your face, stealing your youthful colour and your hair. .... But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.