Life is elsewhere. Cross frontiers. Fly away.

One of the things I've thought about 'Midnight's Children' is that it is a novel which puts a Muslim family at the centre of the Indian experience.

Abraham Zogoiby covered his face that night in August 1939 because he had been assailed by fear, [...] a sudden apprehension that the ugliness of life might defeat its beauty; that love did not make lovers invulnerable. Nevertheless, he thought, even if the world's beauty and love were on the edge of destruction, theirs would still be the only side to be on; defeated love would still be love, hate's victory would not make it other than it was.

Perhaps the story you finish is never the one you begin.

I've never yet managed to write a novel which didn't have an Indian central character.

You never know the answers to the questions of life until you are asked.

I do not need the idea of God to explain the world I live in.