I am the luckiest novelist in the world. I was a first-time novelist who wasn't awash in rejection slips, whose manuscript didn't disappear in slush piles. I have had a wonderful time.

Indian writers have appropriated English as an Indian language, and that gives a certain freshness to the way we write.

The brain is not an organ we are authorized to use. We are supposed to use only our hands and legs.

God made the human body like a machine with built-in obsolescence.

...a rainy day ceases to have meaning for a person who has lived in the open under a monsoon cloud most of his life.

I wonder what it feels like to have no desires left because you have satisfied them all, smothered them with money even before they are born. Is an existence without desire very desirable? And is the poverty of desire better than rank poverty itself?

I am not into the unrealistic realm of magic realism where birds talk.