And With A Last Stardrop, A Last

What Did I Think Of Princeton? Well, The Answer To That Question Requires A Story. When I First Arrived, I Looked Around Me At The Gothic Buildings - Younger, I Later Learned, Than Many Of The Mosques Of This City, But Made Through Acid Treatment And Ingenious Stone-masonry To Look Older.

Some Of My Relatives Held On To Imagined Memories The Way Homeless People Hold Onto Lottery Tickets. Nostalgia Was Their Crack Cocaine, If You Will, And My Childhood Was Littered With The Consequences Of Their Addiction : Unserviceable Debts, Squabbles Over Inheritances, The Odd Alcoholic Or Suicide.

Living In A Place Like Pakistan, Very Often You Meet People Who Are Migrating Abroad. And Sometimes You'll Ask Their Parents, You Know - You Didn't Try To Stop Them? Like, Why Didn't You Say, Don't Go - I'll Miss You? Stay With Me. And, You Know, People Say, Well, It's Best For Them. They Have To Go. And Parents, You Know, Take On That Sadness Because They Know It's Better For Their Children If They Leave.

You're Never Rude,' She Said, Smiling, 'and I Think It's Good To Be Touchy Sometimes. It Means You Care.

Literature Helps Us Transcend Ourselves.