Sadness Was So Claustrophobic.

New York Is A Lovely City. It Is An Easy City To Go Back To And An Easy City To Leave. Every Time I Go There I Immediately Make Travel Plans.

The Publishing World Is Very Timid. Readers Are Much Braver.

When I Was Growing Up The Publishing World Seemed So Far Away. When My Mother Wrote A Book, She Would Look Up The Address Of Publishers On The Backs Of The Books She Owned And Send Off Her Manuscript.

When He Died, I Went About Like A Ragged Crow Telling Strangers, "my Father Died, My Father Died." My Indiscretion Embarrassed Me, But I Could Not Help It. Without My Father On His Delhi Rooftop, Why Was I Here? Without Him There, Why Should I Go Back? Without That Ache Between Us, What Was I Made Of?

I Do Think That The Modern India Does Belong To Writers Who Are Living In India.