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Wealth of Words

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Amit Kalantri

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“It has taken almost half my life away from Ireland for me to truly feel what home really is, and it is not what I was expecting. In the end it was not a place, or a past, or any sort of single, dazzling epiphany. It was all the little things. Cold butter spread thick on sweet wheaten bread or hot, subsiding potatoes; the scent of wet, black soil; a bushy spine of grass on a one-track road; wide iron gates leading to high beech corridors; the chalky smell of a cow's wet muzzle, and, most of all, in Seamus Heaney's words, the sound of rivers in the trees.”

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Book:Home: Recipes from Ireland
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“You can take the Indian out of the family, but you cannot take the family out of the Indian.”

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Book:Wealth of Words
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“It has taken almost half my life away from Ireland for me to truly feel what home really is, and it is not what I was expecting. In the end it was not a place, or a past, or any sort of single, dazzling epiphany. It was all the little things. Cold butter spread thick on sweet wheaten bread or hot, subsiding potatoes; the scent of wet, black soil; a bushy spine of grass on a one-track road; wife iron gates leading to high beech corridors; the chalky smell of a cow's wet muzzle, and, most of all, in Seamus Heaney's words, the sound of rivers in the trees.”

HomeIdentityFoodIreland
Book:Home: Recipes from Ireland
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“At its core, the collection is built around a very wise line from a Beatles song: I want to hold your hand. I want to hold your hand with no further expectations. I want to hold your hand instead of telling you I understand when I don’t. I want to hold your hand although we don’t always get along. I want to hold your hand despite the calluses, scratches, and scars that get in the way. I want to hold your hand knowing I’ll have to let it go one day.”

LoveHomeFoodExpectationsScratchesScarsExpiredCallusesDatedExpired ThingsPoetry Singapore Literature
Book:We Were Always Eating Expired Things
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“So how long do I have before—what were their names? Carl and Rosa? Yeah, that’s them. How long do I have before they come back?” “I don’t know. Maybe...maybe an hour or so?” My hands felt incredibly small in his. That lopsided grin was back. “I doubt they’d be happy to find me here.” “Why?” His brows rose. “Maybe I’m wrong. They used to coming home to find some strange guy sitting on their couch?” I rolled my eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Rider tugged on my hands, and I rose, letting him pull me down to the couch beside him. He leaned back, sliding one arm around my shoulders and tucking me against his side. “Just par for the course with you, huh?” I didn’t know what to do with my hands since he’d let go of them, so I folded them in my lap. “I’ve never had a...guy here.” Rider stiffened and then he twisted his neck so he was looking at me. Did I seriously admit that out loud? Squeezing my eyes shut, I sighed. “I’m just...going to shut up now.” He chuckled. “Don’t do that. I like listening to you talk.”

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Book:The Problem with Forever
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