Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Mohsin Hamid

Quote by Mohsin Hamid

“...not one of these worthy restaurateurs would consider placing a western dish on his menu. No, we are surrounded instead by the kebab of mutton, the tikka of chicken, the stewed foot of goat, the spiced brain of sheep! These, sir, are predatory delicacies, delicacies imbued with a hint of luxury, of wanton abandon. Not for us the vegetarian recipes one finds across the border to the east, nor the sanitized, sterilized, processed meats so common in your homeland! Here we are not squeamish when it comes to facing the consequences of our desire.”

Quote by Mohsin Hamid

Book:The Reluctant Fundamentalist
Create image

Work

The Reluctant Fundamentalist

In this thought-provoking novel, the protagonist, a successful Pakistani businessman living in the United States, finds himself at the center of a shifting political landscape following the September 11 attacks. The story unfolds through a series of conversations with a mysterious American at a Lahore café, as the protagonist reflects on his journey from a life of assimilation to one of alienation and resistance. The novel delves into the challenges of maintaining cultural identity in a changing world and the impact of political events on individual lives. more

Author

Mohsin Hamid
Mohsin Hamid

Mohsin Hamid is a Pakistani-British writer born in Karachi in 1971. His works often explore themes of globalization, identity, and modernity. Hamid's debut novel, 'The Reluctant Fundamentalist,' published in 2001, received widespread acclaim and earned him numerous awards. His other notable works include 'How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia' and 'The Reluctant Fundamentalist'. more

You May Also Like

“/A weekend toward the end of September, the bell above the door rang and there he was in the shop. Same old feeling in my guts. I’ll go if you want me to, he said. I smiled, I was so fucking happy to see him. You’ve only just got here, you twat, I said. Now give us a hand with this, and he took the other end of the trestle table and moved it over to the wall. Pub? I said. He grinned. And before I could say anything else he put his arms around me. And everything he couldn’t say in our room in France was said in that moment. I know, I said. I know. I’d already accepted I wasn’t the key to unlock him. She’d come later. It took a while to acknowledge the repercussions of that time. How the numbness in my fingertips traveled to my heart and I never even knew it. I had crushes, I had lovers, I had orgasms. My trilogy of desire, I liked to call it, but I’d no great love after him, not really. Love and sex became separated by a wide river and one the ferryman refused to cross. The psychiatrist liked that analogy. I watched him write it down. Chuckle, chuckle, his pen across the page.”

Unrequited LoveLife ChoicesOld Lovers
Book:Tin Man
Create image

“The sexual license prevalent among {the} Sixties generation was deplorable, but no more so than predatory Capitalism, with cruel slums alongsideabsurd affluence: affluence which paid for...depictions of the Holy Family as a form of expiation. Love was the basis for what he believed. Promiscuity certainly violated that polestar, yet caring for others, even in "fooling around"--which was not to justify it--topped dog-eat-dog Capitalism.”

MoralityLove Trumps HateCatholic Workers Theology
Book:In the Country of the Blind
Create image

“Maar je ziet het als je oefent. Je contouren die dunner worden, je silhouet dat vervaagt. Je bent nog niet helemaal verdwenen. Dat duurt een hele poos. Jaren. Maar je verdwijnt. Je verdwijnt voor jezelf, wordt een ander, elke dag. Je bent niet wie je ooit was. De microscopisch kleine cellen die je gezicht vormen op de foto die je ouders in de kamer hebben hangen, zijn weg, vervangen door nieuwe. Je bent niet meer wie je was. Maar ik ben er nog wel, de atomen wisselen van plek. Zo is het ook met de mensen van wie je houdt. Met bijna stilstaande snelheid verkruimelen ze in je armen en je zou willen dat je je aan iets bestendigs in hen kon vastklampen, hun skelet, hun tanden kon vastpakken, de hersencellen, maar dat kun je niet, want bijna alles is water en het heeft geen zin dat vast te houden. Alle sporen verdwijnen, stukje bij beetje. En later verdwijnen de sporen die ze hebben achtergelaten, het huis waarin ze woonden, de tekeningen die ze voor je maakten, de woorden die ze op briefjes schreven. De herinneringen waarmee je achterblijft zullen uiteindelijk ook loslaten, als oud behang, en mettertijd zal het niet meer mogelijk zijn om antwoord te geven op de vraag of er op deze planeet aan de rand van dit perifere zonnestelsel ooit leven is geweest.”

Transientness Of LifeTransiency
Book:Buzz Aldrin, waar ben je gebleven?
Create image