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“In your name, the family name is at last because it's the family name that lasts.”

“If a guy has a thing for black women - jungle fever. If a guy has a thing for asian women - yellow fever. If a guy has a thing for indian women - curry craving. Is there a term for having a thing for white women? What about latina woman? For white women: Calcium deficiency? White delight? Snowburn? Mayo madness? Reverse-colonialism? Racism? The other white meat? Empanada ecstacy? Guacamole grip? Tostones temptation? Arepa amor? Cafe con leche? A taste for churros? Sofrito satisfaction? Cortez' revenge? Catholocism? Arroz con pussy? Chile con culo?”

“If he slept, he dreamt of the woman with the icy white irises. She exploded planes, swallowed oceans and crumpled skies in her palm in his dreams. Sometimes she and the green-eyed girl were one. At other times, the green-eyed girl was alone, a gaping hole where her heart should have been. At all times he could hear the woman’s cold, low laughter. It swept across his consciousness like a hailstorm. When he woke up, he thought he was going mad.”

“रघुवर प्रसाद का आकाश देखना रघुवर प्रसाद का चिठ्ठी लिखना होगा। चंद्रमा सोनसी के लिए लिखा हुआ संबोधन होगा। तारो की लिपि होगी जिसे तत्काल सोनसी पढ़ लेगी। रघुवर प्रसाद कसौटी के पत्थर पर लेटकर एक बड़ा आकाश देखेंगे। बड़ा आकाश लंबी चिठ्ठी होगी। सोनसी खिड़की से छोटा आकाश देखेगी तो छोटी चिठ्ठी होगी। आकाश एक दूसरे को लिखी चिठ्ठी होगी। दरवाजा खोलकर आकाश देख लेते थे, सोनसी की चिठ्ठी है। सोनसी भी देख लेती होगी की रघुवर प्रसाद की चिठ्ठी है। कभी आकाश में बहुत सारे तारे होते। कभी इक्के दुक्के दिखाई देते। इक्के दुक्के तारों का आकाश लिखने का समय नही मिला जैसा या थोड़ी थोड़ी लिखी जा रही चिठ्ठी जैसा था।”

“You can take the Indian out of the family, but you cannot take the family out of the Indian.”

“Sri Krishna said: Arjuna, when one thoroughly casts off all cravings of the mind, and is satisfied in the Self through the joy of the Self, he is then called stable of mind. ( Chapter- II, Shloka- 55)”

“Gulab jamun, am I right?" Puffy Fay asked with his mouth full. "The inspiration for this cupcake?" Vik nodded. "A friend once told me she loved to take her favorite desserts and make them into something else." He glanced at me briefly. Gulab jamun. I'd had it plenty of times in India. Creamy fried dumplings soaked in a sugar syrup, flavored with cardamom and- "Rosewater," said Puffy Fay, "can be a tricky ingredient. But-" he smacked his lips- "you've done an excellent job. And you somehow managed to mimic the flavor of that very sweet dessert without making your cupcake too sweet. Fascinating." "I coated rose petals in sugar and salt," said Vik. "Sugar for laughter, and salt for tears.”

“A JEWELRY STORE NAMED INDIA If you hold this Dazzling emerald Up to the sky, It will shine a billion Beautiful miracles Painted from the tears Of the Most High. Plucked from the lush gardens Of a yellowish-green paradise, Look inside this hypnotic gem And a kaleidoscope of Titillating, Soul-raising Sights and colors Will tease and seduce Your eyes and mind. Tell me, sir. Have you ever heard A peacock sing? Hold your ear To this mystical stone And you will hear Sacred hymns flowing To the vibrations Of the perfumed Wind.”

“The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it: The moon is within me, and so is the sun. The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it. So long as man clamors for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught: When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done. For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge: When that comes, then work is put away. The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers. The musk is in the deer, but is seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass.”

“I had once thought that I came from a line of Gods, and I had punished myself for failing to be Godlike. But we were not Gods, and I was not the avatar for our family’s unraveling. I was just another product of inherited trauma, unresolved grief, and reactive survival mechanisms, like everyone else who came before me. We were mortals who felt ashamed when we failed to appear omnipotent.”

“Would you like to come in?" I said. My hands were sweaty. Inside my chest an ocean heaved and crashed and heaved again. "I would," he said. I saw his Adam's apple jerk as he swallowed. "Thank you." I was distracted by that thank you. We had moved past the language of formality long ago. It was strange to relearn it with each other.”

“Like numerous river-currents that rush towards the one ocean, those heroes of the world of men enter your flaming mouths; like moths that fly ever faster to destroy themselves in a blazing flame, the worlds hurry ever faster to their destruction in your mouths. With your flaming jaws you lap up complete worlds and devour them whole; your terrible splendours fill the entire universe with fiery energy till it is scorched, O Vishnu.”

“...But the Mahommedan religion increases, instead of lessening, the fury of intolerance. It was originally propagated by the sword, and ever since, its votaries have been subject, above the people of all other creeds, to this form of madness. In a moment the fruits of patient toil, the prospects of material prosperity, the fear of death itself, are flung aside. The more emotional Pathans are powerless to resist. All rational considerations are forgotten. Seizing their weapons, they become Ghazis—as dangerous and as sensible as mad dogs: fit only to be treated as such. While the more generous spirits among the tribesmen become convulsed in an ecstasy of religious bloodthirstiness, poorer and more material souls derive additional impulses from the influence of others, the hopes of plunder and the joy of fighting. Thus whole nations are roused to arms. Thus the Turks repel their enemies, the Arabs of the Soudan break the British squares, and the rising on the Indian frontier spreads far and wide. In each case civilisation is confronted with militant Mahommedanism. The forces of progress clash with those of reaction. The religion of blood and war is face to face with that of peace.”

“From anger arises delusion; from delusion, confusion of memory; from confusion of memory, loss of reason; and from loss of reason one goes to complete ruin. ( Chapter- II, Shloka- 63)”

“People worship god. I worship this separation from you. It is worth Haj to a hundred Meccas, This separation from you. People say I am as brilliant as the sun, They say I am famous. What a fire it has lit in me, This separation from you. Behind me is my shadow, Ahead, is my darkness. I fear that it might leave me, This separation from you. No taint of the body is in it, Nor litter of the mind, All has been winnowed out, By this separation from you. When sorrow comes, bringing with it Loneliness and pain, I pull it close to me, This separation from you. Sometimes it colors my words Sometimes it weaves through my songs, It has taught me great deal, This separation from you. When sorrow, defeated, fell at my feet, Amazed at my fidelity, The world came out to see This separation from you. Love earned me fame. People flocked to praise me. It wept in my embrace, This separation from you. The world turned out to tell me, That I had been unwise. It sat me on a throne today This separation from you.”

“Time to cut the cake, newlyweds." Caroline ushers us over to the sweet little two-tier cake, round and covered in white fondant with what appear to be traditional henna tattoo patterns drawn on it in pale gold. We take the mother-of-pearl-handled knife, apparently the one Caroline and Carl used at their wedding, and, his hand on mine, cut a small slice. We feed each other a generous bite, marveling at the tender almond cake with the poached apricots and white chocolate mousse, light-as-air buttercream scented with vanilla and orange blossom water.”