"We can't go in (to the History House) because we've been locked out. And when we look in through the windows, all we see are shadows. And when we try and listen, all we hear is a whispering. And we cannot understand the whispering because our minds have been invaded by a war. A war that we have and lost. The very worst sort of war. A war that captures dreams and re-dreams them. A war that has made us adore our conquerors and despise ourselves."
"In the War of Dreams, ... We are prisoners of War. Our drams have been doctored. We belong nowhere. We sail unanchored on troubled seas. We may never be allowed ashore. Our sorrows will never be sad enough. Our joys never happy enough. Our dreams never big enough. Our lives never important enough. To matter."
"..learned how history negotiates its terms and collects its dues from those who break its laws."
"would watch with dinner-plate eyes as history revealed itself to them in the back verandah".
"emptiness in one twin was only a version of the quietness in the other"
"love laws, that lay down who should be loved, and how. and how much."
"To love by night the man her children loved by day"
what is worse for me is that now I actually understand how transgressive that love was, how despicable and desperate it was. I have class consciousness in me now, that I never had as a child
I can sympathise with the villains now, and look with disdain at people who pretend there is a possibility in these things - hypocrites I call them, blind to their own prejudices. at the love between a jamindar princess and a touring drama actor and dismiss it as a relationship with no possible future.
I worry at this change in myself
first time I read it, I was utterly horrified at the caste unfairness of it all in the book. indignant, found it baffling and preposterous. now... I understand a bit more! that understanding makes me ... sad. terribly sad. is that what growing up means. to grow up into and accept prejudices. to smile with understanding at a child's indignance, but scorn another adult's similar reaction.
Akshaya asked me why do you want to eat the goat aatha. that question. what a question.
"When you recreate the image of man, why repeat God's mistakes?"
His Love. His Madness. His Hope. His Infinite Joy.
Chako's infinite joy was in his daughter and ex wife's return.
Ammu's was in Velutha
Estha and Rahel was in Ammu and each other
all of the above destroyed in one night.
our words have power. power to hurt, ,
"Chako had disappeared and left a monster in his place"
A spoiled puff. with beige pointy shoes
A fountain in a Love in Tokyo
A brown autumn leaf on the back. that made the monsoons come on time.
"The God of Small Things. He left no footprints in the sand, no ripples in water, no image in mirrors."
"It is after all, so easy to shatter a story. To break a chain of thought. to ruin a fragmnet of a dream being carried around carefully like a piece of porcelain. To let it be, to travel with it is much the harder thing to do."
I find myself wondering how the kids could be so familiar with the paralysed man. my horror rises up to block it for me. I wouldn't be happy with my kids playing like that being so familiar with a poor man's hut. I would worry about diseases, uncleanliness. these things trouble me.
"there was only one victim. And he had blood-red nails and a brown leaf on his back that made the monsoons come on time. He left behind a hole in the Universe through which darkness poured like liquid tar. Through which their mother followed without even turning to wave goodbye. She left them behind. spinning in the dark, with no moorings, in a place with no foundation."
her writing is poetry.
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