Posted by: Rajesh Shukla | December 27, 2010

Memory was a women on the train.


Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones– a fl eeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper.A mother’s marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of -darkness veiled. Unremembered.

–God of Small Things , Arundhati Roy

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