You kindled hope in me. Now fill my cups.

The texts we were working with were profoundly unstable.

Until recently, the tribal literature created in non-mainstream languages has not been very recognized or available for an Indian or global audience.

Who is Italian, what is the Italian language, and who deserves to write in it?

He was fascinated with India: I represented its Italian branch, easily accessible.

“I gallop in English, I am a towering dervish in Urdu, and Hindi is my Kama Sutra. I am still on all fours in Italian.”

So changing landscapes are also about changing identities.

“Ayya won’t come to school on his bicycle anymore from now on, it seems, da.”

Someone had left the corpse on the bicycle.

“As if you have to ask that low-caste boy’s permission in order to see your own mother!”

Though married, I practice celibacy very strictly.

The wretch was standing there / in a Che Guevara T-shirt and sunglasses—

The only thing that I lack is a single letter from you.

Along the highways / of a refugee’s life / snapshots of childhood memories / hang:

I thought just speaking to Nathan was like participating in a revolution.

It was not possible to think of the youth’s transgression as accidental.

Fear depends on the mind; / the mind depends on experience.

It is likely that in the folktales preserved in the Sindhi language, we can find the structures and traces of the earliest stories from the Indus Valley Civilization.

“I am the Great Lord Pabori, who eats the roast of seven lions!”

“I was a fool. I will die and you will live. Return to our young now!”

The cat said, “If I fetch him from down here, what will you give me?”

The queer world is shaking.

What do we do? Do we kidnap children?

These sciences were used in different combinations to create magic.

He had three names: Majeeta, Majeed and Ma'i Dada

The enormous weight of three hundred and sixty-five days once again slips from my hand and falls down into the dark cavern of the past.

Cropless the fields, childless the wives, day after day an emptiness—no rain.

A paper kite, black with yellow stripes, dangled from the branches of the gulmohur tree, and a flock of agitated crows flew around it cawing. Some went in perilously close, others hopped restlessly on…

Like mosquitoes, the courtiers didn't need to find any excuse to bite.

The dry belly of the earth became green with their wheat and fennel, mustard, cumin, and fenugreek.

This lunatic's name was Bashan Singh, but everyone called him Toba Tek Singh.

He is said to be now looking for an American wife. Uncle, for God's sake help him there so that he can be saved from a sorry end.