|
e20061a
|
The wheel turns and turns and turns: it never stops and stands still.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
538c3da
|
People stop, stare. No one stop and stare if one of your own beggars drop dead in street. No just step over him like he is a stone, or a dog turd and go away quickly. But when they see a white man with golden hair lying on the street, everyone stop, everyone cry, "Hai - hai, - poor boy, call doctor, call ambulance. What has happen, Farrokh-bhai?"..." - Farrokh said to Baumgartner when he wanted to get rid of the reluctant, overly drugged ho..
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
da65f38
|
Although it was shadowy and dark, Bim could see as well as by the clear light of day that she felt only love and yearning for them all, and if there were hurts, these gashes in her side that bled, then it was only because her love was imperfect and did not encompass them thoroughly enough, and because it had flaws and inadequacies and did not extend to all equally.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
ca9979d
|
The bougainvillea hung about it, purple and magenta, in livid balloons.
|
|
bougainvillea
games-at-twilight
magenta
purple
flowers
|
Anita Desai |
|
f480801
|
Greenness hangs, drips and sways from every branch and twig and frond in the surging luxuriance of July.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
061090b
|
At first she mistook them for sheets of pink crepe paper that someone had crumpled and carelessly flung down the hillside, perhaps after another astonishing party at the club. A moment later she remembered her great-grandmother's words and saw that they were hosts of wild pink zephyranthes that had come up in the night after the first fall of rain.
|
|
nature
|
Anita Desai |
|
4ad54ef
|
Quick, nervy and jumpy -yet to the children she was as constant as a staff, a tree that can be counted on not to pull up its root and shift in the night. She was the tree that grew in the centre of their lives and in whose shade they lived.
|
|
care-taker
center
|
Anita Desai |
|
7cc89e0
|
It seemed to her that the dullness and the boredom of her childhood, her youth, were stored here in the room under the worn dusty red rugs, in the bloated brassware, amongst the dried grasses in the swollen vases, behind the yellowed photographs in the oval frames-everything, everything that she had so hated as a child and that was still preserved here as if this were the storeroom of some dull, uninviting provincial museum.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
7229842
|
The room rang with her voice, then with silence. In the shaded darkness, silence had the quality of a looming dragon. It seemed to roar and the roar to reverberate, to dominate. To escape from it would require a burst of recklessness, even cruelty.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
b9ff637
|
Now I understand why you do not wish to marry. You have dedicated your life to others -- to your sick brother and your aged aunt and your little brother who will be dependent on you all his life. You have sacrificed your own life for them.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
0f4a74b
|
Her eyes opened at this sight against her will and she looked around the room almost in fear. But it was dark and shadowy, shaded by the bamboo screen at the door, the damp rush mats at the windows, the old heavy curtains and the spotted, peeling walls, and in their shade she saw how she loved him, loved Raja and Tara and all of them who had lived in this house with her. There could be no love more deep and full and wide than this one, she ..
|
|
love
home
|
Anita Desai |
|
21f5989
|
It was as if the curtains came down on all this, if not entirely obliterated it, when the monsoon rose up in the thunderous clouds from the parched valley below to engulf the hills, invade them with the opaque mist in which a pine tree or a mountain top appeared only intermittently, and then unleashed a downpour that brought Ravi's rambling to a halt and confined him to the house for days at a time, deafened by the rain drumming on the roof..
|
|
monsoon
weather
|
Anita Desai |
|
4d46984
|
Only their efforts to make him talk failed. he would say one word at a time, if pressed, but seemed happier not to and could not be made to repeat a whole line. Gradually, as his family learnt how to anticipate his few needs and how to respond, they ceased to notice his silence -his manner of communication seemed full and rich enough to them: he no more needed to converse than Aunt Mira's cat did.
|
|
silence
silence-communication
silence-speaks
|
Anita Desai |
|
dd7546a
|
There was no one to whom he could explain that in order to survive he needed to be at altitude, a Himalayan altitude, so he might breathe.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
1455a74
|
Although it was shadowy and dark, Bim could see as well as by the clear light of day that she felt only love and yearning for them all, and if there were hurts, these gashes and wounds in her side that bled, then it was only because her love was imperfect and did not encompass them thoroughly enough, and because it had flaws and inadequacies and did not extend to all equally. ... All these would have to be mended, these rents and tears, and..
|
|
love
|
Anita Desai |
|
22c3529
|
With her inner eye she saw how her own house and its particular history linked and contained her as well as her whole family with all their separate histories and experiences -- not binding them within some dead and airless cell but giving them the soil in which to send down their roots, and food to make them grow and spread, reach out to new experiences and new lives, but always drawing from the same soil, the same secret darkness. That so..
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
059701c
|
hoarse
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
233ed6c
|
Old Delhi does not change. It only decays. My students tell me it is a great cemetery, every house a tomb. Nothing but sleeping graves. Now [i]New[/i] Delhi, they say is different. That is where things happen. The way they describe it, it sounds like a nest of fleas. So much happens there, it must be a jumping place. I never go. Baba never goes. And here, here nothing happens at all.
|
|
old-delhi
|
Anita Desai |
|
bb26b11
|
Old Delhi does not change. It only decays. My students tell me it is a great cemetery, every house a tomb. Nothing but sleeping graves. Now Delhi, they say is different. That is where things happen. The way they describe it, it sounds like a nest of fleas. So much happens there, it must be a jumping place. I never go. Baba never goes. And here, here nothing happens at all.
|
|
new-delhi
|
Anita Desai |
|
9216808
|
She felt she had followed him enough, it had been such an enormous strain, always pushing against her grain, it had drained her of too much strength, now she could only collapse, inevitably collapse.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
55b2453
|
she used to say she would drown herself in but because she didn't, because she died, after all, in bed, I felt she was still trying to get there. A person needs to choose his death.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
df773b2
|
That was the way life was: it lay so quiet, so still that you put your fingers out to touch it, to stroke it. Then it leapt up and struck you full in the face so that you spun about and spun about, gasping. The flames leapt up all around, rising by inches every minute, rising in rings.
|
|
trauma
|
Anita Desai |
|
de1a58e
|
Yet for a long time Bim continued to see her, was certain that she saw her: the shrunken little body naked, trailing a torn shred of nightie, a wisp of pubic hair, as she slipped surreptitiously along the hedge, head bent low as if she hoped no one would notice her as she hurried toward the well. Bim would catch her breath and shut her eyes before opening them again to stare wildly at the hedge and find only the tassels of the malaviscus da..
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
5ba3aea
|
Only their efforts to make him talk failed. He would say one word at a time, if pressed, but seemed happier not to and could not be made to repeat a whole line. Gradually, as his family learnt how to anticipate his few needs and how to respond, they ceased to notice his silence--his manner of communication seemed full and rich enough to them: he no more needed to converse than Aunt Mira's cat did.
|
|
silence
|
Anita Desai |
|
f111243
|
The well then contained death as it once contained merely water, frogs and harmless floating things. The horror of that death by drowning lived in the area behind the carvanda hedge like a mad relation, a family scandal or a hereditary illness waiting to re-emerge. It was a blot, a black and stinking blot.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
41643a6
|
Soon they grew tall, soon they grew strong. They wrapped themselves around her, smothering her in leaves and flowers. She laughed at the profusion, the beauty of this little grove that was the whole forest to her, the whole world. If they choked her, if they sucked her dry of substance, she would give in without any sacrifice of will -- it seemed in keeping with nature to do so. In the end they would swarm over her, reach up above her, towe..
|
|
aunt-mira
mira-masi
|
Anita Desai |
|
30964ec
|
Everything in the house turned damp; the blue fur of mildew crept furtively over any object left standing for the briefest length of time: shoes, bags, boxes, it consumed them all. The sheets on the bed were clammy when he got between them at night, and the darkness rang with the strident cacophony of the big tree crickets that had been waiting for this, their season.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |
|
aa24446
|
It was not spite or retaliation that made Tara abandon Bim -- it was the spider fear that lurked at the center of the web-world for Tara. Yet she did abandon Bim, it was true that she did.
|
|
|
Anita Desai |