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Time and space folded over, as if to erase the life in between.
Then he sees the gun and remembers. He is his own destroyer. He has come to erase the wound.
“You are who you are, the past is gone. It’s the present you must master now.”
If she thought about any of it at all, she thought it was Delhi, an eyesore, a sign of failure. But Dean saw the slums as people, and he saw their destruction as a tragedy.
“Will it cure me of my sins?”
Burning at both ends, never tired. Gilded hangovers. Iridescent with champagne.
“There’s nothing you could have done.” “There’s nothing I could have done! And it all just keeps happening.”
“Our dreams let people die.”
The newspapers heralded the transformation of the urban space. The poor were no longer victims of an incompetent and corrupt state. They were encroachers and thieves. Their misery was not the misery of lives. As human beings they were being erased.
“Love of my life,” her father grumbled, “let me get both feet inside the house.”
For the sake of appearances, he ran the business through proxy members, who sometimes presented as rivals in public, but ultimately worked together and answered to him. They called themselves “the syndicate.”
nothing will change, this is Kali Yuga, the losing age, the age of vice.
Out in the main section, another drunk man began playing the piano badly, bashing at the keys in what could only be called an act of provocation. Free jazz, Dinesh joked.
No one ever gets it back. Life just runs away from you. It never comes back, however hard you try, however much you want it to. This is the lesson you should know. You have to adapt or die.
