Delhi Quotes

“When the world is itself draped in the mantle of night, the mirror of the mind is like the sky in which thoughts twinkle like stars.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi

“That's Delhi. When life gets too much for you all you need to do is to spend an hour at Nigambodh Ghat,watch the dead being put to flames and hear their kin wail for them. Then come home and down a couple of pegs of whisky. In Delhi, death and drink make life worth living,”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi

“Once through this ruined city did I pass
I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked
‘What knowest thou of this wilderness?’
It replied: 'I can sum it up in two words:
‘Alas, Alas!”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi

“I asked my soul: What is Delhi? She replied: The world is the body and Delhi its life. Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“But big people’s illnesses are always made to sound big. The simple shutting and opening of the royal arse-hole was made to sound as if the world was coming to an end.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“If the blanket of man’s fate has been woven black, even the waters of Zam Zam and Kausar cannot wash it white.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“We also knew that it was in the nature of an empty stomach to produce illusions of grandeur.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“I am back in my beloved city. The scene of desolation fills my eyes with tears. At every step my distress and agitation increases. I cannot recognize houses or landmarks I once knew well. Of the former inhabitants, there is no trace. Everywhere there is a terrible emptiness. All at once I find myself in the quarter where I once resided. I recall the life I used to live: meeting friends in the evening, reciting poetry, making love, spending sleepless nights pining for beautiful women and writing verses on their long tresses which held me captive. That was life! What is there left of it? Nothing.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi

“When you have counted eighty years and more, Time and Fate will batter at your door; But if you should survive to be a hundred, Your life will be death to the very core.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“The Hindus hatred of the Mussalmans did not make sense to me. The Muslims had conquered Hindustan. Why hadn’t our gods saved us from them? There was that Sultan Mahmud of Ghazni who had invaded Hindustan seventeen, times—not once or twice but seventeen times. He had destroyed the temple of Chakraswamy at Thanesar and nothing happened to him. Then Somnath. They said that even the sea prostrated itself twice every twenty-four hours to touch the feet of Somnath. But even the sea did not rise to save Somnathji from Mahmud.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“It was again to the Prophet Musa that Allah conveyed the essence of true religion. The Almighty said. ‘I was sick, and you did not come to see me. I was hungry, and you did not give me food.’ Musa asked ‘My God, can you also be sick and hungry?’ God replied ‘My servant so-and-so was sick, and my servant so-and-so was hungry. If you had visited one and fed the other, you would have found me with them.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“I realized that I belonged neither to the Hindus nor to the Mussalmans. How could I explain to my wife that while the Brahmins lived on offerings made to their gods, the Rajputs and the Jats had their lands, Aheers and the Gujars their cattle, the Banias their shops, all that the poor Kayasthas had were their brains and their reed pens! And the only people who could pay for their brains and their pens were the rulers who were Muslims!”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“One Sikh may argue with one Sikh. One Sikh must never argue with two Sikhs–certainly not after dark.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“little mother of ancient days: Thou hast cunningly dyed thy hair but consider That thy bent back will never be straight!”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“Nature provides that a man who slaves all day should spend the hours of the night in a palace full of houris whereas a king who wields the sceptre by day should have his sleep disturbed by nightmares of rebellion and assassination.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“The eye hath ruined me,’ the heart complained. ‘The heart has lost me,’ the eye replied. I know not which told the truth, which lied Between, the two, it was Meer who died.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“But if they asked me ‘Abdullah when will you become a true Muslim?’ I would reply ‘Soon, if that be the will of God— Inshallah.’ If anyone asked me whether we were Hindus or Mussalmans, we would reply we were both. Nizamuddin was our umbrella against the burning sun of Muslim bigotry and the downpour of Hindu contempt.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“The Muslims had become masters of Hindustan. They were quite willing to let us Hindus live our lives as we wanted to provided we recognized them as our rulers. But the Hindus were full of foolish pride. ‘This is our country!’ they said. ‘We will drive out these cow-killers and destroyers of our temples.’ They were especially contemptuous towards Hindus who had embraced Islam and treated them worse than untouchables.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“The news from Delhi brings tears to everyone’s eyes. Neither Nadir Shah nor Abdali, neither the Marathas, nor the Jats, nor the Sikhs caused so much havoc as is reported to have been caused by the ill-begotten Ghulam Qadir, the grandson of Najibuddaulah, and his ruffianly gangs of Rohillas. This villain insulted and deposed Shah Alam II before putting out his eyes. May Allah burn his carcass in the fires of gehennum! Only Allah knows how long murder and looting will go on in Delhi! They will have to revive the dead to find victims and bring back some loot to be able to loot again. Delhi is said to have become like a living skeleton. Burnt in flames till every building was reduced to ashes How fair a city was the heart that love put to the fire !”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“The world forgives a drunkard.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“Passions have made mortals of us men If men were not slaves of passion They would have been Gods, each one.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“Life is somewhat like a line drawing, Appearances a kind of trust, This period of grace we call age; Examine it carefully! It is a kind of waiting.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“But for many long days and nights I pondered over the words in the Mahabharata: ‘As two pieces of wood floating on the ocean come together at one time and are again separated, even such is the union of living creatures in this world.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“Passions have made mortals of us men. If men were not slaves of passion, they would have been Gods, each one.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi

“The Indian peasant is the world’s champion shitter. Stacks of chappaties and mounds of mustard leaf-mash down the hatch twice a day; stacks of shit a.m. and p.m.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“How downhearted was Meer at night! Whatever came to his lips became a cry for help. When he started on the path of love, he was like fire; Now it’s ended he is a heap of ashes on a pyre.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“There was another matter which caused much disturbance in our mind: the viciousness of sibling rivalry. We knew that kingship knows no kinship. No bridge of affection spans the abyss that separates a monarch from his sons; no bonds of affection exist between the sons of kings. Sired though they may have been by the same loins, lain in succession in the same womb and suckled the same breasts, no sooner were they old enough to know the world than they understood that they must destroy their siblings or be destroyed themselves.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“He told us of an incident from the life of the Prophet Musa. Musa heard a poor shepherd praying: ‘Where art Thou that I may serve Thee? I will mend Thy boots, comb Thy hair, give Thee milk from my goats.’ Musa reprimanded the shepherd for so speaking to God. God in His turn reprimanded Musa. ‘Thou hast driven away one of my true servants.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“A Turk for toughness, for hands that never tire; An Indian for her rounded bosom bursting with milk; A Persian for her tight crotch and her coquetry; An Uzbeg to thrash as a lesson for the three.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel

“My beloved tormented me so much We were forced to leave our native land; As drops wax from the burning taper So as we quit the circle of life Fell tears from our eyes. The gardener forbade us sporting in his garden, With laughter we came, With wailing we parted.”
― Khushwant Singh, Delhi: A Novel