Shalimar the Clown Quotes

“Our human tragedy is that we are unable to comprehend our experience, it slips through our fingers, we can't hold on to it, and the more time passes, the harder it gets...My father said that the natural world gave us explanations to compensate for the meanings we could not grasp. The slant of the cold sunlight on a winter pine, the music of water, an oar cutting the lake and the flight of birds, the mountains' nobility , the silence of the silence. We are given life but must accept that it is unattainable and rejoice in what can be held in the eye, the memory, the mind.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“The inevitable triumph of illusion over reality that was the single most obvious truth about the history of the human race.”
― Salman Rushdie , Shalimar the Clown

“Freedom is not a tea party, India. Freedom is a war. ”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“She saw him fracture into rainbow colors through the prism of her love.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“When you pray for what you most want in the world, its opposite comes along with it. I was given a woman whom I truly loved and who truly loved me. The opposite side of such a love is the pain of its loss. I can only feel such pain today because until yesterday I knew that love.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“You never know the answers to the questions of life until you are asked.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Our lives, our stories, flowed into one another's, were no longer our own, individual, discrete.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“The beautiful came to this city [Hollywood] in huge pathetic herds, to suffer, to be humiliated, to see the powerful currency of their beauty devalued like the Russian ruble or Argentine peso;to work as bellhops, as bar hostesses, as garbage collectors, as maids. The city was a cliff and they were its stampeding lemmings. At the foot of the cliff was the valley of the broken dolls.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Be so good as to cease to cast yourself in fictions. Pinch yourself, or slap yourself across the face if that's what it takes, but understand, please, that you are nonfictional, and this is real life.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“She watched him recede into the past as he stood...each successive moment of him passing before her eyes and being lost forever.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Докато не му ги зададат, човек не знае отговорите на въпросите на живота.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“I am your handiwork made flesh. You took beauty and created hideousness, and out of this monstrosity your child will be born …. I am the meaning of your deeds. I am the meaning of your so-called love; your destructive, selfish, wanton love … your love looks just like hatred.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“- Радвай се, че не си майка в такива времена – отвърна му тя. – Защото, ако беше, щеше да се радваш, че двамата ти скарани синове отново ще се съберат, но едновременно с това щеше да се изпълниш със страх, че и двете ти деца вероятно ще са мъртви. Противоречието на това щастие и този ужас би ти се сторило непоносимо.
- Радвай се, че не си мъж – каза в отговор той. – Защото, щом престанем да спим, виждаме, че на този свят до нас има единствено врагове – врагове, които се преструват, че ни защитават, които стоят, направени от оръжия и облекла в цвят каки, и алчност, и смърт, а зад тях са враговете, които се преструват, че ни спасяват в името на собствения ни Бог, само че и те също са изтъкани от смърт и алчност, а пък зад тях са враговете, живеещи сред нас, носещи безбожни имена, които ни прелъстяват и после ни предават, врагове, за които смъртта е прекалено меко наказание, а още по-отзад са враговете, които никога не виждаме, те дърпат конците на живота ни. Този последен враг, невидимият враг в невидимата стая в чуждата страна, някъде много далеч: пред него искам да се изправя, и ако се наложи да си проправя пътя през всички останали, за да се добера до него, тогава така и ще сторя.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“There were six hundred thousand Indian troops in Kashmir but the pogrom of the pandits was not prevented, why was that. Three and a half lakhs
of human beings arrived in Jammu as displaced persons and for many months the government did not provide shelters or relief or even register
their names, why was that. When the government finally built camps it only allowed for six thousand families to remain in the state, dispersing the
others around the country where they would be invisible and impotent, why was that. The camps at Purkhoo, Muthi, Mishriwallah, Nagrota were built
on the banks and beds of nullahas, dry seasonal waterways, and when the water came the camps were flooded, why was that. The ministers of the
government made speeches about ethnic cleansing but the civil servants wrote one another memos saying that the pandits were simply internal
migrants whose displacement had been self-imposed, why was that. The tents provided for the refugees to live in were often uninspected and
leaking and the monsoon rains came through, why was that. When the one-room tenements called ORTs were built to replace the tents they too
leaked profusely, why was that. There was one bathroom per three hundred persons in many camps why was that and the medical dispensaries
lacked basic first-aid materials why was that and thousands of the displaced died because of inadequate food and shelter why was that maybe five
thousand deaths because of intense heat and humidity because of snake bites and gastroenteritis and dengue fever and stress diabetes and
kidney ailments and tuberculosis and psychoneurosis and there was not a single health survey conducted by the government why was that and the
pandits of Kashmir were left to rot in their slum camps, to rot while the army and the insurgency fought over the bloodied and broken valley, to
dream of return, to die while dreaming of return, to die after the dream of return died so that they could not even die dreaming of it, why was that why
was that why was that why was that why was that.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Страхът бе най-важният посев за годината, надвисваше от плодовите дръечета вместо ябълки и праскови, а пчелите го събираха вместо мед. Изпод повърхността на плитката вода на оризищата избуяваше гъст страх, а из шафрановите поля страх като увивен бурен задушаваше деликатните растения. Страхът затлачваше реките като воден зюмбюл , а по високите пасбища без видима причина измираха овце и кози. Работа се намираше трудно , и за актьори, и за готвачи. Ужасът мореше живата стока като чума.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Sardar Harbans Singh passed away peacefully in a wicker rocking-chair in a Srinigar garden of spring flowers and honeybees with his favourite tartan rug across his knees and his beloved son, Yuvraj the exporter of handicrafts, by his side, and when he stopped breathing the bees stopped buzzing and the air silenced its whispers and Yuvraj understood that the story of the world he had known all his life was coming to an end, and that what followed would follow as it had to, but it would unquestionably be less graceful, less courteous and less civilized than what had gone.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“India's head ached. Insomnia was still her most attentive, cruelest lover, demanding and possessing her selfishly whenever it chose to do so. Light-heartedness was beyond her today. A man of middling quality was trying to marry her, and there was something wrong with her father's voice on the phone.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“He stared into the fast-flowing waters and contemplated the tragedy of desire.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Кой запали този пожар? Кой изравни със земята тези овошки? Кой разстреля тези братя, които през целия си живо са се смели? Кой уби сарпанча? Кой счупи пръстите му? Кой счупи пръстите му? Кой счупи ръцете му? Кой счупи древния му врат? Кой окова тези мъже? Кой направи така, че мъжете да изчезнат? Кой разстреля тези момчета? Кой разстреля тези момичета? Кой събори тази къща? Кой събори онази къща? Кой събори тази къща? Кой събори онази къща? Кой уби този младеж? Кой удари по главата тази старица? Кой наръга тази леля? Кой разби носа на онзи човек? Кой разби сърцето на онова младо момиче? Кой уби този влюбен? Кой застреля годеницата му? Кой изгори костюмите? Кой натроши мечовете? Кой изгори библиотеката? Кой опожари шафрановото поле? Кой изколи животните? Кой изгори кошерите? Кой отрови оризищата? Кой уби децата? Кой бичува родителите? Кой изнасили онази жена с мързеливо око, докато тя крещеше за змийска отмъстителност? Кой изнасили онази жена отново? Кой изнасили онази жена отново? Кой изнасили онази жена отново? Кой изнасили онази мъртва жена? Кой изнасили онази мъртва жена отново?”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Сезоните на миналото образуваха планини в него, имената и лицата се блъскаха едни други в търсене на допълнително място, а претоварването от незабравени думи и дела го оставяха с разширени от ужас очи. По правило от времето се очакваше да лекува цялата болка, нали така? Ала ножът на неодобрението на покойния му баща отказваше да се притъпи, независимо от отминаващите месеци.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“... learning the knack of disconnecting her sense of smell, until she could switch it off like a radio and in the bland silence of its absence could drown in the sound of Nazarébaddoor’s hypnotic voice without having her reverie interrupted by the scent of sheep shit or Nazarébaddoor’s own frequent and extraordinary buffalo farts.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Смерть - найнаочніша з усіх відсутностей.
***
У царстві тварин немає місця несподіванкам. Із людьми ж усе зовсім не так. Люди непердбачувані та мінливі. Тільки людина, знаючи, як буде добре і правильно, все одно чинить погано. Тільки людина здатна роками носити маску, і то не одну. Тільки людина сама себе засмучує власними вчинками.
***
Втрата мрії однієї людиною, втрата рідного дому, порушення прав лише однієї людини, вбивство тільки однієї жінки - це втрата всіх наших свобод, всіх рідних домівок і всіх наших прагнень і сподівань. Будь-яка трагедія індивідуальна, але, водночас, це і трагедія всього людства.
***
"Цивілвзація не визнає кордонів", - пояснювава йому Макс старший. Щоправда, коли Європу накрило хвилею варварства, виявилося, що й варварство не визнає кордонів.
***
Нам іще дуже поталанило, бо ми маємо досить широкий вибір, від чого померти.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“What happened that day in Pachigam need not be set down here in full detail, because brutality is brutality, excess is excess and that’s all there is to it. There are things that must be looked at indirectly because they would blind you if you looked them in the face, like the fore of the sun. So, to repeat: there was no Pachigam anymore, Pachigam was destroyed. Imagine it for yourself.

Second attempt: The village of Pachigam still existed on the maps of Kashmir, but that day it ceased to exist anywhere else, except in memory.

Third and final attempt: The beautiful village of Pachigam still exists.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Use her for target practice. It’s no fun if you don’t have a target.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“The question of death is also the question of life, panditji, and the question of how to live is also the question of love. That is the question you have to go on answering, to which there is no answer except in the going on.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“But before he could deliver his message of ugliness she played her trump. He had brought her a contraceptive pill every day without fail and had watched her place it in her mouth, take a gulp of water and swallow, but plainly she had fooled him, she had tongued the pills to one side, concealing them beneath those ever-present wads of chewing tobacco, and now she was carrying the ambassador’s child, and she was many months pregnant. She had grown so obese that the pregnancy had been invisible, it lay hidden somewhere inside her fat, and it was too late to think about an abortion, she was too far advanced and the risks were too great.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Who tonight are the Hindus? Who are the Muslims? Here in Kashmir, our stories sit happily side by side on the same double bill, we eat from the same dishes, we laugh at the same jokes. We will joyfully celebrate the reign of the good king Zain-ul-abidin, and as for our Muslim brothers and sisters, no problem!”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“Like the true Gujar woman that she was, her first love was the pine forest. Her most frequently repeated saying was, in Kashmiri, Un poshi teli, yeli vun poshi, which meant, “Forests come first, food comes second.” She saw herself as the guardian of the trees of the Forest of Khel and had to be propitiated every autumn when the villagers of Pachigam and Shirmal, who both foraged there, needed to stock up on firewood before the coming of the winter snows. “You wouldn’t want our children to freeze to death,” the villagers pleaded, and eventually she would concede that human children mattered more than living wood. She would guide the village men to those trees that were closest to death and these were the only ones she would allow them to fell.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown

“The Party had been Gorbachev's cradle, his life. And he was being asked to abolish it? No, his whole body said, trembling, fuzzy, how can I, I will not; and at that moment he became irrelevant, history swept past him, he turned into a bankrupt hitchhiker on the verges of the freeway he had built in his glory days, watching the wild cars, the Yeltsins, roaring past him into the future. For the man of power, too, the house of power can be a treacherous place. In the end he, too, must fight his way out of it, past the swooping bird-men. He emerges empty-handed and the crowd, the cruel crowd, laughs. Gorbachev looked like Moses, she thought, the prophet unable to enter the Promised Land.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar The Clown

“O que aconteceu nesse dia em Pachigam não precisa de ser aqui descrito em pormenor porque a brutalidade é sempre brutalidade, o excesso é sempre excesso e não há mais nada a dizer. Há coisas que não podem ser olhadas de frente sob pena de ficarmos cegos, tal como acontece com a luz do sol. Portanto, repetindo: Pachigam já não existia. Pachigam foi destruída. Imaginem-na.

Segunda tentativa: A aldeia de Pachigam ainda existia no mapas de Caxemira, mas, nesse dia, deixou de existir em qualquer outro sítio, a não ser na memória.

Terceira e última tentativa: A bela aldeia de Pachigam ainda existe.”
― Salman Rushdie, Shalimar, o Palhaço