Inga Quotes

“And so, here is Rapa’s book, my tribute to her, my one true friend, my love.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“Nor will I ever find that walled garden where the hibiscus blows, with sweet musk roses and eglantine. Where stamens of rain fall on warm, white breasts.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“Begat! What a satisfying word it is! It scorns. It despises. It spits. Summarily it dismisses all that bleating nonsense about love and romance, moonlight and motherhood.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“You who have walked with me these seven steps, become my best companion, my dearest friend. We shall share the same gardens, the same sunlight, we shall cross the same threshold, we shall share the same hearth. We shall welcome the same days and the same shy nights. I shall be the sun, you shall be its light; I shall be the light, you shall be its brilliance. I shall be the moon, you shall be its silver. I shall be the earth, you shall be its patience. I shall be the waters, you shall be its sanctity. I shall be the sky, you shall be its stretch of stars, I shall be the wind, you shall be its centre, I shall be all the seasons, you shall be their promise. For you, I shall be the lampflame, you shall be my stillness.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“If anyone could transform laughter to light, she did, Inga. Radiance upon radiance of laughter, chime upon bell chime of light sparkled and shone everywhere. It was as if the sky showered tiny star grains that scattered, glinting, on the hay heap we were cocooned in; they sparkled on the leaves of the jackfruit tree above and dusted my arms with gold. Who could resist such a dance of light...? I couldn’t, I never could. Almost never.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“She died in hospital, eight months after she was diagnosed and treated for Hodgkin’s disease, a cancer of the lymph nodes. For a week before that, she asked me to read aloud her favourite poems. She listened, her eyes closed. Now and then she repeated a line softly to herself. That fateful day, as I sat at her bedside, she asked me to read from a volume of Christina Rossetti’s poems. As I read, she opened her eyes, smiled and said, clearly and distinctly, ‘And if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.’
Those were her last words.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“There was triumph there but there was also a faint flicker of fear as if somebody had whispered to her from beyond the unkempt hedge of the everyday.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“Death is most ungovernable, unmethodical, unruly, unreasonable. Death mocks. It jeers.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“How does one wait for death? What does one do while waiting? Carry on the same daily tasks? Bathe, cook, eat? Bring the washing in when rain threatens? Read a book? Hold up a mirror to one’s face? Write a letter, a diary entry? Death provides no calendar, no timetable, no clock to consult. No doctor, no acclaimed astrologer can say when it might come calling. Whatever mankind may do to bring about method, order, regulation, and use the astounding logic of mathematics, death will not obey. Death is most ungovernable, unmethodical, unruly, unreasonable. Death mocks.
It jeers.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“These pages were once blank, they were my unprospected lands. Here, the streams and hillsides I would have traced, the pathways and streets I would have mapped, here, the pavilioned city I would have built, with its golden domes, its towering spires, its proud, fluttering flags. I will never build it now.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga

“And if thou wilt, remember, and if thou wilt, forget.”
― Poile Sengupta, Inga