Walk, First, Through The Fire,

...there Was Another, Gorier Parturition, When Two Nations Incarnated Out Of One. A Foreigner Drew A Magic Line On A Map And Called It The New Border; It Became A River Of Blood Upon The Earth. And The Orchards, Fields, Factories, Businesses, All On The Wrong Side Of That Line, Vanished With A Wave Of The Pale Conjuror's Wand.

But Nobody Ever Forgot Anything, Not Really, Though Sometimes They Pretended, When It Suited Them. Memories Were Permanent. Sorrowful Ones Remained Sad Even With The Passing Of Time, Yet Happy Ones Could Never Be Recreated - Not With The Same Joy. Remembering Bred Its Own Peculiar Sorrow. It Seemed So Unfair: That Time Should Render Both Sadness And Happiness Into A Source Of Pain.

In The End, It’s All A Question Of Balance.

…god Is A Giant Quiltmaker. With An Infinite Variety Of Designs. And The Quilt Is Grown So Big And Confusing, The Pattern Is Impossible To See, The Squares And Diamonds And Triangles Don’t Fit Well Together Anymore, It’s All Become Meaningless. So He Has Abandoned It.

He Who Spits Paan At The Ceiling Only Blinds Himself.