When You Write On Your

No Fruit Dies So Vile And Offensive A Death As The Banana.

All Day, The Colors Had Been Those Of Dusk, Mist Moving Like A Water Creature Across The Great Flanks Of Mountains Possessed Of Ocean Shadows And Depths.

A Man Wasn't Equal To An Animal, Not One Particle Of Him. Human Life Was Stinking Corrupt, And Meanwhile There Were Beautiful Creatures Who Lived With Delicacy On The Earth Without Doing Anyone Harm. "we Should Be Dying." The Judge Almost Wept.

I Don't Think You Can Write According To A Set Of Rules And Laws; Every Writer Is So Different.

I Do Think That The Modern India Does Belong To Writers Who Are Living In India.