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"India, I have swum in your warm waters and run laughing in your high mountain meadows.

Oh, why must everything I say end up sounding like a filmi gana, a gooddamn cheap Bollywood song?
Very well then: I have walked your filthy streets, India, I have ached in my bones from the illnesses engendered by your germs.

I have eaten your independent salt and drunk your nauseatingly sugary roadside tea. For many years your malaria mosquitoes would bite me wherever I went, and in deserts and summers around the world I was stung by cool Kashmiri bees.

India, my terra infirma, my maelstrom, my cornucopia, my crowd. India, my too-muchness, my everything at once, my Hug-me, my fable, my mother, my father and my first great truth.
It may be that I am not comprehend what you are becoming, what perhaps you already are, but I am old enough to say that this new self of yours is an entity I no longer want or need, to understand.

India, fount of my imagination, source of my savagery, breaker of my heart.


from Salman Rushdie "The ground beneath her feet"

Wysłane przez durgama 15:58

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