No respectable Sikh family would buy art merely for its aesthetic qualities. - Shamini Flint

It seemed, pondered the inspector, that no sooner did you give a man a car than he wanted to drive somewhere and do something.

Self-immolation was a peculiarly anticipatory gesture for someone who would eventually be cremated and her ashes scattered in a river. Mrs. Singh wondered whether the family would take the ashes to the Punjab or whether a river closer at hand would suffice. ... She tried to imagine for a moment what [her husband] would do when she died.
Probably chuck her ashes into the nearest monsoon drain and head to a coffee shop for a cold beer.

In the foreground, right on the waterfront, was a massive pastel yellow arch – the Gateway of India. “It was built to welcome King George V when he visited India,” explained his well-briefed, Google-friendly wife.
“They didn’t think a bunch of flowers would do?” asked [Inspector] Singh.
“Anyway, it was only completed twelve years after the visit.” Singh grinned. That was the sort of managerial incompetence that he found amusing.