Who can know from the word goodbye what kind of parting is in store for us. (p260) - Arundhati Roy

В онези ранни смътни години, за които едва си спомняха, когато животът беше пълен с множество начала, но липсваха краища, когато всичко им се струваше завинаги, Еста и Рахел заедно се възприемаха като мен, а поотделно, насаме, като Ние или Нас. Сякаш бяха някаква странна порода сиамски близнаци, разделени физически, но с обща самоличност.
Сега, след толкова години, Рахел още пази спомена как една нощ се бе събудила от собствения си смях, породен от някакъв смешен сън на Еста.
Помни и други неща, които не би трябвало да помни.

The God of Small Things, published in the summer of 1997, was the result of a search for a language and a form to describe the world I had grown up in, to myself and to people I loved, some of whom were entirely unfamiliar with Kerala... Back home in Kerala, I was quickly labeled anti-communist, a crying-talking-sleeping-walking Imperialist Plot. I had been critical, it is true, and the sharp end of my critique was that the Left, by which I mean the various communist parties in India, has been not just opaque to caste, but, more often than not, overtly casteist... The consternation had as much to do with the novel's politics of caste as it did with gender... was not received with applause and hallelujahs. Five male lawyers got together and filed a criminal case against me, accusing me of obscenity and “corrupting public morality.”

Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.