Self-immolation was a peculiarly anticipatory gesture for someone who would eventually be cremated and her ashes scattered in a river. Mrs. Singh won… - Shamini Flint

And yet, the inspector thought, Kuala Lumpur had a certain something. It was difficult for him to put his finger on what it was exactly. There was a sense of freedom perhaps, of anarchy even, that Singapore so sorely lacked. Perhaps it was the lack of deference to authority, the physical space, the ability to take a step back and enjoy a moment of quiet that lent Kuala Lumpur its atmosphere.

Sikhs seem to have done quite well in India," said the inspector provocatively, looking around the gleaming office with its panoramic views of the brown smog hanging over the city. "Don't be fooled," said Tara. "This is just window dressing. There are Sikh figureheads everywhere including that Manmohan Singh. But if you look deeper, you will see the truth!" "And what is that?" asked the inspector. "We're second-class citizens. They deny us our rights in Punjab. What about water rights? What about Chandigarh? What about our language? They attack our places of worship and massacre our citizens ..." Tara Singh was a man who preferred to have the last word. "You foreigners," he said. "You don't understand India.

“I’m telling you that I knew Ashu. She was like a daughter to me. There is no way she would have killed herself – and in such a way.”
“The police seem quite sure,” he replied.
“The police in India are like a river, Inspector Singh, always taking the path of least resistance.”
Singh decided to save the metaphor for an occasion when he could use it on Superintendent Chen.