The Wheel Turns And Turns And Turns:

Isn't It Strange How Life Won't Flow, Like A River, But Moves In Jumps, As If It Were Held Back By Locks That Are Opened Now And Then To Let It Jump Forwards In A Kind Of Flood?

...the Moon That Hung Over The Garden Like Some Great Priceless Pearl, Flawed And Blemished With Grey Shadowy Ridges As Only A Very Great Beauty Can Risk Being.

People Think That Because I Write About India I Must Be Trying To Portray India In A Way.

Wherever You Go Becomes A Part Of You Somehow.

My Style Of Writing Is To Allow The Story To Unfold On Its Own. I Try Not To Structure My Work Too Rigidly.