Last Sunday it was the final Sunday of May. Another week and the monsoon would begin and hopefully, would bring rain that everyone seemed to be eagerly waiting for. I did not mind if the rain disrupted my visits to Abids on Sunday because I think the farmers need rain more than I need books. So last Sunday it was hot but not as hot as it had been the previous Sundays. Since I didn’t have to go to the office or didn’t have anything to do that kept me away from Abids I browsed to my heart’s content.
‘And being a novelist, I consider myself superior to the saint, the scientist, the philosopher, and the poet, who are all great masters of different bits of man alive, but never get the whole hog.
The novel is the one bright book of life.’