“India said, 'But Mrs. Moskowitz, it just won't work. I still have to find a proper salaried position. I have to cover my expenses. Pay my rent.''You will stay with us.''Thank you. Truly. But it would be impossible.'Mrs. Moskowitz reached across the table. She covered India's hand with her own. 'With all respect, my dear India,' she said, 'I look to God to tell me what is possible. Not to you.”

“India shaped my mind, anchored my identity, influenced my beliefs, and made me who I am. ... India matters to me and I would like to matter to India.”

“Some would ask what country am I from? We ara supposed to tell the truth, [so] we tell them India. Some thought it was Indiana, not India! Some did not know where India is. I said the country next to Pakistan.”

“I could not resist the temptation to ask: Tell me something, Damiana: what do you recall? I wasn't recalling anything, she said, but your question makes me remember. I felt a weight in my chest. I've never fallen in love, I told her. She replied without hesitation: I have. And she concluded, not interrupting her work: I cried over you for twenty-two years. My heart skipped a beat. Looking for a dignified way out, I said: We would have made a good team. Well, it's wrong of you to say so now, she said, because you're no good to me anymore even as a consolation. As she was leaving the house, she said in the most natural way: You won't believe me but thanks be to God, I'm still a virgin.”

“You are in my heart for what you did, and you always will be," she said. "I just don't know how to thank you. The words don't begin to cover it." Jonas stared at her for a moment, then said, "You just did.”

“Nine years ago, my sister handed me a paperback she had picked up in an airport shop on her way to India. It was a gloomy-looking book, with a black an white photo of a steam train approaching through fog on the cover. Cutting across the top of the photo was . . . an author's name I did not know: J.K. Rowling. I began to read the novel and by page three, I was hooked.”