“Baby, I bear remnants of you on my body, on my soul. I always have, I always will, gladly. I just want you to know that.’('Left from Dhakeshwari')”

“I want to kiss your forehead; my love now is so evolved. I want to hold your hand and see all the little marks and nicks and find out how they happened. I want to assimilate myself in your identity, to have my existence intertwined with yours. I want to know what all stories still lie hidden in you.'('Left from Dhakeshwari')”

“I had no eyelashes left. So when I cried, the tears rolled down, unabated to my mouth. My saliva tasted those days, like a salt lake. Or so he said.'('Left from Dhakeshwari')”

“I had wanted to hate you that day. Believe me, I had. And then suddenly, staring at me incredulously, your extra half-tooth had blurted out aloud, ‘You get dimples on both cheeks!’ your immaculate lisp intact, on both the ‘s’es. I remember that second, the way your hair fell, the nankhatais on my tongue and the strains of Akhtar’s melody in the air. I had fallen in love with you then. I miss that second.’('Left from Dhakeshwari')”

“Why weren’t you beautiful? That would’ve solved everything.’('Left from Dhakeshwari')”

“But think of me fondly right till the end. Think of me always as your brother's friend. Think of me whenever you see an Amrood tree. Think of me on cold winter nights.’ ('Left from Dhakeshwari')”

“Whenever the sadness got too much, I would hire a rickshaw and go to the Upper Bazaar. Those little rickshaw trips to the market and back, shopping for lipsticks and imitation Gucci bags and wind-chimes and what not, are some of my happiest memories today. You know, one day, during one of those trips, I sold all my well-thumbed copies of ‘Inside Outside’ to the Tibetan guy who ran the old book store on Netaji Road for seventy rupees, six Tintins and a disarming smile. And all of a sudden, that moment, standing at the corner of Netaji road, I found out who I was.’('Left from Dhakeshwari')”