“If time were a bolt of cloth,” said Om, “I would cut out all the bad parts. Snip out the scary nights and stitch together the good parts, to make time bearable. Then I could wear it like a coat, always live happily.”

Rohinton Mistry
Time Neutral

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“What folly made young people, even those in middle age, think they were immortal? How much better, their lives, if they could remember the end. Carrying your death with you every day would make it hard to waste time on unkindness and anger and bitterness, on anything petty. That was the secret: remembering your dying time, in order to keep the stupid and the ugly out of your living time.”


“Oh, Anyone can make a quilt,' she said modestly. 'It's just scraps, from the clothes you've sewn.''Yes, but the talent is in joining the pieces, the way you have.''Look,' Om pointed, 'look at that - the poplin from our very first job.''You remember,' said Dina, pleased. 'And how fast you finished those first dresses. I thought I had two geniuses.''Hungry stomachs were driving our fingers,' chuckled Ishvar.'Then came that yellow calico with orange strips. And what a hard time this young fellow gave me. Fighting and arguing about everything.''Me?Argue?Never.'.........He steeped back, pleased with himself, as though he had elucidated an intricate theorem. 'So that's the rule to remember, the whole quilt is much more important than the square'.”


“I've done lots of jobs. Right now, I'm a hair collector.""That's good", said Ishvar tentatively. "What do you have to do as a hair-collector?""Collect hair.""And there is money in that?""Oh very big business. There is a great demand for hair in foreign countries.""What do they do with it? Asked Om skeptical." "Many different things. Mostly they wear it.Sometimes they paint it in different colors-red, yellow, brown, blue. Foreign women enjoy wearing other people's hair. Men also, especially if they are bald. In foreign countries they fear baldness. They are so rich in foreign countries, they can afford to fear all kinds of silly things.”


“What an unreliable thing is time--when I want it to fly, the hours stick to me like glue. And what a changeable thing, too. Time is the twine to tie our lives into parcels of years and months. Or a rubber band stretched to suit our fancy. Time can be the pretty ribbon in a little girl's hair. Or the lines in your face, stealing your youthful colour and your hair. .... But in the end, time is a noose around the neck, strangling slowly.”


“...loss is essential, loss is part and parcel of that necessary calamity called life. Mind you, I'm not complaining. Thanks to some inexplicable universal guiding force, it is always the worthless things we lose - slough off, like a moulting snake. Losing and losing again, is the very basis of the process, til all we are left with is the bare essence of human existence...”


“But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.”