Women Authors

"[He] heard her singing and knew that she had forgotten him already, that in the morning, if she remembered him, it would be with the vagueness of an indistinct dream. And knew that, walking away from her, he was walking away from the land and the people whose reflected image of him had shaped his dreams, fashioned the self that he would now go in search of, to be swept away into the wide indifference of the sea. (19: The Rape)"

"In the square not even the ghost of a wind stirred the naked trees. Aware of the creeping death around them, the children no longer played by the spring. They remained at home, lingering by their mothers or sitting on the doorstep beside their fathers. And they wondered at the silences which had sprung up between their parents, between neighbour and neighbour. (6: The Star-Apple Tree )"

"Ann sat in the back of the cart, and, as they drove off, she waved to Aunt Kate. The old woman did not wave back. The past had taken over in her mind once more. (7: The Money-Box)"

"The sun reared up over Hebron like a wild horse. It streamed across the sky, tangled with the naked branches of trees, brightened the hills, illuminated winding paths, glittered like incandescent dust on the heads and shoulders, the marching feet of the congregation; rimmed their flags and banners with light, and settled in the gleaming river of morning that flooded the land. (7: The Money-Box)"

"In the silence that followed, the bubble of the morning's celebrations was shattered and the fragments went spinning away like the mist in the morning light. (from 1: The Vow)"

"Nyt varjo vain on edessäni elon matka. Ja takanain on tuskan tie, se jot’ en jatka.'Mun takanain on kevät alla julman kirren. Sen elää sain, sain kynnykselle suvivirren.'Sen mukanaan vei käsi kallis, kylmentyvä. Nyt suven maan nään sydämessä hauta syvä."

"“Finger prints?” “Wiped.” Singh sighed. Was there a criminal out there who didn’t know to wipe his prints?"

"Singh returned to his reading material, a glossy brochure that folded like a particularly annoying map, for the products of Bharat Chemicals. ... A flowchart explained that the employee structure combined the best elements of East and West’ – surly American management and cheap Indian labour, concluded Singh."

"Having accidentally watched ten minutes of a head-waggling, hip-shaking, breast-jiggling extravaganza on television, the inspector wasn’t surprised that thespian qualities were not at a premium. It was disheartening, however, to think that it was skin colour that was of paramount importance instead."

"That's Mao."

"Why do you buy [shoddy goods] if you think the quality is so poor?"

"[Inspector] Singh closed his eyes and contemplated the gloom within. Circles within circles. Would a child of one of these dead men – killed in a holy place – grow up with revenge on his mind like Tanvir Singh had done? It didn’t bear thinking about."

"Singh stared down at the empty clear-plastic slots and felt a profound sense of loss. These pages would remain forever empty now. No happy family, no children. Was that a bit sexist? No Nobel Prize for Chemistry, he amended."

"“Sounds like preparation for war,” remarked Singh, yet again forced to contemplate the difference between Singapore policing’s idea of a tough day at the office, an outbreak of jaywalking perhaps, and the Indian equivalent. “Sometimes it is exactly like war,” said Patel in a quiet voice and Singh had a sudden glimpse into the abyss."

"“Text messaging?” “That is main way that trouble-makers are getting flash mobs together for riots,” explained Patel. Singh chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. Technology had a lot to answer for. ... It did beg the question though – how had the more tiresome elements of society begun riots before the era of mobile phones – carrier pigeons?"

"“Indian police not at all good at keeping secrets.” “The press doesn’t seem to know that it’s murder,” said Singh reassuringly."

"His appetite was sharp and the reasons were twofold. One, he’d missed dinner while traipsing around looking at corpses. And two, his wife had elicited the information that breakfast was part of the generous package sponsored by Tara Singh."

"“I thought you didn’t approve of my job.” “Different when it’s family.” “Most murder victims have families.” She nodded once. “So you better hurry up and find this killer instead of hiding here smoking cigarettes.”"

"If publicity was the lifeblood of terrorists, the week-long siege of the hotel had been a massive transfusion."

"Without money, terrorists were just angry young men with an axe to grind. With money, the metaphorical axe became real and sharp and terrifying. He knew that very well – had learnt it the hard way – from his murder investigation in Bali after the bombings there."

"“Everyone needs a hobby,” said [Inspector] Singh. “Terrorists also.” “Oh, I see,” said [Inspector] Singh, flippancy erased from his voice. “That’s not good news.”"

"“I’m quite persuasive,” said Singh, his face forbidding. “And,” he amended, “she was willing to be persuaded.”"

"“Don’t know about police methods in the United States,” remarked Singh, “but where I come from a person last seen having an argument with someone who later turns up dead goes straight to the top of the list of suspects.”"

"“How’s the investigation going – any light at the end of the tunnel?” “Of an oncoming train.”"

"The fact of the matter was that he was spoilt. Singapore was such a pleasant place to hunt down murderers. It was easy to get around, hardly any traffic. The killers had nowhere to run, the island was so small. The air was clean and the trees green so his health didn’t deteriorate as he pursued his vocation. He stared sadly at a dusty spindly tree surrounded by a protective cordon of railings. Here, even the trees were in prison."

"That was probably the most truthful thing that Tanvir had said to him yet. Wherever one was in the world, it seemed that it was difficult to bring the rich and powerful to book. It was enough to turn anyone into a communist – as long as it didn’t mean he had to share his cigarettes and beer."

"The inspector was suddenly reminded of his English literature classes as a teenager. The teacher dissecting Jane Austen while the boys looked bored and the girls swooned over Darcy. Certainly, there was enough pride and prejudice within this Sikh clan to write a number of sequels. Although Jane Austen had never felt the need to sully her books with premature death, or premature pregnancies for that matter."

"“Sikhs seem to have done quite well in India,” said the inspector provocatively, looking around the gleaming office with its panoramic views of the brown smog hanging over the city. “Don’t be fooled,” said Tara. “This is just window dressing. There are Sikh figureheads everywhere including that Manmohan Singh. But if you look deeper, you will see the truth!” “And what is that?” asked the inspector. “We’re second-class citizens. They deny us our rights in Punjab. What about water rights? What about Chandigarh? What about our language? They attack our places of worship and massacre our citizens ...” Tara Singh was a man who preferred to have the last word. “You foreigners,” he said. “You don’t understand India.”"

"“Do you think of yourself as an Indian, Inspector?” “I suppose so. In Singapore, with so many different races living cheek to cheek, it’s hard to forget your roots.” “Outsiders think that all Indians are one big happy family. But within the country we know better.”"

"If they’d been in Singapore, he’d have thrown an army of investigators at the place, established once and for all whether there was a nexus between the factory and the illness at the slum. He didn’t have that option in India."

"Self-immolation was a peculiarly anticipatory gesture for someone who would eventually be cremated and her ashes scattered in a river. Mrs. Singh wondered whether the family would take the ashes to the Punjab or whether a river closer at hand would suffice. ... She tried to imagine for a moment what [her husband] would do when she died. Probably chuck her ashes into the nearest monsoon drain and head to a coffee shop for a cold beer."

"A shudder ran through the stout frame of the policeman. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen a rat in Singapore. A few scrawny squirrels that looked a lot like rats and the occasional garden shrew – that was the sum of rodent life in his recent past. Inspector Singh, who prided himself on his familiarity with the dark fringes of society, realised that he’d been fooling himself. His Singaporean version was the Disney equivalent of the seedy side of life."

"“So your certainty that Ashu was murdered by her family despite the absence of any evidence is based on your certainty that they were behind the assault on you for which you don’t have any evidence either?” Sameer was undaunted by the sarcasm. “It’s your job to find evidence, Singh. I’ve just made it easy for you by identifying the murderers.”"

"The inspector wondered whether ‘those people’ really had immunity or just died at a higher rate than the wealthier denizens of the city. He suspected the latter."

"“Where’re you from?” “I’m a policeman from Singapore and a distant relative by marriage to Ashu’s family,” replied Singh. “I’ve been there – most boring place in the world, I think,” said Sameer. Singh grinned. This was a different opinion from that of the American boss."

"Singh sat in front of a screen glumly, occasionally scrolling down with one grubby finger on a key. He hated computers. He especially hated information presented to him in such an impersonal way. There was no human touch here. Whatever opinions might have been found scribbled in the margins of a hard copy were nowhere to be found online."

"“It’s impossible to run a business in this town. Corruption, nepotism, cronyism – you name it, it’s here.” “So was Ashu Kaur an example of nepotism?” “Because she was Tara Singh’s granddaughter? Actually, she was a good worker, smart, knew her stuff. And she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty.” “What does that mean?” “You’re not from India, are you?” “Singapore.” The American calmed down immediately. “Now there’s a place I like to do business. Clean, organised, honest, efficient and no slums on the doorstep.”"

"The American stroked a long grey moustache. “They said this is the other economic powerhouse of Asia.” He snorted his derision. “In China things work.” “But this is the world’s largest democracy,” protested Singh. “You’re not going to get the same kind of order as China.” The fat man closed his eyes for a moment – he couldn’t believe he was getting defensive about India and sounding like his wife to boot. “I don’t think much of the democracy they got over here.""

"He didn’t bother to answer his wife and opened the newspaper instead. There was a cholera outbreak in the slums, more nuclear sabre-rattling from the governments of India and Pakistan and a riot because a Bollywood film had gone too far. Apparently, Indian morals were being compromised. Singh smiled happily. They just didn’t make the newspapers like this in Singapore."

"“Washing machines?” Singh was baffled. “Any electrical item. Everyone is wanting one to show off. Even if they still give the clothes to the dhobi wallah. He irons also, you see,” she said, making a vigorous motion with her right hand. Mrs. Singh – the method actor. So technology had not yet mastered all the skills of that wiry man in the dirty lunghi with a pile of clothes on his head. Singh was suddenly glad. To his surprise, he realised that India was getting under his skin. Already, he was feeling defensive about the old way of doing things."

"“I’m telling you that I knew Ashu. She was like a daughter to me. There is no way she would have killed herself – and in such a way.” “The police seem quite sure,” he replied. “The police in India are like a river, Inspector Singh, always taking the path of least resistance.” Singh decided to save the metaphor for an occasion when he could use it on Superintendent Chen."

"In each puddle of light, like a morality play, the homeless lay on carefully laid out bits of cardboard or blanket. The ‘new middle class’ of Mumbai, spoken of in hushed tones by economists, stepped over the sleeping forms or skirted around them without breaking stride as they headed for the nearest Starbucks to fulfil their destiny as the engine of Indian economic growth."

"He could have added that many bodies went unclaimed because relatives could not afford a funeral. Men and women left their villages to find work in the cities and were far from loved ones when some accident carried them away. And of course, there were those who were killed in the sudden outbreaks of communal violence – it was difficult to find the family of these victims, many of whom might have died at the same time, escaped to their villages or be too traumatised to search for the missing."

"In India, Inspector Singh, life is sometimes very cheap."

"Sycophantic little tosser, thought Singh, protecting his inheritance with a bit of brown-nosing. He looked at Tara Singh. Weren’t these big-time industrialists supposed to be good judges of character? Surely he could see through the boy? And why was the brother reluctant to have Singh involved anyway? Didn’t he want to find his sister?"

"Out of the corner of his eye, Singh noted that the younger brother looked scared. There were secrets within this family. But was there anything odd in that? All families had something to hide, a sin that loomed large in the household although trivial in the greater scheme of things. A quarrel between members, feuding factions, perhaps an affair. It didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the missing woman."

"“What are you trying to say?” “Well, she’s due to get married and she runs away from home…what else is one supposed to think?” “Are the Singapore police trained to leap to conclusions, Inspector?” Tanvir’s ironic remark was a little too close to the bone. Still, one did have to examine the obvious before indulging in colourful speculation. “Embellish your theory, Inspector,” said Tara Singh. His voice was as sharp as the knives with stiletto points that Singh sometimes found embedded in the chests of victims."

"The apartment building was tall and modern and would not have looked out of place in Singapore. In Singh’s view, it was extremely dull. “I thought that these rich Indians lived in mansions with one lot of stairs going up and another coming down and dancing girls everywhere?” “You watch too much TV.”"

"In a few minutes, they were whizzing past small boys who had the latest cricket scores written on bits of cardboard. They held up the information for passing traffic and the drivers exclaimed at the news – Sachin Tendulkar had scored a fifty – and threw coins at them in thanks. So much for avoiding the result of the game, thought Singh. This system was more efficient than subscribing for updates on a mobile phone."

"Singh was always impressed at his wife’s ability to draw large conclusions from infinestimal pieces of evidence. She’d fit right into the Singapore police murder squad."