His words were tempered with the restrain of a great bank, and hers foamed upon them gently, violently - each time, taking with it a bit of its foundation as it returned to her sea.
Log zaalim hai, har ek baat ka taana denge. Still in the arms of her approved lover, a writer came her way. Baaton baaton mein, mera zikr bhi le aayenge. And wrote a kiss - for this statue must undo to clay.
In the day, we upheld traditions, in the day, we said the words of others. But when it was dark - when the sun, carpet-like, was rolled away, our mouths, live as volcanoes, spilled words. The night afforded truths the day did not permit.
If I am married - she began - will you have an affair with me?
Will your husband be a good man?
That doesn't matter.
And if I have a wife?
I will, she said.
Hush, he wanted to whisper - dur talak jayegi.