writingsonthewall's blog

Excerpt of book : The Ground beneath her feet ' Salman Rushdie

Happiness, now, that's something else again.  Happiness is human, not divine, and the pursuit of happiness is what we might call love.  This love, earthly love, is a truce between metamorphs, a temporary agreement not to shape-shift while kissing or holding hands. Love is a beach towel spread over shifting sands. Love is intimate democracy, a compact that insists on renewals, and you can be voted out overnight, however big your majority. It's fragile, precarious, and it's all we can get without selling ours souls to one party or the other. Its what we can have while remaining free.  This is what Vina Apsara meant when she spoke of a love without trust. All treaties can be broken; all promises end up as lies. Sign nothing, make no promises. Make a provisional reconciliation, a fragile peace. If you're lucky it might last five days, or fifty years.