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Fennel, which is the spice for Wednesdays, the day of averages, of middle-aged people. . . . Fennel . . . smelling of changes to come.

Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

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Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
Age: 68
Born: 1956
Born: July 29
Author
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Short Story Writer
Writer
Calcutta
Chitralekha Banerjee
Average
Changes
Wednesdays
Middle
Averages
Come
Smelling
People
Spice
Wednesday
Spices
Aged

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Often, others see you, as you see yourself
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I am buoyant and expansive and uncontainable--but I always was so, only I never knew it!
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The heart itself is beyond control. That is its power, and its weakness.
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Everyone breathes in air, but it's a wise person who knows when to use that air to speak and when to exhale in silence.
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they say in the old tales that when a man and woman exchange looks the way we did, their spirits mingle. their gaze is a rope of gold binding each other. even if they never meet again, they carry a little of the other with them always. they can never forget, and they can never be wholly happy again
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the darkness is a cresting wave. It sweeps me up out of my body until I float among the stars, those tine bright pores on the sky's skin. If only I could pass through them, I would end up on the other side, the right side, shadowless, perfectly illuminated, beyond the worries of this mundane world
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After the fire, when I'd tried to express my gratitude for their kindness to our customers, they'd been awkward, uncomfortable. My father had had to explain to me that giving thanks is not a common practice in India. 'Then how do you know if people appreciated what you did?' I'd asked. 'Do you really need to know?' my father had asked back.
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There was an unexpected freedom in finding out that one wasn't as important as one had always assumed!
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I walk out of the room, lurching under the weight of the lesson I've learned less than one hour into wifehood: How quickly the sweetest love turns rancid when it isn't returned. When the one you love loves someone else.
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Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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...don't create snakes out of ropes. You have enough to worry about.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.
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Looking back, I could not point to one special time and say, There! That's what is amazing. We can change completely and not recognize it. We think terrible events have made us into stone. But love slips in like a chisel - and suddenly it is an ax, breaking us into pieces from the inside.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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...this time I didn't launch into my usual tirade. Was it a memory of Krishna, the cool silence with which he countered disagreement, that stopped me? I saw something I hadn't realized before: words wasted energy.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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Your childhood hunger is the one that never leaves you.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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The dream is not a drug but a way. Listen to where it can take you.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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Love comes like lightning, and disappears the same way. If you are lucky, it strikes you right. If not, you'll spend your life yearning for a man you can't have.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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I guess there's a lot we hope for that never happens.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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But maybe as I get older, I begin to see beauty where I least expected it before.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
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Can't you ever be serious?' I said, mortified. 'It's difficult,' he said. 'There's so little in life that's worth it.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni