Here are two lovely excerpts from pieces published today. First, from S Mitra Kalita’s moving letter to her mother:
I realize now that much of your rearing was spent making sure I didn’t have the life you did.
And from Salil Tripathi’s comment on the Baroda affair:
[I]f Muslims can get Salman Rushdie’s “The Satanic Verses” or the Danish cartoons banned, they [Hindutva supporters] want Mr. Husain’s—and now Mr. Chandramohan’s—freedom restricted.
At last, it seems, Hindus have secured the parity they believe they’ve been denied. They have their own Taliban.
Both make me sad in different ways, and remind me of how futile this whole game is. And so, recursively, we progress.