Elif Shafak

Baba ve piç

Srijita Sarkar 

Only then it dawned in her that her real objection to Allah was not his—that's to say, His—not having any blood but rather having to many blood-sisters, to many to care for so as to end up not carrying for anyone. 

When you didn't tell anyone the extraordinary, everyone assumed the normal, Armanoush discovered at an early age. 

Armanoush looked at her relatives with a stare that bordered on desperate. What could she do? How could she be independent when they were so frighteningly close? How could she convince them that they didn’t have to worry so much about her when they had had so much in life to worry about? How could she break free from her genetic heritage, especially when a part of her was so proud of it? How could she fight off the kindness of her loved ones? Could goodness be fought?

"When you drink you drink to extremes, when you criticize you bulldoze, when you get down you sink and hit the bottom. I honestly don’t know how to approach you. You are so full of rage, baby. . . .”

“Perhaps it’s because I was born a bastard,” remarked Asya, taking another puff. “I don’t even know who my father is. I never ask, they never tell. Sometimes when my mother looks at me I think she sees him in my face but never says a word. We all pretend there is no such thing as father. Instead there is only Father, with a capital F. When you have Allah up there in the sky to look after you, who needs a father? Aren’t we all His children? Not that my mother buys that crap. I tell you she is more cynical than any woman I’ve ever known. And that is precisely where the problem is. My mom and I, we are so alike and yet so distant.”

"There is no cure better than a good screw and a good joint."

How could she reveal she had had numerous relations in the past, way too many, as if to take revenge on men, but the revenge of what, she still couldn't tell. 

From where the Celestial Gaze is situated, from that high above, all these sporadically lit bulbs must seem in prefect harmony, constantly flickering, as if chiding a cryptic message to God.

Noor Habib

“I know every single street in this town… and I love strolling these streets in the mornings, in the evenings, and then at nights when I am merry and tipsy. I love to have breakfasts with my friends along the Bosphorus on Sundays, I love to walk alone amid the crowds. I am in love with the chaotic beauty of this city, the ferries, the music, the tales, the sadness, the colors, and the black humor…” 

Baba ve piç quotes

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