Nupur Jindal

“Your husband is doing this for your own good, they both concur.
‘Your own good’ was the mantra of my mother when I was growing up – it justified being force-fed laxatives once every three months, not celebrating my birthdays at school, curfews against travelling alone, refusal of permission to go to picnics. ‘Your own good’ was the reason my English teacher offered when she pulled me by the ear and led me out of the classroom, shouting rowdy girl rowdy girl rowdy girl this is for your own good and struck me with a wooden ruler. ‘Your own good’ was what justified my teenage neighbour putting his fingers inside my eight-year-old vagina to check for forest insects and bed bugs and evil imps. When I hear ‘your own good’ I am reduced to being a child again. I do not argue any more. I go silent.”
― Meena Kandasamy, When I Hit You: Or, A Portrait of the Writer as a Young Wife

“Your art has failed. You’ve turned literature into a religion and it’s as dead as all the rest, it’s an overripe corpse and you’re cutting fancy figures at the wake. It’s too late for geniuses! Now we need vandals and desecrators, simple-minded demolition men to smash centuries of baroque subtlety, to bring down the temple, and thus finally, to reconcile the shame and the necessity of being an artist!”
― Tom Stoppard, Travesties

“If love is a place marked by the absence of questions, I’m no longer there. I have left with questions. I am left with questions.”
― Meena Kandasamy, When I Hit You: Or, A Portrait of the Writer as a Young Wife

“He said Jesus was a historical figure and God was a superstition, and a superstition was a thing that didn't exist.”
― Margaret Atwood, Surfacing