Journey After Midnight
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Оглавление
Ujjal Dosanjh. Journey After Midnight
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
INDEX
Отрывок из книги
To Rami, who has unflinchingly stood with me; to my brother, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles; to my children, who love me despite the long periods of neglect I visited upon them; to my six grandchildren, Solaina, Alexie, Suhani, Iyla, Mila and Damon, for whom I continue my fight and pen my life’s story; and to the countless friends and supporters who have helped me stand up, speak out and fight on.
I spent the first eighteen years of my life in India, fled briefly to Britain and then came to Canada, where I have remained for close to five decades. I am indebted to India for giving me its ancient civilization as a birth gift and for nurturing me before I fled as a fugitive from its battles. I am grateful to England — which I despised as a former colonial power, until I landed in London — for what it taught me during my short sojourn in its embrace, though I felt like an interloper there. Afraid to go back to India as a failure, I embarked for Canada, where I was able to drop anchor. Together, these three countries have given me a life filled with more victories than defeats, more joys than sorrows. The world has done much to help make me a better man, and some may say I haven’t done too badly.
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The ageless Goraywala was like an ancient witness to the march of men and women on the roads and streets of our village. It had provided drinking water to unknown travellers as well as generations of Dosanjhes. Thousands of children had peered through its cool water deep into the bowels of the earth. I too wondered at the deep secrets it held. I did not know then what I know now: the Goraywala was once at the heart of life.
Yet to me the Goraywala, being just a few yards away from our home, was an extension of it. In winter, we woke up to see the Persian wheel bringing well water to the surface. Steam rose like mist, giving the surroundings an enchanted look. The occasional winter fog made the Goraywala even more mysterious to my young mind. I would not learn until later that the fog was actually smog. Many a morning, the sun toiled and failed to come through. We conveniently blamed the gods, the sun god included.
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