Read Kabuliwala again after a long time. 23yrs to be precise.

Tears came to my eyes. I forgot that he was a poor Kabuli fruit-seller, while I was–but no, what was I more than he? He also was a father. That impression of the hand of his little Parbati in her distant mountain home reminded me of my own little Mini.

Reading undisturbed in the bed is one advantage of being down with a cold. 

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