- Mama: What if you marry an asexual man? (just one of her casual remarks over lunch)
- Mama: Old people should not love each other. They should wear orange dhotis, become sadhus, and do yoga.
- Mama (to my brother, Vidur): I'm not going to smell your shorts. What's wrong with you?!
- Mama: Vidur, stop looking at your breasts!
- Mama: Divya, just put the damn DVD in the damn DVD player.
- Mama: *walks into hotel room* That half-eaten cheese looks poisoned.
- 10 minutes later...
- Vidur: *walks into the room, sees the cheese, and pops it into his mouth.*
- Mama: NO! That's poisoned!
- Vidur: *stops mid-chew as panic enters his eyes*
- Vidur: I'm putting lemon on my moles.
- Mama: He's shitting and weighing, shitting and weighing, shitting and weighing.
- Mama: Divya wants to adopt kids...Ethiopian kids. *turns to my dad and pats his back* You can look after them.
Things my momster says.
I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.
— Jack Kerouac, Dharma Burns