" This One True Love—which flourished for two, three years—left me wounded. I spent months scooped in bed, howling my heart out. In learning to forget him, I had to pick up what was left of me, the little fragments of individuality [...] like broken bangles, chipped glass, colourful pebbles. [...] This was a lover who had become the landscape. Everything in Kerala reminded me of him. "

― Meena Kandasamy , When I Hit You: Or, A Portrait of the Writer as a Young Wife