" If I see my son I see the whole world," Babbanji's father points out. "My light is here. I see the world through him. I will see you through him, I will see America through him. He is my screen." And looking at the seventeen-year-old beaming at me, his eyes and his heart eager to discover, to react, to live, and the father next to him, now also smiling, I believe it. There will be many long evenings now, after all the explanations have been made, perhaps after a thrashing from his mother, after a sense of disturbance has passed, that Babbanji will sit on the cot in front of the lecturer's house in the stifling small town in Bihar and tell him about the Queen's necklace, about the screen goddess he had seen weaving a garland of jasmine into her hair, about the big cars and the people living on the sewer, about the English poets with their drink, about the building that fell down and the people it fell upon, about the fight for water in the public toilet and the small kindnesses of the footpath dwellers. Isn't that why we have children, after all: to see the world a second time, on their screen? "

― Suketu Mehta