One day, when my face and my name are forgotten – for the wheel of life involves everyone thrown into this world in its revolving circle and mixes them finally with the dust – then I would perhaps become transparent as a breeze. And if one looks for the heroes of our times and of the past, all then just heaps of insignificant dust, they would be found blowing by the force of my currents, in my stories.
-Mukta Singh-Zocchi
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