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"It was a wonderful experience interacting with you and appreciate the way you have planned and executed the whole publication process within the agreed timelines.”
Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh Pal
Arjun Patil draws Iran for his final-year exchange and wonders what he's supposed to find there. Nadia Tehrani draws India and wonders the same thing.
Six months later, Arjun is standing at Persepolis, looking at an Indian delegation carved in stone in 500 BCE. Six months later, Nadia is sitting in a Parsi kitchen in Mumbai, eating a dish her grandmother makes in Tehran-cooked by a family that has been making it since they left Iran thirt
Arjun Patil draws Iran for his final-year exchange and wonders what he's supposed to find there. Nadia Tehrani draws India and wonders the same thing.
Six months later, Arjun is standing at Persepolis, looking at an Indian delegation carved in stone in 500 BCE. Six months later, Nadia is sitting in a Parsi kitchen in Mumbai, eating a dish her grandmother makes in Tehran-cooked by a family that has been making it since they left Iran thirteen hundred years ago.
They never meet. They don't need to.
The Same Fire is a novel about the words that stayed the same across the journey (dil/del, heart). About the food that travelled without losing its bones. About the fire on the rooftops before spring, and the sacred flame that Zoroastrian refugees carried from Iran to India and have kept burning ever since.
Arjun and Nadia are fictional. Everything they discover is real.
The door between Iran and India is real.
Arjun Patil draws Iran for his final-year exchange and wonders what he's supposed to find there. Nadia Tehrani draws India and wonders the same thing.
Six months later, Arjun is standing at Persepolis, looking at an Indian delegation carved in stone in 500 BCE. Six months later, Nadia is sitting in a Parsi kitchen in Mumbai, eating a dish her grandmother makes in Tehran-cooked by a family that has been making it since they left Iran thirt
Arjun Patil draws Iran for his final-year exchange and wonders what he's supposed to find there. Nadia Tehrani draws India and wonders the same thing.
Six months later, Arjun is standing at Persepolis, looking at an Indian delegation carved in stone in 500 BCE. Six months later, Nadia is sitting in a Parsi kitchen in Mumbai, eating a dish her grandmother makes in Tehran-cooked by a family that has been making it since they left Iran thirteen hundred years ago.
They never meet. They don't need to.
The Same Fire is a novel about the words that stayed the same across the journey (dil/del, heart). About the food that travelled without losing its bones. About the fire on the rooftops before spring, and the sacred flame that Zoroastrian refugees carried from Iran to India and have kept burning ever since.
Arjun and Nadia are fictional. Everything they discover is real.
The door between Iran and India is real.
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