"Do you say 'I love you' to your left hand?" Shukla Master asked. Kabir frowned. "What?" "Your left hand," Shukla Master pointed. "Do you wake up in the morning, look at your hand, and say, 'I love you, hand'? Do you thank it for holding your phone? Do you write it a poem?" "No," Kabir said, irritated. "That would be insane. It's my hand. It's part of me." "Exactly," Shukla Master smiled, cracking a peanut. "In our culture, beta, we don't say 'I love you' because to say it, you need two people. You need an 'I' and a 'You.' You need separation. You need distance."