So there existed fathers who dealt in the present, who didn't drag ancient history around like a ball and chain. So there were men who were not neck-deep and sinking in the quagmire of the past. (12.326)
The rest is that terrible thing: history. (13.28)
"I see. Is she Hindu? Muslim? She ain't Sikh, is she?"
"That is the worst of it," said Samad, his voice breaking. "English. White. English."
Shiva shook his head. "I been out with a lot of white birds, Samad. A lot. Sometimes it's worked, sometimes it ain't. Two lovely American girls. Fell head over heels for a Parisian stunner. Even spent a year with a Romanian. But never an English girl. Never works. Never."
"Why?" asked Samad, attacking his thumbnail with his teeth and awaiting some fearful answer, some edict from on high. "Why not, Shiva Bhagwati?"
"Too much history" was Shiva's enigmatic answer, as he dished up the Chicken Bhuna. "Too much bloody history." (6.216-220)