I left home more than forty years ago. I was eighteen. When I went back, after six years - and slowly: a two-week journey by steamer - everything was strange and not strange: the suddenness of night, the very big leaves of some trees, the shrunken streets, the corrugated-iron roofs. You could walk down a street and hear the American advertising jingles coming out of the Rediffusion sets in all the little open houses. Six years before I had known the jingles the Rediffusion sets played; but these jingles were all new to me and were like somebody else's folksong now.
- From A Way in the World by V.S. Naipaul
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