At A Time When India Is Going

Like Most People Who Live In India, I Complain About Corruption, But Know That I Can Live With Corrupt Men. It Is The Honest Ones I Secretly Worry About.

A Rich Man's Body Is Like A Premium Cotton Pillow, White And Soft And Blank. ''ours'' Is Different. My Father's Spine Was A Knotted Rope, The Kind That Women Use In Villages To Pull Water From Wells; The Clavicle Curved Around His Neck In High Relief, Like A Dog's Collar; Cuts And Nicks And Scars, Like Little Whip Marks In His Flesh, Ran Down His Chest And Waist, Reaching Down Below His Hip Bones Into His Buttocks. The Story Of A Poor Man's Life Is Written On His Body, In A Sharp Pen.

Do You Know About Hanuman, Sir? He Was The Faithful Servant Of The God Rama, And We Worship Him In Our Temples Because He Is A Shining Example Of How To Serve Your Masters With Absolute Fidelity, Love, And Devotion. These Are The Kinds Of Gods They Have Foisted On Us Mr. Jiabao. Understand, Now, How Hard It Is For A Man To Win His Freedom In India.

See, The Poor Dream All Their Lives Of Getting Enough To Eat And Looking Like The Rich. And What Do The Rich Dream Of?? Losing Weight And Looking Like The Poor.

I Was Looking For The Key For Years But The Door Was Always Open