A Man's Past Keeps Growing, Even When

The Moment You Recognize What Is Beautiful In This World, You Stop Being A Slave

A Man's Past Keeps Growing, Even When His Future Has Come To A Full Stop.

These Are The Three Main Diseases Of This Country, Sir: Typhoid, Cholera, And Election Fever. This Last One Is The Worst; It Makes People Talk And Talk About Things That They Have No Say In ... Would They Do It This Time? Would They Beat The Great Socialist And Win The Elections? Had They Raised Enough Money Of Their Own, And Bribed Enough Policemen, And Bought Enough Fingerprints Of Their Own, To Win? Like Eunuchs Discussing The Kama Sutra, The Voters Discuss The Elections In Laxmangarh.

With Their Tinted Windows Up, The Cars Of The Rich Go Like Dark Eggs Down The Roads Of Delhi. Every Now And Then An Egg Will Crack Open A Woman's Hand, Dazzling With Gold Bangles, Stretches Out An Open Window, Flings An Empty Mineral Water Bottle Onto The Road And Then The Window Goes Up, And The Egg Is Resealed.

Here's A Strange Fact: Murder A Man, And You Feel Responsible For His Life - ''possessive'', Even. You Know More About Him Than His Father And Mother; They Knew His Fetus, But You Know His Corpse. Only You Can Complete The Story Of His Life, Only You Know Why His Body Has To Be Pushed Into The Fire Before Its Time, And Why His Toes Curl Up And Fight For Another Hour On Earth.