I Was Looking For The Key For

The Book Of Your Revolution Sits In The Pit Of Your Belly, Young Indian. Crap It Out, And Read. Instead Of Which, They're All Sitting In Front Of Color Tvs And Watching Cricket And Shampoo Advertisements.

Do We Loathe Our Masters Behind A Facade Of Love - Or Do We Love Them Behind A Facade Of Loathing?

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.

You Can't Expect A Man In A Dung Heap To Smell Sweet.

But Isn't It Likely That Everyone In This World...has Killed Someone Or Other On Their Way To The Top?...all I Wanted Was A Chance To Be A Man--and For That, One Murder Is Enough.