In India, It's The Rich Who Have

Mangalore, The Coastal Indian Town Where I Lived Until I Was Almost 16, Is Now A Booming City Of Malls And Call-centres. But, In The 1980s, It Was A Provincial Town In A Socialist Country.

...the Future Of The World Lies With The Yellow Man And The Brown Man Now That Our Erstwhile Master, The White-skinned Man, Has Wasted Himself Through Buggery, Cell Phone Usage, And Drug Abuse

Nothing Can Stop A Living Thing That Wants To Be Free

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.

I Am Not An Original Thinker-but I Am An Original Listener.)