Why is it that I think of you
Every day and every night,
Even though I don’t even know your name ?
Why is it that you’re so beautiful ?
It kills me a little inside every time I see you
Why is it that I envy you ?
For you’re so adequate and appropriate
That you make me feel this way
Why is it that I don’t just tell you ?
It hurts so badly, I want to forget you
Why is it that I still want you ?
I’m not sure if you know I exist
Why is it that I’m going insane ?
Why is it that I loathe you ?
And why is it that I love you ?
“This power cut is the last straw. I can’t bear the Congress anymore. It has to go”, shrieks Tia. “Tell me about it. Future super power, my ass. Inflation! Declining growth rate. So many corruption scams. And, now this. Give other parties a chance, will you? It’s as if the Congress is judging us for giving them a second term. Sonia Gandhi is probably having a cocktail party up there in the Parliament House with Manmohan and Chidambaram and laughing at us, calling us ‘gullible shits”, spews Alisha.
“Yeah, I don’t see people being held accountable for their actions. There are more scams than the people being punished. We are totally at the mercy of our government.”
“Who-ever called this a free country? The British very humbly handed us over to these politicians. It was their final trickery. The Queen is probably up there dancing in her castle donning our diamond crown and having a cocktail party alongside an Olympic pool with Michael Phelps and laughing at us, calling us—” “GULLIBLE shits, I know! ‘Enough with your cocktail parties.”
Tia leaves the room.
Sabitri Bhuiyan, a woman I have created to enrich my thesis, is now ninety-one years old, Continue reading