Age of Vice

by Deepti Kapoor

A shrewd man, his only addiction a vice that cleans up its own trace. Power.

You think India is poor? Go and travel around America. I couldn’t believe it. Meanwhile some backpacker in Paharganj wanders around crying about our poverty, shaking his head, taking pity on us, taking photos for the people back home. Take a look at your own backyard. Study your history, man. You people looted us, took everything, stole our treasures. Now you look at us and say, ‘You’re so spiritual, you have so much wisdom, you’re so wise, you’re so . . . simple.’ Yeah, we’re simple, fucker. We’re simply going to destroy you.

“Him, his money, his pressure on my head, his violence, his way of doing things. All my dreams are bullshit anyway. You saw what your journalist said about me. I’m tired. I’m stuck between the shit my father does and the things I can’t do.”

I don’t know, maybe as a man it’s something you can’t understand. Your fear arises from the things you do, not the things that are denied to you.