Soul Stripping on the Net

  This is a piece I wrote while travelling in the monorail from Naigaon to Chembur. It was raining and I passed the oil depots near Wadala. Got a Blade Runner shiver. Oil depots and oilery chimneys  Burning bright, burning nights  Skyscrapers puncturing pregnant clouds  Grey soot, black rain, drip down the city. The stench of wealth rises to the skies  Condensing the tears it carries with it  Taste the drops that return to the gutter  Grey death, black blood, poor sweat all over.    The CEOs in their butcheries and the Ministers in their mints  Slice and dice, extract and exploit  Noisy cries reverberate and echo  The clouds reply in kind:  Grey ash, black floods, a caustic sewer. Loved humans, pedestalized into stars  Their glamorous lights glow the heavens  The hellish skyscape flashes back  Electric touches, charring smells, dust swirls in the city. Incessant, unshakable,  Without respite, without mercy  Drowning the city, a punishment futile:  The people slave on;  for Bombay drown

 Darshan got up late today, but he did not mind. Today was not a workday so leisurely haste is what he approached the morning with. He grilled the sandwiches and made his coffee. He noticed a new bottle had magically appeared, so he thanked his pari. By then mavshi was here and was surprised to see him awake and up and about. Normally on a hasty day, he slept late and then began working frantically to meet the deadline. Today that was not the case. Darshan looked bemusedly at her in amusement. Then he finally had his bath since the day before yesterday and prepared to go to where his work was supposed to be. I am going to experience this Fucktown today finally! The hours he had put in yesterday finally bore fruit when his God-boss told him that the scope of a certain sub-task of his project would be reduced further. That means I only have to put in about six more hours of work tonight. That is good and manageable. If I die, pari will resurrect me. As long as I do not die on the way to