It begins at the brink of the dawn,
with the sound of chrring printing machine.
Chrring bloody scenes into bold black ink and we drink to that ink that make our stomach sink yet the machine harps happily.
and there goes the busy printing machine louder and louder, More louder than the screams of a woman screaming for help in a warehouse while she was raped, brutally but the fair and lovely ad gets more space snootily and strangly we go on reading the newspaper with our daily cup of tea perpetually.
And there goes the printing machine slower and slower to adjust the words on the second page....printing sweeping statements of mob in rage against the other community living in menage with their nearing fading sage, I'm afraid this will end in other destructive out rage.
There stops the printing machine after pilling 3 pages, turning the beauty ads in first page saline with acid attack on last,
we read stories that become our histories, Oh irony, we are all ironies, will one day reveal how our great Indian heritage fell to its knees at the mercy of innocent printing machines.....
-Riya Saluja