Meeting with you was a much awaited honour for me. I egressed from my economic crisis, my slump, and my drudgery. Sparks gone away returned to me. My childhood began roaming about in your garden, swampy ponds and dirty alleys.
A youth entered drop by drop in me.
GDP has hit the sky. Looking at the sky has now become impossible. The metalled clouds, the aluminiferous wings and the moaning desire. Revlon girls are dried of love, Raymond boys, denied of loyalty. They are tottering like unidentified locomotives. With mobiles. With mobile poverty.
A young girl loved me once.
Yesterday, her income was Rs. 20/- per month and mine, Rs. 80/-. Mine has been blown up to 200. Hers has been whittled down to 5. I want to forget her since I can't tolerate her remembering me for so long.
The phantom of Ambani's million dollar house is tempting me.