A jarnalis came from Delhi to Khaufpur to ask how I felt about the news from Bhopal.
'I feel nothing,' I said, 'but putain con j'ai vachement envie d'une clope.'
He followed my eyes, got my drift, sighed and offered me a cigarette. 'My editor said you were difficult. He told me not to bother with you. I said, I must talk to him. We need a different point of view.'
So I'm sucking his cigarette and he's talking about Bhopal. There was a verdict and a sentencing and a this and a that and an etcetera plus also another etcetera. We're sitting on the log under the tamarind tree, outside the old tower where I lived with Ma, where I still do. It is unfair, unjust, too little too late, a disgrace, a miscarriage of … oh please, stop ta-ta-talking that blah blah blah.