Let us go then to Dalal Street
At 6 pm, twilight immerses the
wild incantations. The animals buy and sell their dreams. The sane sex hour of
their lives arrive like a temptress and devours them. They wander and roam;
their impatient souls slowly get consumed by the burning inferno. They are
afraid that others will haul them across the abyss; they are scared of being
left behind as simple beings with empty, disappointed hands. They are always
terrified that home and trees and mountains exist, and, they lift the fear of
many things into the darkness of their lives and sink into it.
Their fortunes are recorded in companies. They are
especially happy or unhappy, especially greedy or hateful in their hearts. You
cannot be against this very important occupation: The story of Rakesh
Jhunjhunwala and Warren Buffett. Every one of these characters, etched a furrow
in the great grey brain of the earth, and we all carry a miniature reproduction
of this archetypal brain within us. We like to tell these stories because
freedom is now for sale.
Death for them may come early across the graveyards of
hollow promises. And, time-worn vultures will pick at their denial. A shroud of
darkness may cover them soon because the Street is stacked under the walls of a
dying order. To this end, they have spent the last few decades ripping apart
the heroes of the past and the usable contemporaries and put together new and
ever new material possibilities, manufacturing modern capitalist legitimacies
that make the old measures seem redundant. Let us go then to Dalal Street
Meghna Maiti
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