Repression and denial are as high a form of art as deep are the cavernous potholes inaugurated by a mix of shoddy road and human moral material, if any.
The nuisance is mainly visible when you fall into it, the rain conspires with the visibility during this month. Broken limbs, lives, wheels, and now "overturned" is the more appropriate adjective, as the ministers and the potholes have both been seen to have massive increases in girth.
The stuff that people who are old-fashioned drag into conversations, like truth, trust, and transparency, doesn't lie on the real number line anymore. Mathematically speaking, they have in India long been rotated to the imaginary axis, so that the normal arithmetic that the laity is taught (I would presume badly) can't even compute these hifalutin things anymore.
Ideally, the pleasure of seeing someone else in a calcutta hole (not the historic black hole of calcutta) is always greater than the pain of suffering a broken part or bearing the brunt or cost of it on yourself, especially if the amount of adipose tissue is conveniently set to cause a splash. The good news is that in the city of joy, there's enough carbohydrates (blatantly as bengali sweets and masquerading as Americanized fructose corn) and not enough common sense in the jostling or sophisticated middle class, and the sedentary lifestyle in the upwardly mobile gravitate by putting on gravity, as exhibit to the gaunt hardscrabble featherweights, that they're certainly better off.
Mostly out of sheer pride and prejudice for the skeletons around them, such podgy princesses don't always look where they're going. The fun is foolproof if the crater is near an open sewer with various amounts of ungulate body parts and human feces that can be clearly seen floating like breakfast oatmeal.
I wouldn't stand around for the splash, but if it does happen and I have an aerial or distant view, I can't say I'm not pleased. There's nothing wrong with getting a hearty laugh in the middle of the day when you're safe and dry, while someone else isn't, who's had a leg up unethically and part of the kakistocracy. Schedefreud the German word for it, and I have a belly full of it for anyone landing in a ditch.
This coincides with dengue season, and since the cosmopolitan mosquitoes on special duty from neighboring Bangladesh are doing overtime, they are rather nasty in their mood swings, and depending on which part of the ditch you splash, a thick cloud of war mantra chanting mosquitoes will arrive over the oversized flesh and start their work. Within a few minutes of screaming and crying, the mass of fat will galumph itself in parts on a rickshaw to wherever such large amounts of fat are accommodated, usually their government quarter or other such large, spacious caves left by the extravagant British.
Spheres in my cheeks, I hate nerds and geeks,
Served ten thousand sweet rosogolla daily.
A girl over a tonne, I blot out the sun,
I bribed into everything, proud bengali.
