Impressions

The editor I wrote about in a previous post is an arrogant racist asshole. There is no other way to describe him. J joined the company I am interning in as an intern himself. Luckily for him, the managing editor, D, happened to go on maternity leave. He then took on the position of the managing editor. He seemed nice and friendly at the interview. But, as if the fact that I did an MA in English with a scholarship from a top British university wasn't good enough for him, he felt the need to confirm with me that my English was good enough for proofreading. A little silly to ask considering that I applied for an editorial internship, and if my English wasn't good I wouldn't have made it that far. Then, during my first week, he asked me if I knew what penultimate meant. He immediately apologized, saying that he didn't mean to sound 'condescending', which is of course exactly what he intended to do. Also, when I told him how I played around with words in my disse...

I watch horror struck, along with the rest of the world, as flames lick the rooftops of one of Mumbai’s most famous landmarks. And a part of me dies … the part which still believed in the essential goodness of humanity … killed by the same ruthless predators who are now prowling in the corridors of the Taj. Little parts like these have been dying for a long time now, accumulating within me. They have starting taking over me like a gangrenous growth. I feel afraid. Maybe I am already dead. Suddenly the world around me seems to dissolve, giving way to a vicious cruelty that can surely be found only in hell. Or maybe we are all characters in an absurdist drama, our fragile existence at the mercy of the whims and whimsies of the playwright, a single stroke of the pen having the power to determine our lives and deaths.  Or maybe I am mad, that can be the only explanation for the madness that I see on the television. Maybe hatred is the order of the day, and I am insane in thin...