A man and his socks


J is a short man in his early thirties. Pearls of sweat run down his forehead, trying in vain to protect his face from Delhi’s inexorable summer heat. The jeans, shirt, and glasses he wears are so normal, that he could be one of million Indians. Merely the incessant movement of his eyes are unusual.

“I want to be bonded, and my flesh should be eaten over a couple days,” says J with excitement. “I also want my penis to be skinned and then to be made into socks, so that a lady can wear them.” J does not seem to be “normal” after all – whatever the philosophical definition of this “normal” is. Continue reading