Translated fiction: A group of gig workers in Kolkata thinks about its place in the universe
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Humiliation is a serpent with poisonous fangs. The toxic teeth of an unjustified humiliation sting the victim with a particularly sharp edge, leaving him writhing in a pain that takes an eternity to heal, if it heals at all. The mind bleeds amidst groans of unbearable agony and futile rage. But often the worst thing about humiliation is that the person at the receiving end has to suffer alone, unable to share the anguish with anybody else. With time, the person learns to live with the trauma.
Sriman had been subjected to one such unwarranted indignity this morning. Despite his earnest efforts to come to terms with it, he had not been able to overcome it. What did he do to deserve it? The question rankling inside him ever since the occurrence of the incident had left him stumped. So much so that he had refrained from going out for work post-lunch.
Bishan Basu was Sriman’s go-to person in all crises that indicated no potential closure. Sriman was now in Bishan-da’s room. Sriman’s account of the incident had stunned Bishan too.
A wild rage was simmering inside Bishan, ever since hearing about it. The fury was so savage that it could be satiated only...