Through the threshold of the restless night, barged in a deluge. A new day it was brimming with brimless hope, it flooded the desperate world. And then everybody drank. But ignored was the flotsam of the past it carried into this newness. Amidst the proclamation of a new era, besides the figure of the rocketing sensex, atop the claims of a burgeoning economy, dwarfed by a meeting of cultured socialites, sabotaged by the achievements of capricious young I noticed her-sitting on haunches. On the background was her newly burnt house which was the foreground of her misery; old, decaying,dying and yet alive to face a bitter new winter without a family or a shelter. And those rioters whom she had known all along. Those known faces were arabesques of hatred-that primal feeling, but newer were the convolutions. New faces trapped in an older orchestration the politics of “isms”. In new age feudalism: industrialism land grabbing , forced eviction, distraught beings and a new age of desperati...