Here we go again. What the fuck are you looking at?
You think I can’t see you, eh? Oh I can see you alright, you pasty-faced big ass bitch. I see you on your comfortable sofa in your rich American home staring at my picture. Yeah whatever. See if I care. I’m not unhappy, you know. I have a job, I do it well, it makes people happy.
Like this dude. He’s nervous, poor fellow. LOL. One slip of the hand and oops, there goes the jugular! But that’s the point. He chose this. He chose me. Eyes closed, so he can pretend we’re equal. Om. Breath in, breath out. He can conquer his fear. He’s in control of his emotions. He’s noble. So noble. He is letting an untouchable touch him. Touch. His. Face. And he gets a good shave, too. He gets clean clean. Double clean. Clean outside, his cheeks as smooth as a baby’s butt, but also, and most importantly, clean inside. Cleansed clean. Because he did a good deed, helped a blind dog out, let an untouchable touch him, how noble. How cleansed he’s feeling.
That’s my job. To make the son of a b- ... brahmin feel better about himself.
Hey you, on the sofa. Stop judging. We have abolished castes like you have abolished slavery. You’re not fooling anyone. It’s all the same shit. I’m still the untouchable and you still have your white privilege and Catholic guilt. But I digress. Anyway, I don’t need your pity. I’m not unhappy, you know. At least I wasn’t reborn a woman. LOL. In any case, it’s not your fault. Or maybe it is, in the great cosmic scheme of things, but I absolve you from your sins. Feel better now? Good. That’s my job. That’s what I do. Shanti, shanti, shanti. Peace out, sister.
I’m done here. “Please check in the mirror, sir. Yep. Smooth as a baby’s butt. Namaste, sir, thank you for the trust.”