Closet case

Sitting in a room filled with designer shit pots is a scary ordeal..and that’s exactly the situation in which I found myself today as I went shopping for a bathroom makeover. To be outnumbered by shitpots that cost more than your gross self worth is rather stressful for the ego. It gives one the feeling of being stuck in the Freudian anal phase and retaining more than one can hold.
To turn the spot-light on to the protagonists themselves, there were all sorts of them, Desis, Phirangis, Upper class, Middle class, Lower class.. literally a gold mine for the postcolonial Marxist thinker. The colonial hangover is what struck me the most. The European avatar of the critical object seem to have the clear upper hand in the market, with its Indian counterpart relegated to the dark recesses of the shop. It is brought out shamefully when the cringing NRI son, building in bricks that desert induced nightmare of his, whispers the order as a result of his ageing mothers last stand against progress; the sovereignty of her bum.