Dear Mr. Warren Anderson,
I hope this letter finds you (as no one else seems to be able to) and finds you well. Give my regards to your family. How fortunate for them to have a man of integrity, honour and stature as their patriarch. There is so much I need to tell you Mr. Anderson, I don’t know where to begin.
Since you left in a tearing hurry (again, not in accordance with Indian customs may I add, we value our guests), a lot has changed. India has grown leaps and bounds. You should come and see it Mr. Anderson, you wouldn’t recognise it. And while we are at it, here are some other things you won’t recognise. Little Sonu. His eyes have gone into his face. His legs are crippled. His sister has been given a better deal. All her limbs are intact. But she does not have the sight to appreciate them. You must see them Mr. Anderson. They could do with an arm around their shoulder. We can take a leisurely stroll down and peep into Sita Bhabi’s house. She was ostracized because she couldn’t conceive. It is suspected (see, no one is indicting you) that she inhaled the gas that leaked out of your factory all those years ago. There are many like her. Bring your grandchildren along Mr. Anderson. Open their eyes to their grandfather’s legacy. They will be so proud. I know, a busy man like you will find it tough. But retired life has surely afforded you some spare time.
http://indrasinha.com/2011/02/09/a-glimpse-behind-the-masks-of-dow/
Your country is reeling under an environmental crisis of a different kind. An oil spill has caused the president to go in search of asses to kick. I must admit, all your presidents have lofty, noble ambitions. A former president (in my opinion, the world’s most powerful stand up comedian), made it his life’s mission to smoke Osama out of his hole. Another former president was extremely successful in smoking out interns in the Oval office. Truth be told Mr. Anderson, a lot of people want to smoke you out now. And kick your ass real good.
Well, let me give you a brief history of time that has passed since you so inauspiciously fled the country. There is so much baggage that you have left behind, we possibly cannot retrieve all of it. An estimated 20,000 people have died as a direct result of the mishap. Over 200,000 people have been maimed, disabled and suffered in ways that cannot be described. A few years back, a sum of 470 million was awarded to the victims. Recently, seven people were charged and fined a princely sum of 2,000$.
I can picture you, overseeing the factory back in the day, your blood sucking parasite ways, exploiting workers and not giving a second thought to their safety. Would you have allowed the same in your country Mr. Anderson? I doubt it. I can picture you now. Old, frail and gaunt. But I pity you. Your years in exile surely could not have been peaceful. For you are an escaped convict, always wary of answering the doorbell.
It has been a quarter of a century. Skeletons buried. Your nation is still the most powerful. Sadly, it is neither the most intelligent nor one with a conscience to boast of. Even if you choose to pay us a visit, it wouldn’t alter much. No one has the heart to beat an old man to pulp. Or accept your apology. But if you ever should reconsider, drop me a line. As a poet once remarked, justice is like a train that is always late.
Till next time,
Regards
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
I hope this letter finds you (as no one else seems to be able to) and finds you well. Give my regards to your family. How fortunate for them to have a man of integrity, honour and stature as their patriarch. There is so much I need to tell you Mr. Anderson, I don’t know where to begin.
Since you left in a tearing hurry (again, not in accordance with Indian customs may I add, we value our guests), a lot has changed. India has grown leaps and bounds. You should come and see it Mr. Anderson, you wouldn’t recognise it. And while we are at it, here are some other things you won’t recognise. Little Sonu. His eyes have gone into his face. His legs are crippled. His sister has been given a better deal. All her limbs are intact. But she does not have the sight to appreciate them. You must see them Mr. Anderson. They could do with an arm around their shoulder. We can take a leisurely stroll down and peep into Sita Bhabi’s house. She was ostracized because she couldn’t conceive. It is suspected (see, no one is indicting you) that she inhaled the gas that leaked out of your factory all those years ago. There are many like her. Bring your grandchildren along Mr. Anderson. Open their eyes to their grandfather’s legacy. They will be so proud. I know, a busy man like you will find it tough. But retired life has surely afforded you some spare time.
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| Artist - Paul Phare Writer - Indra Sinha From the Masks of Dow campaign. see the full campaign here: |
Your country is reeling under an environmental crisis of a different kind. An oil spill has caused the president to go in search of asses to kick. I must admit, all your presidents have lofty, noble ambitions. A former president (in my opinion, the world’s most powerful stand up comedian), made it his life’s mission to smoke Osama out of his hole. Another former president was extremely successful in smoking out interns in the Oval office. Truth be told Mr. Anderson, a lot of people want to smoke you out now. And kick your ass real good.
Well, let me give you a brief history of time that has passed since you so inauspiciously fled the country. There is so much baggage that you have left behind, we possibly cannot retrieve all of it. An estimated 20,000 people have died as a direct result of the mishap. Over 200,000 people have been maimed, disabled and suffered in ways that cannot be described. A few years back, a sum of 470 million was awarded to the victims. Recently, seven people were charged and fined a princely sum of 2,000$.
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I can picture you, overseeing the factory back in the day, your blood sucking parasite ways, exploiting workers and not giving a second thought to their safety. Would you have allowed the same in your country Mr. Anderson? I doubt it. I can picture you now. Old, frail and gaunt. But I pity you. Your years in exile surely could not have been peaceful. For you are an escaped convict, always wary of answering the doorbell.
It has been a quarter of a century. Skeletons buried. Your nation is still the most powerful. Sadly, it is neither the most intelligent nor one with a conscience to boast of. Even if you choose to pay us a visit, it wouldn’t alter much. No one has the heart to beat an old man to pulp. Or accept your apology. But if you ever should reconsider, drop me a line. As a poet once remarked, justice is like a train that is always late.
Till next time,
Regards
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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