FascisstChad
PROUD YAKUBIAN ALBINOID
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In the bustling streets of Mumbai with a stench of excrement, the contrasts of India's diverse society were on full display. Amidst the crowds, two men stood out for their stark differences. One was a tall, broad-shouldered Iranian of fair Aryan features, exuding an aura of cultured refinement. The other, a short, dark-skinned Dravidian, with a heavy accent and a demeanor bordering on uncivilized.
As fate would have it, their paths crossed that fateful day. The Iranian, Amir, was a successful businessman from Tehran, in Mumbai on an important deal. The Dravidian, Rohan, was a lowly balding janitor struggling to make ends meet.
Amir strode down the sidewalk with purpose, his expensive suit and confident air marking him as a man of stature. Rohan, sloppily dressed in tattered rags, scurried about, sweeping the littered streets. Their eyes met and Amir reflexively recoiled at the sight and stench of the filthy, inferior man before him.
"Wretch!" Amir sneered disdainfully. "I've had enough of your kind falsely claiming kinship with noble Aryans like myself. Let me set you straight - we are not brothers, nor cousins, nor anything alike. My blood is pure and cultured, yours tainted and vile. An ugly, thick-accented subhuman like you could never compare to civilized refinement."
Rohan, taken aback by the harsh words, stammered "B-but Saar, I am your brother! We are both of the same human family..."
"Bah!" Amir spat on the ground near Rohan's feet. "Born of different mothers, I. You with your stinking Dravidian blood are as far from me as an ape from a man. I am Iranian, Aryan - descended from the great Persian Kings. You? Nothing but the descendant of primitive, uncultured Dalits. I will not stand for your attempts to sully my proud lineage by false claims of brotherhood!"
Amir stepped closer, his fair face twisted in disgust and rage. Rohan cowered before the tall, imposing man, the realities of the prejudices and biases that burdened his people all too clear. To the haughty Iranian, Rohan represented all that was wrong with India - the backwardness, the lack of refinement, the taint of low-caste blood.
Rohan, on the verge of tears, hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry Saar, I didn't mean any offense. We're all children of the same G..."
"Silence, wretch!" Amir cut him off. "There is no brotherhood between us. My voice is cultured and calm, yours thick-tongued and uncouth. I am the embodiment of civilised, cultured Aryan values, you a remnant of India's uncivilised past. Now run along and sweep up the shit, which is all one of your lowly people is good for."
With that, Amir turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Rohan kneeling in the dust, tears of humiliation streaking his dark face. The inequality of their worlds could not have been more apparent that day.
As fate would have it, their paths crossed that fateful day. The Iranian, Amir, was a successful businessman from Tehran, in Mumbai on an important deal. The Dravidian, Rohan, was a lowly balding janitor struggling to make ends meet.
Amir strode down the sidewalk with purpose, his expensive suit and confident air marking him as a man of stature. Rohan, sloppily dressed in tattered rags, scurried about, sweeping the littered streets. Their eyes met and Amir reflexively recoiled at the sight and stench of the filthy, inferior man before him.
"Wretch!" Amir sneered disdainfully. "I've had enough of your kind falsely claiming kinship with noble Aryans like myself. Let me set you straight - we are not brothers, nor cousins, nor anything alike. My blood is pure and cultured, yours tainted and vile. An ugly, thick-accented subhuman like you could never compare to civilized refinement."
Rohan, taken aback by the harsh words, stammered "B-but Saar, I am your brother! We are both of the same human family..."
"Bah!" Amir spat on the ground near Rohan's feet. "Born of different mothers, I. You with your stinking Dravidian blood are as far from me as an ape from a man. I am Iranian, Aryan - descended from the great Persian Kings. You? Nothing but the descendant of primitive, uncultured Dalits. I will not stand for your attempts to sully my proud lineage by false claims of brotherhood!"
Amir stepped closer, his fair face twisted in disgust and rage. Rohan cowered before the tall, imposing man, the realities of the prejudices and biases that burdened his people all too clear. To the haughty Iranian, Rohan represented all that was wrong with India - the backwardness, the lack of refinement, the taint of low-caste blood.
Rohan, on the verge of tears, hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry Saar, I didn't mean any offense. We're all children of the same G..."
"Silence, wretch!" Amir cut him off. "There is no brotherhood between us. My voice is cultured and calm, yours thick-tongued and uncouth. I am the embodiment of civilised, cultured Aryan values, you a remnant of India's uncivilised past. Now run along and sweep up the shit, which is all one of your lowly people is good for."
With that, Amir turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Rohan kneeling in the dust, tears of humiliation streaking his dark face. The inequality of their worlds could not have been more apparent that day.
JAI HIND!
