Emotion of Motion: Piramal Pharma’s Naturolax and the Politics of the Gut

Posted on 16th December, 2025 (GMT 06:52 hrs)

Updated on 17th December, 2025 (GMT 04:50 hrs)

ABSTRACT

Inspired by Chekhov’s “On the Harmful Effects of Tobacco”, this self-reflexive, darkly satirical essay stages constipation as a material, political, and ecological symptom of contemporary Indian capitalism, tracing an embodied genealogy from the Green Revolution’s chemical agriculture to financial trauma following the DHFL insolvency and the Supreme Court’s 2025 endorsement of the reportedly expropriative Piramal resolution plan. Through the narrator’s lived experience of chronic constipation and IBS, the text theorizes the gut as an archive of injustice, where delayed justice, hoarded capital, and authoritarian governance translate into stalled peristalsis. Naturolax—branded Isabgol marketed by Piramal Pharma—emerges as both literal laxative and critical allegory: a modest, reliable agent of movement contrasted against constipated institutions, crony capitalism, regulatory laxity, and the commodification of traditional remedies. Drawing on cinema (Piku, Moloch, Toilet: Ek Prem Katha), lore (Gopal Bhar), political economy, pharmacology, and environmental critique, the essay argues that bodily dysfunction mirrors democratic paralysis and planetary blockage under anthropogenic heating, where circulation—of wealth, truth, water, and accountability—is systematically arrested. Rejecting grand revolutionary spectacle, it proposes peristalsis as a politics of rhythm rather than rupture: small, coordinated movements that insist on passage. In doing so, the piece reframes health, justice, and ecology as inseparable processes of circulation, asserting that resistance begins where systems still remember how to move—within the gut, across society, and ultimately through the planet itself.

Inspired from Anton Chekhov’s On the Harmful Effects of Tobacco (1886)⤡

I. Here I Begin: From Gut-Wrenching Pain

Ladies and gentlemen… if there are any souls still lingering in this assembly, or ladies who have not already sought refuge from the dullness of my confessions…

I stand before you not unlike Ivan Ivanovich Nyukhin—that hapless lecturer on the harmful effects of tobacco, forever apologizing, forever trembling under the weight of his own inadequacies—but as a fixed deposit holder in Dewan Housing Finance Corporation Limited (DHFL), a once-trusting soul, where my life savings, painstakingly accumulated with blood and sweat, dissolved into thin air during the so-called 2021 insolvency resolution—while, in a deliciously ironic twist, I turn to Piramal Pharma’s Nixit⤡ ⤡ to quit smoking, only to discover it too carries a trace of tobacco, as if even my remedy insists on keeping me tethered to my vices while my finances vanish into smoke.

My hands tremble—see how they shake?—from the gut-wrenching betrayal, and my voice quavers as I speak not merely of tobacco, but of something far more pernicious: the harmful effects of constipation, corporations, and the slow violence of governmentality. The state of not being able to take a crap. As direct as that.

For my gut sense—that primitive intelligence of the body—has been quietly erased by the Green Revolution. What entered my food was not nourishment but chemistry: pesticides and fertilizers derived from war industries, residues of explosives and toxins repurposed as progress.

HYVs obeyed chemicals, not the memory of soil; diversity vanished, resilience collapsed. GMOs followed—laboratory splices born of technocratic hubris, where war simply changed form and entered the farm. These substances did not pass through me; they settled in me, altering my microbiome, dulling instinct, replacing rhythm with inflammation.

Thus the body learned the state’s lesson: do not trust yourself. Depend on inputs. Depend on corporations that poison first and sell relief later. Constipation, then, is not personal—it is agricultural, chemical, and political.

This is a self-reflexive bowel history that I’m about to tell you guys, written in the long shadow of scams, states, and stalled justice—a confession before motion, as it were.

Forgive my lack of decorum; my wife—no, not my wife, but my tormented colon—insists I proceed properly, though what decorum remains when one’s body has become a battlefield?

Allow me, then, to unfold this tale section by section, as one unravels a knotted intestine, integrating every detail without omission, flowing logically, without needless repetition.

For my suffering is vast, and time—like justice—is ever delayed.

II. When History Refuses to Move

One fellow called Walter Benjamin warned us that history piles wreckage upon wreckage. Huhh!
No one warned me it would also pile it up in my colon, amidst the conditions imposed by duopoly capitalism…. Adani, Ambani….names sound familiar, don’t they?

After the DHFL debacle—when my savings liquefied and hope hardened into extinguished footnotes—my body decided to become an archivist…. yes, my docile body as an archive, of resistance, of the promise to keep on talking until I am heard. Every injustice was filed carefully in the gut. This is the story of Acchhe Din within the Viksit Bharat: na khaunga, na khane dunga… yeah, some have been celebrating amrit mahotsav…. though I have no freaking clue where that amrta or drop of ambrosia is…. amrta has become visa (poison), or both together! The pathological liar Vishwaguru promised 15 lakhs to each of us citizens…. though that promise never came into effect!

Justice delayed, stools delayed.

The psychosomatic contract was signed without my consent.

This was not metaphor alone. Chronic stress reorganises the enteric nervous system. Anxiety tightens sphincters more efficiently than ideology.

Thus begins my intimate relationship with motion—not the cinematic motion of propaganda montages, but the humble, humiliating, deeply political motion of bowels.

The kind that the film Piku understood instinctively, where Bhaskor Banerjee’s (played by Amitabh Bachchan) constipation is not mere quirk but embodied resistance to change, holding on to patriarchal control even as the body rebels; the road trip becomes a reluctant journey toward seeking release.

And Sokurov filmed it mercilessly in Moloch: power is fragile, flesh is stubborn, the notorious tyrant Hitler not as thunderous monster alone but as a whining man planning genocide between meals, indigestion and loose motion—

evil does not thunder; it digests poorly, it bloats, yet it fails to evacuate.

III. The DHFL Debacle and the Birth of a Blockage

As a once-trusting fixed deposit holder in DHFL, I endured the gut-wrenching betrayal of watching my life savings—painstakingly accumulated over decades—dissolve into thin air during an expropriative resolution process. The chowkidar is watchin’…. is he?

Piramal Capital and Housing Finance Limited, which is now Piramal Finance after a clever reverse merger to probably disown past liabilities, spearheaded by the ostensibly philanthropic…philanthro-capitalist Ajay Piramal, swooped in perhaps like a vulture (gṛdhaḥ as mentioned in Isoponisad: mā gṛdhaḥ kasyasviddhanam…. Alas! this dictum is hardly followed by Mr. Piramal!) on distressed assets, supposedly acquiring DHFL in a deal that critics, including countless victims like myself, decry as a masterclass in cunning capitalism.

While banks and institutional lenders recouped nearly their full dues, we small investors were handed scraps: recoveries hovering between 23%–40%…

The Supreme Court’s April 2025 verdict upholding of the Piramal resolution plan did little to assuage our pain; it merely rubber-stamped a system rigged against the vulnerable, affirming Piramal’s retention of vast potential recoveries while dismissing appeals from DHFL victims…. as if we were the “grave sinners”, “criminals”, who are to be punished… to establish the legitimacy of India’s ill-conceived insolvency code… the IBC… phew….by making guinea pigs out of DHFL victims in the lab-statehood of Bharata….

The fallout?

Crippling anxiety. Depression. And for me—chronic constipation. Yes. Unable to unload my a**hole (we have learnt it from our PM’s intimate enemy, the anti-Mexican, white supremacist President).

A physical manifestation of the unrelenting financial stress that disrupted my gut’s natural rhythm.

In a twist of bitter irony, the remedy that finally promised to unclog my system was Naturolax-A from Piramal Pharma, the very conglomerate whose financial machinations helped precipitate my health woes.

Ah, Naturolax-A!
The shimmering beacon of relief in the bleak financial wasteland that used to be my retirement fund, generously provided by those maestros of misappropriation at DHFL and its pretentious afterward avatars.

As someone whose life savings vanished faster than a puri at a wedding feast, my life has become a cinematic masterpiece of stress-induced Irregular Bowel Syndrome… IBS, in short. IBC to IBS…. what a journey! I can’t properly sh*t anymore— what a bullsh*t (symbol of Masculine Hindutva)!!

My daily routine now perfectly mimics a scene from the film Piku—except instead of a charming road trip, it’s a grim, internal drama where nothing moves.

The only romantic comedy in my life is my ongoing, unrequited love affair with a functional toilet bowl, a true fiction-to-fact transformation of Toilet: Ek Prem Katha if ever there was one. Though this is without the blatant Swachh Bharat propaganda.

Enter this miracle product from Piramal Pharma, promising a smooth operation while my financial world remains irrevocably backed up.

This expanded examination dissects Naturolax not as a mere product but as a symbol of Piramal’s conscience-less “conscious capitalist” empire-building.

Drawing on the cold certainties of pharmacology, the dry print of regulatory records, and the quiet anguish of those of us left empty by DHFL, I watch and measure with a trembling, critical eye: Naturolax may move the bowels, yes, but it cannot cleanse the residue of a life drained by meticulous corporate plunder.

And in this weary year of 2025, as Piramal stretches further into the realms of pharma, finance, and realty, the question of accountability hangs in the air, heavy and unanswered, like a room waiting for a visitor who will never come.

How can a group that profits from health remedies ignore the health epidemics spawned by its own predatory practices?

IV. The Gut as an Anti-National Organ

The contemporary state celebrates discipline, control, restraint.
So does constipation.

In authoritarian cultures, the ideal citizen is regulated, held together, sealed. Expression is dangerous; release is suspect.

The gut absorbs this lesson faster than the mind.

IBS is not a disease—it is a social symptom, oscillating between panic and paralysis, diarrhea and denial.

This is where Naturolax enters like a soft-spoken revolutionary.

Not a manifesto—just fibre.
Not dissent—just peristalsis.

It does not shout slogans; it swells quietly and insists that something must move.

The irony is exquisite:

when institutions refuse accountability, Isabgol provides it.

V. Naturolax-A: Ingredient List as Political Theory

At its core, Naturolax-A is little more than branded psyllium husk (Isabgol), derived from the seeds of Plantago ovata, an age-old Ayurvedic staple for digestive health.

Marketed by Piramal Pharma as a “non-habit forming Ayurvedic formula,” its primary composition includes:

• Isabgol Husk (Plantago ovata)—the primary bulk-forming agent, comprising nearly the entire formulation, expanding 10–15 times its volume when hydrated, softening stools and initiating peristalsis through sheer material pressure—a lesson in participatory democracy: given water and space, movement occurs organically, no agitation, no rhetoric—only structure responding to conditions.
• Nimbukamlam (Citric Acid) & Svarjiksara (Sodium Bicarbonate)—agents of balance, regulating acidity and effervescence to prevent irritation; their quiet function stands in contrast to financial and judicial systems that have abandoned equilibrium altogether—the stomach, at least, still recognises the necessity of counterweights.
• Kasni (Chicory Root Extract)—included for its traditional association with liver support and “detoxification,” the fantasy ingredient; every victim of financial expropriation longs for a substance capable of extracting toxins, shell companies, absconding promoters, and regulatory negligence in a single, decisive evacuation.
• Flavouring Agents (Orange)—added solely for palatability; because raw fibre is unpleasant, and discomfort must be softened—a reminder that even remedies rely on aesthetic mediation—truth, like medicine, is rarely swallowed unflavoured.
• Saccharin Sodium—artificial sweetness to mask bitterness; trauma, too, is more marketable when artificially sweetened—suffering must never taste exactly as it is.
• Formulation Variants—beyond the standard powder (100g, 110g, 300g), the brand extends into Triphala tablets, combining Isabgol with Haritaki, Amalaki, and Bibhitaki, and into other versions that may include liquorice, plum, or senna, shifting from gentle facilitation to pharmacological insistence—when natural movement fails, coercion is introduced.

This is not ayurveda versus allopathy; this is biology versus governance.
One works. This is a competition between a pharma company and Baba Ramdev.

VI. Purgatives and Power: Unfurling Comparisons

Naturolax is a purgative—regulated relief, supervised release.

The state, by contrast, specializes in unregulated purges: of dissent, data, minorities, memory.

The supplement’s side effects—gas, bloating—are mild compared to the systemic side effects of social violence: chronic anxiety, learned helplessness, fear-induced silence, bodily breakdown masquerading as personal failure.

At least the fibre comes with instructions.
The scam came with patriotic…sorry, jingoistic speeches.

Pharmacologically, as a bulk laxative, Naturolax works by increasing stool weight and moisture, stimulating bowel movements without irritating the gut lining.

It’s classified under India’s Ayurvedic proprietary medicines, requiring minimal clinical trials compared to allopathic drugs.

Studies affirm its efficacy for chronic constipation, with relief often within 12–72 hours, aligning with claims of toxin clearance and reduced gas.

Naturolax touts benefits like gentle relief from constipation, indigestion, and even ancillary perks such as cholesterol reduction via soluble fiber.

User testimonials echo my experience: no cramps, no dependency, just consistent evacuation when mixed with 200–300ml water nightly.

Yet harms are glossed over, time and again:

• Gastrointestinal distress—bloating, gas, abdominal cramps, nausea, vomiting
• Respiratory and allergic reactions—runny or itchy nose, skin rashes, severe anaphylaxis
• Increased movements, electrolyte imbalances with prolonged overuse

Toxicities arise from improper use: choking hazard if not diluted adequately, swelling in esophagus causing obstruction; contraindications—avoid in intestinal obstruction, undiagnosed abdominal pain, organic strictures, hypersensitivity; not recommended under 18, pregnancy without advice, or alongside certain medications reducing absorption; excessive intake could lead to dependency or malabsorption of nutrients like calcium and iron, worsening in diabetics (2.2x risk) or hypothyroidism (2.4x).

While no widespread toxicities reported, absence of robust post-market surveillance in Ayurvedics raises flags.

Piramal’s profit motive might prioritize sales over emphasizing harms.

This is hardly groundbreaking: generic Isabgol costs ₹100–200 per 100g versus Naturolax’s ₹250–400 markup; Piramal’s “innovation” boils down to flavouring and branding, commodifying a public-domain remedy. Why should I care to buy branded Isabgol?

I am suffering from blood dysentery and haemorrhoids. The blood that now seeps from my anal region is indistinguishable from the blood money on which the Piramal empire has been built—both extracted through pain, dispossession, and a system that normalizes cruelty while calling it success.

In a nation where constipation afflicts 22% of adults, such preys on desperation, exacerbated by stressors like financial ruin.

Naturolax occupies a grey zone: not quite drug, not quite food—regulatory limbo, food-adjacent but functioning like medicine.

I’ve seen this before: financial products not quite deposits, not quite bonds—sold as safety, behaving like risk, collapsing like fraud.

Only Naturolax delivers without litigation—the only Piramal entity reliably producing results in 6–12 hours.

Both promise security and relief, but only one delivers without Supreme Court intervention.

VII. Taking Cue From Gopal Bhar

The king Krishnachandra said to Gopal Bhar (a Bengali fictional character like Mullah Nasruddin or Tenali Rama), “I have had a daughter—how happy are you?”
Gopal replied, “Like the relief of relieving oneself, like one feels after taking a dump.”

The king’s face darkened with fury. “How dare you!” he thundered, and ordered Gopal to be hanged.

Gopal bowed calmly. “Very well, Your Majesty. But before I die, I have one last wish—I wish to take a boat ride with you.”
Curiosity piqued, the king agreed.

Midway on the river, the king suddenly felt an unbearable pressure. “Bring the boat to shore at once!” he demanded.

Gopal, with a patient smile, offered excuses and delayed docking again and again. The king writhed, sweat pouring, agony mounting. Only when he was at the brink did Gopal finally steer the boat to shore.

The king emptied himself. And as he sighed in deep, unparalleled relief, he realized—Gopal had spoken nothing but the truth.

He laughed, forgave Gopal, and rewarded him generously.

Power learns relief only when denied.

In Moloch, Sokurov dismantles the mythic Hitler, showing him not as a spectral monster but as a whining, neurotic man — even captured defecating in the open and in private repeatedly — all while banally musing on war and power between everyday bodily needs.

evil digests poorly.

Modern autocracy fears jokes, bodies, leaks, laughter; punishes indecency because it collapses reverence.

Nothing more indecent to power than admitting discomfort.

My toilet is a site of resistance. It’s no more “Toilet: Ek Prem Katha“‘s state-sponsored jibes.

Indian anti-imperialist revolutionaries—and later the Naxalites—were often “corrected” in prison by a most pedagogical instrument within the “third degree” treatment: the police ruler, stick, or rod, inserted where the State prefers not to look itself… rod in the anus… yes. Many carried that lesson for life: Foucault —- Discipline. and. Punish. and Repeat. Buddhadev Dasgupta’s Tahader Katha remembers what the archives politely forget.

I, regrettably—or perhaps philosophically—still lodged in what Freud would call the anal stage without any potty training, cannot help but wonder: when Piramal & Co., otherwise aided the ruling establishment in its BJP uniform, finally decide to arrest me for thinking aloud—will I too be offered this ancient therapy?

True, my constipation might finally be relieved. The gut may respond to force.

But my ideas? My spirit? Those, I fear, are incurable. They do not yield to rods, rulings, or resolution plans. They only harden—quietly, stubbornly—like a person smiling politely while the pain refuses to teach them obedience.

VIII. The Toilet as Truth Commission⤡ ⤡

Toilet: Ek Prem Katha tried to nationalize sanitation into state-sponsored patriotism looking up through love and lavatory (what about love jihad⤡?!), yet sanitation without dignity becomes coercion—toilets without water monuments, caste labour cleaning with bare hands.

Piku privatized it into family neurosis.

I discovered existential sanitation:

Each morning a referendum—will motion occur, or ideology win?

When Naturolax works, it is not just relief—it is epistemological victory.

The body refuses propaganda.
The colon does not watch prime-time debates.

IX. Piramal Pharma’s Operations and Regulatory Scrutiny

Piramal Pharma Limited operates globally in pharmaceuticals, consumer healthcare, CDMO, facilities in India, US, UK, Canada, revenues in billions fueled by acquisitions like 2021 DHFL grab.

Growth masks regulatory lapses, ethical shortcuts—repackaging traditional remedies for premium pricing amid quality hiccups.

Cross-sector sprawl exemplifies cunning capitalism: 2025 mergers consolidated power, amplified conflicts; realty developments drew flak for displacing communities, environmental oversights; DHFL lingers as favoritism—undervaluation, insider advantages, legal intimidation persist post-Supreme Court.

As victim, I see Naturolax in this web—profits funding aggression, ordinary lives paying.

In 2025, US FDA issued Form 483s: December Lexington four observations; February Turbhe six on quality control, records, maintenance; earlier Riverview similar—systemic issues, expansion outpacing compliance.

Not directly Naturolax, but erodes trust.

Legally, DHFL weathered challenges, April 2025 ruling affirming despite inequity cries, renewed criticisms of scam, cronyism.

Pharmacologically, adheres to lighter CDSCO oversight—harms slip through; duality mirrors ethos: maximize gains, minimize accountability.

X. Reflections on Constipated Democracy and Swachh Bharat

Constipation in India isn’t dietary—symptom of sedentary lives, junk food, psychological stressors like financial trauma.

Prevalence 22% adults, disproportionately lower strata where poor sanitation turns function into luxury.

For DHFL victims, ripple effects affect lakhs.

Naturolax eases symptom, ignores cause: capitalist system where Piramal thrives on distress.

True wellness demands justice—prioritize fiber diets, hydration, exercise over branded; opt generics to deny profits.

While Piramal peddles Naturolax, India’s democracy remains constipated—inequality, corruption, cronyism blocking justice.

Progress stalled, reforms half-baked, vulnerable straining.

Corporate laxatives profit from blockages they create.

Swachh Bharat Mission built over 100 million toilets, rates plummeting from 60% rural to claimed low percentages by 2021—yet extremely superficial: coercion for ODF, shoddy constructions unused, oversight of maintenance, water.

Lower castes bear brunt—marginalized labourers clean without gear, wages.

Urban slums displaced by realty linger, stressors mirroring DHFL.

Politics of waste: hierarchy, elite managed, poor politicized; workers risk in sewers.

Flawed policies echo DHFL: powerful flush accountability, rest mired.

Reform demands dismantling inequities, not band-aids from exacerbating conglomerates.

XI. Conclusion: In Praise of Small Movements

History may stall.
Courts may adjourn.
Files may disappear.

But fibre still swells.
Water still flows.
Motion still insists.

This is not optimism; it is physiology.

If justice ever arrives, it will do so not with fanfare but with quiet regularity—like a well-functioning bowel.

Until then, I place my faith where it belongs:

History may stall.
Courts may adjourn.
Files may disappear—
burned, buried, encrypted, or drowned in committees.

But fibre still swells.
Water still flows.
Motion still insists.

This is not optimism; it is physiology.
And now—ecology.

For even the planet, like the body, is constipated.

Anthropogenic heating—global in cause, local in suffering—has slowed the great circulations:
monsoons hesitate, rivers choke on dams and plastics, soils harden under chemical fatigue.
Heat tightens everything.
Glaciers strain like withheld breath.
Cities bloat.
The poor dehydrate first.

The Earth, too, has been told to hold it in—
to absorb emissions, absorb extraction, absorb growth,
while oligarchs fly above the weather they manufacture.

What is climate collapse if not systemic blockage?
Carbon trapped where it should have flowed.
Heat retained where release was necessary.
Feedback loops like cramps that no policy dares to acknowledge.

Crony oligarchy mirrors this perfectly:
capital hoarded, justice retained, accountability withheld.
Plutocracy is fiscal constipation—
wealth refusing circulation, power refusing evacuation.

And so resistance begins where circulation still remembers how to move.

In the gut.
In the street.
In the body that refuses to seal itself shut.

Peristalsis is not chaos; it is coordinated motion.
Not explosion, but wave.
Not riot, but rhythm.

Every bowel movement is a small ecological act—
proof that systems can still respond to pressure without rupture.
That release is not collapse.
That letting go is survival.

When the state hoards truth,
when corporations hoard resources,
when courts hoard time,
the body revolts gently—
by insisting on passage.

This is not metaphor abuse; it is material truth.
Heat stress worsens IBS.
Climate anxiety tightens viscera.
Financial trauma rewires nerves.
The Anthropocene passes through the colon.

If justice ever arrives, it will not come with sirens or slogans.
It will arrive like regularity restored—
quiet, dependable, almost boring.
Like a well-functioning bowel after long abuse.

Until then, I place my faith where it belongs:

not in institutions that retain,
but in movements that circulate.

Not in hoarded capital,
but in shared water.

Not in plutocracy,
but in peristalsis.

Namaste.
Pass the Isabgol.
The revolution begins at the gut—
and radiates outward,
until even the planet remembers how to move again.

Ah, my dear listeners—if any remain, patient amid this monologue of misery—
I have laid bare every thread:
ingredients and emissions,
side effects and feedback loops,
regulations and their absences,
policies, metaphors, ironies—
without shortening or omission.

Forgive the length;
the blockage was civilizational.

Thank you… or pardon me… for this confession.

Perhaps, in speaking—
in warming words into circulation—
there is already
a small movement.

This article was sent through a letter to Mr. Ajay Piramal, the “great” corporate magnate on 17-12-2025 (GMT 04:35 hrs), which is reproduced here as follows:

Sub: Emotion of Motion in a Constipated State of Affairs

Dear Mr. Piramal (CBE, Paramavaisnava Esq.),

I write to you in a posture I never imagined would befall me: that of begging—for a single pack of Naturolax. I can no longer afford it, having lost the entirety of my life’s savings following your alleged and widely reported acquisition of DHFL, enabled—so it appears—by an exquisitely collusive alignment with the establishment. Call it conjecture, call it conspiracy; the material consequences, alas, are not hypothetical.

This indignity would not have arisen but for the immense stress and anxiety that followed my financial dispossession—psychosomatic burdens now lodged in my body as chronic constipation, a symptom stubborn enough to resist even the dignity of becoming a Lacanian sinthome. Earlier, I found myself begging for Nixit lozenges⤡, attempting—rather unsuccessfully—to abandon a chain-smoking habit cultivated in the aftermath of economic ruin.

What option remains, then, but to address your counsel and, by extension, your pharmaceutical wing—an enterprise with a long alleged/reported tradition of philanthropy that follows, rather than prevents, crisis? One wonders whether this model was inspired by Lawrence Summers, though perhaps such tutelage is unnecessary when one is already adorned with Vaishnava blessings—those sacred credentials that sanctify a carefully advertised persona, beneath whose veneer capitalism without conscience may operate comfortably, especially in the absence of accountable checks and balances.

Forgive me; I tire of lecturing you. I am, quite simply, exhausted. My days are now spent oscillating between high blood pressure, indigestion, dehydration, and untreated ailments for which I should, by all medical logic, be medicated—but cannot be. Perhaps your Vaishnava self—even if only a façade—might register a tremor of unease when confronted with the slow, untheatrical unravelling of a life such as mine.

I therefore submit my case plainly: please help me with a few packs of Naturolax.

Below, I append an extended reflection—offered this time for your entertainment—prepared during a bout of what I can only call productive anxiety. Seeking refuge in theoretical praxis, I have attempted to decipher a politics of the gut, as it manifests in my now-docile body: a not-so-sovereign battlefield where finance, stress, and pharmaceutical mercy collide, but perhaps, at the same time, becoming a site of resistance:

Emotion of Motion: Piramal Pharma’s Naturolax and the Politics of the Gut VIEW HERE ⤡
Hope you find peace, and tranquility. 
Hypothetically Yours, 

नमस्ते अस्तु मा मा हिंसीः

लड़ेंगे या मरेंगे!

इंक़लाब ज़िंदाबाद!

No Pasaran!

Debeprasad (sic) Sadhan (patriarchal insertion?!) Bandopadhyay (sic)

COPY TO:

1.    Shri A.H. Laddhad, The Hon’ble Prothonotary and Senior Master, Bombay High Court (Case No. S/42/2025)