The world of puppets is metaphorically centered in Calcutta.
There is a definite caste system in play.
Marionettes are at the top of the heap. They are the brahmins, the aristocrats, the privileged, the elite. Even though their strings are constantly being pulled, they are the chosen ones – they of the hinged mouths, intact bodies, and somewhat normal speaking voices. They inhabit exotic sets, wear elegant costumes, and rest in padded boxes safe from unwanted attention and wood rot.
Marionettes are performing sacred cows. Even the name conjures up a privileged puppet lineage, replete with guilded craftsmanship and drama masters.
Not so with the lowest of lows, the sock puppets, those unspeakable, unclean untouchables constantly being rammed onto the hands of the unwashed masses. Immersion in the holiest of waters would only serve to magnify their defilement.
Beware the sock puppets with their inbred button eyes and absent lower trunks. Avoid the strident sounds of their insane conversations, if such a thing is even possible.
Sock puppets have no sense of decorum or refinement.
They do not believe in proper social introduction. They simply appear suddenly out of the subterranean depths, often startling those unaware of their presence.
They glory in the fact that they agitate Calcutta with their sheer numbers.
Yet their limited synthetic reasoning cannot sense how easy it would be to topple the inverted pyramid of puppet society.
Perhaps one day a tube-sock Gandhi will emerge to pull his sock people up from the miserable mire.
But until that time actually arrives, if it ever truly does come, continue to rinse the reviled and defiled sock puppet untouchables in the gentle cycle of The Ganges.