At a talk I gave last night in South Mumbai, someone asked me at dinner what I thought of the disqualification of Rahul. I replied that I looked at democracy as a competitive race, in which the best man or woman won. “And to keep the race or democracy afloat,” I said, “the competition has to be fair!”

 “You remember the movie Benhur and the spectacular chariot race between the hero and his competitor. What did the competitor do? Instead of trying to prove he was a better horseman, a better racer than Benhur, he started breaking the wheels of Benhur’s chariot, whipping Benhur so he would be unable to ride, and using other destructive ways to see Benhur lose.

T’was this morning I opened the newspaper and found a pretty model showing her dainty self on a dozen different beds. Alluring she looked and inviting a supple body beckoned me to glance at different rooms of the hotel she was advertising for: The Arabian room, Chinese and Polynesian, French and English, Mexican and Malaysian, the Swiss chalet with scenic mountains outside, all with the sweet looking girl for company!

With attacks on poor Rahul worsening by the day, in my very vivid imagination I see the Congress think tank putting on their thinking caps and pondering the best solution to the nightmare brought about by their leader opening his mouth at Cambridge. “An important issue like Adani is being sidelined because the treasury benches are attacking Rahul,” said a worried leader of the opposition party to me.

The auditors of the country, who are very powerful people and oversee how public money is spent by the ones who govern, in my imagination, pursed their lips while the government official sat in front of them. “Sir,” said the first auditor, “there has been some very unwise spending on your part in building the new parliament building!”

 “What are you saying?” screamed the government official jumping to his feet, then being told to sit down by his colleague, who gestured that auditors were very powerful people and could not be reasoned with threats or bullying, as he was used to doing. He sat down mollified, and asked in a whisper this time, “What are you saying?”

Many years back while in business for my father, an interior designer, we would get a contract for the home of the managing director or chairman of a big company. Now in all probability I had already visited him in his office and seen him as a powerful person, but at home, he was oh so different. Suddenly I was at ease and not intimidated by him, his expensive suit or his fancy office.