As I see the stupid flyover rebuilt in Andheri, in Mumbai, which is six feet higher than one of the arms leading to Juhu, and hear the ridicule the government has to face over it, I am also reminded of the time a few years ago when air-conditioned local trains were going to be introduced.

The day arrived, the showpiece train was put on the tracks and must have even started on its trial run, when the engine driver must have brought the train to a screeching halt screaming, “The train is too tall, it won’t pass under that bridge!”

“Miss,” says the little fellow running after his class teacher, “He called me a bad word!”

The wise teacher looks at her young student, “And what did you do to provoke him to say that?”

No, I’m not defending the boy or girl who said an ugly word, but very often we forget the provocation as we punish an offender who reacted. But the situation doesn’t rest there. In quarrels between a husband and wife, the husband or wife next day remembers the words thrown at him or her, but forget what got the other to say them.

So many of us go through life wondering why God didn't give us great looks, good height or more colour. We look at others who we think are prettier or more handsome and sigh with envy, "If only…" we say to ourselves and look in the mirror sadly.

To those who think such, do I address this little story about a girl who grew up with a blind mother:

Punjab is a beautiful state with wonderful people. I’d planned to visit the Golden Temple and also Jallianwala Bagh, and I did, but before that visited the ninety-four-year-old Editor in Chief of the Punjab Kesari paper in Jalandhar, in which my column runs.

As I sat with the wise and learned Vijay Chopra, he told me his children had studied in a convent school, and I told him mine had done their education in an Arya Samaj School, “because religious faith,” we both echoed together at different times, ‘is a personal thing!”

Went out of the city two days ago, and as I entered the fancy hotel where I was put up, I was told by the manager,  “Sir, you have been given a super deluxe room!”

“Thank you,” I said, quite impressed by the way the ‘super’ was stressed by the manager. I followed the bell-boy to my room. He opened the door with a flourish, drew the curtains and exclaimed, “Enjoy!” and I all but expected him to give me a bow or royal courtesy, which he nearly did, and I was quite pleased, as I got myself ready for a bath to take away the ache in my bones I felt with the long journey I’d had.