A Man's Past Keeps Growing, Even When

Go To The Tea Shop Anywhere Along The Ganga, Sir, And Look At The Men Working In That Tea Shop - Men, I Say, But Better To Call Them Human Spiders That Go Crawling In Between And Under The Tables With Rags In Their Hands, Crushed Humans In Crushed Uniforms, Sluggish, Unshaven, In Their Thirties Or Forties Or Fifties But Still "boys." But That Is Your Fate If You Do Your Job Well - With Honesty, Dedication, And Sincerity, The Way Gandhi Would Have Done It, No Doubt.

If Only A Man Could Spit His Past Out So Easily.

These Are The Three Main Diseases Of This Country, Sir: Typhoid, Cholera, And Election Fever. This Last One Is The Worst; It Makes People Talk And Talk About Things That They Have No Say In ... Would They Do It This Time? Would They Beat The Great Socialist And Win The Elections? Had They Raised Enough Money Of Their Own, And Bribed Enough Policemen, And Bought Enough Fingerprints Of Their Own, To Win? Like Eunuchs Discussing The Kama Sutra, The Voters Discuss The Elections In Laxmangarh.

In A Sense, Being A Full-time Writer Is Less Fun Because There's No Office To Go To Anymore, There's No Set Routine, There's No Schedule. It Can Be Quite Isolating.

An Honest Politician Has No Goodies To Toss Around. This Limits His Effectiveness Profoundly, Because Political Power In India Is Dispersed Throughout A Multi-tiered Federal Structure; A Local Official Who Has Not Been Paid Off Can Sometimes Stop A Billion-dollar Project.