The watchman at the door gave me a smart salute and handed me a piece of paper to sign.

‘There is a managing committee meeting in the society office sir,’ he said.

‘What’s the emergency?’ I asked.

‘We have to choose a painting contractor, said the chairman, ‘to paint our buildings. We have already received three quotations.’

Say what you want, but I feel there’s something that’s slowly making an impact on India, one that is making the ruling party afraid, and that is love! Yes, Rahul Gandhi, instead of returning bitter speech with anger, is using the greatest tool man can ever use, love: Hugging the masses, hearing their sad stories and walking that extra mile with them.

For a man, whose father was assassinated, whose grandmother killed, it speaks volumes about how he has managed to get rid of anger, bitterness and resentment                                

“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.

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!”

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!”