‘Twas two years ago, three friends and I drove to Goa, and stopped at a well-known restaurant for lunch. It was an open-air eatery and as we sat we could see car loads of families coming with hungry passengers looking famished and tired. The fathers seated themselves at the head of the table and drank their beer while the mothers ordered.

Suddenly I felt a hush. I had my back to the car park and asked my friends what was happening. "It's a car full of young girls!" said one of my friends. Every man in the room had his eyes fixed lustily outside as I saw the girls entering: They were children! Just about fifteen to seventeen years old. They came in eyes down and felt themselves ravaged by the lecherous looks they were getting. Even as I looked up at them a thought came to me; they're like my own daughters! They are my children!

With patriotism being questioned, sedition being defined and slogans being the criteria for motherland loyalty, we may have a confused people in the country: My daughter, who stands at attention when the national anthem is played even on TV for the cricket team, stopped me at the door while I was leaving, “You can’t dress like this dad! Very unpatriotic!” she exclaimed pulling the tie of my neck, making me wince with pain.

As I see the blame game going between the owners of the barge which saw nearly sixty die last week on the Bombay High Seas, and the late captain, we hear people saying we should be lenient with someone or other, but then a murder is a murder. Callousness cannot be excused and people who are to blame have to be brought to justice, right?

But here is a story where justice was delivered in a way that was Justice magnified!

She was short, squat and dowdy, and as I ran to join the group of tourists at the heritage building I wondered what this women was doing as a guide. The lady looked up over the heads of the others and instead of annoyance, smiled, and suddenly I saw more than just friendliness, I was being welcomed because the guide was glad there was one more to listen to her talk.

 “You know Bob,” my wife told me the other day, “It’s time we changed our furniture!”

 “Why?” I asked, “Our furniture is fine!”

 “It’s old!”