The boy grimaced as the boorish bus screeched to another halt. Two unkempt ruffians leaped out from the two door-less gateways and started begging for passengers. For the boy, nothing else registered. He was trapped in a world years severed from the present. Could not have been too many years, for he now was barely into his teens. He was not dreaming. He was disturbed. If it showed on his face, he was not conscious of it. No co-passenger gave a damn about it either, if it did, of course. He was disturbed. Upset. He had been so since he had rushed to the breakfast table not so long ago. His father, a grim-faced arguably unfeeling man, had as usual beaten him to the first meal of the day and was absorbed in a newspaper. Other editions lay beside his plate, bowl and glass. No matter how late he returned or worked through the night, the father would always join his son for breakfast. It was not a mundane ritual; it was a solemn promise that the stoic man had never failed to keep.

If you were to look at the world from the point of view of how people reacted to the conviction of Sanjeev Nanda in the BMW hit-and-run case, you will find there are just two kinds of people. Those who cannot contain their glee at the contention that the law indeed has a long arm, and those who are shedding copious tears over the poor young fella having to pay for being rich and famous. Yes, the law has taken its own course. Nanda, few would disagree, was guilty as charged, and would certainly have to spend some of his youth behind bars. But the conviction is nothing to exult about. Someone was found guilty by a court of law and has been punished accordingly. That’s it. It’s time to move on. A man guilty of recklessness under the influence of alcohol deserves no media mileage. There are scores of others who need to be nailed as well.

This swanky joint in plush South Delhi keeps setting standards that only it can alone emulate. After all, it is rather difficult to maintain yourself as a lowlife. In June, the Urban Pind joint denied entry to a young female photographer from Nagaland. The decision to do that was purely on racist grounds. When the incident degenerated into a news item, the joint's co-owner Kashif Farooq mumbled some feeble and incoherent excuses, and asserted that there would be no question of apologising. Some arrogant racism that. As public opinion became mobilised, including a Boycott Urban Pind group on Facebook, and a case was filed over the incident, the owners probably thought its image was taking a beating somewhere. Late last month came an apology from Urban Pind.

"I'm quitting politics." Such a commonplace utterance would not have otherwise evoked any response from me. But I gave a start — the cup of coffee almost slipping out of my hand. "What on earth?" Words failed me, for the statement came from no one else but my political mentor – Ruhi. Ruhi was my best friend and five years my senior. We had met at a seminar on the validity of Marxism today. I represented my college as an apolitical student. She was a political activist. "I said what I said." Confidence. What had impressed me most about Ruhi was her belief in her self and thought. The authority, command with which she spoke that evening had grown forth only from self-confidence. And that too about an ideology which, at that point, was on the verge of being buried in Marx's birthplace. "But why?" "Forget the why. Even you are quitting."