The Lotus and the Robot Redux

Every time I return to India, the land of my forefathers, from the island where I choose to make my home, Japan, I find myself sounding like a salaryman from Osaka. Why is the 10 a.m. bus still invisible at 10:23? Why do all the people around me insist on going from A to B via P, T and X? Why do those infernal traffic lights, when not failing to impede traffic, flash the word relax? India sometimes seems to exist only to confound the expectations and to explode the tenses of a visitor from abroad. Flying into New Delhi recently,...

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