Hot and grumpy was Jawaharlal Nehru last week. It was the temper-trying month before the monsoon, and the rains that had brought floods to the Brahmaputra Valley had not yet brought relief to New Delhi. In the dusty streets, bullocks steamed and lepers drowsed beside their begging bowls; in his office, a peevish Prime Minister grumbled about curdled milk, loudly complained about a badly designed public building, ticked off a Hindi language enthusiast in testy Hindi, finally flounced off for an hour's relaxation at a private screening of Danny Kaye's Knock on...
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