The Cynic

Have you ever felt real reverence, true-mad-deep reverence that it almost reached a point of worship? Where the other person could never be wrong, simply because it was HIM? I, for one, have known this sheer devotion. And it happened to be for the man I’ve idolised since I don’t even remember when. I fell in love with Vir Sanghvi. For those of you who don’t know, Vir Sanghvi is an advisor with Hindustan Times, and used to write a weekend column in the paper by the name of Counterpoint. I don’t remember who made me read my first Counterpoint in Sunday’s Hindustan Times, but my Sundays were never the same again. At first glance, Sanghvi impressed. At a second look, he left me in awe. The man was a genius. I hadn’t known anyone like him before—I’d never read a newspaper so unfailingly before. Then came the Sunday Brunch, and Sanghvi shocked me yet again. What in the world did he NOT know about?! All this time I’d spent thinking of him as a purely political writer, and Rude Food gave me a

( This is entirely a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.) As I walk past the security that thoroughly checked me all over, I try to pinch myself into believing that I really had clinched an interview with one of the most sought after politicians on the scene today. This particular person in reference was the leader of one of the largest parties that thrived on the support of ‘minority groups’, and was also one of the most major harassments that the government currently faced. Nervous and excited, I enter the large gates to her bungalow. The long, long passage is lined with enormous white statues of that enormous animal that’s her party’s symbol— arre that grey one with something sticking out of its nose? Rhino, yes! (Did you think an elephant? No no!)  There are also some bust-like statues of things that look strangely like...handbags. By the time I reach her office, I’m half panting, half scared, half ap