Even the poorest of the poor and the most wretchedly destitute of the wretchedly destitute feels like a king with a Sachin fix or a Shah Rukh fix. No matter which deep corner of the country, no matter there's no TV, there's nothing, but somehow, somehow, we manage to get hold of a radio, or a cell phone, and we link our disparate fortunes with eleven men, for our very well-being depends on them. It is of little consequence that we have not enough money to feed or clothe ourselves and our families, and we have but a piece of tarpaulin between us and the vagaries of nature, but we have stars in our eyes.
And so, while the government dances on its own axis, and Wikileaks makes buffoons and harlequins of our politicians, what does it matter...our love and our devotion are for those who, remote as they are from us, scatter sparkling fairy dust over us...and if they fail, or flop, our love and devotion continues to defend them and root for them, for they never fail to add a little glitter to our lives.
We are content...